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daycourtofficial · 6 months ago

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His shadows know

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.8k | Warnings: none

Summary: His shadows knew you were mates before either of you did and they do everything they can to push the two of you together.

Author’s note: happy 2k kick off day!!! 🎉 this is actually the oldest draft I have - I began writing this in October I think? I loved the idea but got stuck for so long on where to take it so shout out to @tsunami-of-tears for reading it and giving me feedback - this story would be lost to time without you thank you thank you thank you

Being a scholar in the Winter Court had several perks - your home had a rich and deep history, you spent most of your time reading, and you became great friends with your High Lord and newly appointed High Lady - Kallias and Viviane. Your friendship had great perks, one of which was their allowance for you to travel with them to the Night Court.

Rhysand had spent centuries keeping up the appearance that it was a terrible place to live, that the people were terrible, everything was terrible, leading to none of the high lords ever spending time in the Night Court. After Velaris became known to the other high lords, Viviane wrote immediately to Mor asking for the chance to see the city of starlight. Mor immediately agreed, also requesting for you to come as well. You and Mor were friendly, but she liked you and knew you would love the city.

The three of you winnowed together, being greeted by Rhys, Feyre, and Mor upon your arrival. After some pleasantries, Kallias and Rhysand started speaking about some political matter, so you slipped out and started wandering around the palace, admiring the beautiful architecture and paintings lining the walls. Many portraits hung in front of you - some depicting battles, some depicting members of the royal family.

You were stopped at a beautiful portrait of their newest addition, Nyx, when you felt a little tug on your arm. You looked down to find the cutest little blob of darkness dancing around your arm. It tickled as it swirled and skittered across your skin. The little shadow made the rounds around your body, swirling around your arms, your waist, your legs - as if it was checking to make sure everything’s okay.

“You are adorable” you whispered to it, when a second and third one appeared. “How many of you are there?” You whispered, unsure if it can even respond.

“There’s no keeping count of them. Or keeping track of them, I suppose.”

The voice startles you and the shadows, who wrap around you, almost trying to guide you to the voice. You turn to see the most devastatingly beautiful male you’ve ever seen - dark, sun-kissed skin covered large muscular arms, massive membranous wings behind him. Light poured behind him allowing the wings to look almost pink from the stretched skin, but everywhere else behind him was cloaked in shadows that moved lazily, slithering across his shoulders.

Hazel eyes look down at you, a smirk on his face.

“Are you in charge of them, I suppose?” You ask, a smile grazing your lips.

“I wouldn’t say that. They don’t always listen to me. They seem to like you, though.”

While you were speaking, a few more joined to inspect you, fast blurs of darkness roaming your skin leaving goosebumps in their cold wake.

“Hmm, maybe they see me as a threat. I can be quite frightening, you know.”

“Frightening? Yes, I can see you’re trying to pinpoint your next target. Unfortunately, I do believe you are wasting your time. Studying Nyx’s portrait won’t help you determine his weaknesses.”

“I’ve actually uncovered quite a lot about his weaknesses from his portrait.”

“Pray tell,” he leans against the wall, studying your face.

“I think his weaknesses include both nap time and bed time, along with his incredibly short legs. Dare I say, he’d be very easy to pick up and maneuver.”

“Unfortunately, you’ve picked a target that is so heavily protected you may never get the chance to see him.”

Your face lights up in delight, “so I am a frightening threat? Why else go through the trouble to hide him from me?”

“Nyx doesn’t like strangers,” his tone was so matter of fact, the shadows peered over his shoulders to watch the exchange.

“Hmm, you could introduce us. Then it’ll be a fair fight.”

“Unfortunately for you, I believe he is napping. And disturbing him from a nap is the worst part of my job.”

“So it is part of your job to wake him up?”

“I have to train him against all these frightening threats that wander the halls.”

“I only see one frightening threat.”

The shadows began dancing between you two, pulling you both closer and closer, until you realized you could put your hand out and touch his face. Your fingers twitched slightly at the intrusive thought.

“And does this frightening threat have a name.”

“Y/n.”

He smiles at your name - you assume he already knew who you were, he just wanted you to say it for whatever reason.

“And does the one who has the terrifying job of waking Nyx have a name?”

“Azriel.”

“And you also aren’t in charge of the shadows, but you provide them with suggestions?”

He laughs as he says, “They usually listen to me, especially when I command them, but sometimes they just find something they like and want to investigate.”

“Is that what happened? They wanted to investigate me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Did they like what they found out in their investigation?”

“Sometimes they investigate pretty things or things they’ve never seen before. They won’t tell me why they came after you, but they tell me they like you.”

“Can you tell them that I like them? Or can they hear me when I talk to them?”

“They can hear you, you just can’t really hear them.”

“They’re very beautiful.” You were talking about the shadows, of course. Definitely not also about the male in front of you.

“Yes they are.” He says, gazing into your eyes, perhaps speaking about more than just the shadows.

The spell between your shared gaze is broken when a door opens and Mor comes running down the hall. “Oh, good, Az found you. We thought you got lost somewhere,” she sounded out of breath, as if she were roaming the halls for you.

“I’m sorry, Mor, you know I love to wander.” You look at Azriel, his hazel eyes meeting your gaze. “You never know what you’ll find.”

It had been a long day. Velaris was stunning, a beautiful gem in an otherwise terrifying sounding court, but you desperately need a warm bath and a few moments of peace. You adored Viviane and Kallias, but you needed to be away from him for a few hours. You needed peace and quiet.

And maybe a few moments to think about the beautiful male you were flirting with earlier.

You prepared yourself a bath, lowering your entire body into the warm water. You tilt your head back, enjoying the warmth on your aching muscles from walking around the palace all day, when you see out of the corner of your eye a tiny little shadow.

“Hello, sweetie,” you coo towards it. You can’t help it - they’re absolutely adorable. They remind you of little pets, but less messy or noisy. One or two of them had followed you around during the day. You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed or not, especially because you didn’t see Azriel again for the rest of the day.

The shadow came to the edge of the bathtub, climbing up your arm, nestling into your hair. “You are a silly little thing aren’t you?” You ask it, with no response. “Will you ever speak to me?” You ask, again with no response. “Will you keep me company?” The shadow didn’t necessarily respond, but you felt the shadow’s agreement as it nestled further into your hair as you sank into the bath once more.

After your bath, with the shadow still keeping you company, you put on a nightgown and decided you wanted to go down to the kitchen to look for some cookies, certain that Rhysand would only have the highest quality of late night snacks. You reiterate your thoughts to the shadow, when the shadow holds you back by your wrist for a moment.

“Is everything alright?” The shadow keeps a hold on you, not letting you go. A moment or two passes, and the shadow lets go, causing you to move forward a little. “I can go now?” You ask, which the shadow ignores again, but doesn’t keep you in place any longer. You walk to the door, opening it only to collide directly into someone.

“I’m so sorry I-“ you’re cut off by the laugh of the beautiful Azriel.

“It’s okay,” he says, and you take this opportunity to glance down and you realize he’s wearing a loose pair of trousers with no shirt on. His bare chest was just as beautiful as the rest of him - black ink trailed across his shoulders in an abstract way that your eyes lingered on. If you weren’t so preoccupied by checking him out, you might have noticed the shadows surrounding him, trying to slow him down.

A small blush creeps down your cheeks as you ask, “is your uh tiny general happy and napping?”

He smirks and says “well I’m not sure about how happy he is, but Cassian is definitely asleep. He’s kept on a separate floor because of how loud he snores.”

You hit him in the chest, “you know I wasn’t talking about - wait he sleeps on a different floor? Is it really that bad?”

He motions for you to follow him up the stairs, and before you’re even halfway up, you hear impossibly loud snoring. “Oh,” you giggle, “yeah I’m not sure how anyone sleeps in the same city block as him.”

“You have no idea. Cassian’s really susceptible to pollen, so during the spring time it’s absolutely ridiculous. We once banned him for a week so we could all sleep.”

You laugh, and then try to shush yourself so he doesn’t wake up. “Stop - if I laugh I’ll wake him up.”

“What are you doing up?” He asks, his hazel eyes looking down at you with such fondness you wanted to curl up in his gaze and rest in it for a while.

“Oh I wanted cookies, actually.” You reply. “Why are you awake?”

He stammers a little, not wanting you to know that he was walking by your door to see if you were still awake. He had wanted to see you again, your earlier encounter occupying his thoughts all day long, when he assumed you had turned in for the night.

“Uh, I was doing a patrol.” He settled on.

“Oh yeah? Wanted to make sure the terrifying threat was contained?”

He smirked, “what do you think I’m doing now? I figure if I feed the threat, it might spare me.” He gives you the sweetest looking puppy dog face, and you have no idea where it came from, but it absolutely melts your heart.

“Stop that!” you say, while hitting his chest.

“Stop what?” He says, continuing his pouting.

“You look like a sad puppy dog, stop!”

“Will it make the frightening threat not want to kill me?”

“Hmm, the frightening threat will leave you be, for now.”

You two head into the kitchen, and he immediately starts searching through cupboards.

“Mor and Cassian have the best cookies,” he says, while reaching the higher shelves to pull out random boxes that contain cookie tins.

“I didn’t know being a spymaster included knowing everyone’s taste in cookies.”

“You never know what might become necessary information.”

He looked down at you, offering you a cookie. You accepted it, and as your hands were connected by the cookie, a few shadows danced around your arms to some unheard song. He seemed a little surprised at them, his mouth dropping just slightly.

“Are they always this kind to night court guests?” You asked, nibbling on the cookie.

“Only the pretty ones.”

“And do you always flirt with night court guests?”

He leaned in closer, “only the pretty ones.”

You took a step closer, until you’re almost touching noses.

“And do you always commit crimes with your guests?”

His breath was fanning your face. It smelled of sugar cookie and mint, and you think about what it would feel like to inhale him.

“Only you.”

He pulled out a cookie and offered it to your mouth, which you happily accepted. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the cookie with your mouth, pulling it from his fingers.

“I can’t say I’ve indulged in criminal activity with anyone else.”

His grin grows as you bite into the cookie, a few crumbs falling but a few shadows swoop down to catch them before depositing them in the trash.

“Good. I am in charge of catching criminals in the night court, and I’d hate to have to catch you and lock you up.”

A blush spread over your cheeks. You opened your mouth to respond, when Azriel straightened, his wings going rigid.

“Hide the evidence.” He whispered, as he pulled back and quietly put the cookies away back where they came from. Before you can ask him about the abrupt change, you hear loud footsteps coming down the stairs into the kitchen, before seeing Cassian appear.

He looked at the two of you, surprised that anyone else was awake at this hour. Now he was hoping the two of you wouldn’t stay too long so he could reach his secret stash of cookies.

During the afternoon the next day, your little shadow companion kept following you around, almost acting as a guide dog. When you came down for breakfast, it guided you into the seat next to where Azriel was sitting, even guiding your hand to grab an apple at the same time as him, causing your fingers to brush against each other.

Currently the shadow was dragging you through the hallways of the house, into what appeared to be a massive library. It guided you to sit in a chair at a table where there seemed to be some paperwork piled on top. The shadow left you for a moment, returning with a book for you.

“Ah, thank you,” you say, petting at the shadow. It curled around your finger in reciprocation before slithering back into your hair. You began reading the book, only getting a chapter in when someone sat across the table from you.

“The threat has found where I liked to do work,” Azriel stated, looking through his papers. You smiled up at him, “I have to be prepared to strike at any moment, you know.”

He chuckled, a soft look on his face. “Well, if you plan to attack in the library, please try to keep noise levels to a minimum, Clotho gets very upset when I cause too much noise. I’m on thin ice with her.”

“Oh, I see. You have a reputation for hosting parties down here,” you muse.

He looks at you, a lazy grin on his face, “my parties are known across Prythian, only the best, most exclusive guests may attend my library events.”

“And am I on the guest list?” You ask, leaning against the table. “Of course,” he replied, leaning towards you over the table, “you might be a threat, but I’ve heard you’re one hell of a dancer.”

You laugh loudly, then remember where you are and try to quiet down. “I’ll have you know that I’m a lousy dancer, but I would be very interested in attending one of your parties anyway.”

The longer you stayed, the more the shadows kept maneuvering around you. Instead of just one you now had a small trio who accompanied you everywhere, hiding in your hair, wisping around your neck and wrists like jewelry when you were alone.

One night at dinner, you’re seated next to Azriel for the fourth evening in a row. You’re not sure if any of his family members pick up on this, but Kallias and Viviane also sit in the same place each night, so perhaps it wasn’t anything noteworthy.

“Can you pass me the potatoes please?”

You knew if you turned to the right, Azriel’s face would be right next to yours and your noses would be able to touch.

“Of course, can’t give you any reason not to trust me.” You winked at him, reaching over for the potatoes. When you turn back, Azriel’s expression has changed ever so slightly, and his eyes search for your face, something you can’t quite pinpoint in his eyes.

“Here you are,” you say, moving the bowl towards him.

“Here I am,” he says, not reaching for the bowl, instead keeping his gaze fixed on you. You laugh, expecting there to be some joke, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you and you find it impossible to breathe with the way he’s looking at you.

Surely someone else notices the way you two are locked in this embrace, but when you quickly glance around the table, no one seems to notice or care.

He reached for the potatoes and looked at them. “How can I be sure you didn’t poison these?”

You laugh, the spell of the moment gone, and you’re able to think properly again.

“I guess you’ll never know.”

He placed the bowl down, smirking. “Better not take any chances then.”

The rest of the dinner continued, everyone amused at Nyx’s babbling and insistence of sitting in Cassian’s lap despite how many times he’s put back into his own high chair, and yet your eyes kept finding those potatoes Azriel never ate, the bowl untouched since he took it from your hands.

A quick knock to your door the next morning stops you from packing, and you stride over to open it. “Hi, Azriel,” you say, leaving the door open for him to come in as you turn back around to put your folded clothes away. Several of his shadows move towards you, trying to unfold your clothes when you aren't looking.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, shutting the door behind him gently, turning back to you with his hands in his pockets. You swat at the shadows, refolding their undoing.

“Unfortunately, my trip always had an expiration date attached to it.”

You breathe deeply, trying to ignore how good he smells when you feel him come up behind you, his chest close enough that you can feel his body heat through your clothes. From behind you, he lifts one of his hands up, almost touching you, but not quite getting far enough before retracting his hand.

He clears his throat, “what did you think of my home court?”

You smile, doing the latches on your luggage. “It’s quite beautiful. Do you get all four seasons here?”

He nods his head in agreement when you turn to face him, not noticing the shadows behind you undoing the latches to your suitcase and unpacking once more for you. “That must be nice,” you muse, “I love Winter, but I am quite tired of the cold.”

“I’m used to the cold, growing up in the mountains you grow quite accustomed to it.”

“Then you’d feel comfortable visiting me in the Winter Court?”

Azriel’s ears reddened at the brazen ask, “I can’t imagine visiting you anywhere and not feeling at ease.”

It was your turn for your ears to redden, but Azriel doesn’t let the silence linger for long.

“Before you go, can I tell you something?”

Surprise overcomes your face, intrigued by his question. You nod, desperate to know what he has to say before you leave. He looked behind you, watching his shadows unpack your bag and put your clothes back where they had come from in the drawers.

“I was very drawn to you when we first met.”

He clears his throat, his wings twitching with nerves. “I was literally dragged to you. I was winnowing elsewhere, but my shadows brought me next to you. I was intrigued why they’d do such a thing,” one of the offending shadows gently passes over his cheek before making its way to greet you.

“They’re funny little things. I thought they were just annoyed with me because I wasn’t sleeping. And then you spoke to me. You were so relaxed with me, immediately. It’s not- most fae aren’t relaxed around me. And I really liked you.”

“I like you too, Azriel.”

He holds up a hand, silently telling you he’s not quite finished. You hold your hands up in mock surrender, allowing him to continue.

“And then you were everywhere. In the hallway, next to me at meals, on the balconies when I landed. It’s like you knew where I’d be.

“Last night at dinner, when I asked you for the potatoes.. I didn’t eat them after you gave them to me.”

You cock your head to the side, confused at this admission over something as minor as potatoes. “Did you change your mind?”

“No, no. I just- I just- the second you were about to hand them to me, I felt it.”

“You felt it?” Confusion coursed through you, completely unsure of where he was going. You enunciated each word, curious over what ‘it’ was.

“I felt it.” His tone held more conviction, but you weren’t any less confused by what he was talking about.

“What did you feel?”

“This.” And you felt a sharp tug in your chest, pulling you towards him, almost knocking you off of your feet. You gasp, holding your arms out to steady yourself, your hands meeting his chest instead.

“That- what- I-“ you look around frantically, unsure exactly of what that was. You look up, finding soft, slight amusement in his hazel eyes. Shadows swarmed around the two of you, circling your arms, your legs, your fingers. They seemed to be saying something, and you closed your eyes to listen.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You close your eyes, looking deep into your chest, searching for that rope, that tether between your souls. It was shadow and ice, wrapped around each other for as far as you could see.

You gave it a sharp tug, and it was Azriel’s turn to lurch forward. You laugh at his stumbling, holding his elbows to keep him steady.

“Is your offer still valid - for me to visit you in Winter?”

“Only if I can come visit you here, mate.”

Azriel’s knees nearly gave out at the name, the title he’s wanted for centuries. And here you were, right in front of him.

His hand moved hesitantly toward your face, lingering close enough that you could feel the chill from his hand. You nuzzled your cheek into his hand, looking up at him. This beautiful, kind male was your mate.

You had known him for four days - you hardly knew him, hardly knew anything about him or his homeland. But that was okay. You knew his shadows well enough by now.

They were a pretty good judge of character.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading! 💕

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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wandaslittleweirdo · 3 months ago

Note

WE NEED A PART TWO PRETTY PLEASE

https://www.tumblr.com/wandaslittleweirdo/757441289957638144/many-many-stepmommywanda-thoughts-tw-stepcest

A/N: turned out a little longer than expected…..heh..|| Part 1 , masterlist

tw: mentions of murder and blood, stepcest, dating a man, possessiveness, jealousy, pet names, this writer needs to stop skipping therapy, toxic relationships/attachments, manipulation, dom/sub dynamics, fucked up fluffy ending, age gap > reader is 22 wanda is 35

stepmommy!wanda ༝༝ fem!reader

ೀ Wanda had picked up the phone to call her friend from church, but paused when she heard your voice on the other line. She leaned over the counter, nibbling at the nail on her thumb as she curiously eavesdrops on your conversation. Your flirtatious tone directed to the disgustingly sweet boy made her jaw tighten, slamming the phone back down and gritting her teeth.

When you ended the call you walked into the kitchen and explained to Wanda that you’d be going out with a friend and will be back at a reasonable hour. She waited for you to tell her that it was a boy who obviously likes you and that it was actually a date, but you didn’t. You happily skip out of the kitchen with your sandwich and then off into your room. How dare you do this to her after she’d spent months and months perfecting you to how she wanted? Clearly, she needed to do something that you’d take seriously.

Matthew had picked out the most beautiful but quiet restaurant in town, knowing how anxious you get when it comes to new and busy places because of how strict your step mother is. He was refreshing and new, a breath of fresh air. He loved cracking jokes, but he could also be a little shy and got flustered easily. For example when you were both finished with dinner he scratched the back of his neck wondering if he could kiss you goodnight. You saw the nervousness in his eyes and you adored it, confidently taking his hand in yours before leaning up to kiss him.

But when he had visited the bathroom and didn’t come out, you assumed he got nervous and alerted him that you’d be leaving. You knew Wanda would be fuming if you stayed any longer. There was no response from his end, but you didn’t let yourself think about it too much. He’s just busy, you kept telling yourself.

You put the keys in the hole of your front door and twist it, listening to the faint click followed by the creak of the door handle as you pushed it down.

You gently push open the door and peek inside, a lamp from the living room casting its warm glow through your home. You creak the door open more and think Wanda must’ve left the light on before she went to bed.

Glancing into the lounge, the first thing you spot is Wanda’s back and her staring at something on the floor. It’s completely silent. No radio, no television, and the only movement you could hear is your own. You take one more step and freeze, paralysed by the sight in front of you.

Matthew’s body laying in a pool of blood, the thick liquid staining the carpet. His eyes are shut and his hands are painted in red, fatally attempting to cover the wounds on his stomach. Wanda towers over him, a kitchen knife coated in red gripped tightly in her hand. A tear of blood drips from the blade, and you watch it hit the ground to then it sinking into the carpet.

“W-Wh..” You lip quivered, voice cracking as you took a step back. “You’re home late.” She kicked the boy onto his back with her boot. You grabbed hold of the wall next to you, feeling dizzy watching his body flop lifelessly and how she showed no emotion to the deceased boy in front of her.

“I-Is that?..” She finally turns around to look at you and you felt chills run down your spine. You thought you had seen Wanda to her fullest potential, how sick and twisted she could be. But the blood sprinkled on her face and how it soaked several areas of her clothing made it clear that you never knew her as well as you thought you did.

A relieved smile hiked up her cheeks. She missed you so much. She also saw the terror in your eyes, not just for yourself but because you knew that simply pecking someone on the lips could put them in the same position as the poor gentleman who lays dead on the floor. This bought her a great sense of peace. You finally learnt your lesson, it’s a shame she had to go this far.

“There’s my girl.” Her voice softens as she stepped towards you, dropping the knife on the floor. You flinch hearing it clang, the sound ringing in your ears. You don’t catch her words, the only audible sound for you was your loud heartbeat and your ragged breathing. You couldn’t take your eyes away from him. A tear trickles down your cheek, causing her smile to fall and her demeanour to become hostile.

“Why are you crying Y/N? He was never going to love you like I do.”

“I told you I’d kill anyone who touches you. I warned you. You made me do this.”

“I’d do anything for you, sweet girl.” She calmly takes your chin between her fingers and places her other hand onto your shoulder. Her touch is delicate and familiar. So comforting and soft, you couldn’t help but lean into her. “You see now that I’d actually kill for you. And I’d do it again because I love so much, darling.” She leans down, tilting her head and brushing her lips against yours.

“Do you love me?” Your breathing quickens, reaching up and curling your fingers around the back of her neck to pull her closer. You eagerly tangle your hands in her hair as she moans, boldly pushing her tongue between your lips.

The kiss deepens and the world fades away. The heat of the moment, the rush of desire. It all felt so good, you could feel it in your chest and your stomach. You pull away and she whimpers, chasing your lips until you place a hand on her chest. Your faces now smeared with blood, you both smile. To others, this moment would be disturbing and inhumane. But for you and Wanda, it feels like the two of you against the world.

“I love you too, Wanda.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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moonchild9350 · 3 months ago

Text

Stray Kids and the Type of Sex Toys They Like

Summary: my thoughts on the type of sex toys skz likes to use on reader.

Pairing: OT8 idol Stray Kids x fab reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: smut 18+ MDNI

Warnings: sex toys (obviously), squirting, anal play, clit play, p in v penetration, creampie (wrap it up)

Notes: I know there's other opinions out there on this, but this is my two sense of the topic heh. I hope you like it!

Please consider a reblog, comment, or like! ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Bangchan Chan likes to use a dildo on you. He likes to drag the silicon shaped cock in and out of your walls, watching you thrust your hips upwards, matching his pace. He thinks the best part however, is when he get’s you one that is shaped like his cock, down to the vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. You like that one the most as it feels the closet to him. He praises you as you take it, watching as you hold your legs open for him. He maneuvers the toy so good, he gets to watch you squirt all over the toy and his hand, a smile on his face. He’s proud of his baby girl. Now that the warm up is done, he’s ready to give you his actual cock.

Lee Know Now Minho loves to use a pussy pump on you. He loves to clasp the pump on your dripping folds, listening to you whine in anticipation. He presses the button, the suction increasing the blood flow to your pussy and once he’s satisfied and you’re a moaning mess, he’ll release the pump and remove it. His favorite part is looking at your pussy, all swollen, nice and red, the lips engorged. Dragging his finger through your folds gets you whining, the pleasure heightened. He’ll get it cock out and bring it to your folds, tapping it on the swollen flesh. When he finally drags his cock through your lips, he lets out the loudest moan, the feeling of his cock snug between your lips is heaven on earth. Bonus for both of you if he plays with your clit, buried beneath the puffy folds.

Changbin I think Changbin likes to use either a dildo or rabbit vibrator on you, depending on how he wants to tease you. His personal favorite though is the rabbit vibrator as he can fuck you with it but also play with your pretty clit. Now I’ve touched on this before, but he’ll love turning it to the highest setting, and thrusting it through your warm walls, watching your pussy stretch around it. A plus is hearing your sweet moans as the rabbit ears stimulate your clit again and again with each thrust. He can’t wait to bury his cock within your walls, but until then, he’s going to make sure his sweet bunny cums on the toy first.

Hyunjin Now for Hyunjin, you love using a cock ring on him. Even though it’s not for you, it really turns you on listening to him whine and beg for you to touch him. It’ll start out with him pressing kisses to your lips, your jaw, your neck, before he’s rutting into your thigh, seeking some form of friction. You know what he wants, his sub side showing. Once you have him naked, you slide on the ring, his breath hitching at the sensation. His cock stands hard and pretty, his tip redder than usual. When your pretty boy cums, it’s your favorite sight. You like to watch as he thrashes around, his belly contracting with each twitch of his cock as his cum spurts out, painting your walls white. You love watching his eyes roll to the back of his head at the intensity of his orgasm. A bonus is how cuddly he’ll get once you clean both of you off, as he doesn’t want to leave your side.

Han Jisung loves using an anal plug on you, sometimes while he wears one too. He likes to tease your rim, circling the muscle with his finger before pushing one in, teasing your hole. Eventually he gets impatient and pushes the plug against your hole, watching as it stretches around the plug and get sucked in, as it rests perfectly within your tight walls. He thrusts the plug in and out again and again, causing you to let out a moan, music to his ears. But of course, it’s not Jisung if he doesn’t get all desperate and whiny himself, as he begins to hump the sheets, seeking some friction too. The pleasure gets too much for him and stops teasing your hole, focusing on his orgasm as he cums on the sheets. He feels a little embarrassed and sad that he neglected you, but makes it up by giving you the best orgasm of your life afterwards, playing with your ass once more with the plug and teasing your clit.

Felix I think Felix would love using an anal plug on you as well. This is a topic I’ve touched on before as well, but he’ll like you to wear it all day, prepping your hole for later to take his cock. Sometimes he’ll use the vibrating anal plug, turning it on at random times throughout the day. It turns him on to see you try to resist the pleasure, when he turns the plug on. He knows you’re just dripping into your panties, wanting nothing more than to bury his face in your pussy to taste you. Once it is time to remove the plug, he withdraws it slowly, watching as your rim stretches over the body of the plug. He loves seeing your gaping hole once he’s completely removed it, as you make it wink back at him. He feels at home once he’s able to sink his cock into your ass, prepped nicely for his girth.

Seungmin Seungmin is the torture king, I’m one hundred percent convinced. He was so excited when you bought a Hitachi wand one day, excitedly presenting the toy to him. That night he’ll have you spread out on your bed, as he pressed the wand on your clit. He loves watching your thrash, the pleasure building with each passing moment as he brings you to your orgasm. He doesn’t stop there however as he turns up the wand and presses it it your clit once more. Eventually it becomes too much, your legs closing around the toy, your hands reaching to push it away. Seungmin will just slap your hands away and push your legs back open so he can watch your pussy clench again and again over nothing as he brings you to yet another orgasm.

Jeongin I struggled with this one just because Jeongin can either be super innocent or an absolute menace. In the end, I think he would love to use a bullet vibrator for quickies. He loves to give you pleasure and sometimes he just doesn’t want to have to strip you completely down in order to make you cum. He loves that he can use it anywhere. He’ll pull you aside, somewhere secluded and pull the little device from his pocket before sliding it into your sweats and immediately pressing it to your clit. He likes to get you there quick, using the triple speed setting. He loves as you tense up before your orgasm hits, grasping at his back, shoulders, anything to ground yourself as you ride the vibrator. Once you come down, he’ll pull it from you, turning it off before slipping the vibrator into his mouth, licking up your arousal, not wasting a drop.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

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dansemacabre · 3 months ago

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i’ve been thinking about “sixer, it would eat you alive” since i read it and. man. every layer you peel back makes it worse. im not a bill apologist but. shit

if you (1) take it at face value, it paints bill as an apologetic murderer in his single (and maybe sole) open moment of regret. he doesn’t let his walls down often- only with ford do we even get to see the remnant of his galaxy, see the “actual remorse” ford describes, get just a hint of his origins. but he does it, because he thinks ford should know.

if you (2) take it from ford’s point of view, as something he committed to journal three, like. wow. imagine being so committed to a being that you’d hunt down and kill the monster that destroyed his home, only to (assumably) figure out later that that being was the monster. the small moments of trust, the “good times”, are so key to manipulation. how long did ford hold onto that one shred of vulnerability? no wonder ford stayed for as long as he did. in his eyes, bill was a survivor. ford wanted to survive too.

(slight tw below for unreality- any time i mention our reality, i mean “our reality” as a narrative device used in the book of bill as a proxy for the idea of bill being in our reality, since he can’t actually be in our reality. all of this is a fictional theory about a show/book with fictional contents!)

but if you (3) remember that “even his lies are lies” and absolutely Nothing bill says should be trusted. Whoo boy. if i read tbob right the book itself is being created in the theraprism (even tho it shows up with the ciphertologists at some point? idk that’s a whole other post). it’s meant to show what the reader wants to see; it manifests in our reality as what the collective fandom wants to see. so if we want to see truth, if we want to see where bill ended up and who he actually is, there’s a non-zero chance that the whole interaction was a complete fabrication.

imagine bill, stuck in the actively harmful, probably earth-illegal theraprism, once again being forced to be “fixed” and molded into something more palatable, being forced to conform no matter how much it hurts. (i know natural uncontrollable mutation ≠ just so much murder and destruction and chaos, but. you can’t ignore the similarities. bill has obviously been thinking about those silly straws.)

he looks back on everything that went wrong, back on his relationship with ford, back through every dimension where he wins. would that one moment, that one truth amid centuries of lies, have saved him from purgatory? if he had just been open? shown his damage? maybe he did think of his parents, or his henchmaniacs (especially the oracle). people who he might have once opened up to. maybe he just wanted to open up to someone again.

so in his own weird way, stuck in a cell, he reshaped reality again. in this reality, for this fleeting moment, he had been someone worth believing. and ford had listened, hell, ford had wanted to help. looking back, knowing how he treated ford, knowing how ford ended up because of it, maybe bill would have said the most honest thing he’d ever told ford: i am the monster, i am not worth your time or belief, and i will eat you alive.

#there’s nothing more pathetic than an ex god writing fix it fic for him and an old man who helped kill him #so much of my tbob theorization operates around reality and truth. probably because i’m a pretentious asshole #but also because that’s the best part imo??? like yesss fuck w the line between real and fake. see what happens #gravity falls #book of bill #bill cipher #the book of bill #book of bill spoilers #the book of bill theory #the book of bill spoilers #gravity falls theory #shutupmac #skullduggery #billford #sort of…….#stanford pines #ford pines #idk how like. legible this is #im so tired yall. im so tired and so stressed #it was write this. thing. or answer at least three uncomfortable texts. so #tw unreality #unreality #edit: fixed the last line because it was cringe #and upon rereading this it lowkey is still an oversimplification of bill and ford’s whole deal #but Fuck It We Ball #gravity falls analysis

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heartkaji · 4 months ago

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2O WOMEN VS 1 EGOIST !

bllk boys if they were in the videos by the sidemen + beta squad

includes: michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

MICHAEL KAISER !

“kaiser, ask her if she’d let you put your balls in her jaw.”

isagi’s voice is only a static crackle through the ear piece speaker, but it’s more than enough to have kaiser gnashing teeth & wrinkling nose. it was taking everything in his power not to snap the headset between his fingers. kaiser wasn’t even sure why he had to do this ; fuck yoichi and fuck bastard münchen’s publicity team.

he tries for an exhale but his dignity accompanies it, “would you let me put my balls in your jaw ?”

you’re the third girl who’s sat with kaiser so far & fuck his heart is aching— you’re far too pretty for this, blood drenched cheeks & freckled nose & silver draped around your neck like rings of vined ivy. kaiser can’t help but wonder why a pretty thing like you is here seeking male validation in thigh highs & skimpy bralette. surely someone of your beauty would know better, no ?

“what ?”

you ask so sweetly, lashes fluttering as you blink hurriedly as if it’ll help you hear better. if you were actually somebody, michael kaiser would be almost embarrassed by now, but you’re only pink painted lips & syrupy sweet voice so kaiser clears his throat & swallows his pride. he parts his lips to repeat the query but a hiss in his ear interrupts him, “she didn’t hear you, say it a—“

kaiser snaps the headset between his fingers & tosses it somewhere behind him. “i said, can i take you out sometime ?”

ISAGI YOICHI !

“try to sit on her lap while she’s talking.”

“you lot can’t be serious.”

unfortunately for yoichi, hiori & kurona were dead serious. he picked at the earpiece as you babbled on about your ideal first date, teeth kissing as he plotted on how he’d sit himself between your thighs.

“— and i’m not trying to be different or anything, but i think dinner dates are rather boring. i’d rather go to an amusement park or—“

“same, honestly,” yoichi was a charmer with a voice heavier than tree sap. his baritone alone had your guts knotting & spilling. “rides are way more exciting, really get your adrenaline going huh ? and then at the end of the date you share a kiss on the ferris wheel. i fuck with that.”

you blink, flesh pinkening & blush crawling up your throat as your fingers play with your bag strap. yoichi thinks you’re cute. you’re a fucking doll really, a pretty little thing isagi has decided he likes staring at.

yoichi can’t help but tease your further, “you wouldn’t mind if i kissed you on a ferris wheel, right ?”

you bite your inner cheek & yoichi swears you’re the cutest thing in the world. as if rehearsed, you cross your legs, shoulders tucking as you straighten your spine,

“on the first date, isagi ? quite the manwhore aren’t you ?”

it catches him by surprise but also pulls him back to earth. he bites his tongue, “oh ? when would you let me kiss you then ?”

he gets off his seat as he speaks, striding towards you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. you choke on your tongue, “um, me ? on the first date is a bit too— isagi ? what are you—?”

he positions himself on your lap. “you were saying ?”

yoichi’s ear piece blares with booms of laughter. “nah this man’s not real ! man said—“

NAGI SEISHIRO !

“are you a magician ? because when i look at you, everyone else disappears.”

“next.”

this was the eighth girl nagi had rejected. each girl came in with a new pick up line, and to nagi, each one seemed to be worse than the last.

“nagi, you have to say yes to someone already. you’ve rejected almost every— don’t listen to chigiri, nagi ! you don’t have to say yes to any of these bitches—“

nagi was about mid eye roll when you walked in.

you were rose dappled cheeks & fluffy jacket upon crème tee. your eyes met the room before his, scanning the seemingly infinite white walls & high ceiling. you even did a little wave to the camera before taking your seat. cute

even then, your eyes settled everywhere except him.

“hi,” he broke you out of your trance.

“ah— hello !” you flash him a shy grin, dimpled cheeks & freckled nose. “i was supposed to say a pick up line, right ? are you french, because—“

“no, no, please don’t,” nagi interrupts. you’re a pretty thing, red bruised knee bouncing over the other as you tuck away a strand of hair. fuck, you’re like candy for the eye.

“you get a pass.”

“huh ? but my pick up line—“

“no need, it’s a yes from me.”

pretty pink lips bend into a pout & nagi is almost tempted to let you say your line, but he shudders at the thought of your incomplete statement. you nod a bow & show yourself out with another tiny wave to the camera. perhaps this game isn’t all that bad after all.

mid thought, nagi’s earpiece crackles to life. “nagi, why’d you say yes ?! what’s she got that—“

ITOSHI SAE !

“ask her if she’d get with a bisexual dude.”

“what ? stop it shidou he doesn’t like dudes. ask her if she—“

“how about i ask her to shut the fuck up?”

sae says it a bit too loudly so your eyes widen a bit before you seemingly shrink in on yourself. sae hadn’t actually meant it—he was only trying to put a stop to the squabbling in his ears but now your nose is red & you’re biting your lip like you’re about to cry.

truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck.

but his PR team sure does. sae was live right now & his public image already wasn’t the prettiest. he’d also rather not receive yet another lecture from his manager.

“um, girl number nine ?”

the sound of a facepalm rattles in his earpiece. “isn’t she like, the fourth girl ?”

sae bites his bottom lip. you’re fidgeting with your nails & your breathing seems heavy & your eyes seem to be everywhere but his. you don’t even respond to his call. he sighs.

“that wasn’t meant for you, sorry.” he swallows. “you were talking about red flags in a relationship, right ?”

you seem to perk up—perhaps you thought he wasn’t listening ? you were going on & on but how could sae not pay you any mind when your voice seemed smoother than redwine & myrrh ?

“yes—yes i was ! um, what about you ? any red flags ?”

“when they’re too horny.” a damn-it ! blares through his ear piece.

you nod, “i get that. though honestly, i’m a bit of a freak myself.”

you say it like you didn’t just admit to being a professional dick sucker. “sae, ask her for her number—“

he taps a button & the humming in his ear ceases. “a freak, you say ? do elaborate.”

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i-cant-sing · 1 year ago

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Okay okay, I have another idea-

Yandere dad Nanami x Nanami reader

I've made yall see the menace Fushiguro reader who we all love and adore, but let's talk about Nanami's daughter who is an absolute angel and polar opposite to Fushiguro reader.

Child reader is just the most well behaved kid, listens to her father always, and since Nanami is raising her, she's also going to be very good in her studies because papa Nanami is a very good teacher. I mean, reader is definitely on top of her class and has a whole wall dedicated to her awards and medals. She just has to show off her math skills when she plays cafe (because obv she's gonna be a baker who bakes fresh bread daily for Nanami to buy and make sandwiches) and uses Monopoly money.

And when I say reader is polite, that is the understatement of the history. She just cannot bear to offend anyone! She has to put "-san" with everyone's name and has to address them correctly. "Yuji-san! Megumi-San!" And "pervert-San!" Which is Gojo, because of course Nanami has told her to beware of him and only address him as "pervert-san".

"But my name's Gojo!" He tells you, but you're so distressed because dad told you to call the white haired man wearing a blindfold/glasses "pervert-san" and it'd be rude to address him as anything else!

And Nanami adores his kid so much. She's such a perfect child, never breaks rules (don't talk to strangers or Pervert san.) and is such a goody-goody. He is a present father, he makes time for you. The Jujutsu sorcerers can wait, the world can be saved by someone else, but he needs to attend your school play at all costs. And even when hes not around for the day, he has raised you to be a very responsible child- like you even go get the groceries on your own when dad is late! (Like that Japanese show in which they send kids to shop on their own)

But of course, there are times when he needs to be away for longer periods, so he needs to hire a babysitter. His top choices: Shoko(although hes a little hesitant since you have a morbid curiosity learning and Shoko would happily let you accompany her to the morgue), Yuta, Maki, Megumi + Yuji + Nobara.

Who is NEVER allowed to babysit you? Gojo.

Gojo babysits anyway. (He fr steals you from Megumi trio)

And Nanami just comes home to Gojo and reader eating takeout and he's just like "Y/n, how could you let Pervert san in your home and eat with him?" And reader's just on the brink of tears and is trying to defend herself "b-but you said to be polite to guests! And Pervert-san bought food for me. Wouldn't it be rude to not share it with him?" *reader's teary eyes* and then Gojo is like "you'd rather let your child starve? Can't you see how tiny she already is?!" *Gojo's teary eyes* and Nanami pops a vein "it's not cute when you do it!"And then kicks Gojo out of the house.

Even though reader can dress herself up appropriately, she still has to have her hair done by Nanami, no matter what age. At some point, reader probably realises that it's something Nanami needs more than she does. It's a tradition, you think, but it's actually a coping mechanism for Nanami to deal with the fact that you're "growing up" and don't ask him to watch cartoons with you or read you bedtime stories anymore🥺

And Sukuna??? He takes one look at you and he's already decided he's gonna be mean to you, but then the more time you spend with him and Yuji, the more he realises.... its just not worth being mean to the only person who is so sweet to him and actually greets and talks to him like he's an individual person and not just a parasite inside Yuji's skin. Like reader just goes "Sukuna-san! I'm painting Yuji-san's nails but he can't pick a color. Will you help?" And he's like "Alright, fuck it I'm taking this brat with me when I comit mass murder. She's safe."

I feel like Nanami will allow reader to have a fairly normal childhood, so he keeps his yandere tendencies at a bay. It's when you start growing up and as he says "the others try to taint you with momentary pleasures" that his yandereness begins to show. Honestly, it's just more of his protective tendencies coming to light than anything else. He thinks people don't have your best interests in and sometimes he's right, but how else will you learn if you don't experience it?

Also, if you do end up having cursed energy and the ability to see curses, I think that's when Nanami starts spiralling down. He does not want you to become a Jujutsu sorcerer, he wants you far far away from the Jujutsu world completely. He can't- he can't allow what happened to Haibrara happen to you. He can't allow your innocence and naivety to be tainted by the horrendous world of curses. He'd rather risk you hating him forever as he locks you away than allow you to put your life at risk for others.

You are his priority. Your safety is his priority. You'll understand in due time why he did what he did, so while his heart does break hearing you cry and beg to be let out of your room, he doesn't regret putting you in there one bit.

Nanami sighs as he continues prepping your dinner. Guess he'll have to add some crushed sleeping pills so that you don't get sick from crying your bodyweight out (or more like he can't bear to see you in such a pitiful state.)

God save the poor souls who do end up kidnapping you.

#yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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marvellous1917 · 1 year ago

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Icarus Falling

(Part 2)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader

Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.

Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.

Part one ⬇️:

A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3

———————

Bold is reader’s thoughts.

Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.

The size of the tattoo is in inches.

———————

Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?

Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.

The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.

The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.

“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.

“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.

“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.

“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.

Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.

Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.

“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Why’s that?”

Fuucckkkk.

“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.

Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.

“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.

Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.

“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.

Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.

To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.

“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”

“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.

“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.

“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.

“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.

“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“

“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.

“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.

“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.

“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”

You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.

He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.

“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.

“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.

“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”

“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.

“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.

“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.

“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.

“I’m good I swear, now go!”

“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.

Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.

James:

Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?

Send me the address to the shop

Now… please

Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.

You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.

James:

See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.

Little shit.

————

You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.

Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.

Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.

Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.

“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.

Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.

“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.

“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”

“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.

“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.

“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”

His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.

“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.

“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.

“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.

“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”

“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.

“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.

“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.

“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.

“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”

“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.

Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.

“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.

“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”

Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.

Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.

The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.

If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.

He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.

You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.

He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.

“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.

“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”

Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.

“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.

“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

Christ alive.

“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.

“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.

“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.

“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”

Like I could regret you.

You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.

“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.

You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.

“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.

“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.

I like him. He says okie dokie.

“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.

You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.

“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.

“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”

“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.

“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.

“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.

“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.

————

You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.

“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.

“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.

“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.

God he’s pretty.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.

“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.

“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.

“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”

“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.

————

The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.

“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”

“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.

He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.

You sat in silence as he started to speak.

“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.

The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”

Silence.

“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”

A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-

“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.

“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.

This should not be turning me on, shit.

“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”

His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?

“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”

Oh Clint sounds fun.

“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”

He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.

“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.

“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.

“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.

“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.

“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.

Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.

Ok right back to it. Got it boss.

“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.

“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.

Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.

“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.

He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”

“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.

“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.

“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”

“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.

“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.

Shit.

“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.

“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.

“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.

He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.

“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.

“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

That’s a new one.

“Uh, say $180?” You respond.

“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.

He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”

You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.

They were hundreds.

“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.

“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.

You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”

“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.

“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”

“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.

“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”

There it is.

“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.

“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.

“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.

Fuck me running.

“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.

He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.

“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.

“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.

You say nothing.

He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.

“Would you?” He asks softly.

“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.

“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.

“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.

He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.

Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.

His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.

“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.

He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.

————

A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘

I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.

Tags:

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #mob!bucky #mob!au #tattoo artist!reader

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toysrguts · 6 months ago

Note

can i request sally face relationship headcanons maybe??

sally face fandom is sooo dead:(

sally face realtionship hc's!!!!

i dont write this kind of stuff usually but i actually had a lot of fun with this ^___^ i hope its everything u hoped for 🙏🙏

sal:

•his love language is quality time, he loves spending time with you even if youre just doing nothing together

•your presence is very comforting to him

•isnt physically affectionate unless he knows youre 100% okay with it

•once he gets comfortable around you he will not let go he loves cuddling

•your dates are more lowkey like playing video games or having movie nights

•writes little songs for you and plays them on his guitar

•the best listener, you can yap all day and you will have his full undivided attention

•you can feel the shift in his behavior when hes in public with you vs being alone with you. he can let his guard down when its just the 2 of you

•communicating is hard for him but he is very understanding

•has a lot of deep conversations with you

•at night especially is when he opens up most, and you find it really endearing

•he has insomnia so sometimes you stay up all night talking or doing other things

•he loves how good you are with gizmo, hes basically your child

•gets so flustered when you make eye contact with him so naturally because hes insecure and sensitive about his face

•your acceptance of him means a lot to him

•literally melts when you play with his hair or scratch his head

•has abandonment issues and often worries hes not doing enough but you do your best to reassure him

•he can also be really clingy but he knows when to give you your space

•gives you really meaningful obscure compliments constantly, he finds all your “imperfections” beautiful

larry:

•very loving but also likes to mess with you and is such a tease

•will randomly come up behind you and pick you up when you least expect it

•he loves playing with your hair, especially when youre in bed together he’ll run his fingers through it until you fall asleep

•takes you to all of his secret hangout spots around nockfell for smoke seshes and picnics

•although he can be intense sometimes, hes really gentle with you and knows how to calm you down when youre overwhelmed

•loves getting you little gifts when you least expect it

•he frequently invites you over for painting dates

•also treehouse dates!!!!

•falling asleep up there and getting to watch the sunrise together

•PLEASE steal his clothes he loves that shit

•especially when you give them back and they smell like you

•taking you to concerts and shows is like his favorite thing ever

•not afraid to show affection with you in public

•you're his and everyone needs to know

•when he gets comfortable you get to see a different side of him

•hes usually loud and silly and annoying but he has an emotional and vulnerable side that only you really get to see

•acts of service are his love language fs, he cooks and cleans for you all the time

•hes definitely the jealous type

•someone complimenting you is fine, but if he catches someone flirting with you hes throwing hands

•sharing music with you is his favorite past time

•picking up cd’s from the music store and blasting them on his stereo together

•or on public transport where each of you has an earbud in

•lisa LOVES you and is always so welcoming whenever you come to stay with larry

•makes special burned cd mixes for you and labels them with sharpie and doodles little things on them

ash:

•you are her entire world she cannot be away from you for more than 5 minutes

•thinks your eyes are really pretty and you catch her staring into them every so often

•makes really heartfelt handmade gifts for you (like one of her “little dudes”)

•tries to make you laugh when youre sad

•it works like 99% of the time

•takes you everywhere on her motorcycle

•“hop on loser, we’re going to mcdonald's”

•takes a lot of pictures of you together and hangs them up on her wall

•can always sense when something is wrong and always knows how to make you feel better

•writes you little love letters every so often so you never forget how she feels about you

•will beg and pleade to let her do your makeup

•its mostly just an excuse to get close to you and get to sit on your lap :3

•also loves styling you in different outfits even if you dont wear them out, youre like her own personal model

•has like 20 different nicknames for you

todd:

•he smells sooooo good

•like pine and cedar wood 🤤🤤🤤🤤

•and dont get me started on his hair

•its so fluffy and smells amazing he loves when you run your fingers through his curls

•loves taking you out and spoiling you because you deserve it

•so chill and easy to communicate with, your comfort and happiness is his number one priority

•very protective over you but he tries not to be overbearing

•talks about you to literally everyone when youre not around

•remembers all the little details about you that you would expect him to forget

•the biggest nerd ever and loves yapping at things he likes, but he loves hearing you talk about your interests even more

•if you get obsessed with something like a video game or tv show he will not rest until you get him into it too

•if you crash at his place, expect breakfast in bed

•if youve had a bad day hes there to pamper you and give you everything you need

•“i got you this cuz it made me think of you” as he holds out a rock in his hand

•seems really serious and intimidating but youd be surprised

•hes such a dork when you get to know him

•drives you around literally everywhere, he loves traveling with you with the windows down and the radio blaring

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joocomics · 6 months ago

Note

can you make a fic with jiung “talking you through it” CAUSE HE MOST DEF WOULD???

tags: soft dom!jiung x fem!reader, phone sex, guided masturbation, pet names, praise | mdni

“i just called to wish you a good day at work before i leave for mine,” jiung speaks calmly with a hint of playfulness in his tone which makes you realise he’s actually teasing you, “and you’re gonna make me hard?”

“you asked what my dream was about and i told you,” you reply as your fingers put pressure on your clit through the cotton fabric of your panties, slow circles that invite a well familiar warmth into your lower body.

his voice always sounds so arousing when he’s flirting with you, and listening to it so early in the morning after a wet dream… the temptation is too hard to resist.

“does it feel good, baby?” jiung shuts his eyes, painting the image of you laying in your bed; hair messy, thighs rubbing together needily, nipples hard.

“not as good as when you do it,” you say with a slight frustration while keeping the same steady motions going.

jiung’s lips slide into a smile at your words, before he bites on them from the sudden thoughts bursting into his head. he recognises that your breathing turns more heavy as time goes on, and he’s trying to imagine you in as many details as possible.

“did you push a finger inside you yet?”

“no, not yet,” you reply before humming from the growing pleasure.

“do it, baby... wouldn’t it feel nice?”

with your free hand, you slide down your underwear to your ankles, and press gently into your wet entrance. your middle finger glides through your tight gummy walls, making you gasp from the feeling.

“wet?” jiung asks, letting out a soft chuckle.

“yeah,” you sigh, moving it slowly back and forth. “i’m so wet, wish you were here with me…” your brows gather together every time you force your finger deeper.

“it’s alright, baby,” jiung’s smooth voice comforts you from the speaker while also making you more sensitive at the same time. “focus on my voice for now, okay?” his palm adjusts his boner as you let out a small moan at his ear. “add one more finger in.”

you do as he says, feeling the nice stretch. however, the feeling can barely compare to the one of his long slim fingers, even after you curl yours up and begin to pump them quicker.

“fuck—” you whine quietly and jiung is glad you cannot see the smug smile on his lips provoked by your desperate sound; by the obvious way you seem to not be able to imitate his ways; to bring half of the thrill he brings you every time.

“move them faster, sweetheart,” he encourages you, “i wanna hear how wet you are..” the squelching arousal spreads louder, turning jiung’s mind foggy and he palms his erection with a stronger grip before speaking again. “your pussy sounds so pretty, you got it soaking wet for me.” he breathes in meanwhile you shift against your pillow, arching your back, because the pleasure starts increasing the way you need it bit by bit. “gonna cum any minute now, aren’t you, love? i can feel it too.”

jiung remains silent for a moment, just taking in the sounds of your hand smacking lightly against your skin as you chase your high; the lewd noise from your slickness and your panting which makes the skin of his neck hot…

the way you chant his name doubles the tension in his pants; the growing need to feel you makes it impossible to ignore now.

“i’m right here, baby.” he softly mutters once you repeat his name few more times. “right here…”

while you, on the other side of the phone, feel how every next word of his pushes you further…

“you sound so fuckin’ beautiful, don’t stop.” he will listen to you losing control over moaning his name forever if he could. “good girl… gonna come over at your place after work today. the rest of your pretty body needs some attention too.”

a/n: hope this is close to what you had in mind <3

#💌: xhdream inbox #— writing: p1harmony #p1harmony hard thoughts #p1harmony hard hours #p1harmony smut #choi jiung smut #jiung hard thoughts #jiung smut #jiung x reader #p1harmony x reader #piwon x reader #p1h hard thoughts #piwon smut

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curtins · 3 days ago

Text

DITTO — Gojo Satoru a rewrite of this post.

prologue. → brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. unfulfilled/unresolved love. angst, hurt, comfort, fluff. your usual shenanigans. sfw! implied, minor satosugu (mb because geto is my beautiful sad princess and i love him so he has to be a part of everything). pining, idiots in love. grief, and what you do after you've lost what you treasure the most etc u get it. reader is from an unnamed clan, has a younger brother. reader also wears skirts, dresses sometimes, character death + injury

word count. 11k! 😭 song inspiration. ditto — newjeans / 뉴진스 (2022) a/n. i wrote rough headcanons and posted them yesterday but i woke up thinking dang i should actually write something better about that lmao. update: i thought i'd finish this in a few hours, why did this take me like 2 days? update #2: dawg this is long as fuck...this kinda depressed me to write CROSSPOSTED ON AO3 <3 💙

mp3. do you think about me now, yeah. all the time...

✉️ — 1995. 💬 — gojo.

these meeting rooms were hushed, grand, and the kind of place that simply swallowed up any sound and echo; where the wood-panelled walls were lined with the tapestries and polished symbols of his clan.

and in the hush, gojo had sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, trying to listen to the conversation of the adults, with their low and steady voices that droned on. this was so boring. they were always speaking of things that he just couldn't understand, but his parents said these meetings were important, and so he was dragged along - much to his eternal chagrin. still, he shifted in place, glancing around at the detailed screens painting around the corners of the room, in varying shades of blue.

across the room, there was another kid. one who sat beside her father, fidgeting just as he was. and gojo could tell by the way that you kept glancing towards the door that you, too, longed to escape. your gaze caught his, and there was that flicker of mutual boredom that sparked between you two. you had scrunched up her nose, as if to say 'this is so boring, isn't it?'

gojo grinned, stifling a giggle. he had leaned back, just a little, surveying the adults who paid no heed to him, before letting himself inch across the rough texture of the mat towards the door.

"do you want to see the garden?" he mouthed silently, his words exaggerated and slow, so you would understand.

your eyes had lit up, and you nodded, just as your father (well, he assumed it was her father) leaned down to whisper something in your ear, his voice a low rumble that was far too quiet for gojo to catch. you were nodding obediently, but your eyes were now fixed with the glimmer of excitement, and he quickly held the door open for you as you scrambled out the door, following him quietly as they creaked down the long hallway.

and soon, they reached the back of the estate, where the garden stretched out like a hidden oasis, filled with the flowering bushes, the winding stone paths, and the pond that glistened in the morning light. suddenly, he stopped by the edge of the pond, brushing pale hair out of his stinging eyes, "i'm satoru, by the way."

you had sat down quickly, as though the long walk had winded her (gojo had barely needed to stop to catch is breath), and your robes dipped into the pond, letting the water seep up slowly, "i've heard of you. my parents say you're an only child."

gojo shrugged, trying to think of something important he could tell you, "it's not so bad. one day, i'm going to be the head of my clan," puffing up his chest a little.

you had nodded, "i would like to be too, but my younger brother would get it. because...you know."

gojo didn't quite know but he nodded like he understood, and he tried to think of something smarter to say, "well the job isn't that fun anyway. it's just sitting around reading papers, and telling people what to do."

you had pouted, frowning, "i want to tell people what to do all day. and i would get the nicest robes too as clan head."

and you had looked so unhappy at the prospect that you were being robbed of a stellar wardrobe that gojo made up his mind, right then and there, "tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?"

your face had lit up, holding your little pinky up to his, "promise?"

gojo linked his finger with hers, sealing this silly vow and laughing, "why not?"

✉️ — 1996. 💬 — you.

when you're seven years old, you’ve resigned yourself to trailing behind gojo, watching as your friend takes on the world with the same reckless, eager energy that he seems to pour into everything that he does.

his voice has picked up a confidence that you haven't felt yet, and there's a permanent, flashy grin on his face that says he doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, not his parents, nor his clan.

and today, gojo's decided that the old shrine on the edge of your family estate needs exploring. you're a little less certain, especially since your father had told you that this shrine was haunted, but you find yourself following the boy anyway, and there's that silent agreement in place: he leads, you follow. you're alright with that, that's just the way it's always been.

he's dressed, as usual, in a loose grey hoodie that's two sizes too big for him, and his jeans have a hole in the knee; some small rebellion against his clan's strict sense of tradition. even his hair is awfully emssy, tousled and getting a little too long, and you know he hates it when his mother tries to comb it down, and you easily suspect that gojo just ruffles it on purpose to get a reaction out of those around him. he probably does everything on purpose for a round of reactions, honestly.

you, on the other hand, have your nicest lilac skirt on, and there's a small bow in your hair that the maidservants had pinned themselves (your mother had been too deep in her cups all morning). but you had fluttered around, feeling quite pretty in your skirt; like you were a fairy that would sprout wings and live in the clouds.

gojo glances back at you, and rolls his eyes, "you know, you look like you're going to one of the clan meetings," he mutters, but there's a playful glint in his eye. he's pulled a twig from the ground, and he's waving it around like a sword, slicing through imaginary enemies as he marches forward like an idiot.

you just shrug, quietly watching him cut through the tall grass ahead, "i like looking nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed. you can feel the careful way the sweet, old servant (she turned seventy last week!) had arranged your hair, and the press of the bow keeping it every lock in place.

"well, if you ever decide to look like you're not on your way to sit for a court painting, let me know," gojo says, smirking (he thinks he's funny) as he waves his 'sword' around, battling on the false frontlines.

but despite yourself, you laugh, and quicken your pace to keep up with him, and so, gojo slows just a bit, enough that you're walking side by side now, and his arm brushes against yours.

"did you know that they say that this shrine is spooked?" he asks, his voice falling to a dramatic whisper.

"i live here, satoru. obviously, duh," and the shrine comes into view, and it's small, weathered with age, but to you, it looks grand and mysterious, even magical, "do you believe it's haunted?"

gojo shrugs, unfazed, "nah, probably just an old rock. but it would be cool if it was. maybe, we'll see a ghost."

now you've taken a hesitant step back, but gojo just grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and his hand is warm and steady in yours.

"c'mon, don't be a chicken," he teases, laughing as he drags you closer, and you plant your feet firmly in the ground, watching as clouds begin to roll over the sky, ominous and gloomy.

oh, this place is definitely haunted. your father was right, it's so over for you now. a massive, ugly curse is going to pop out and eat you alive, and steal your pretty hair bow. you mutter a small prayer under your breath. gojo satoru, you will pay for this.

✉️ — 2000. 💬 — you.

you'd always heard whispers about yourself from the other kids, how you were too quiet, or you tried far too hard to be perfect — unwilling to roughhouse the way they did. perhaps they were right, and it was true that you preferred to sit alone. you think it was the feeling of order you enjoyed, of a world you could control, even if it was just through lines on a piece of paper.

but today, their voices were louder than usual. a small group had gathered near the cherry blossom tree where you'd settle yourself, and they circled around like hungry wolves sniffing out something they could tear apart.

one girl wrinkled her nose and called you prissy (well, okay) and another boy had snickered and muttered that you were so boring, and it was a wonder that you even had a friend like gojo.

ouch.

their words felt like small, precise cuts, sharper than expected. you had heard these things before. after all, everyone had reached the age where they were aware of their abilities, their techniques as jujutsu sorcerers.

you didn't mind your own technique, making sure to channel time and energy to learn so you could grow up and be as good as your father one day (a well established sorcerer in his own right, if a bit out of shape).

but you didn't have to be very smart to know that gojo's abilities stood out entirely in a different way, and you heard your parents whisper in hushed tones at how lucky his clan was to have a child like that. with the right training and moulding, he could be the most powerful man to walk the earth.

how silly. gojo was all laughs, and smiles, and stupid jokes and bright, clever eyes. you thought it was dumb how they all spoke about an eleven year old boy like he was a weapon, kept in its sheath until it was ready to be drawn.

but of course, all the kids wanted to be friends with him instead. and today, these barbs hurt more — and you kept your eyes down, clutching your books a bit tighter, willing for these supposed 'friends' of yours to go away.

but before you could say anything, you heard his stomps.

"hey!"

gojo's voice was unmistakable, sharp and sudden as he clamoured over, all brashness and bravado. he had gotten a bad haircut recently (entirely his own fault for thinking he could put scissors to his own hair, but you had laughed so hard as he swore curses) so white tufts stuck out all over his head, making him look like he got stuck in a wall socket, even crazier than usual.

but gojo didn't look at you, just planted himself between you and the group, bruised fists clenched (they trained him too hard), and shoulders set, "what's your problem?"

the other kids stammered, clearly surprised, but that didn't stop him, he who looked like a small, lanky and angry polar bear.

"you think you're so funny? talking like that? say it again, and i'll knock your teeth out."

"ah, satoru -" you ran your tongue behind your teeth, the last thing everyone needed was another fight of bruised pride, and yanked hair, rolling around in the dust.

but one of the boys had muttered something under his breath, taking a half-step back. the others followed, shuffling, rolling their eyes and looking anywhere but at you and gojo.

and your best friend didn't move until they had scattered completely, leaving behind only the faint echos of their derision as they fled. and then he turned to you, his scowl fading into something kinder (good, you didn't like seeing him so upset) as he dropped onto the bench, beside you, pulling his knee up onto the bench so he could rest his chin against it casually.

"they're just idiots," he said, rolling his eyes, and his voice was softer, playful again, "don't listen to them."

you gave him a small smile, nodding, as the knot in chest loosened a little, "i wasn't really listening to them," you murmured, even though you probably knew that was a bold-faced lie.

gojo released a loud laugh, much too loud and forced, as he nudged you with his elbow, and he must have known it too, but he was smiling, "good, that's the spirit."

You managed a small smile, nodding, the knot in your chest loosening a little.

the world was quiet again as you both sat in silence, the soft breeze ruffling the grass and the cherry blossoms overhead. and then, with a shyer glance, you managed to look over at your friend, watching as messy tufts of his snowy hair moved ever so slightly in the breeze.

"thanks, 'toru," you said, quietly, but he just shrugged it off, brushing it away as though it was nothing.

"hey, what am i here for?"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — you.

gojo was sprawled across your wide bed, looking at you as if you were the most ridiculous person in the entire world. his own suitcase sat beside him, already paced with the very few things he needed, and now he watched you with that eager, restless gleam in his blue eyes, like he could barely sit still.

"you're so overthinking this," he said, bright voice full of impatience, "just throw some stuff in a bag, and we're good to go. it's just tokyo, not the end of the world."

you scowled at the boy, holding up two sweaters; one sensible in a shade of pale blue, and the other thick, deep red and woollen, "but what if it gets cold? or rains?"

gojo rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically onto your pillow, hands behind his head as he sprawled around like a snooty prince with all the time in the world.

"it's summer, it's tokyo, and it's not like we're moving to america," he smiled, "besides, if you pack any slower, we'll miss our first year."

you tried to brush it off, and something about his easy confidence made you feel a sharp twinge of nerve. this was really happening, you were truly leaving the bounds of your family estates, stepping out into the world, to attend jujutsu tech, a school in tokyo that you had heard so much about. well, there was another school here, in kyoto, but god, it would just be nice to get out of these ancient walls.

and yet -

gojo simply looked like he couldn't wait to shake the dust of his home off his sneakers, you felt something pull at you, like a sudden-appearing string that tied you to your home city, and it wouldn't let you go.

your best friend had caught the look on your face, and softened — just a bit, as he twiddled with a brand new pair of sunglasses, and he sat up closer, watching you carefully, "you're really going to miss it here, aren't you?"

and you shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red sweater, "i don't know. maybe, i suppose. don't you feel that way at all, satoru?"

he shook his head, resolute, "not even a little," but he saw your uncertainty, "listen, you'll be fine. you'll love tokyo. and hey," he nudged you gently with his knee, "i'll be right there with you anyway."

you appreciated that his confidence felt like a promise, something that you could at least hold onto, even in the big capital, and with a big, exaggerated sigh you tossed both sweaters into the suitcase.

"finally!"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — gojo.

the both of you had arrived, bright-eyed and tired, as he clambered off the tall bus that had parked on the outskirts of tokyo, where jujutsu high was located.

gojo stood beside you, hands stuffed in his denim pockets, plastering a disinterested expression on his face. but he couldn't help how his eyes flittered to the sid,e underneath the dark shades of his glasses, watching you fawn over another new student, another boy who had arrived from some small town, who-knows-where, from a non-sorcerer family.

geto suguru.

well it was no lie that gojo liked him a lot too. there was no denying that he seemed polite, clever, maybe a bit shy. and effortlessly cool.

gojo had grown up in the stifling, grand estates of the big clans, constantly fussed over, and robed in fine silks printed with his clan motifs. all of those stuffy rules would sit, push around and make space in one's head, like a constant mantra from the elders.

he didn't need to look at you too closely to see what was going on, and he could tell right away, just from how you reacted. your smile stretched wider, and your eyes lit up like you were meeting someone who you really wanted to talk to.

geto who hadn't even changed into his uniform yet, with his stray strands of dark hair falling out of the knot on the back of his head, looking politely aloof, but cheerful, in worn black jeans and converse, and some baggy band t-shirt that would get gojo scolded by his mother for even wearing that inside the estate.

gojo noticed everything, especially the way your fingers slipped up to tuck your hair behind your ear when geto grinned at you (all because you’d recognised the band on his t-shirt, so what?) he saw how your eyes brightened, like geto suguru had unlocked some hidden code only you could decipher.

it annoyed him to realise that geto's calm, quiet charm was exactly the kind of thing you’d be drawn to. that’s what you liked, wasn’t it? the understated, thoughtful types who let the world come to them. not the loudmouth who cracked jokes at every opportunity, hoping to pull a laugh from his best friend.

well, fuck, he had to be a part of this too now.

✉️ — 2005. 💬 — both.

gojo's new obsession had a sleek, silver body and an olympus logo stamped on it in black, a camera that he'd been itching to buy; refusing to settle for anything less than the latest model. suddenly, he was determined to capture tokyo through his own eyes, and you and your friends had quickly become his reluctant muses on an impromptu day trip to the ameya-yokocho market.

"stop! stay right there, don't move! fuck, no! a little to the left!"

he waved his hands around, motioning for everyone to gather just as he wanted. you all exchanged amused glances, with shoko huffing around dramatically, as gojo crouched down on his long legs, then stood back up, and then crouched down again, as one of jujutsu high's most powerful sorcerers struggled to bring a camera into focus.

eventually, geto had laughed — raven hair falling over his beautiful face, and had gotten up to help gojo, fiddling with the lens as the rest of you milled around.

and then, suddenly gojo turned the camera directly on you. he pointed his finger your way, wide grin half-hidden but unmistakably earnest, 'c'mon, turn that frown upside down!'

he needn't have said a word, just seeing your best friend there, with his hair tousled and carefree grin, with the camera strap hanging off his neck, was enough to make you laugh, the kind that felt as bright as it sounded.

and so, you found yourself standing in the middle of the bustling market street, surrounded by friends and fellow students, and the lively hum of the weekend crowds, as you looked directly into the lens, with your smile softening under his gaze, as though the rest of the world had blurred into the background.

afterwards, gojo had taken a good look at the photo, and he didn't say much, but the look on his face lingered, almost like he was seeing something that he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold onto. you had shyly asked him later, coming up beside his shoulder, whether he had printed a spare copy of the photo, but he shook his head with the lie rolling off his tongue.

love was a selfish endeavour, to its core. he wasn’t about to tell you that he wanted to keep that photo for himself. and later, when no-one was looking, he slipped the small print into his wallet, right between his train pass and some spare change.

✉️ — 2006. 💬 — you.

your best friend, your dear satoru, had always been resilient; the kind of guy who threw himself at life with reckless energy, shrugging off injuries like they were just a part of the ride. he'd laugh off a scraped knee or a bloodied lip, flashing that cocky grin and a shrug as if pain was something for other people.

life for you went on, with your own routines and small moments. you learnt long ago that you didn't quite possess the natural, raw sheer jujutsu power that gojo had (or geto for that matter) but you could certainly hold your own in a scuffle. regardless, you had chosen to turn to academics, flitting between classes and study sessions, arm in arm with sweet shoko.

there was joy in sneaking off campus with friends, or scrolling through lists of new albums to download onto your mp3 player (you had been partial to the south korean boyband, tvxq!).

and so, life seemed both incredibly mundane and slightly electric, with days marked by shy smiles and inside jokes, with walks home on the streets wet from the spring rain.

but it had been late summer when gojo had returned from that last mission, when the days were still long and hot and the afternoons were bathed in a thick, heavy amber. and he had come back...different.

he moved carefully, as though each step was suspicious and took more effort than he'd let on, and his usual bright glimmer was dimmed, his laughter quiet, and his smiles withheld like a rare currency. he'd sit through the long evenings with you, in silence more often than not, hands stuffed into his wide pockets as he stared at a place that you just couldn't reach.

when you'd catch him alone in the courtyard after class, he'd be training hard, working through his cursed techniques with a relentless focus, perfecting each hand gesture as if he could shake off whatever shadow lingered behind him. and sometimes, he'd stay for hours after school, practicing beneath the dying and dusty light of the last days of summer, as if he could not afford to stop, to rest.

“gojo?” you called, hesitating as he finished a strike to some poor unsuspecting pile of soda cans, leaving them obliterated in the heat. “what's going on with you?”

he paused mid-motion, glancing at you, his face carefully blank. and you hated that, you hated how the flicker of distress would pass from his face before being schooled into that carefully constructed mask of 'the strongest.'

i love you, idiot. i love you, i love you, tell me what's bothering you and i will help, you're my best friend.

but these words never saw the light of day, always curling up and choking up in your throat, and instead being twisted into feigned, casual interest. losing the cloak of deep devotion that you held for a friend of ten years.

"oh - hey! nothing," gojo replied, too quickly, with that half-cocked smile that painted over his pink lips, "nothing that deep."

lately, this repeated lie had been hanging in the air between you, clear as the last streaks of summer sunlight that would soon give way to fall.

you crossed your arms over your uniform, dark fabric crinkling, "you're not fooling anyone, you know. geto told me about the mission, he said that you —," you swallowed, with the words just as heavy as the steadfast beat of your heart that you kept under lock and key, "he said you shouldn't have come back. what does that even mean?"

gojo's face flickered again, just for a second, before he barked out that irritating, false chuckle, "guess it's a good thing you weren't sent on tengen's fuckin' mission then," before reaching out and snatching your strawberry milk carton from your hands with a grin.

after a few punctuated slurps and lip-smacking (just to watch your face redden in fury, gojo would admit) he spoke again, voice strained, "you'd probably be crying about it still."

"hey!" you protested, grabbing for the carton again, prying his slender fingers off your sweet treat, "i don't cry that easily."

"could've fooled me. you cried during that american movie about zoo animals."

"madagascar was a sad movie about displacement and the loss of home! i know animal rights activists hate to see your ass coming to the zoo."

gojo snickered, drawing out the words, "fuck that zebra," but now, he was looking off into the golden haze of a beautiful sunset, with that frayed grin, "seriously, though. it's fine, it's all in the past."

over time, gojo never spoke many a word about what happened to the star plasma vessel, but he just seemed to move forward, like he always had. his resolve somehow sharper, tighter, and his laughter more intense when it finally did return. there were moments when you'd catch him staring into the great expanse of nothing, haunted (but beautiful), though he'd just shrug and smile when you prodded him about.

✉️ — 2007. 💬 — gojo.

gojo thought he was astoundingly self-aware, in his own humble opinion. he never let anything get to him, that was the trick, you see. to take life as it came at you, to carry that fire and stubbornness and throw it back in the face of the trouble.

and so he wanted to be angry, to be furious. why had suguru done this? why?

he had known that geto, one of his dearest friends (one who always been so sure of himself) had fallen into disquiet lately, and even gojo had prodded him on whether he had lost weight through sleepless nights. but suguru would have just turned his head back to his book, lost in thought, with his dark hair loose around his face.

had he been blind? how had suguru's silence been covered by what gojo (privately) considered his own loud, defiant return? no, he knew of ghosts. he knew that some spirits and spectres could not be shaken, and sometimes when gojo himself closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp sting of an assassin's blade ramming through his throat, leaving him for dead.

but to murder over a hundred innocent people...

you had found him alone that evening, where he had sprawled over the stairs as the sunset blazed, painting them aglow in dusky hues. but gojo could barely notice any of this beauty, and so he just stared, lost in his thoughts that wouldn't settle.

(are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)

he didn't hear you approach, until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch, surprised out of his sorrowful reverie.

the warmth of your touch steadied him, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered how you could always seem to know exactly when he needed you most.

but the thought twisted, sharp and bitter, for what if you would follow suguru the same way? had you not often looked at geto with light in your eyes? and you had never looked at him like that.

what if, someday, you left him the same way? what if you turned around and saw someone else worth following? he couldn't help his fists from clenching, tension rippling down his shoulders and painfully gripping his head.

"suguru..." his voice came out quieter than he meant, with a crack that he couldn't quite hide, and he heard you sharply inhale, "i can't believe he's gone. i don't know if...if i'll ever see him again. why would he -?"

you still didn't say anything, just tightening your hand on his shoulder. and satoru hated it. hated that he wanted to lean into the weight of your touch, hated that this is what being the strongest now entailed. that now he was plagued by fear, of losing you, of watching you slip through his fingers into another's orbit.

i'm only seventeen. what happened to my youth?

the thoughts are acidic, cynical and they leave him angry (with the world, with the higher ups, with himself, with his parents) and he can't help himself from blurting out the next question.

"did you like him?"

gojo tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he loathes how he sounds pleading, heavier. he feels the embarrassment of vulnerability shroud him as you meet his eyes, and he hates how your eyes are teary too.

you shouldn't cry. ever.

"like? as in like?"

"as in love," gojo mutters, "shoko said you did."

you sniff, and now your head is leaning on his shoulder and he can inhale the scent of your shampoo (apples? caramel?) and despite the crick in his neck, he lowers his shoulder further down so you are more comfortable.

"shoko talks too much sometimes," you laugh weakly, "but probably. i think i did."

gojo tries to tamper down the acrid lurch in his stomach, but you continue, "i think i did love him. but so did shoko. so did nanami, and haibara back when, -" you sigh, "and so did you. we all loved him. he was our friend."

his fingers had been hovering close to your hand for a while, almost as if he couldn't help himself, the pull. finally, he slid his smallest finger to let it curl around yours, drawing out a memory from over a decade ago.

"tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?" "promise?" "why not?"

how silly that the hardest things in life had once been a bored child, and his new friend who fretted about her future wardrobe.

and when you clasped in hand entirely in its return, gojo's breath caught, his throat tightening. the words that he wanted to say, to spill from his throat, hovered in his mind but there was no infinite word strong enough to bring them out.

he wasn't an idiot, he wasn't daft and unobservant, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, to tell you from his lips to yours. but the way his heart laid itself bare in that moment unsettled him deeply, not the yearning itself, but how fierce it was. it disgusted him, the rawness of his desire, exposed right there in the open, where anyone could see it, including you. especially you.

with a realisation that was long coming, beneath the golden wash of the setting sun, he sighed deeply. if he ever lost you, if you ever looked at him with the same betrayal that he'd seen in suguru's eyes, he didn't know if he could survive it. it would cut deeper than his infinity could bear.

he tried speaking again, "if you ever -" but he doesn't get the chance to speak before you're leaning further into him, a quiet sniffle punctuating the silence.

"i won't."

✉️ — the next decade... 💬 — you.

"sweetheart, honey, my precious pumpkin pie."

you shot gojo a death glare, his attempt at flamboyant charm bouncing right off you, "i hate you. never speak to me again."

and your gaze dropped to what was left of your beautiful hermès scarf, once a beautiful concoction of cream-white silk, now reduced to tatters that fluttered pitifully in your hands, stained with some suspicious green goop.

you had cherished this pricey product, but gojo, in his infinite wisdom had decided to pick it up as a perfect blindfold right before a gnarly mission. and so, it got tangled with a nasty curse, and met its tragic, shredded end.

gojo raised his brows, feigning the innocence of a cherub, blinking his long lashes, "i'm sorry, i'll get you a new one, baby."

he drew out the pet name with exaggerated gusto that made you snarl, "enough with the pet names. you are a grown ass man."

and you gave him a first shove in the ribs that made the strongest sorcerer in the world stagger dramatically, only to catch himself with that easy grin still plastered on his face.

but before you could storm off and mourn whatever was left of your one-million yen possession, gojo darted in front of you, blocking your path with his ridiculously long arms. "come on, let me make it up to you, what if i had died on that mission?" he pleaded, looking at you with mock sincerity.

"i wouldn't have even come to the funeral," you sniffed, sticking your nose in the air, ignoring the fake choking sounds that came from the man as he clutched his chest.

months had turned into years, where you and gojo had grown up and graduated jujutsu tech together, carrying triumphs (you won valedictorian, out of a grand total of eight students), losses (gojo was a notoriously bad driver and almost crashed the car that the two of you were in) and countless moments in between.

the two of you had returned to your alma mater as teachers, and mentors, guiding younger sorcerers who were much like you'd once been; eager, impatient, and a little rough around the edges.

gojo took to teaching like he did most things, with his own reckless charm and devil-may-care attitude. he'd joke about skipping staff meetings, but he'd be there anyway, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled underneath him, mouthing snarky comments that only you could hear.

you'd like to think you'd grown more confident, no longer the uncertain teenager who used to glance at herself twice in the mirror. time had given you the chance to learn your strengths, and exorcising curses had left you all the more enduring.

gojo had noticed, though he'd never say it outright. he'd make some teasing comment about the way you would boss around a room, and you'd roll your eyes as you nudged him telling him that you had learnt from the biggest ego in tokyo. but sometimes, he'd watch you a little longer than he should, with that flicker in his gaze that he thought you hadn't noticed.

some things hadn't changed at all, and he still came back to you after every mission, every right. you'd hear him shuffling in from down the hall, his paper bags of desserts swinging as he tried to balance it along with his jacket, and whatever ridiculous trinket he'd picked up for you that week (you kept every single one).

and there the two of you would be, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, sharing sweets straight out of the boxes. he'd pass you a slice of cheesecake that he insisted that you simply must try, nudging your hand until your fingers enveloped his.

wouldn't it be a lie to claim that you didn't bask in the warmth of your best friend's gaze, even as he feigned interest in some story that he had overhead from the students on his way over from the school, with his low laughter filling the quiet around you.

sometimes, in the silence that would fall after the conversation ebbed, he’d reach over and trace circles absentmindedly on the back of your hand with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. neither of you would move or speak. gojo would be looking anywhere but at you, yet his hand wouldn’t let go, tethering you to him in a way that made the apartment feel smaller — almost as if you’d already crossed some line neither of you dared to talk about.

what a pain to be haunted by someone who was already living and breathing right in front of you. sometimes, it left you nauseous, ill, and even screaming into your pillow after he left, and dialing shoko's number so she could give you an earful.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

your car idled at the curb, the sounds of the city filtering in through the barely open window, with the faint chill of the october night brushing against your skin.

gojo looked up from his phone, tapping his fingers on the screen, and there was a sober look on his face that made your stomach twist. you watched as he ran his head through his white hair, and sighed, his eyes still on the screen.

"apparently i was summoned by name," he said quietly, "to shibuya. whatever curtain's been set up is only allowing sorcerers through."

you kept one hand on the wheel, "ijichi reached out to me too, but he wants me covering the perimeter on the other side, away from the metro. but who would summon you by name?"

"i know. do you think it's...?"

"the traitor everyone's guessing about? who else?"

gojo scoffed a little, "fuckin' surprise," he muttered, casting you a glance that spoke volumes of protectiveness, one that made you lurch ever so slightly. his eyes met yours, an unspoken worry passing between you. you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from blurting out the words that lived in the forefront of your mind.

and so, gojo reached for the door handle, and you saw him hesitate as his fingers drummed against the door, before pulling his blindfold up, "well, stay safe, yeah?"

you swallowed, trying to find some false platitude to offer back, "hey, i will if you will."

he gave a short laugh that must have not fully reached his eyes, but it softened the rest of his beautiful face in that way that you loved, "y'know, we could have been going trick-or-treating. dressed like idiots, stuffing our face with candy."

"tweedledee and tweedledum?"

gojo snorted, "next year then."

you hummed, "i'll keep that idea then, tweedledumb."

the bow of his lips quirked, and he looked away again before pushing himself out of the car, stepping out onto the suddenly cold, quiet sidewalk (too quiet, where was everyone?)

he paused, turning back to you through the window, as he lifted his hand up in a small wave, and you could tell he wanted to say something else — but the moment passed, and he closed his mouth, smiling instead in that way of his that said everything without a single word. and he pushed his hands back into his pocket, strolling away as you sat there, suddenly ever so lonely in your silent car, as chills went down your spine.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

"gojo satoru has been sealed."

what the fuck?

the world has slowed down, every sound muffled as if you'd been submerged underwater. shibuya had left gojo sealed in the prison realm by...no. it couldn't be.

suguru geto was dead. dead, executed. had it not been almost a year? you had mourned, gojo had grieved. and yet, the impossible had clawed its way into reality, leaving you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dark and unknowable.

soon the shock twisted into dread, an icy grip that clenched tight around your chest, left the blood draining from your face. god, your hair must just turn as white as his from the stress alone. your best friend, the one who had been beside you in sickness and health.

it was cruel, you thought, to not even be allowed the time to fall apart, now now. there was little space for it in the chaos that had erupted the next day, when waves of curses crashed through the city like nothing you had ever seen. what fresh hell was this, you wondered as you nursed a nasty set of wounds, trailing after (tormented, sweet, far too young) itadori yuji, and his supposed older brother, some blood manipulation user that had done his fair share of damage throughout the night.

the culling games.

the brutality of it shocked you, and several times during the upcoming days, you had to blink back hot tears as sorcerers were summoned, drafted, and thrown into what was quickly a gladiator spectacle, some devilry concocted from geto's, no, kenjaku's mind. and the stakes were not just your own survival, but the students you had mentored — the young souls who had grown under your watch, and needed you now more than ever.

it quickly cost you an eye. a clash with a fierce, blood-thirsty wayward sorcerer had left you bloody and bruised with a clean gash that ran through your right eye, and you had screamed, taken a life even. only the baritone, dulcet tone of the yuji's half-curse brother (choso? a member of the kamo clan? since when did half-curses even exist?) had pulled you away from launching the contents of your stomach over the pavement, as you stared at the crimson dripping off your hands. were you supposed to be grateful that you had survived this, when so many others had not? yuji's tears had kept you awake in the night, his sobs when he thought that no-one could hear him.

gojo's absence had become a wound, raw, with a side of constant ache that you could feel with every waking heartbeat. and so you tried to fight hard with his voice echoing in your ears, remembering the half-smile he'd flash when you'd land a difficult hit, or the grateful look in his eyes knowing that his students were safe.

days blurred together, and nights bled into ceaseless combat, of the terror of being on the run, and still gojo was with you. the thought of finding him, the thought of him being unsealed from the prison realm almost had you blurting false, desparate promises to the sky that you would tell him exactly what you felt for him, bare your heart out in its entirety for him to hold in his hands.

like it had always been.

✉️ — november, 2018 💬 — you.

it was surreal seeing him again, unsealed and standing there against the burnt umber of the sky, rough around the edges but undeniably gojo. nineteen days of living with the ache of his absence, of waking every morning with a hollow flower blooming in your chest, he was here — alive, breathing, real.

but god, it had been so beautiful to meet his blue gaze once more, and that fleeting smile cross his face before he rushed to pull you into his arms, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms with a new strength that almost lifted you off your feet. and if you closed your eye, you could pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all. that it was just you pressed against the warm, beating heart in gojo's chest, unrestrained and fierce as thick arms pulled you close, filling your senses with smoke, and earth, and long-spilt blood.

"don't you look eye catching?"

you huffed and leaned away from him, slamming your fist on hard muscle in exasperation, but if you hadn't turned your gaze away, you would have seen gojo's eyes twitch as he took in your battle-worn appearance, the scar that ran underneath bandages where an eye would have once been. if you had paid more attention, you would have heard his intake of breath as he ran his tongue behind his teeth, with a vow, a promise.

"guess who's going to kick sukuna's ass so far back to the heian era," gojo murmured, and you let out a shaky laugh that echoes all the way down to the marrows of your bones.

"yeah, i thought you were just all talk."

"i'm still alive, aren't i?" he shot back, cocky and boyish once more, and your eyes traced over him, drinking in every small change, the sharper clench in his jaw, the tautness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed broader, like he had been carved up in the prison realm anew. and it leaves you melancholic.

in another universe, the two of you were still young, hand in hand underneath the blue sky as the cool breeze ran through your hair. but battles had turned to war, and the night had no time for what ifs.

"hey, don't go worrying about me," gojo murmured, almost as though he had caught the shadow in your heart, and he plastered a grin on his face, stretching his toned arms in some show of nonchalance, but his gaze lingered on the ruins too long, on the mottled group of assembled sorcerers who seemed to brim with new-found confidence at his return.

and when he finally looked back at you with a new dullness in your eyes, a heaviness you hadn't seen in a long time. it left a dead weight in your chest, but you forced yourself to return his own bland smile, playing along with the front he was trying to maintain, "well, i guess i'll have to keep you out of trouble from now on."

✉️ — november-december, 2018 💬 — you.

the month began to stretch and pass in a blur on the endless horizon, complete with the aching and unbearable waiting where you knew something was going to happen, and yet you did not know when and where. shoko had forgone her own exhausation to see to the rest of the wounds, the ones that had festered under bandages and grimes, leaving faint trails over your skin but she had shaken her head sadly when it came to the socket on your face, even she could not restore an eye.

gojo had swapped his suits and jackets for loose martial pants, and a tight black top that had clung to the muscular frame that he'd honed over the years, laughing off your concerns like they were nothing more than passing clouds.

"don't fret," he'd say, "how bad could this be? you know i told yuji once that even if sukuna was at his full power, i'd still wipe the floor with him. you believe me right?"

you weren't sure if his question was cocky, or a plea, and the fatigue had caused you to snap, "and now, yuji flinches when he hears loud sounds, and he's just another kid who can't fuckin' stop wringing his hands in blood! look what you've done to him!"

gojo's eyes had twitched afterwards, the corner of his mouth pulling down, but he hadn't gotten angry. and you hated it. you hated it all.

but you had wanted to believe in him, in his optimism. you wanted to let his smooth words settle into your bones like the warm comfort they should have been. but how could you feel at ease when everyone was now playing a role? each sorcerer in this building was feigning whatever mask or persona that they had painted and drawn across their face, just as you had. just as gojo did.

but nothing was the same anymore.

and neither were you.

the loss of your eye, the streaks of scars on your skin haunted you. it felt cowardly to say, but this was not the life you should have lived. you simply just didn't see yourself as strong enough, and your eyes watered thinking about the days when you dallied under a clear sky, skirts swaying along the grass as you trailed after your best friend, catching fireflies, exploring shrines, falling to the earth in child-like innocence.

the hollow space on your face, the empty socket served as a reminder of what you had survived, of the world that had fallen into pieces. was there anyone here who would recognise themselves in the mirror anymore?

some nights, the world felt impossibly still, and you would sit at the window and press your hands to the cold of the glass as you watched a scarred city sprawl ahead of you.

you didn't turn at the sound of footsteps at first, and you sat there, with your fingers still dancing on the edge of the window. you closed your eyes as you felt him approach, close, but not enough — you wished he would sit by you, press his soft head to your own, close enough for you to hold him in your hands, curl into his skin.

"satoru, can you make another promise?"

gojo's steps had paused, just a breath but it was enough to know that you had his attention. but when he spoke, "please tell me we're not doing theatrics right now," his voice was laced with that same dismissive edge that he always used when he was trying to push the truth far away.

"can't you shut up, just once? promise me you won't let sukuna kill you, i can't even imagine -" and how irritating, and how melancholic (fuck, this was like a bad soap opera) that your throat was already tightening, your voice wavering with tears that you had been holding back for weeks.

for a moment, gojo didn't respond, and he just stood there and you needn't have turned around to know that there was no trace of laughter nor joy on his face. no easy smirk to deflect the gravity of your well-founded fears. and the silence left you cold.

for the first time, you were suddenly hoping that he might say something blasé, to tell you to stop worrying, to brush it off and just reassure you. but he didn't, he was quiet.

and so you turned to face him, and you felt almost villainous for verbalising your future grief like this, to one who must already have carried such an eternal, heavy burden.

no longer did the blue of his eyes shine like a spring sky, with feather-like clouds that danced in his iris. now, there was only a fractured storm. and god, you loathed that for the first time in what must have been years, his own face was reddening, his eyes suddenly teary, clouds gathering torrential rain.

you knew he hated being seen like this. over a decade of holding him close to your heart had made you privy to his ways, to the way that he'd furiously rub at his face when upset, as if he could will the distress away and hide his tears.

gojo had outstretched his little finger towards you now, hooking it with your own, and your heart stuttered as he brought your finger to his lips, so quick that a ghost may have brushed your skin, with the seal of a promise.

"i will try. god, i swear, i...i promise, i will try." and you knew that gojo satoru was scared, terrified even of what december 24th would bring.

"i -"

you wanted to say it all, wanted to tell him everything. but the words stuck in your throat, love and want and need and ferocious, capricious grief all sat lodged within your beating heart that was so tightly bound in iron chains.

it was a shameful thing. you should have sat there, and comforted him instead. should have told him that it was alright, and you did not know a more powerful and capable sorcerer than he, that he'd leave sukuna in ashes. should have laid your hand on his brow to soothe the lines away from his pale, streaked face.

but you had always been selfish, held onto your heart like a being of folklore, guarded and self-assuming. you wept heart-aching tears, feeling them pool in your sleeves, and run hot salt trails over your lips. maybe it was a testament to how much gojo satoru loved you too, that he could not bear to see you in such grief, and he hesitated.

then he turned to leave you by the window.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

the turn of the year felt cold, far too chilly, even though the night was still young. the city lights twinkled in solitary clumps outside, but they were just as dim as the heavy weight in your chest. the walls seemed to close in as gojo prepared to leave, to face sukuna — the king of curses. and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, something that you would never be able to grasp again, no matter how tightly you gripped.

everyone had wished him luck, calling your their bravest words of encouragement as he walked past them, their voices echoing through the hall, as they slapped him on the back.

they all cheered the same platitudes.

"go fuck sukuna up!"

"language!"

"sorry, choso."

"show him what you're made of!"

"prove that you're not just a pretty face, gojo!"

and so you had plastered the same smile on your face, hoping that it would reach your eyes as gojo winked at you, "hey, before you start telling me off, now it's your turn to promise me something."

you had cocked your head up at him, ignoring shoko's narrowed, tired eyes, "yeah?"

"mhm," satoru nodded, pulling his arms around you, "after this, after all this bullshit, we get to take a vacation."

a barked laugh escaped you, before it collapsed into a giggle, "you want paid leave? that's all it is?"

your best friend's large hands gripped you, flat against your back, "yeah, that's all there is. we're gonna go take a holiday, sit by the beach, watch the ocean. keep it simple."

"a picnic too, eh?"

gojo nodded, humming, "we'll plan everything. about time we got to take a break. i'll be back before you even know it."

you felt his voice hitch against your ear, and your heart twisted painfully in response, he wasn't saying it but you both knew the cold truth, there was a real chance that he may never come back. before your vision could blur, you pressed his lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment on smooth skin (and you felt his arms tighten around you) and hoped that whatever you hoped to say, whatever spine you lacked, could be expressed so swiftly.

"come back then, please. i'll be ready." you whispered between his skin and your lips, the tremble leaving no space for air in your lungs.

for a moment, he didn't answer, just held you, and you tried to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. then, just as you were about to pull away, he spoke, the words falling from his mouth, so familiar and so effortless.

"of course i will. i always do."

there was a flicker of something raw there in his eyes, and you had seen it both before and after shibuya. his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but whatever it was, it never came. instead, he just nodded, a silent promise — unspoken, but felt deep in your bones.

without another word, he turned toward the door. and just before stepping out, he looked back one last time. that smile, that arrogant, confident smile that always made your heart race —i t was there, but it wasn’t the same. it was stretched thin, fragile. his blue eyes were tired, haunted, and for a moment, you saw the truth — the part of him he always kept hidden. the fear. the doubt.

"i'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it didn’t sound like a joke. it sounded like a prayer. a desperate, half-broken promise from the closest thing that the world had to a god.

you couldn’t speak. your heart was lodged in your throat, and the words that you needed to say just wouldn’t come. you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you always had, that you were scared to lose him, that the world without him in it felt like a hollow echo of what it could be. but you couldn’t.

instead, you just nodded, your face a mask of emotions you couldn’t express.

and then, with one final look, a look that held everything neither of you had the courage to say — he stepped out into the cold, his footsteps fading into the distance.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

gojo satoru was dead.

dead. killed.

for a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway of shoko's office, numbness seeping into your bones with a furious grief as you stared at the cold, unmoving form that was once satoru.

fuck, there was bile in your throat as a once lively boy now lay in four pieces, cleanly sliced by sukuna's unforgiving technique, and the sight was a nightmare made so real, something that you just couldn't reconcile with the man who had once been so vibrantly alive.

the warmth that had always clung to him had vanished, leaving his skin pale in the grasp of rigor mortis, and his lips were still flecked with dried blood that had painted a stark contrast against his stiff skin.

and his eyes, those striking blue eyes that used to glint with love and hope and dreams, were now dull, and still open. you had not the heart to close them, for once your hand pulled his eyelids down, you would never see them again, never look into his eyes until it was your time to pass from the circles of the world.

the last thing you’d seen of him had been that cocky grin, that wink that seemed so unbreakable, that laugh that lingered even as he left your embrace. he’d held you, promised you that he would come back, but now, as you stood there, that promise felt like a cruel lie, something that should’ve warned you but instead gave you nothing but hope.

you choked on a breath, your hand coming up to your mouth as you felt the weight of your unspoken words sink down like lead. i should have told him. you’d wanted to say it all, to let him know how much he meant to you, to tell him that he was your everything. but the words had died in your throat, held back by fear, by the delusion that there’d always be another chance, that he’d always come back.

you’d believed him. you’d believed, with every part of yourself, that he’d make it out alive.

but here he was, torn apart, the last shreds of life stolen from him by the king of curses. you had seen him being cut down, like a sheaf of wheat under a god's sickle, how sudden and gut wrenching it had been, and for the second time in a month, you had been on the edge of hurling onto the stone. but this time, the half-curse beside you, choso, hadn't stopped you from losing the contents of your stomach, as instead he had pressed his younger brother's cries to his broad chest, the grief swallowing the entire room.

gojo hadn’t been given the chance to fight back, hadn’t even been able to draw a breath before he’d been torn apart. and that final thought — that he’d been caught off guard, helpless, alone in his last moments — left you feeling shattered, grief clawing at you with merciless hands.

your knees felt weak as you moved toward him, your trembling fingers reaching out to touch his face, cold and unyielding beneath your hand. you traced the lines of his face, memorising every detail, as if somehow, through touch alone, you could keep a piece of him with you. a tear slipped down your cheek, landing on his lips, lips that had once murmured promises, had brushed against your skin in fleeting, unspoken moments. the tear brought moisture once more to the blood that splattered his face, but quickly, it disappeared, drying and taking away any life.

"i should’ve told you,” you whispered, your voice broken, raw, laced with the pain of regret, "i don't know if you ever knew how much i loved you."

you closed your eyes, the silence thickening around you, pressing down until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. your mind replayed every smile, every laugh, every word he’d ever spoken to you, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into your chest. the emptiness of the room swallowed you whole, and all that was left was the aching, unbearable reality that he was gone — that the man who had been your best friend, your confidant, your everything, was nothing more than a memory now.

you stayed there, your hand resting on his cold cheek, as if the warmth of your touch could somehow reach him, bring him back. but he was gone, and with him, he’d taken the words you’d never been able to say, the love you’d never been able to give.

and as the silence closed in around you, suffocating and absolute, you knew that part of you had died with him.

✉️ — not so long later. 💬 — you. it could only be you now, for you are the only one left.

the sun was beginning to set as you reached the shore, casting an amber glow over the ocean. the waves lapped quietly against the sand, as a gentle roll becoming a reminder that the world was still moving, even when the battles were done.

even though everything within you felt like it had come to a standstill. you clutched a folded piece of glossy card, and a box. two things that shoko said she found on him, things that she thought you should keep, she added quietly.

and so, you sat down on the sand, letting the evening wind sweep over you as you gazed out at the endless stretch of water. the ocean had always been something you had dreamed of seeing together, an endless horizon that was wild and untameable, just like gojo satoru had been. but he was gone, gone, and that promise would forever remain unkept.

you opened the folded glossy card, wincing as you tried not to press the faded creases further, brushing over the faded edges. it was dated to the fall of 2005, and you bit your lip as you saw your own image stare back at you. when the world had felt endless, and you had two wide eyes to see it with. there you were, that day in the market, laughing in the photo with your head thrown back sweetly, and you wetly laughed as you saw geto suguru's confused expression in the background, clearly exasperated with gojo's photography skills.

a choked sob escaped you as you traced your smile in the photo, so oblivious to what would come. you’d been so happy then, wrapped in a moment that had felt simple and whole. gojo had teased you relentlessly that day, snapping photos every chance he got, and you’d thought he was just being his usual, silly self. you’d never realised he’d kept this one one, never knew it meant enough for him to carry it all this time.

with a shaking hand, you opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. fuck.

it was beautiful, impossibly beautiful, as if he’d carefully chosen each detail with you in mind. the diamond glistened in the fading light, flecked with small blue stones that reminded you of his eyes, the eyes that used to light up every time he looked at you. this ring was supposed to be a promise, just as the ones you made when you locked little fingers — a promise he never got the chance to make, a life together that you’d both been too afraid to admit you wanted.

the first tear fell, splashing onto the sand below, followed by another, and then another, until you were trembling, the grief tearing out of you in waves, raw and unstoppable. you held the ring to your chest, clutching it as if somehow, by holding it close, you could feel him, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his arms around you.

you could almost hear his voice on the wind, that playful edge mixed with tenderness as he called you by one of his ridiculous pet names. sweetheart, honey, my pumpkin pie, followed by your irritated huff telling him to drop those names.

but truly, here was nothing. just the sound of the waves, relentless and indifferent, echoing the hollow ache in your chest.

the what-ifs clawed at you, memories replaying over and over in your mind: moments when you’d almost reached for him, almost whispered the words, almost let your heart break free. but each time, you’d held back, too afraid to disrupt the delicate balance between you, too certain there’d be another day. but now, those moments were gone, scattered like dust in the wind, and the weight of those unsaid words felt unbearable.

you pressed the photograph to your lips, closing your eyes as if you could summon him back, if only for a moment. but when you opened your eyes, all that greeted you was the empty horizon, stretching out into nothingness.

"i love you,” you murmured, voice broken, barely more than a whisper. "i love you. i always loved you."

the words hung in the air, unheard, unanswered. it was too late, too late for confessions, too late for promises. the life you’d wanted with him, the life he’d carried in his pocket with a ring and a photograph, was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had taken him from you.

you stayed there on the sand as the sky darkened, the weight of his absence pressing down on you like a storm. the wind whipped around you, cold and biting, and you shivered, clutching his ring, his memory, as if that alone could keep you grounded.

as night fell, the stars began to appear, dotting the sky with fragile points of light, distant and unreachable. and you sat there, letting the grief wash over you, lost in the silent, aching expanse of the ocean and the memories of a love that would remain forever unspoken, forever unfulfilled.

wasn't love the greatest curse of them all?

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo angst #satoru gojo #works #lol ive spent too long on this. will proofread later <3

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taylormarieee · 16 days ago

Text

~A hunter's first love~

A dean winchester drabble

Summary: You were dean's first love, yeah I know it's hard to believe with every girl he's been with but you... you were different from the rest, here's you guy's story...

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: dean winchester x hunter!reader

Warnings: kissing, mentions of death, mentions of blood, typical supernatural stuff, dean confessing, angst, a argument, dean being a bit of a jerk, a lil actual smut, piv sex, dean himself, trauma dumping, also reader isn't a hunter in the beginning but closer to the end she is.

A/N: I've been meaning to post this one for awhile but it's just been an idea in the back of my head. I NEED to write for dean more, and I swear I will, my word is my bond guys even tho sometimes i don't commit, ntm on me tho, love y'all and enjoy!

You were dean's very first love. Yea he had that chick in highschool but there were always chicks digging him in high school.

didn't mean he loved them. dean never did meeting parents and saying I love you. he was a cold kid that broke everything.

distanced himself from the people who needed him most. the exceptions were sammy and you.

something about you was special, something about you made dean's heart ache. it made him feel things that he usually would never feel.

he met you when sammy had went off to college to do his own thing. he was proud of sammy but he felt alone. yes of course he had his dad but there were nights where dad would always be gone and dean was left to handle himself.

but that was before you. during you, when he met you in the bar for the very first time, you looked like you were having a hellish day.

"bad day?" he asks as he slides into the barstool, drink in hand. you chuckle and look at him. your eyes widen a bit at how attractive he is.

"y-yea, s-something like that." you stutter as you take another sip of your brandy. after that you both kinda just hit it off.

laughing and having deep genuine conversations. he told you his name and you told him yours. he even offered you a ride back home to which you gladly accepted.

"thank you for the ride dean, I really appreciate it." you thank him and then get ready to walk up the stairs to your apartment but you pause.

"would you like to come inside? I just feel bad for making you take me home and then not offering you anything to sober you up a little. just come inside, please?" you ask.

he smiles and nods. "yea yea sure, i'd love to come inside." he says with a smirk on his face when he stands next to you.

"must you ruin the moment?" you hit him playfully as you chuckle.

"hell yea!" he exclaims with a chuckle as well. you unlock the door to your apartment and step inside. it's not the best but it's enough for you and it was simple and modern and you loved it.

dean seemed to have loved it too, to him though, it was very old-schooled. very 90's. you had these cute posters and paintings on walls. little records piled up on the coffee table.

it was adorable. it was very you. you had an electric guitar on a stand next to your tv in the living room and you had all your favorite rock band cd's splayed everywhere on the couch.

"just gimme a sec, I didn't exactly expect company." you say shyly.

"oh no, your totally fine. I dig it. AC/DC? I love it." he says pointing at the band poster framed up on your wall.

"oh that's old, my dad gave it to me, I basically grew up listening to many rock bands. guns n roses, AC/DC, Metallica, yk the goodies." you smile up at dean.

"that poster was actually signed by the entire band when my dad got a backstage pass. He was so happy til the day he died." you say staring at the poster with a smile on your face.

"guessing he got the best day mug when you were a kid huh?" he says with a smile.

you laugh and shake your head. "yea actually, I did get him one for his birthday one year, he had the proudest smile ever when he saw Axl Rose's signature on it." you smile.

"wow, you were the best daughter." he exclaims.

"I mean I tried to be. my mom split when I was eight and that took a huge chunk outta my dad's heart. so I slowly had to rebuild it back again. I missed seeing him happy. It was just me n him, no point in trying to make life harder than it already was." you explain.

"Yea I get that. your better than me. see when I was little me, my mom, my dad? we were the happiest family. and then when my baby brother was born, I was so happy! but uhm a few months after he was born my uh my mom died. then it was just me my dad and sammy." he explains.

"that was hard for all of us. even harder for sammy considering he never even got to talk to his mother. my dad was hard on me and sammy growing up. I of course was always the lash out kid, constantly angry, never liking how he acted or did stuff. then of course that anger when out to sam because I couldn't yell at my dad, I was 10." he continues.

you hum to let him know your still listening and you grab him some water and prop it on the coffee table in front of you two.

"thanks. but yea, sammy never really understood why we always moved, never stayed in one place too long until he got tired of it. tired of that lifestyle. now he's in college and he's thriving, my dad on the other hand, he's avoiding me any chance he gets but hey, I would avoid me too if I was him. I break everything I touch." he finishes, taking a long gulp of his water.

you both sit in silence for a second and dean looks at you, hoping you say something other than "get out of my house."

"oh dean, I'm so sorry. no child should ever have to go through that. and I can assure you dean, you don't break everything you touch, I'm here and see! I'm not broken, i'm standing ten toes behind you." you says with a smile.

"I hunt monsters for a living with my dad. and we kill them so they can't ahrm people anymore." he blurted out randomly. he wanted to push you away, because he was falling in love with you too quickly. he wanted you to see him as scary.

your eyes widen. you pause. your hand is still on his arm and his thigh. you blink once, then twice. your jaw opens to say something but closes again.

"speak now, scream now, curse me out or forever hold your peace and i'll leave." he says.

you immediately spoke not wanting him to leave. "don't leave. I'm just a little shocked is all. do you and your dad really do that? does your brother know?" you ask.

"Why do you think he went off to college, to live a normal life like the rest of you." dean says.

"wow. uhm that's a lot to take in. thank you for telling me. there are parts of me that don't believe you, but i'm going to trust my heart. I believe you dean. you're a hero."

"I'm not a hero, i'm a monster." he says.

"you save people dean, how is that you being a monster." you counter.

"because it's almost like i enjoy it, the thrill."

"ok but heros i'm sure enjoy the thrill as well."

"That's not the same thing sweetheart I-"

"Why can't you just accept that your not a monster."

"because I lived with this my whole life ok? I am a monster."

"ok, but you help people, how do monsters do that? how is that YOU being a monster?"

"Because I just am!" he shouts at you. you gasp and scoot away from him.

"oh, i'm sorry. I won't bring it up."

"for fuck's sake, I'm sorry sweetheart. I-I didn't mean to shout at you, i'm sorry. c'mere." he says.

you scoot back to him and he wraps your body in a hug.

"what are you so scared of dean? If your brother can live a normal life, why can't you? why do you think you don't deserve a happy ending?" you ask.

you look up at him with puppy dog eyes and he folds immediately. he kisses the top of your head and smiles down at you.

"you really think I'm a good person? you truly believe I could have a happy ending?'" he asks.

"If I didn't think so, would I have bickered with you about it like a toddler?" you ask with a chuckle.

he laughs.

"I guess not."

you both stare at each other for a good 2 minutes before you look down at his lips. he looks at you and stares at your lips as well.

you lean up closer to his face, your noses touching. he closes his eyes, waiting for it to happen. he of course wasn't prepared for his mind's decision to pull away.

"I have to go sweetheart. I'm sorry." he says as he pulls away from you. he can't bare to look at you as he stands up from the couch but he does it anyway and his heart sinks.

your pouting. god why must you look so good when you pout. "oh, please stay dean, I don't want to be alone. and I don't think you do either." you say standing up and grabbing his hand.

"just spend the night, and then in the morning you can leave, just don't leave without saying goodbye." you say pointing a finger at him.

"ok sweetheart, I won't." he says with a smile. "good." you respond with a smile as well.

"now, I have one more gift for you." you say with a smirk on your face.

"Oh really, what is it? it better be pie." he says with a chuckle. you roll your eyes playfully as you pull him towards you bedroom.

"i mean it'll be some kind of pie if you want it to be? but it's also much better than pie." you say seductively.

"mhmmm" he groans, "I like the sound of where this is going.

he runs his hands down your waist as you drag him towards you bed. you shrug off his jacket and he grabs your ass once his jacket is on the floor and goes straight for your jeans buttons.

"please kiss me already dean, I need you." you beg.

his lips are smashed on to yours immediately after your request. guess dean couldn't wait any longer either.

you tug at his shirt and he pulls it off. you take your shirt off as well and that's when dean pushes you on to the bed. you grab at his road shoulders and scratch at his back.

he nips at your neck leaving little sweet kisses after. you were so having hickeys afterwards.

he smashes his lips against yours again and you bite his lip. he groans at the feeling and you release his lip but he can taste the blood on his lip.

he licks his lips and looks at you. "you tryin to devour me huh?" he asks with a smirk.

"Maybe?" you ask with mimicking smirk on your face. he kisses you again and you moan in his mouth. god he lives for your noises.

"do that again." he demands. he kisses down your neck looking for that spot that makes you reel. you moan in his ear again and he physically fights the urge not to shove his fingers in you ight now.

his cock painfully aching in his boxers. you both roll around and moan in each others ears. you tug on his hair and he tugs on yours.

he inhales your scent and he feels like he's on cloud 9.

you were amazing. even more amazing when he first entered inside you. god you were so fucking tight. so delicious. so enticing.

you were pulling him in and he was hitting all the right spots to make you scream his name like a mantra, like a prayer.

you loved the feeling of his fat cock inside you. it made you feel euphoric. no one has ever made you feel this way, dean hit every spot. he made you cry and scream and feel so good.

you needed him. you desired every bit of him. he's the man you daydream about, the one you read tumblr fics about.

you feel your orgasm approaching and dean feels his but he solely his focused on making you feel good. sadly that doesn't work because he's struggling to not cum inside you.

"it's ngh- ok dean. please cum inside me, I want it so bad. please." you beg him and he loses it. he kisses you one last time before he releases inside you, still thrusting and over stimulating himself just to make you feel good.

you eventually cum around his cock as well, feeling so good. you arch into him and tug on his hair really hard he groans. he moans into your ear as he lets out the last spurts of his cum into your stoamch.

he rearranged your guts like no other before and you loved how it made you feel dean winchester makes you feel alive. he makes you feel like yourself.

dean pulls out of you and lays right behind you. you cuddle into him throwing your leg over his to tangle up in his warmth.

he smiles to himself and you kiss him again as you both fall asleep. dean couldn't stop thinking about you. and you couldn't stop thinking about him.

he's your saviour. your hero. your perfect man. your first love.

your his daydream. his fantasy. his perfect girl. his first love.

It's been a year now and you and dean are thriving. he calls you every day and every night when he's on a hunt.

you even got to meet his brother. you comforted him when his dad died and you even let them stay at your place whenever they were in town.

two years go by and you and dean are on a little break. he said that he didn't feel like he could give you what you wanted and asked if he could take a break from the relationship to give him some time to think.

you didn't know he slept with an old fling and it broke your heart when sam told you.

you went on hunting alone. you met bobby on a hunt and he treated you well. he made sure you were safe.

four years go by and you meet dean again, you never blocked him and he called from time to time. sometimes you'd answer other times, you'd not even give him the time of day.

you looked at dean and realized he hasn't aged a day, if anything he looked more mature, he looked just as good as the last time you saw him.

his voice deeper and still demanding. you hug him and he tells you how much he's missed you. you missed him just as much.

he told you he was sorry and you forgave him. you forgave him a long time ago. he offered to try again and you agreed.

the three of you went hunting together like a family and it was fun. but one night you decided to play hero.

"dean, I once told you you deserved a happy ending, that you weren't a monster." you say quickly while panting.

"yea babe, but why? why are you saying this?" he asked his glossy eyes staring back at you.

"you know I love you right?" you tell him.

"I love you too sweetheart, now tell me what's wrong?!" he shouts.

you hear the footsteps of the vampire and you look at sam and dean.

"babe, it's my turn to be a hero ok? you go on without me. you live your life and you find your happy ending. I love you both so much." you say holding the both of their hands.

"Now run." you say.

you shoot at the vampire and it rushes towards you choking you. you try to fight it off but it stabs you in the stomach and you scream out.

Sam runs to rescue you and dean screams for you. the vampire throws you off to the side and bloods seeping out of your mouth and wound. dean runs to your limp body on the floor and he cradles you in his arms.

sam quickly runs back over the vampires body on the ground with a wooden stake in it's heart and it's head cut off.

you try to speak but dean shushes you.

"no no baby don't speak i'm gonna get you help ok, y-your- fuck your gonna live ok. SON OF A BITCH! baby please don't die on me, I love you please please please." he cries.

"i-i love you too, my sweet hero." your last words before your eyes shut and your no longer moving.

he says your name and sam checks for a pulse. he looks at dean and shakes his head no. dean shakes you and screams your name some more but no response.

he sits there and cries with sam by his side crying as well.

you were dean's daydream. his fantasy. his perfect girl. his first love and the last one he ever loved. the one he couldn't save.

Taglist: @dollyfl1rt @itzdarling @sammyluvr @liliesdiary @ribbonprincess @bellahadidnt16 @iilovefictionalpeople @aerangi @keiva1000 @madafton @niktwazny303 @prettyluhdavis @kqmbr1a @nuemanfilms + anyone else who wants to join

#my man <3 #dean supernatural #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #taylor writes<3 #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester supernatural

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wheeboo · 9 months ago

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run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

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haologram · 2 months ago

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araneae 🕸️ k.sy (teaser)

🕸️ synopsis: when you realize your friend (with benefits) actually has feelings for you, a tangled web of lies and avoidance ensues. 🕸️ genre: friends with benefits au ; big dummy dumb idiots to lovers because it's the only trope ever ; ta x student dynamics ; fluff, angst & eventual smut (surprise?) 🕸️ pairing: zoology ta!kwon soonyoung x marine biology major!reader | side pairings: joshua hong x sana minatozaki ; vernon chwe x roh jisun (fromis_9) ; mentions of reader x yuta nakamoto (nct) 🕸️ word count: 2.8k | full fic: i don't fuckin' know but hopefully under 20k. 🕸️ rating: 18+. minors do not interact i beg. 🕸️ warnings: mentions of knife play (none involved), alcohol, mentions of protected sex (dw it'll get freaky later), mentions of cum, loss of virginity talk, mentions of marijuana (stoner!hoshi be off the honeypacks!!), they're naked for most of this snippet. a lot of parties later in the fic, just wait LOL. 🕸️ what to listen to: good kisser - usher ; magic stick - lil' kim ; more to come.

LAST YEAR – Sunday, October 23.

You were never opposed to a nice Halloween party. Lots of thematic drinks, stupid boys dressed as Ghostface trying to explore knife kinks, and girls going all out with their glitter make-up and tinsel in their hair for the optimal fairy costume.

You loved a good Halloween party, music blasting out of the speakers that were stolen from the AV Club by the softer version of the Beta Tau Omega brothers. Dancing with strangers in sweat-soaked facades, and waking up with smeared face paint all over your neck and shoulders from whatever disguised hook-up you'd taken home that night.

Last night's rager had to have been one for the books, because you have no idea how you ended up in this absolute mess of a bedroom – owned by none other than your close friend, Kwon Soonyoung. The same Kwon Soonyoung who also happens to TA the class you've put off taking for the last two years, and are set to start taking the upcoming spring semester.

The same Kwon Soonyoung that was related to the wife of the Dean, and the same Kwon Soonyoung that showed up everywhere stoned or ready to get stoned. The very same Kwon Soonyoung that made infused pre-rolls and edibles for nearly the entire campus…for free. Even you could see that was a horrible business call, and you were a Science major.

Soonyoung who helped people sneak kittens into their dorm rooms and make homes for them under lofted beds. Soonyoung, who taught a dance class and self-defense class back to back, so he was never free until after nine at night. Soonyoung who made hanging out seem like he was trying to get into your pants because he was just naturally flirtatious (and somehow, still absolutely bitchless.)

Soonyoung who you've kissed twice since meeting him two years ago, both times at Halloween parties hosted by his stupid fraternity. Soonyoung, who has had his hand up your skirt twice before someone interrupts you by asking if he has any weed at hand. He always does, and it's always in his car or his bedroom. He always goes, and a part of you, no matter how into it you may be, knows it's for the best. He keeps his circle small, of friends that is. You were added to the mix sometime after your first Halloween party (and first kiss together) your freshman year, when he slammed into you in the middle of the economics hallway, breaking your laptop in the process. He'd felt so bad he took you to Best Buy that same night and shelled out two grand for a new one and even invited you out to lunch the next day.

He did not remember making out at all. To be fair, neither did you until the digital photos came back and he texted you a picture of the two of you kissing against the Beta Tau insignia on the wall. You were so embarrassed you avoided him for a week after, but he quickly forced you out of your dorm for a movie night. The two of you became fast friends, bonding over silly little things and enjoying each other's company – but it didn't stop the rumors from flying that you were a freshman stealing a guy from the sophomores.

You remember that he adamantly denied any and every dating rumor flung your way, and even went as far as distancing himself from you for a bit – but when you tried to pull the same move he had earlier that year, he said maybe it was best for the two of you to remain friends from a distance. You didn't speak to him for the rest of the year, choosing to spend your time with friends your age and even dating a transfer student named Yuta Nakamoto, who was also in Soonyoung's year.

When word got around, Soonyoung was pissed – but didn't attempt to rekindle your friendship. He still followed you on Instagram, and still felt a bit of anger puddle in his stomach as he liked photo after photo of the two of you together, biting his tongue at the empty smile you held by his side.

This continued well into summer, and he saw the two of you take a trip to Jeju Island together, before breaking up the following week. Soonyoung heard from your friend, Nagyung, that he was transferring back and neither of you wanted to try long-distance.

The following school year, he watched as you got recruited by sorority after sorority – eventually joining his frat's sister sorority, Alpha Sigma Delta. You hardly had to rush, the girls actively pushing you to pledge and you were far too nice to say no.

You saw him again for the first time at the Halloween party planning, when you and your fellow pledges were tasked with helping the frat pledges in hauling in liquor. You weren't very happy about it, but Soonyoung whisked you away without a word from you, telling everyone that he needed your help with a certain task.

That task? "Can we talk?"

And you did. You talked, and talked, and talked. He even left at one point to get drinks for the two of you, returning to you fishing through his bag of pre-rolls for the ones infused with lemon balm. He smiled, telling you they were in his car, and you rolled your eyes at it.

You kissed at that party, too. It went further this time – the two of you on Seungcheol's balcony. The idea had been to go up to the roof and get crossed, but it seems a rather tipsy Soonyoung had other ideas. You didn't mind it, in fact you encouraged it – you slipped his hand up your latex dress, you let him slip your panties down your legs. "Hey, Hoshi! Do you have any pre-rolls?!"

Just as he'd started undoing his pants.

"Fuck, I'm sorry baby."

"It's fine."

You passed out in his bedroom that time, too tired to go back to the sorority house with your sisters. You got out of clean-up, and Soonyoung left you a kimbap roll and an electrolyte drink on his nightstand, with a note asking how you got there 'haha.'

It hadn't been fine. Again, neither of you remembered this happening until digitals were printed. And it was freshman year all over again – except this time, Soonyoung stuck around. Soonyoung defended you tooth and nail, and even dropped a few of his friends that bad-mouthed you. When you asked him about it, he shrugged, "Nothing wrong with kissing your friends every once in a while." So, here you are. Again.

The third year in a row you and your stupid friend have made out, and somehow, you're in his bed. There's no other explanation as for why your underwear is across the room, hanging off his lamp and why his head is gently laying on your chest. There's literally no other explanation.

"Soonyoung." You rasp, patting his cheek. He doesn't stir, but pouts into your bare breast. "Soonyoung." You speak louder, shaking him slightly as he peels open one of his eyes.

"Yeah?" It takes him a moment to realize that it's you, sprinkled with glitter from his eye look last night and practically doused in his saliva.

"Oh, fuck." He just furrows his brows, rolling off your chest with a groan. He sits up at the edge of the bed, surveying the room before realizing he's got no pants on. "Son of a bitch. Did we…Yup. Yup, it's right there." His painted fingernails point at the discarded condom atop his dresser, flung hastily in a half-asleep attempt, most likely. You sigh, letting your head fall back on your pillow with a hmph. He does the same, his fingers only reaching up slightly to close the blinds with a jerk of the liftcord.

"You think it was good?" You ask with a small smile, and he snorts. "It was with you, I doubt it would've been bad."

Silence permeates the air again, before he sees your bare bottom half also covered in glitter. You have a tattoo on your hip that you didn't have when you first met. It's a stick-and-poke kitten. "Nice tattoo." "Thanks, I got it on Jeju Island." "When you and Yuta went?" "Yup." "Cool." He sits up, peering down at you with tired eyes. "What'd you see in that guy, anyway?"

"Hm?" "Yuta." "Oh. You want the truth?" It's like being nude in front of each other isn't a big deal. It's like having slept together after years of being in limbo means nothing. It's all so normal, the way you allow him to practically eye fuck you.

"I was sad you stopped being my friend." He blinks at you, watching the way you carefully pick at a thread loose in his comforter. You pull it out, discarding it behind you with a soft smile. "Does that answer your question?" "You fucked another guy because I stopped being your friend?" He asks incredulously, and you shrug. "Not just, but it was a large reason."

"You lost your virginity to him." His eyes are wide, and you shrug once more, nodding your head. "Yup." "Did he make you cum?" "Soonyoung-" "Did he?"

You sigh, patting his comforter. "Not the first couple of times, no. He got better at it, though. It was decent."

Nodding, he clears his throat.

"Do you think I-" "Maybe. I don't know. I don't remember much, just the Pink Whitney Mingyu gave me." "Mingyu does love his Pink Whitney." You flip onto your back again, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Tucking your hands behind your head, you speak again. "Do you think I went down on you?" "There's lipstick on my tip." "What color?" "Uhh…wine red." You wipe a finger across your bottom lip, the small amount of residue a bloody, Cabernet red. "Hm. Checks out."

The air feels…comfortable.

"Wanna shower?" "Yeah." "Can I shower with you?" "Yeah, Soonie."

The two of you stretch simultaneously, before rolling to the side of the bed and standing up. He grabs the discarded condom off the dresser, holding it like a used tissue and taking it to the bin. You dig through his dresser for a towel, and he fishes out something for you to wear.

"Boxers okay?" "Hm, I prefer briefs." "On me or on you?" "Your underwear choices are your business." He holds up a pair of Spiderman briefs. You bite back your laugh and nod silently, extending your hand for them.

He disappears into his bathroom, flickering lights on and turning the shower head on. "Hot?" "Boiling." "Got it."

The both of you get in, and you close your eyes as the water pelts your back. Soonyoung says nothing as he moves your hair off your shoulders and away from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You should've asked me." He mumbles, reaching for the shampoo in the caddy behind you. Peeling your eyes open, you look up at him with a confused stare. "Asked you for what?" He shrugs, holding the shampoo bottle upside down over his hand and squirting some out. "I would've made you cum the first time." You snort, shoving his chest lightly. "Yeah, well…you didn't. It's fine." "This isn't weird to you?" "What? Showering together?" "After fucking, yeah." "Could be worse." "How?" "I could be that girl you've been flirting with since last year, wondering when you're going to text her back." "Who? Yujin?" "Yeah." "I'm not flirting with her, what made you think that?" "Stolen glances, flirty touches, you give her pre-rolls all the time." He rolls his eyes as he cards his fingers through your hair, his dull nails scrubbing your scalp gently. Your eyes flutter shut, and he huffs. "I give everyone pre-rolls." "Because you're a horrible business magnate."

"No, because I'm nice." You smile without opening your eyes, your hands reaching out to touch his chest. His body feels good under your fingertips, you realize. "Are you mad you don't remember any of it?" "Furious." He mutters, gently tilting your head back to wash the soap out. You can't see the way he's looking at the sweet slope of your neck, just barely making out small nips of his teeth across your throat. Your necklace hangs nicely. The rest of the shower remains silent, as he carefully washes you before himself. His attention to detail is insane, the way his fingers hold the washcloth taut so he can feel every inch of you. He has to commit this to memory.

After, you're drying your hair with a random t-shirt he gave you. He remembers you told him that towels can be too rough for your hair texture sometimes. It's only when you're brushing your teeth with a brand new toothbrush he pulled from his cabinets that he speaks. "Let me change my bedsheets." "Don't wanna lay in the sin of fucking your friend, do ya?" The navy blue sheets are quickly replaced by ones with light grey ditsy floral print, and his comforter is shoved off and replaced by a few throw blankets. He watches as you change his pillowcases, only looking away when he hears his phone ping.

Msg From: Cheol [9:32am] hosh [9:32am] who is the girl in ur room and is she missing a pair of cat ears

"What was your costume last night?" He asks, and you snort. "I was a sexy witch." He smiles to himself as he picks up his phone.

Msg To: Cheol [9:33am] not missing a pair of cat ears [9:34am] and it's y/n

Your head snaps up when you hear a pair of feet thundering up the stairs, followed by silence. You give him an odd look, only to hear excited giggles down the hall and the pitter-patter of two adult men coming towards Soonyoung's room. You cross your arms as you hear the door creak open, an expectant look on your face as Jeonghan and Seungcheol's noses appear through the crack. "Hey, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here." Jeonghan remarks sweetly, and you just roll your eyes.

"He wasn't bluffing." He whispers to Seungcheol, receiving an annoyed huff from Soonyoung. "If you're done intruding on my personal business, I'd appreciate it if you left. The pledges still need to clean up last night's mess." Jeonghan gives you a wry look. "Can I say something and you don't get upset?" "If it's about sex, I will punch you in that pretty face of yours." You say pointedly, fluffing the pillow in your hand before throwing it onto his bed. Jeonghan purses his lips, nodding before sliding out from under Seungcheol. He nods his head, a satisfied look on his face. "Have a good…don't fuck too loud, okay?" Soonyoung barely misses Seungcheol's face with the charger he throws across the room, his giggle being heard in the hallway as he barrels down the stairs.

"Idiots." He huffs, running a hand through his damp hair as you flop onto the bed. "You don't mind if I stay here a bit? My head's killing me."

He lays down next to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

"You okay, Soonie?" Turning only his head, he scans your face. Tired eyes lined with thick lashes, plump lips covered by the Aquaphor in his bathroom. Slightly unkempt brows and your shoulder tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt on your frame.

"Kitty?" You grimace at the pet name, one he christened you with when the two of you met. He'd been dressed up as a cowboy, and dancing with a skeleton that was stolen from the comparative anatomy students (with the help of Junhui, of course.) He also had a lit joint between his fingers, one that sprinkled ash over your newly healed shoulder tattoo and made you yelp in pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry, kitty." He quickly put it out in a nearby ashtray, dusting your shoulder of any ash residue. "It's fine, it's fine. Just…can I get a hit?"

"Yeah?" He sits up, leaning against his bed frame before looking down at you. "Would it be weird if I asked to try again?"

You glance up at him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "Try what again, exactly?"

He clears his throat, a beet red blush coating his cheeks. "You said Yuta didn't make you cum. And we don't know if I made you cum. So…can I have a redemption round?"

You've sat up at this point, a small laugh falling from your lips as you push your hair back, "You want to fuck me?"

"I can just go down on you, if, uh…if that's what you'd prefer." He stutters, mentally cursing himself. You glance at him, eyes scanning his face. "And we're still friends after this? You won't dump me?"

"I won't. I promise. Cross my heart, kitty." He holds his pinky finger out, insinuating you link yours. Sighing, you do just that. "Fine. Hop to, I want breakfast."

241 notes · View notes

aemondsbabe · 9 months ago

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

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