#his enemies are in shambles

[kinokoshoujoart]

when I said Aya / Pony used rough speech in JP version of the original AnWL… this is what i mean. when asking what Rock’s doing here she calls him a comically rude pronoun (キサマ/貴様) that has a very shonen anime enemies/ rivals sort of feeling

this is the correct dialogue option to increase his hearts btw!! he is, as usual, unfazed & all smiles that you’re talking to him. the other option is just telling him “go home”.

[chuluoyi]

✎ rivals... in love?

- gojo satoru x reader

gojo is in shambles—so suguru might have a crush on you too?

genre: high school!gojo being a menace but pls spare him he just can't take losing, you see... crack, totally jealous!gojo, justice for geto, enemies to lovers, fluff

note: people have been asking for this so this is up next! i'm writing this while listening to bigbang's bang bang bang and fantastic baby so if gojo is a bit unhinged... you know why

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

No way. There is just no way.

Satoru felt his eyes itch and twitch uncomfortably. Despite the opaque black tint of his sunglasses, he could still distinctly see you happily giggling.

“Geto-san, that’s so funny!”

With Suguru. His ride or die. Your massive crush.

Your crisp laughter rang in his ears, scorching his ego and igniting it in flames—that was precisely the reaction he had hoped to receive from you too!

"Aren't they just cute?" Yaga was suddenly beside him with a wistful smile, looking at you and his other student a few feet away. "What do the television say again... a perfect match? In this case, a perfect match made in jujutsu school, then."

And responding to your bubbly self, creating the very picture of perfect match made in jujutsu school indeed, Suguru was every bit as enthusiastic. “Nah, wait until you see this—”

"Perfect match my ass," Satoru grumbled outwardly, rolling his eyes, but he immediately dashed away before his teacher could bonk him in the head for cussing.

It was harmless conversation, or jokes, or whatever. Because Suguru couldn't possibly reciprocate your feelings. His type is women of gravure magazines—Satoru had deemed it as such.

…Right?

At this point, he wasn't in enough denial to say that he didn't like you, because he had made it so clear that he was, in fact, obsessed. He wasn’t shying away from the things he did, which included annoying you constantly, asking you out after school, helping you in missions, and sending you few pick up lines here and there.

And he thought he was certain he could whisk you off your feet. After all, who else could measure up to him and win?

Heh, no one.

(or basically that's just him ignoring the intrusive little voice in his mind that whispered, “Suguru!”)

“So what's with the nice act, huh?” Satoru blew his bangs in a huff as he questioned his best friend with a twinge of dissatisfaction. “Do you like her or something?”

Suguru quirked his eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. I have noticed how you two have been joined at the hip lately,” and with deliberate intention to spite his best friend, he made the sourest face as he mockingly recited, “Wait till you see this~”

Instantly realizing what he meant, Suguru burst into a loud snicker. “Come on, Satoru, really? Surely you aren't that petty. We were just chatting—”

“Not that. I know. What I'm asking now is that do you like her or not?”

It wasn't a rare sight to see Satoru with a pout and a frown, and usually he'd humor him. But this time, even Suguru could see that there was something different in the way he asked this. And should he say something that irked him then—

“Heh, so what if I am?”

That's the wrong answer.

Satoru halted abruptly, whipping his head around in sheer shock. "What the heck?"

“She’s a nice junior, kind, easy on the eyes,” Suguru shrugged, flashing him a dauntless smile. “Only a fool would let the chance pass up. Satoru, if you keep dawdling, one of these days, I just might—”

“Wha—hey!? That’s totally foul—!”

“Nah, they do say all is fair in love and war now, isn’t it?”

By a mind-boggling twist of events, apparently his best friend was also a guy after his dream girl. Satoru was irked, challenged, and he would never admit it, but a tiny part of him recoiled because Suguru clearly had an early start and a boost—you favored him first.

This was unexpected, and now he was conjuring up various scenarios of what he should do. He must act fast or else...

Little did he know that Suguru was thoroughly relishing his restlessness.

Everyone around you said that your relationship with Gojo Satoru... is intriguing to say the least. And especially ever since that one botched mission you two went, you also felt there was a shift in your dynamics.

And if by intriguing they mean him constantly blocking your way and invading your space, then yes, it definitely is.

"Okay, okay, but wait, just hear me out!"

You halted your steps and faced him with an annoyed frown. You really had no time for this. You were about to be sent on a mission. "Gojo, really, can't you just—"

"Okay, I know he's dashing, or whatever," he huffed, the last word he said with a hint of disdain. "But hear me out, and I'm sure you'll reconsider."

"Who are you talki—"

"Who else!? Suguru, of course!"

You couldn't possibly arch your eyebrow even higher, and before you could say anything, he somehow took it as his cue to keep going.

“First, he eats curses. Cursed spirits! He eats them like rice balls! Can you imagine just how foul the taste is?”

"Gojo, I don't have the time—"

"Then! Going from that, just imagine kissing him," he stressed, eyeing you intensely as your own eyes felt like popping out by the sheer suggestion. "What if you taste the cursed spirits rice ball?"

"You're unbeliev—"

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"He's your best friend!" you finally interjected, obviously and utterly in shock by his unhinged rambling. "How could you say all of that?"

"No, you're getting me wrong." Satoru's clicked his tongue. "I'm just listing facts why it's better for you not to end up with him."

You barked a dry laugh. "And? Better with you, you mean? That's awfully biased."

"Why yes of course! Self-promo is never bad," he blatantly retorted. "Let me just tell you aallll you need to know about me!"

He audibly cracked his knuckles and puffed out his chest. "You know already, I'm strong. I can protect you well. My cursed technique doesn't involve eating curses, so you don't have to worry about tasting the said curses on my lips."

How could he blurt all of this with that perpetually playful expression? A chuckle escaped you unwittingly and that only spurred him to go on.

"And I'm handsome!" he boldly claimed, pointing at his face with pride. "And obviously I don't need to say this, but I'm filthy rich—"

At that, you burst into hearty laughter, unable to hold it in any longer.

Satoru's eyes sparkled, lit as if someone had just made his day. "All in all, you know what I mean. Everything with me, all of it is going to be fantastic!"

Even you couldn't deny that all of this exchange had been so amusing. Hilariously so. "You're down bad, huh?" you tried to taunt, although it seemed like a burst of snicker. Yet, you were caught off-guard when he said:

"For you?" his little smirk made your insides suddenly all jumbled up. "Yes."

Huh? What is this? Your bravado faltered a bit as your heart did a somersault inside.

It wasn't supposed to thump this hard. You weren't supposed to feel this overwhelming urge to squeal too. And your face wasn't supposed to grow this hot...

Seeing that, Satoru celebrated his little win, a wicked smile on his glistening lips—that somehow looked rather attractive to you now. "How? Thinking twice now, are we?"

But he couldn't believe that after all this, you would still cunningly retort with, "Ha! You wish, Gojo Satoru."

His stunned face was so comical that you chuckled once again. You wanted to rebuff him more, but before you could, Haibara's voice called you from a distance. "Heeey! Let's go! Or we're gonna be late!"

"I suppose that's my cue," you lightly shrugged, and before you left him in a dust, you could've sworn you saw a flicker of brewing tantrum behind those glasses, which brought a smirk on your face. "See ya, try harder, and I might look at your way."

Satoru was at his wit's end as he saw you sauntering away. What more that he could do so that you could be his? To keep your eyes on him and him only?

And yet, little did he know, in that beginning of summer in 2006, even before you realized it yourself, you had already did.

Epilogue

In another corner of the school, eagerly spying on you were...

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"Did he just..." Suguru gaped, utterly in disbelief at what his own best friend said of him. "Did he just say that?"

Shoko let out a satisfied guffaw. "Oh, he definitely did."

"I can't believe he's tarnishing my name over a girl."

"Well, you know very well he could do way worse than that just to get what he wants," she threw him a thin smile, while exhaling a puff of smoke. "And hey, you lose. You gotta pay me."

Suguru turned to her in surprise. "Huh? Oh—oh, darn it. Shoko, can't you be less stingy?"

"Well, whose bright idea was it to pull that stunt on him and bet on whether Gojo would approach her in less than a day?"

-> continue to extended cut !

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[dimepdf]

★  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches. 

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed. 

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet. 

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had. 

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs. 

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me." 

Your brows creased together in confusion. 

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game. 

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy. 

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips. 

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax. 

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you. 

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

tap here to be added to taglist.

[chuusheartattck]

THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

(Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s song Espresso!)

(Everyone is at least 18+)

Pairing: Actor!Scaramouche x Gnidol!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, celeb au, crack, angst if you squint, slow burn

Warnings: Lots of swearing, alcohol, smoking, bullying, kms/kys jokes, crude jokes, any pictures used aren’t meant to represent y/n in any way

Status: Ongoing (June 27 2024)

Taglist: Open lmk to be added

☕️= Written

A/n: Hi!! This is my first smau ever and first post on this account! I’ve been reading them a lot n decided I want to write one myself. This will be around 40 chapters so be prepared for how long it is. If you have any tips lmk as I’m also new to tumblr! :)

Profiles: ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ II ‘Inazuma Entertainment’

Prologue: New celeb has entered the chat!

Act I: I’m working late, cause I’m a singer

01- Espresso , 02- Excuse me? , 03- FBGM , 04- Don’t get too drunk!, 05- Party O’ Clock ☕️ ,

06- Apologies ☕️ , 07- Hell no , 08- Absolutely not , 09- Investigations , 10- New player ,

Act II: Oh he looks so cute, wrapped around my finger

11- Rumors , 12- Opp central , 13- Ik the law baby ☕️ , 14- Redemption arc? , 15- Down the drain ,

16- Scandal , 17- Choose your pokémon! , 18- Feeling lucky ☕️ , 19- TCAS , 20- Shambles ☕️ ,

Act III: My twisted humor, make him laugh so often

21- Jealously jealousy , 22- Two can play at that game , 23- Get him back! , 24- Bittersweet date , 25- Revealed ,

26- Nobody knows ☕️ , 27- IFHY , 28- Ultimatum , 29- 10k hours , 30- It’s whatever ☕️ ,

Act IV: My honey bee, come and get this pollen

31- No regrets , 32- Flashback mary ☕️ , 33- Get up , 34- You ight ☕️ , 35- Not so bad ,

36- Short n’ spicy , 37- Dress to impress , 38- Please please please , 39- Fire? Flames! , 40- 10 things i hate about you ☕️

[bowlofsoob]

🎤 thank you, next

social media smau | choi soobin x gender neutral reader

synopsis › in a universe where you and your soulmate swap bodies on your twenty-first birthday and every birthday after that. world renowned soloist soobin is set to have a concert on the day of your guys’ shared birthday, a firm believer he doesn’t have a soulmate and wants nothing to do with them. you, a college student who hasn’t listened to a single one of his songs, swap bodies with him on the day of your final exam and his big concert. you’re now under the public eye for ruining his career and soobin has to deal with your wrath since he failed your exams. he must also process the fact that he does in fact have a soulmate, one he couldn’t care less about.

genre › soulmate au, strangers to enemies to lovers, idol and college setting, crack and slight angst

warnings › swearing, alcohol consumption, ignore timestamps

status ongoing, no update schedule (update: hiatus!!)

taglist comment below to be added, asks will be ignored

playlist

NOW PLAYING!

featuring…

↳ yn and locals ⚘ soobin and friends

TRACK ONE: blow out the candles!

01. ticketmaster is evil

02. freaky friday dupe

03. pr team in shambles

04. awkward fancalls

05. go ahead and log out for me

06. his dick kinda big

07. pls don’t yell at me i will cry

08. tba

tba

TRACK TWO: are we 4lyfers ?!

09. pass or fail

10. am i dying alone /srs

11. mom i’m famous

12. breathe if you want me

13. hide and seek

14. left on delivered

TRACK THREE: this song is about you!

15. this one’s for you babe

16. crowd surfing

tba

ENCORE!

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon : When They Come Back

✧˚ Ghost, Keegan, Soap, König, Phillip Graves

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Fluff for you suckers -hope you enjoy the word vomit ;(

Working under constant danger put a strain on them, at moments when it seemed like the world was nothing but shambles and havoc they’d close their eyes and remember what brought them warmth. There was a certain feeling they yearned for and were only satisfied when you were near.

There is something special in knowing someone is waiting for you.

Ghost

This man comes back completely drained; physically, mentally, emotionally…

At first, he was hesitant concerning your worry about him

“If you won’t let me take care of you, who will?”

Might be a little distant at first, it takes time for his mind to come back

No going out, at all

You say comforting phrases to him

“You’re not at war anymore, you can come home”

He’s been through a lot, a warm meal and hugs are all he needs for days afterward :(

It takes some time for him to recharge

When he feels better he lets you know much he appreciates everything you do for him

Takes time to admire you; he silently takes in your facial features

Affectionate gazes that flicker between your eyes and lips

He knows you aren’t obliged to it yet you make an effort for him and that makes him feel like he’s earned a much better reward than money or glory could give him

Keegan

Saying this man missed you is an understatement

It’s like you placed a spell on him the moment he met you

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t want to be a moment away from you

He’ll miss you in silence, won’t send letters or texts or anything knowing it’ll make his heart ache more

But when he walks through the door he falls to kissing you

Bites your lip just for the taste of you on his tongue

His lips leave yours for breaks in between intense kisses to whisper “I love you”

He feels empty without the intimacy and closeness of you

He doesn’t care what you do or don’t say, doesn’t expect anything big either, he just wants to see you with your arms open for him

Soap

No matter how bad it was this time, he always comes back with a smile on his face when you open the door

Even behind that loving smile, you catch the subtle dimness in his eyes

Peppers you with kisses all over your face

Extremely clingy

Needs to be reminded that the world can be kind and gentle

Needs you to dote excessively over him

You give him a shoulder massage as he washes up in the bathtub

Convinces you to join him

Afterward, you crawl into bed with him, cradling his head on your lap

Both of you turn into couch potatoes for a couple of days watching cozy films

König

Keeping up a stoic demeanor can be tiring, so he easily drops the poker face as soon as he buries his face into your neck

No matter how much prying you do, you won’t get him to open up about what disturbs him

He’d rather keep those horrors locked away from you, you’re his most cherished possession

A lot of quiet moments where he’s just content to be with you again

Little is said between you as tender and passionate kisses are exchanged

Don’t think he’ll leave your side for the next few days, you’re attached at the hip

As you trace the scars on his back to his shoulders, you feel his body tremble beneath your fingertips

Your touch is addictive to him; soothing him into a tranquil sleep

Phillip Graves

He’s had to deal with a lot of crap so he’s relieved to finally come back to some peace, and most importantly; you

At first, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with issues that aren’t yours, but as your relationship progressed he started opening up more

Oftentimes, he’s in an irritable mood when he comes back

You listen to him rant if that’s what he needs

Other times it gives him too much of a headache to even think about

He adores you for understanding him without words being spoken

With so many enemies he has, he feels undeserving of you, someone who’s like a warm ray of sunshine in his austere life

When he falls silent you know that’s your cue

A sort of haze entrances him as you trail soft, torturous kisses along his jaw

Your scent obscures his mind as he gets drunk on your affection

He can’t even remember what he was mad about

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Law accidentally hurting you with ‘shambles’…

It was an accident.

Law was focused on the bounty hunter, determined to put the man in his place after the hunter had launched a surprise attack on his crew.

Law knew that there was no better opportunity to do so while his Heart Pirates kept the rest of the attackers at bay.

What he didn’t know was that you had broken away from the fight to find him.

…not until it was too late.

Law had the enemy pinned inside a blue dome. Cockiness exuded as Law also summoned the ruins of a stone and wood house that sat abandoned on the edge of the shore. He had it poised above the head of the trapped man.

The bounty hunter hardened his resolve and lunged forward to escape the bubble and swipe at the Heart Pirate.

But Law was faster. “Shambles.”

The house disappeared. The bounty hunter disappeared. Your wide eyes met his before, they too, disappeared.

No… how had he not seen you? Why were you even here?

Rushing over to the edge, Law’s hands gripped the rails lest he accidentally launch himself over. He saw the field in the distance where the teleport had taken place. He saw the debris and a dark figure underneath. But as he watched gravity bring the wood splinters to earth, he recognised that the dark figure was in fact comprised of two bodies before they were swallowed by the house.

A scream ripped through Law’s throat and he wasted no more time. He hurled himself over the barrier, airborne for a few moments before his feet found purchase on the hard ground. Then he sprinted - heart in his throat, fear replacing his blood as it pulsed in his ears.

What had he done?

Every speeding step forward felt agonisingly slow but he pushed through until he reached the damaged field. Had he been thinking straight, Law would have done a scan of the area and found you. But he was hardly thinking (or breathing) when his fears won out and he cast his sword aside. Then, like a madman, Law clawed at the broken wood and shattered glass desperate to find you.

A minute passed. Then two. Then five. Each second passing with dread and attacking what small shred of hope he held onto.

He screamed for you, begging that it would rouse you enough to make a sound but he was met with silence.

Law grabbed a thick wooden plank and raised it carefully, blood-stained glass rolling off its edges like a hellish waterfall. That’s when his eyes caught a familiar fabric. It was the hem of your pants. The one he grew to admire over the course of your stay on the Polar Tang.

With a harsh movement, Law tossed the beam away revealing a small space in the mess. It should have relieved him now that he had found you - but it didn’t.

Your body was littered in scrapes and blooming bruises but, worst of all, you had been pierced by thin metal bar in your thigh.

Law crossed the space carefully. He bent down and touched your face, moving away the loose bits of glass. He expected your skin to be as cold as death but there was a warmth… better yet, there was a pulse and faint, haggard breaths.

He hadn’t killed you.

The relief that he felt escaped his body in a sob. Looking around wildly, Law needed something sharp to cut around the pole so he could get you out. His sword was somewhere at the top of this mess but he refused to leave your side.

And as if by a miracle, a large polar-bear shaped shadow appeared holding the very blade he had been in need for.

Bepo tossed him the sword and Law made two decisive slashes against the metal which effectively freed you from being pinned. Setting the sword down, he carefully threaded an arm under your knees and behind your back before lifting you as he stood. With slow steps, Law got you through the clearing onto safer lands. Bepo had been telling him about the crews success with the bounty hunters. The bear also expressed his regrets in being unable to stop you from rushing to aid Law mid-battle.

But it fell on mostly deaf ears. Law was only occupied with your health. He wanted to summon another room and teleport you to safety aboard the Polar Tang. But when he let the thought enter, his vision was clouded by your face and the few precious seconds of fear in your eyes when you knew it was too late to escape.

No. He wouldn’t let his powers hurt you.

Never again.

~ More imagines here ~ (for more One Piece)

A/n: Writing angst at 5am? Okay, brain.

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | teaser

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 465 for the teaser, overall wordcount tbd ➥ overall warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap (i hc reader to be late 20s but i tried to leave it vague enough), cowgirl position, biting, hair pulling, choking, squirting, teasing, pining, lipstick kink, breast/nipple play, masturbation (m), porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, coop's pov to start - rest of the fic will be in reader's, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | "We really s-shouldn't - oh fuck - be doing this." ➥ notes | here's a teaser for the fic i took a poll on, some people wanted more info 😊 coop is a big dick dilf fite me. feedback is always appreciated ❤️ lmk if you want to be tagged feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

Ugliest thing in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say.

It's not like being a Marine with a gun in hand, being told where to point and shoot, or an actor reading off a script. There's no guidebook, no crash course. These people aren't nameless threats coasts away or co-workers following a cue.

In fact, his 'enemies' aren't enemies at all.

They have names: Barb, so smart it hurts, and sweet little Janey, his very own North star. Sometimes looking at them rips open a hole in his chest that'll never close, edges jagged and sore. The phantoms of family, of happier times, found in the glint of a smile or a peal of laughter.

See, war's something he understands. Something he's good at.

But these domestic battlefields where he's gotta look his ex-wife in the face, and struggle to meet his daughter's eye? Barter this weekend and that holiday? To pay for the privilege of his child's presence (he does, he will, she's worth every goddamn cent he's ever made)?

To look down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman he loves staring back; he doesn't, can't, comprehend that. Because once upon a time, he was happy (with her) and life was sweeter than pie.

Now he's nothing but a washed up actor who struggles to land a call back let alone make his monthly alimonies. His marriage has failed, his reputation is in shambles, and his bank account is dryer than the Mojave.

Barb gets the house. He gets the dog.

And caught in the middle of it all is his little girl; the only thing he’s got left worth while. He wants to protect her, provide for her the way she deserves — only he seems to fall short every goddamn time.

The mistakes and missteps keep stacking up against him; such is his new life in all its raw, unglamorous glory.

Look how far the mighty fall.

Lucky for him — the first bright thing that's come his way in a long, long while — a sweet, young woman moves into the apartment next door. Of course, it isn't long before Janey takes a shine, always so friendly.

Thankfully, you're just as good with her.

It only makes sense you'd watch her when a gig runs late. Rustle up some grub and put her to bed whenever he slinks in through the door, stripped to the bone.

And if he takes himself in hand late at night, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress? Imagines the wide stretch of your lush mouth as you peer up at him from between his thighs when he cums hard?

Well, what you don't know won't hurt you.

After all, he promises to keep his hands to himself.

part 01 of full fic

[stravvberry-gal]

Thinking about... Sukuna being mean.

minors dni, you'll be blocked, nsfw under the cut.

Contains: gn!reader. true form kuna. sexual content. asphyxiation (sort of). blood. battlesexual freak sukuna<3

"Mean...", you choked out, following the word with a long, breathless whimper.

The King of Curses has been called many names. Cruel, malevolent, heartless, monstrous. But never mean. No, he wasn't mean, he was a calamity that could level the greatest cities and fight the mightiest warriors with a grin on his face and blood on his chin.

But right now, he was being just that, mean. Mean to your poor little body and mind, splitting both apart and crushing them into shambles. He currently had you in the meanest fucking chokehold, one of his four massive arms blocking off any air that could possibly enter your starved lungs. You challenged him, as you do every few days, even though you always got your ass handed to you and your insides thoroughly rearranged. Since his blood was still pumping from the spar, Sukuna couldn't help but take you in the chokehold be placed you in when he won the match, again.

"What are you saying, weak sorcerer? I can't hear you from up here!", he roars and laughs savagely, thrusting into you harder and squeezing his arm tighter. He loved the sight of you all broken, since it was a rare one.

You weren't weak by any means - you'd surely be a special grade by modern standards, but compared to Sukuna, everyone seemed powerless. You were a challenge, a battle in the bedroom, one he didn't always completely win - but today he sure did.

"Fuck- take it, take it, don't you dare disappoint me!"

He was lost in it.

If you could look behind, you'd see sweat beading on his beautiful face, all four of his eyes rolling back. You were truly his favourite delicacy. He wanted to devour you whole, raw, bit by bit. He leaned over your smaller body to bite into your shoulder, his sharp teeth drawing the tiniest hint of blood he eagerly licked up. The taste and sight made him feral, so he did it again and again, until you finally gave in and wailed in pain, clawing at his arm and drawing his blood in turn. He loved it, loved your strength, your push and your pull; it made savage images appear in his head, images of you covered in blood and carnage, ripping the throats of your enemies, perhaps even him one day. The thought made him groan and move with a newfound force, sending your bleeding body back and forth.

Back and forth. Back and forth. You felt dizzy, both of you. He was the one choking you, but he was just as out of breath as you were.

Back and forth. Maybe one day you will win.

[rizsu]

tartaglia post please............. my ginger princess.......... stop posting abt genshin and start writing.......... 😔

+ love, ‘su: smth smth tar-tar-taglia lover of snezhnayan queen ﾉ childe insists you like being called ‘doll’

“seriously, you’re fucking dead.”

“no, i’m fucking ajax—ouch!?”

a firm kick to his shin was all it took to shut him up. it’s to be expected that even a crazed battle man like him couldn’t resist the pain of heels. well, to be precise, being kicked by someone wearing heels.

you’re familiar with childe, much to your dismay. you’ve always gotten into squabbles with him when you two were younger. it’s extended to your adulthood. as if your fathers being the best of buds weren’t enough, they mistook your hate for the boy as young love. elder people and their beliefs will soon bring the nation into shambles.

“you must bully him because you like him, right sweetie?” your foolish father would tease you, nudging your mother’s arm.

childe also wasn’t free from the teasing. his younger sisters would often sing a song, suggesting romance between him and the girl he swore to believe is a man.

see, you two aren’t enemies, but you aren’t friends either. you both just happened to have a dislike for the other. if you were good at something, he’d be better. if he were good at something, you’d be better. to him, you’re like a roach that refuses to die. to you, he’s like a fly that won’t stop buzzing.

perhaps this is what both your families saw. you two were so similar that it caused rivalry. the fathers, however, saw this as an opportunity. what better way to connect the best of buds than to become in-laws? it’s a picture-perfect plan! a plan that didn’t require the consent of the two parties involved because they foresaw the fat “no.”

that is how you were left with him in a room alone. you’re not sure if you’re going crazy because of the annoyance, but you are pretty sure you heard a chair being dragged to lock the door from the outside.

you rushed home from an outing with friends due to an emergency call from your father. next time, you’ll remind yourself to not answer any of his calls. your outfit is now being wasted in the guest’s room.

“what?” raising an eyebrow, childe looked at you up and down, observing your appearance.

“oh, did you get dolled up for me? how sweet of you but i’m not— fuck.” he held his tongue, hissing at the pain of yet another kick.

“i did not get “dolled up” for you, okay? don’t be an asshole,” you spat, crossing your arms.

childe laughed the pain off, stretching his arms as he turned his back to you, walking to the lovely bed your mother prepared for him.

once he got comfortable, he turned on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

“you can stand there if you want, or join me.” patting the space beside him, he teased you. childe’s aware of how annoying heels can be to stand in. he has sisters and a mother — he never hears the end of it.

unfortunately for you, your pride bested you. you held your head high, refusing to lay on the same bed as him.

...unfortunately for you, childe’s also an asshole that can turn people’s words and their meanings around.

“so you’re standing there because you don’t want to ruin your outfit? my, you really got dolled up for me.”

hook, line, and sinker. you took the bait. thanks to his provoking, you kicked the heels off, practically stomping to the bed. you laid on your back, keeping your arms folded across your chest.

“hi, doll.” a sickening voice laced with honey spoke.

“fuck off.” a fitting response.

“no. i don’t want to.”

however, childe will always be childe. he cannot “fuck off” because you want him to. he will continue to fuck on and bear the consequences later.

“but if i fuck off, who’s gonna see you dolled up again? how cruel, doll,” he faked a cry, wiping the invisible tears.

“stop calling me that!” you ordered, furrowing your eyebrows at the nickname.

“haha, no.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you closed your eyes. maybe some sleep will help.

or maybe not.

bold of you to think you of all people can get even a minute’s rest when he's around. he’s not childe if he doesn’t extend an arm to poke your cheek — multiple times.

you refused to yield, so he carried on. since the poking won’t work, he fiddled with your earrings.

that, too, didn’t work. he’s running out of things to do with his hand. perhaps it’s time to up his game.

shuffling closer to you, he leaned in to your ear, readying himself to whisper nonsense to disrupt your so-called slumber.

“psst, i’m gonna tell everyone you like being called doll.”

“don’t you fucking dare.” your eyes shot open immediately, looking at the perpetrator with disgust.

“look at that, you woke up!” he cheered, smiling at you. “my, my. you really do like being called doll…”

you took a slow blink, coming to the realisation that he’s going to do whatever he wants. whether it’s calling you “doll” or becoming the bane of your existence.

[oceantornadoo]

a ghost lives

price came to your door and told you simon was killed in action. three months later, who's that at your door step?

angsty but turns smutty. happy ending dw :)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“no.”

you slammed the door, hands shaking. “no, no, no. it’s not possible.” your shaking hands raised to your cheeks, clawing. tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. the door opened, a dark figure walking through it. you flinched, taking steps backwards until your back hit the wall. you kept shaking your head, murmuring “no, no, no” without sound. you slid down the wall, staring at the man in front of you.

simon was in shambles. the moment he was medically cleared he had jumped on the next plane home, not bothering to tell anyone. he needed to see you, to hold everything he held dear, to believe in good again. and instead of a warm welcome, instead of your customary jump and kiss, you were breaking down. he didn’t understand it. what did he do wrong?

“love? it’s me. i’m home.” he said almost stupidly, unsure of his next move. he closed the door and locked it, and you flinched again. you were sitting on the floor now, tears running down your face with your head in your hands. he set his bag down gently, not wanting to spook you. he ripped off his mask and gloves, tucking them away. you gasped, finally making eye contact.

“you’re not real. you died. my husband died three months ago. you’re in my imagination. please, just go away.” you pleaded, prayed. price had come to your doorstep three months ago, hat in his hands, tears in his eyes. he talked about a difficult enemy and unfair terrain. the only word you heard was “k.i.a.” you died that day, and had been a breathing ghost ever since.

simon was in shock. he had left the hospital so quickly that he had never talked to his unit, didn’t know what they told you. he dropped to his knees, your pain flowing through him tenfold. “i didn’t die, love. i was just lost. i survived for two months in the woods until they found me. i was so badly injured i had to be treated by foreign operatives. price doesn’t even know, i thought they told him. i’m so sorry. i am so, so sorry. i’m here.” you shook your head at his every word. your nightmares were terrifying, but this was the worst one yet. you had never hallucinated in broad daylight. his familiar scent of musk and that cologne you bought him last christmas wafted through the air, punishing you. 

“i don’t believe you. you’re not real. i buried you.” you couldn’t afford to hope. the last months had been about survival, and you had just started eating regularly without bursting into tears, imagining simon cooking his famous meat pie in your kitchen. “casket was empty, lovie. i’m going to touch you now. i need you to know i’m here.” he reached his hand out slowly, like he was approaching a feral cat. you flinched again, breaking another piece of his heart and burying it like that empty casket. his fingertips brushed your cheek and your mouth dropped, tears stopping. 

“si? tell me this is real. convince me.” he maneuvered over until his knees touched yours, bringing you down to earth. you couldn’t believe him. your ghost was alive. there was no way. maybe you had too many melatonin gummies last night.

“look, dove.” he pulled up his shirt, showing you new scars. you had his scars memorized, mapped down to the millimeter, and you would never dream of him being hurt more. he showed you his bandages, moving your fingers over the wrapped bullet hole. he grimaced and you gasped. you would never wish for simon to be in pain, so the fact that he was meant…

you flung yourself at him, shedding new tears. “you’re here, you’re really here. you’re alive.” he nodded against your shoulder. you hear a small meow and drew your head back, looking at riley jr., your ball of fur. she padded over softly and nuzzled her head against simon’s knee, drawing a short laugh from him as he scratched behind her ears. through all of your nightmares, riley jr. had never acknowledged your ghosts. which meant simon was real. which meant he was alive. 

“i’m here.” he kissed your forehead, brushing back your hair. “i’m here.” he kissed between your eyebrows, smoothing the creases there. “i’m alive.” he kissed your tears away, drying your face. “i’m never leaving, dove.” he kissed your nose, finally drawing a small smile out of your. “i’m home.” he kissed your lips, and you kissed back fervently. your husband was home and alive and here. “simon, i’ve missed you. you have no idea. i died that day. i’ve been waiting to join you ever since.” he shook his head as tears rolled down his face. “be ready to wait another 70 years, love. we’re alive.” you tackled him again, pushing him down on the ground. you kissed him with the passion that had been gone for the last three months, cracked and dried out inside you. you climbed on top of him, needing to feel him, needing to believe. 

you grinded your hips against his, drawing out a low moan. “let me inside. let me show you i’m alive.” he said, still not convinced you believed him. you nodded, overcome with love for the man beneath you. he rubbed his palm against your clit, rocking you as you kissed. you hadn’t even thought of sex in the last three months, and it had somehow built up to this. you were instantly wet, always ready for your simon. you felt his hardness underneath you as he bucked his hips. you unzipped his pants, taking him out, long and heavy in your hands. he pulled aside your shorts and you sunk down on him with a low moan. “my husband. my simon. you’re alive.” you finally, truly believed it. he bucked into you, the friction of his clothes stimulating your clit. “my wife and her beautiful cunt, sucking me in. look at you.” there were dried tears on your face, sweaty clothes clung to your body, and your cunt squelched with every thrust. you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. you were so pretty, even when you cried. 

he flipped you both over, fucking into you hard on the floor. his hand wrapped around your head, protecting it from bumping. “i’m back because no one could ever fuck you like this. no one as good as me. say it.” he ordered, needing reassurance. “no one as good as you, si. no one will ever be you.” you moaned, your orgasm building up, with something behind it. he sucked your neck and pinched your nipples, reminding your body of how good it felt to be owned by him. “come on, dove. come for me.” you felt so wet and achy, your emotions out of control. his voice was the only thing keeping you conscious. you felt stuffed, full of your husband. “come on, my dirty girl. let me fill you up. my welcome home gift.” you gasped as you came, a tingling sensation following it. you looked down as you squirted on simon’s cock, so overwhelmed. he came, the juices mixing, trailing down your holes. “gonna give you a baby so you won’t ever leave. we’re never leaving each other, yeah?” he grasped your hair and pulled you in for a kiss.

“never, simon. i’m yours.”

[despacito-uwu16]

The Falling Action

Kenji Sato x Journalist! Reader

Enemies To Lovers | Foced Proximity | Pining

A/N: Thus chapter is a tad angsty. Also, the plot line from the film slightly changed, so in this case his dad doesn’t make an appearance in this series”.

<- prev next ->

That night, you were talking false prophets and profits they make in the margins of poetry sonnets. You never read up on it, shame could've learned something.

Us by Gracie Abrams ft Taylor Swift

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

You were at the library studying for your journalism exam next week. With the editor finally taking you seriously and letting you cover more games, and finals coming up, you were stressed out.

While reviewing your notes, you felt the table slightly shake, along with the sound of something slammed onto the table. You look up to see an angry Kenji Sato looking down at you. You took your headphones off and looked at him up and down.

“Can I help you”? You deadpanned.

“What the fuck is this”? He point at the paper that he slammed on the table.

“Kenji Sato, the next irrelevance in baseball”

“My truth”?

“It’s just one game Y/N, ONE. FUCKING. GAME”! He slams his fist on the table, unfazing you.

“So? I report what I see”.

“Do you realize what this does to my career? My status on the team is on the line, my reputation, is about to be in shambles. Nobody is gonna sign me because of you”! Kenji raised his voice to the point where he was grabbing the attention of everyone around the two of you.

“If you don’t like what you see, you should try harder next time”. you retorted.

He lets out a laugh. “You know, I don’t even know why I came here in the first place. Considering the person who wrote this knows how to sleep her way through a sports team”.

You stood up angrily, slamming your hands onto the table.

“I work to get what I want. Between the two of us, I don’t sleep with other people just to increase a body count”.

“At least I have natural talent”

“At least I don’t talk shit about another girl to their roommate while she watches”.

Ken stood there in silence. Everyone was staring at the two of you. A couple of bystanders were whispering to each other and side eyeing you.

“Now if you excuse me, some of us are trying to survive finals week”. You sat back down and put your headphones back on, turning up the volume of your music.

Kenji growled, snatching the paper off the table and walking away. But then he turns back to you.

“I’ll show you. Just wait and see. I’ll become the greatest living player! Then we’ll see who the irrelevant one is”.

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that”.

~

Your faced turned white as a ghost as you come face to face with a baby kaiju. You wanted to run, but your feet were glued to the floor, and your knees locked itself.

“Y/N? I can explain”. You hear Kenji say.

He tried to calm you down, but you tuned him out and you still stood there in fear while the Kaiju chirps happily at you.

“W-W-Why is there a kaiju in your basement”? You whisper.

The Kaiju approaches you slowly, curious about the tiny person in front of her.

“Please don’t eat me”. You cried.

“It’s okay, she’s harmless”. He reassures you.

You slowly approach the kaiju, hesitant to touch her. She crouched down to your level, consenting for you to pat her head. You gently pat her head, making her chirp. You and Kenji smile as she clapped and jumped happily.

~

“Why did you go down to the basement when I told you not to”? He interrogated you while you sipped on your coffee.

“The more important question here is why are you keeping a kaiju in your basement”? You gestured to the baby pink lizard that’s now sleeping in the containment tube. Kenji sighs, running his hands through his hair. You slowly turn to him, the realization hitting you.

“Holy shit”.

Kenji didn’t look at you.

“HOLY SHIT”

“Theres a lot more to it than you think. But promise me you won’t tell anybody about this”. He pleaded.

You sat up straight. You took your phone out of your pocket and you shut it off right in front of him. You then put it down on the table.

“You have my word”.

He goes on to explain what’s been going on the past few months. He tells you about taking his father’s place as Ultraman, which explains the excess damage in the city. He also tells you how he rescued the baby kaiju from the KDF and how he’s been trying to raise her alone.

“So the reason why you’ve been off your game lately is because you were taking care of the baby”? You ask.

“Yeah. It’s part of being Ultraman I guess”. He shrugged.

“That explains a lot of things”. The room fell silent for a moment before Kenji spoke up.

“You’re not going to add this to your article are you”? He worries.

“Ken, I’m not that inhumane. I promise you, I won’t tell anyone”. You said.

“Thank you”. Kenji sighs in relief.

“Does she have a name”?

“No, her name is just baby”.

“You’ve been taking care of a baby kaiju for two months, and you haven’t thought about giving her a name”?

“Well, I don’t see you giving me ideas”.

You sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head.

“I really am trying my best. With baseball, with raising “baby”, with everything. I want people to know that I want to be the best player and the best hero, but it’s hard when you really can’t tell anyone. It just feels so”…

“Isolating”?

“Yeah, also, the KDF is on my ass and well, my dad isn’t really around, so”..

You look at him with pity. Kenji was looking down at the ground, not knowing how to handle anything anymore. You scoot next to him and take his hand.

“Y’know, you don’t have to do this alone. If you need help, then I can step in. As much as I like seeing you suffer, I don’t want you to suffer.”

Kenji’s eyes widened. “Wow, you actually do care”. He said in disbelief. You roll your eyes. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll look over her”.

“You sure, I mean she’s kind of”-

“Good night Kenji”. You say, picking up a magazine and putting your legs on the table.

Kenji stared at you in bewilderment. He feared the day that you would find out and expose him in the tabloids. But to his surprise, you were more accepting, more human. He left the basement feeling much calmer, knowing that you’re ready to show up for him.

~

For the past 3 weeks, you kept your promises and helped Kenji take care of the baby kaiju (that you both named Emi) while he juggles his baseball career and his Ultraman duties.

While he caught up on sleep, you fed Emi her late night snacks and read her bed time stories.

While he was out, you cooked him healthy meals and prepare some heating packs incase he comes home with sore muscles. Everytime Kenji comes home in the evening, he would always look forward to the food that’s on the table. Whenever you weren’t busy with your job, he would ask you to have dinner with him. During those times, you guys would have a casual conversation. No forced interviews, no bickering or throwing insults. When it came to the interviews, he started to become more vulnerable. The exchange didn’t feel forced, and he became more genuine with you. What felt like a hundred year feud came to a close, and the two of you started to become friends.

You’ve noticed a huge change in Ken. He became a leader for his team, and a better hero for the city. Whenever the two of you bond, he showed off his softer side, a side you’ve grown to love.

Ken was very grateful for you. Although he hasn’t showed it, he’s glad to have you around. It made him smile whenever he sees you and Emi bonding. There was something about you that made his heart beat skip a beat. The way you would laugh at his attempts to make an actual joke during the interview session. Or the way you would passionately talking about the games you’ve been to when you went abroad.

The two of you know that your time with Ken is short lived. But deep down, Ken doesn’t know what he would do when you leave.

~

Kenji walked into the basement to find you sitting couch typing away on your laptop while looking after a sleeping Emi. It warmed Kenji’s heart that you were so accepting of Emi and everything else that has been going on.

You look up from your laptop and smile. “I’ve finished the revisions. Wanna take a look”? You give him your laptop. Kenji takes it from you and skims it.

“Inside Ken Sato’s Space”

Kenji skims each paragraph while quickly scrolling down, stopping at the last paragraph.

“What we all thought was an arrogant athlete, turns out to be a guy with a misunderstood, soft heart. Ken Sato has grown up, not only as an athlete, but as a human being. His newfound maturity has led to the giants to win after win. His leadership and confidence has not only impacted everyone on and off the field, but also in himself. His attitude continues to impact the Giants as they head to the championship game”.

“It’s perfect”. He smiled, handing your laptop back.

You scroll to the top of the page and hovered over the post now button.

“And posted”! You said as you closed your laptop. Kenji looks at you with so much admiration.

“What, you think it’s too cheesy”? You tease. Kenji laughs.

“No, no. I just… I never got to say thank you. For helping me with Emi, and for not taking a chance on me”.

“You don’t have to thank me. Emi is the sweetest”. You say as you filed your documents into a folder.

“Anyways, I was just thinking, I should take you out for dinner. As a thank you for tolerating for the past 2 months”.

“As much as I love being treated to a 5 star michelin restaurant, I think I know a better way to celebrate”.

~

You flipped the grilled cheese on the pan and turned off the stove. But before you could put it on the plate, Kenji takes it from the pan and takes a bite.

“Ah hot”! He yelps. You laughed at him as he throws the grilled cheese onto the porcelain plate.

“You really don’t learn from your mistakes”. You laugh.

“Hey, I’m just hungry”. He pouts.

You notice the crumbs at the corner of Kenji’s mouth and gently brushes it off. Kenji leans into your touch as he stares into your (e/c) eyes. Your breath hitched as his face inches closer to you. Your heart beats faster, waiting for him to make a move. But before you both could do anything, his watch started beeping. He looks down to see live camera footage of Emi, now awake from her nap.

“I should go check on her”. He says.

“I’ll wash the dishes”. You said, starting to grab the pan and knife from the stove.

~

You were putting the clean dishes onto the dish rack when you hear your phone ringing in the living room. You walked up to grab it, and when you turned it over, the adrenaline rushes through your body when you realize your boss was calling.

“Hi Daryl”. You immediately answer

“Y/N, have you checked your article? Your boss asks.

“Why, is there something wrong with it”? You ask.

“Just look at it”. Daryl demanded.

You looked at the website where your article was published, and your eyes widened.

900 K likes; 750 comments

“It hasn’t been 24 hours”.

“Well, believe it. Cause you did that Y/N. The company has been getting a lot of new subscribers for the sports page. Which leads me to another thing, my supervisor loves your work so much, that they want you to work a 2 year residency at the Norwegian office.

“Wait, Norway”?

“Yes, Y/N. Consider it a promotion. You definitely deserve it”. Daryl says.

You almost jumped for joy. It’s always been your dream to work in Norway. That’s where all of the best soccer and volleyball teams are. You managed to contain yourself before you freak out the whole house.

“You’re expected to start next month, until then, keep up the good work”. He says.

“Thank you, I promise I won’t let you down”. You say before Daryl hangs up.

You began to jump up and down and squealed with excitement. You’re finally getting the life you wanted, and there was nothing holding you back.

“Who was that”? You turn to see Kenji walking out of the elevator.

“That was my boss, Daryl”.

“Was there something wrong with the article”? Kenji asks.

“No, in fact, look how much reception it got”! You showed him the article on your phone. His eyes widened with the

“Wow, that is a lot of likes”. His eyes widened.

“I know, and it’s been only five hours”! You smiled ear to ear. “And the best part is, I’m offered a 2 year residency in Norway”!

“So you’re leaving again”?

“Well, yeah”.

Kenji’s smile faded. He was so used to having you here, but now you’re leaving again. To him, it felt like college all over again.

“Kenji”? He looks up at you.

“Are you okay”?

Kenji gives you a small smile. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Y/N”.

You smiled back at him. “Thank you, Kenji”.

What you thought was a happy moment turned cold and distant during your final week with Kenji.

He would go out at night, and wouldn’t come back until early morning, blaming it on “ultraman duty”.

Whenever you tried to talk to him, he would either give you a short response or just not respond at all. And every time you walk in a room, Kenji would just leave.

One day, you were at the dining table, finalizing paperwork for Milan while eating some maple & brown sugar oatmeal. Kenji walked in the kitchen, not realizing you were there.

“Kenji”?

He didn’t look at you as he walked up to the fridge.

“I made some oatmeal. Do you want some”?

He grabbed his energy drink from the fridge and walked out of the kitchen. You got up and walked after him. You caught up with him, and blocked his path.

“Okay, what is going on with you? You’ve been straight up ignoring me for the last few days. What’s going on with you”?

“Nothing, Y/N”. Kenji begins to walk away. But you push him back.

“Kenji, please. Whatever I did wrong, please, just tell me”.

“What’s bothering me is that you’re leaving, again”.

“What are you talking about”?

“You have everything you wanted. You got everything right here. You don’t need Norway to prove a point”.

“This is MY career, Kenji. My life. I’ve built my whole life on my work, and I’m not letting you get in my way”.

“So I’m just another stepping stone for you huh”? He scoffs. “If only your college self could see you now”. He says with sarcasm.

Your eyes widened. “Wow, and here I thought you finally grew up”. You folded your arms”. “You’re so shallow”.

“And you’re just a pain in my ass”. Kenji retorts.

There was silence between the two of you. What you thought was a progressing friendship was now destroyed, pushing you both back to square one.

“This was a mistake. You should’ve left when you got the chance”. Kenji mutters

“And then what? If I did leave, were you going to blackmail me again”?

He looks up at you, meeting your (eye color) eyes. You stared him down with anger and disgust.

“For all I care, you can expose me whenever the fuck you want. I don’t care what people think of me, and I’m not scared of you”.

He knew he shouldn’t have put you up to this. That this whole interview process was a mistake. He hurt you and himself, and all he could do now is deal with the collateral damage.

“I want you out of here by tomorrow morning”.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll leave right now”. You walk past him and entered the guest room. Kenji flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut.

~

You put the last suitcase in the trunk and closed the trunk door. Before you went in your car, you stared at the front door, hoping that Ken would apologize and ask you to come back in. But you shrug the expectation off and drove off.

As you drove into the city, you start to tear up. The interview was merely an assignment, so why is this affecting you so much?

“You don’t need Norway to prove a point”.

You hated Ken, you hated the way he roped you into this mess, how he played with your feelings again. But your heart screamed, “GO BACK”, while your head told you to press the gas pedal harder.

~

Kenji enters the basement where the baby kaiju was waiting for the both of you. She chirps with glee when she sees Kenji, and then she looks around for you.

“She’s not coming back”. He sighs, sitting down on the steps next to the baby’s containment unit. Her smile fades. She lets out a little whimper.

“I’m sorry Emi. I scared her off, and I don’t know how to fix this”. Kenji sat next to Emi and put his head in his arms. She settles down next to him in hopes of comforting her father. He leaned onto Emi, resting his head on her arm. It made him feel a little better, but the pain ran deeper in his heart. He had so many opportunities to tell you how he felt about you, but now you slipped through his fingers again.

“Nice going Ken”.

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

A/N: By the time this gets posted, I’ll be on my way to Japan (ultradaddy here i come 🤭). See you all in the finale tomorrow :)

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

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[toms-cherry-trees]

Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing. 

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind. 

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.  

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing. 

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before. 

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being. 

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes. 

[softsan]

˚ 🔪⊹ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈: 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒. (𝐩𝐭.𝟏)

✉️ ・ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬: | 01 |

✉️ ・ ── 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

✉️ ・ ── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Mafia AU, Angst, Kingpin!Hongjoong, Former Doctor!Y/N, Fem!Reader, Opposite sides, Old Rivalries, Betrayal, Eventual Smut.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: You were the eldest daughter of the infamous Mafia kingpin ' The Crocodile'. You had managed to crave a successful, ordinary life for yourself as a physician, however, your world is turned upside down when your father's men decide they'd prefer you to rule in your brother's stead. You were now in hiding trying to avoid the hit your brother had placed on your head. Whilst in hiding you accidently come across a wounded man, and nurse him back to health. Unbeknownst to you, you had just aided your father's number one enemy, the great dragon Hongjoong.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessive Themes, Future Explicit Sexual Content, Murder, Drowning, Torture, Weapons, Graphic Violence, Angst, Explicit Language, Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Drugs, Betrayal, Morally Grey Characters.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

You took a deep breath, your lungs expanding to their full capacity. You came forth, your heels clicking against the marble tiles. Their eyes watched you like hawks, observing your every move.

They’d eat you alive if they sensed the most minuscule amount of fear... You didn’t care to admit it, but, in more ways than one, you were your father’s daughter. And like your father, The Crocodile, you wouldn’t buckle nor bend.

You stepped in front of the podium, your eyes hardening with resolve, “Lieutenants, soldiers, engineers, and drug lords, I welcome you to our humble abode.”

There was a slow clap that echoed from the audience. Your eyes momentarily flickered to your younger sister Heejin, sitting behind her was Hyuntae, your antagonistic brother.

You were the eldest out of the three, which brought hostility between you and your brother. Your father had always intended for Hyuntae to be his successor—believing a male figurehead to be the idealist of options. And you were perfectly content with this too, as you had no desire for the perilous life of a mobster.

However, some of your father’s lieutenants thought otherwise. Hyuntae was terribly impulsive, explosive, and sadistically vengeful making him a terrible candidate to lead others. You were the Crocodile’s firstborn, and they believed you ought the be the rightful heir to their organization instead of Hyuntae.

You addressed the room of heads, your speech, and your confidence faultless. Hyuntae further writhed in his seat, growing all the more infuriated as you won over more of the crowd.

“As per our system, the annual growth will continue—”

A loud gunshot erupted, the sound deafening your ear. You stood, stunned, not comprehending what was happening around you.

‘Y/N!’ Your sister Heejin desperately yelled aloud.

Blood seeped your blouse. You stared down at your chest, your fingers brushing against the crimson stain, which was growing bigger by the minute.

Your legs gave out from underneath you, your vision turned ablur.

I’ve been shot? It still didn’t register.

The last thing you recalled was the agonizing screams from your sister before darkness consumed your conscious mind.

Present.

The sea breeze held a terrible bite. It cast a cold front that left those in its wake with frostbitten fingers and toes. Hongjoong tried to keep his composure, his teeth violently chattering as his limbs spasmed in the wintery depth of the bay.

The night had an eerie hold on Hongjoong—a foreboding feeling that tonight's affairs would end up in shambles. In foresight, he should have trusted his gut and followed his intuition, but alas, he'd been foolish to underestimate The Crow's subordinates.

Gunshots rang through the air, its blinding flashes flaring into the pitch of darkness. Hongjoong dived deeper into the chilling abyss, avoiding the numerous bullets that penetrated the water's surface.

He knew he wouldn't last long in the sub-zero temperatures, the risk of hypothermia heightening with prolonged exposure. He kicked his protesting legs with all his might, forcing his arms to swim ahead.

To Hongjoong's favor, The Crow's sea cruiser hadn't traveled far from the marina—where the other gentry docked their sea vessels. After a tireless swim, he finally made it to the boat's staircase. He grumbled and cursed as he dragged his wounded torso across the cold aluminum.

What am I to do now? His forearms gave out, exhaustion getting the better of him. Hongjoong rolled onto his back, grasping his arms around himself as he shook uncontrollably.

Don't tell me this is where I die. He thought bitterly in disbelief.

Hongjoong was in a foreign enclave. He had no standing nor command in these parts. Up North, he was regarded as a king, the infamous and the only 'The Dragon'.

Even in the unlikely case, someone had stumbled upon his injured self and pitied him enough to take him to the hospital. Hongjoong would be nothing less than a sitting duck. His enemies in the masses would come out of every nook and cranny seeking to finish him off for good.

There has to be another way out of this... He dwelled, his eyelids beginning to droop. This isn't how I'm supposed to die. 

You groaned, stretching your neck side to side. You had, had another strenuous shift at the beachside resort, which was located not far from the marina.

You had been posted in the restaurant as a waitress, flipping tables and serving large drunken parties of rich socialites who had returned to their yearly absorbent lifestyles by the bay.

You hated summer for this particular reason. The once sleepy township was now overrun by intoxicated, rich folks. They had no filter and had an endless list of demands. They threw around their wealth, expecting everyone to bend to their behest, all the while looking down upon the town's local residents.

You took a restless walk down the beach, your shoes in your hands. You stared at the sea's undisturbed pandemonium, waves dark as the sky above violently crashing into the rocks on the shore.

Your feet sunk into the damp sand as you kept a safe distance. You'd only stroll to the pier and back. After a long demanding shift, it was part of your routine to walk beside the water and wind down.

As you stepped closer to the wooden length that extended out to the ocean. You caught sight of a dark figure. 

It couldn't be. You squinted your eyes, trying to get a better look. Is that a body?

You kicked your feet, taking off in the direction of the lifeless mass. Your heart pounded the closer you got, adrenaline running through your veins.

A handsome man laid on his back, his eyes painfully scrunched shut, while his breathing labored. You quickly checked the skin of his forehead with the back of your hand. Not only was he pale and colorless, but he was cold to the touch.

You checked his pulse, placing two fingers against his neck, below his jaw, and where his carotid artery ought to be. His heart rate was slow and lethargic, a factor that contributed to your diagnosis of hypothermia.

Furthermore, as you examined the man, you noted the blood soaked into his tee shirt. You lifted the bottom, revealing a nasty gunshot wound that had penetrated the side of his abdomen. Fortunately, the wound didn't seem too serious on first inspection, hypothermia being your bigger concern.

"Can you sit up for me?" You gently asked.

Hongjoong stirred at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You helped him upward, quickly stripping off your jacket and putting it onto him. You had every intention to take off his wet clothes, but first, you had to get him off the pier and somewhere you could treat him more effectively.

As you zipped up the jacket, you noticed the faint outline of a dragon tattoo on the man's chest. It peaked from the white material, which had gone almost transparent when wet.

He's one of The Dragon's men. Your mouth quivered, shocked at the revelation.

The country you resided in was split into five notable territories, each belonging to one of the notorious mafia families.

There was The Bull, The Crow, The Jaguar, The Crocodile, and lastly, The Dragon.

You were painfully aware this bay and township belonged to The Crow. Hence the appearance of one of The Dragon's men was so astounding. He shouldn't have been here. In fact, his very presence placed him and you who had aided him in terrible danger.

I can't just leave someone to die. You grappled. That goes against the medical oath I swore.

You pulled up the hood of your jacket in an attempt to obscure the man's face. You then roped one of his arms around your shoulders and dragged him back to the beach and eventually to your car, which had been parked in the restaurant's parking lot. 

The drive to your shabby apartment felt like an entity. Finally, you reached your destination, the man in your back seat slipping in and out of consciousness.

As preferable as it would have been to take him to the hospital, you knew how dangerous it would have been for him. As soon as anyone caught a glimpse at that dragon tattoo of his, he'd for sure be forsaken. He'd be more likely to leave the hospital in a body bag than to receive any medical treatment. This left you with little option but to take him in yourself.

You set him down on your bed, and immediately with a pair of scissors, you cut off his damp clothing. You dug out an abundance of towels and blankets from your cupboard, warming them with a hairdryer before applying them on and around his head, neck, and chest.

Next, you headed to the kitchen to boil some water on the stove. You filled one mug and used the rest of the boiling liquid to fill some spare water bottles you had lying around. You brought this all back to your room, wrapping the bottles in hand towels and positioning them against the man's body.

"Can you drink a little for me?" You encouraged, brushing away a strain of wet hair that stuck down on his cheek.

Hongjoong murmured something incoherent, slowly moving his shoulders as a sign he'd try to sit up.

"Here," You assisted him, placing your palm against the back of his head and tilting it up, "This will warm you up," You assured.

Once the man was settled and his temperature started to normalize, you shifted your focus onto his open wound. The bullet had shot clean through. Luckily, for its small caliber, it didn't inflict as much damage as a larger caliber would.

You gingerly washed the wound, and stitched and bandaged the entity of his abdomen. When you were done, you went to your bathroom to scrub your hands clean. You then searched through your stash; you didn't have too many drugs on hand, but what you did have would suffice. You continued to shuffle through your medicine cabinet, pulling out a packet of antibiotics and another packet of painkillers.

A year ago, you used to prescribe and treat patients on a daily basis...Your expression deflated as you recollected the past.

You had nearly finished your residency and were about to obtain a full-time position at the hospital until Hyuntae, your callous so-called brother, threw your world into chaos.

The life you lived, the one you had tirelessly built for yourself, was now destroyed. You'd never be able to practice medicine again, let alone be able to step foot into a hospital.

Hyuntae had left a wake of bodies behind in his attempt to rid you of your father's territory. You had been fortunate to make it out of the city with your life, even if it meant leaving everything and everyone you knew behind.

The terrible coldness had since dissipated from Hongjoong's body, leaving but a dull ache on the left side of his abdomen. In his drugged haze, his mind drifted, reminiscing on an exchange between him and trustworthy consigliere Seonghwa.

"Why have Wooyoung wed her?" Seonghwa expressed his disbelief.

"Would you have preferred I to have married her instead?" Hongjoong challenged.

Seonghwa grimaced, unquestionably uncomfortable with the subject at hand.

Hongjoong disinterestedly sat upon his ottoman, pouring himself a stiff drink and hurling it back.

"I would have preferred for none of us to find ourselves in a situation where we have to forge alliances through marriage," Seonghwa's distasted evident from his tone of voice, "But since we're stuck under such circumstances—"

Hongjoong roughly placed down his glass, the sound interrupting Seonghwa.

Seonghwa threw Hongjoon an annoyed look, "You and I both know tradition calls for the head of the organization, which in this case is you," Seonghwa exasperatedly pointed his finger at Hongjoong direction "Is to personally elope when the bride happens to be a fellow Kingpin's heir."

Hongjoong knew of the customs, and yet, stubbornly, he had no intentions of marrying himself off. He'd not accept just anyone to stand beside him, to rule as his dragon queen.

"By having one of your caporegimes, no matter how highly-revered they may be, marry in your stead. You are purposefully offending The Crocodile." Seonghwa made his last attempts to talk sense into his boss.

"My order still stands," Hongjoong dismissed, filling the glass again and placing it against his lips. He took a large gulp, the fire of the alcohol burning down his throat, "Wooyoung will be the one to marry Heejin, The Crocodile's daughter."

Hongjoong wasn't sure how many days had passed since the incident at the marina. But the one thing he was certain about was that he owed you his life.

His lethargic eyelids slowly cracked open, the light from the morning sun momentarily stunning him. He groggily inched his back off the bed to lean against the headboard.

The pain from his side protested, but Honjoong chose to ignore it, setting his sights on you. From your bedroom with the door ajar, he had the perfect view of the kitchen.

He watched as you softly sang to yourself, taking out two slices of toast from the toaster oven and quickly tossing them onto your plate to avoid burning your fingertips.

The sweet melody of your voice and the cute little shimmy you did as you cut off the crusts brought an unexpected smile to Hongjoong’s face.

It was unlike him to be so in awe of another. He wanted nothing more than to get to know you, your likes, dislikes, your darkest of dreams, and your wildest of ambitions.

NETWORKS: -​

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