#i don't understand it. i never have. and it feels almost restricting to me in a way

[eyesoftxmorrow]

i wish i could love in a way that matters

[chvoswxtch]

revelation

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: billy's questioning leads to more than one epiphany you weren't ready for.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, lots of angst, billy being the shithead he is

word count: 4.2k

a/n: I know y'all were big mad at me last update. I don't know if this one makes up for it or not. but...enjoy. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [ next chapter] | [series masterlist]

Flickers of flesh colored light began to flash in your brain. It was as if each of your senses were rebooting one by one, your body slowly clawing its way out of the darkened abyss you’d been lost in. Murmurs of conversation and clinks of metal crept into your eardrums. While that sickly sweet artificial chemical taste lingered on your tongue, a dull throbbing was emanating from the back of your head. Trying to inhale a deep breath, a familiar strong cologne seemed to flip the switch of consciousness. 

“Ah, there she is.”

As your eyes fluttered open, you fought through the haze of disorientation, forcing your vision to clear. A blur of green approached slowly, and after blinking a few times, the fuzzy silhouette came into focus. Billy knelt down in front of you, a serpentine smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. 

Your bones felt like they were made of stone, but when you tried to move, you realized it wasn’t just a mental restriction, but also a physical one. Glancing downwards, you saw that your wrists and legs had been bound to the chair you were in with black leather straps. White hot rage struck through your nervous system like a bolt of lightning. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm the one tied to a chair here, asshole.”

Billy let out an amused chuckle at your sharp snap, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Just a precaution, darlin’. I've seen you in action, and I like my face the way it is.”

Narrowing your eyes in resentment, your lips were set in a tight line as you clenched your jaw while simultaneously clenching your fists. Billy’s eyes flickered down to your hands before returning to your heated glare, and he let out a deep exhale through his nose. Standing up fully, he grabbed a wooden crate to his left and dragged it over towards you. After sitting down on the edge of it and folding his arms over his chest, he gave a faint nod of his head in your direction.

“I need to know what you know.”

“About what?”

“Frank and Madani.”

Pure annoyance laced with confusion quickly creased between your brows, and your exasperation was evident in your tone.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Billy. That’s what this is about? I told you I don't know anything. Okay, whatever you and Madani have Frank working on-”

Billy suddenly cut you off, snapping his fingers before pointing his index finger in your direction.

“Ah, see, that right there. Madani and I don't work together. We never have. Anvil has a contract with Homeland, but my business is with them, not her.”

Billy paused for a moment, letting those words linger in the air. He searched your face for any flicker of recognition that would give you away, but all he could see in your expression was perplexity. And that you were royally pissed off. Either you had one hell of a poker face, or you truly didn’t know anything. He was determined to find out.

“And I haven't assigned anything to Frank in almost two months, because he told me he needed some personal time to take care of somethin’. So imagine my surprise when you tell me that he’s got some business goin’ on with me and Madani.”

Every word that left Billy’s lips left you feeling confused. It was like he was single handedly ripping up the pieces of what you thought you knew regarding this entire situation with Frank. The ferocity of your anger dulled slightly, becoming overshadowed by disillusionment. 

“I…I don't understand.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

In an instant, your brain began to replay every single conversation with Frank over the last two months, trying to figure out what you were missing. You could feel in your gut that the answer was right in front of your face, but you were struggling to figure it out, and it left you feeling immensely frustrated. Dropping your gaze to the concrete floor beneath your feet, your eyes darted back and forth, like you were reading some invisible text written in the cracks.

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

It’s personal.

Those were the key phrases that kept popping up in your head. They were the ones sticking out from the rest, and your foggy brain was relentlessly trying to figure out why. Closing your eyes, you tried to shift your mindset. You had to treat this like a story. You had to walk through what you knew, sort through the pieces Frank had given you, and connect the red string on the mental evidence board in your brain.

Thinking back to the conversation where you’d confronted Frank at his apartment about his strange behavior, you willed your brain to focus on what he’d said, and how he said it.

“He…he said he had a new assignment.”

Billy had been watching you closely, paying attention to the flash of varying emotions crossing your face. He could see that you were trying to figure something out in your head, and your words made him sit up straighter. 

“What did he say the assignment was?”

You remembered Frank looking remorseful as he sat on his couch, trying to explain the situation, but he had also looked…guarded. He didn’t maintain eye contact with you the entire time, which was strange, and when he did look at you, there had been something in his eyes besides guilt. It was a flicker of something you couldn’t decipher, because he was hiding it from you. Whatever it was, he didn’t want you to see it.

“He didn’t. He just said it was personal. He wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”

“What did he tell you?”

That feeling of frustration you’d felt during that initial conversation bubbled up once again, and you let out an irritated exhale through your nose as you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look upwards. Wherever Billy had you, it appeared to be underground. There weren’t any windows, and the fluorescent overhead lights were harsh, aggravating your sensitive eyes. You swiftly shut them again to block out the light, trying hard to conjure that memory of Frank once more.

But all you could see was your mother. The unpleasant glare above brought you back to a sterile hospital room, and instead of Frank’s deep voice, you heard the daunting beeping on the machines that had controlled her fate with their wires, and the struggle of her labored breathing. Her body had turned against her, stolen her time, but it hadn’t been able to take her feisty spirit. 

Clenching your fists, you tried desperately to escape the memory, but your mother had always been as stubborn as you were. The phantom feeling of the chilled flesh that barely covered the bones of her hand touching your skin felt so real and vivid, you didn’t know if Billy had knocked you out again or not.

Her familiar voice from one of her last good moments, exhausted with illness, but still melodic with whimsy, played in your ears.

“Can you force the tide to come back to the shore?”

A furrow of confusion had settled between your brows at her interjection, and you’d refocused your attention from the book in your hands towards her.

“Did they up your meds?”

“Ha ha ha, smartass.”

Setting down the book you’d been reading her, you smiled at ever present sarcasm, and you’d rolled your eyes playfully.

“No mom, I can’t force the tide to come back to the shore.”

“And why is that?”

There had been a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes, even though they were slightly sunken in and surrounded by dark circles. You had resisted the urge to answer literally about gravity and the moon, and instead let her continue with whatever point she was trying to make.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

She’d reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, and her skin had been so cool to the touch, felt so fragile, it had made your heart constrict in your chest.

“Because it comes on its own. You just have to be patient, and let it come to you.”

Patience had never been your strong suit, especially when it came to putting things together, or trying to figure something out. If something didn’t click fast enough, you would get frustrated and try to coerce it, to make it make sense, which usually never worked in your favor. It wasn’t until you stopped trying so hard and took a step back that you had your biggest breakthroughs. Clearly, it was a lesson you were still trying to learn.

“Y/N. What did Frank say-”

“Can you shut the hell up? I’m trying to think.”

Billy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips when you snapped at him through your gritted teeth, but he obliged. Letting out a quiet shaky breath, you resisted the urge to give into the emotions building up behind your eyelids from that memory. You slowly unclenched your fists and relaxed your jaw. 

Quit trying to force fragments together. Focus. Let it come to you.

Instead of rushing through the memories and waiting for the answers to pop out, you replayed them slowly, carefully analyzing over every frame, dissecting every word. Frank had been very cautious with his phrasing, but that wasn’t a coincidence. 

I’m helpin’ Madani with somethin’. 

Madani gave me some intel. 

Madani needed someone she could trust.

“He said that he was helping Madani-”

Madani. Frank said he was helping Madani. Not once had Frank mentioned Billy. He had only ever said Dinah’s name. 

Opening your eyes, you slowly lowered your head, looking straight forward at Billy. He arched one of his dark brows, an expectant look on his face.

“Said he was helpin’ Madani with what?”

For a moment you stared at Billy in complete silence. Something wasn’t right. As soon as you had let it slip in your office that Frank was working with Madani, Billy had physically reacted. There was something that had flashed in his eyes, darkening them to momentary blackness. His voice was cold when he’d questioned you about it, almost…angry. You’d initially thought it was because he thought you knew something you weren’t supposed to about Frank’s “assignment”. 

But now you realized it was because he didn’t know about it.

“Why didn’t Frank tell you?”

There was unmistakable suspicion in your voice, and it visibly caught Billy off guard. He narrowed his eyes slightly, cocking his head to the side as he looked at you.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out.”

Frank hadn’t mentioned anything about what he was doing with Madani to Billy, his best friend. The man he served side by side with for years, had formed a brotherhood with, who he had considered part of his family. That made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a dreadful chill straightened your spine. He hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what was going on, but he’d at least given you something. 

Frank had mentioned owing Madani a debt, but he was loyal to a fault, and the fact that he hadn’t told Billy set off warning bells in your head. But Billy’s extreme reaction to being purposefully left in the dark was what set your nervous system ablaze with unease. 

The idea of Frank working with Madani without his knowledge seemed to set Billy off, triggering a volatile chain of events. He’d drugged you, kidnapped you from Curtis’ apartment, was essentially holding you hostage, and now he was interrogating you to figure out what you knew. 

One of Frank’s cryptic explanations abruptly parted through the lingering clouds of fogginess in your brain, shedding a blinding light on the most important piece that had been hidden in the shadows of your subconscious. 

“Oh my God.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper and shrouded in disbelief.

It’s connected to someone I know.

You remembered how Frank had stiffened when he’d said that, how his face had hardened to stone. His voice had been quiet, layered with an ominous undertone and barely concealed vitriol. He’d nearly morphed into a man you didn’t recognize right in front of your eyes, and it had made you shiver with discomfort.

And suddenly it clicked. Betrayal. That cold flicker in his eyes he tried to hide was betrayal.

“It’s you.”

Billy watched as the canvas of your face morphed into a portrait of realization and horror.

He visibly stiffened at those words, his lips pressing into a firm line, emphasizing the sharpness of his jaw. 

Billy. All of this was because of Billy. Whatever Madani had found, it was connected to him. That’s why she brought it to Frank. Little moments started to stand out in your head that made you wonder just how long ago Madani had planted the seed of doubt in Frank’s mind. Looking back, he’d acted strangely when you’d mentioned Billy’s name recently, but it was so subtle that you hadn’t even picked up on it.

But him being adamant about leaving you with Curtis, someone you’d never even heard about or met until yesterday, should've been a huge clue.

Knowing that what was causing the divide between you and Frank was none other than the man currently standing in front of you and whatever he had done, you were swiftly filled with an anger that turned your blood molten. Your disbelief and horror slowly hardened into a wall of ice, but your eyes were aflame with resentment.

“What did you do.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation, and the way you grit it through your teeth demanded an answer. Billy’s eyes showed no hint of remorse, and he made no attempt to correct whatever conclusions you were drawing in your head in regards to his character. He rose to his feet, taking a step forward to tower over you, staring down into the flames of rancor blazing in your eyes with a steely gaze of his own. 

“I made something of myself.”

His voice was crisp and clear. There was no layer of apology, no waver of regret. Whatever he’d done, Billy felt justified in it. 

His arrogance had always pissed you off.

Slowly tilting your head to the side, you stared up at him in clear challenge, your tone razor sharp and dripping with venom.

“Yeah? What did it cost?”

The edge of his mouth twitched at your taunt. Grabbing your wrists that were strapped down to the arms of the chair, he leaned forward, getting right in your face as he spoke in an aggravated tone.

“I wasn't handed nothin’. I had to earn everything I got. I had to make some tough decisions along the way, maybe did a few things I'm not so proud of. Empires aren’t built without sacrifice.”

One of the last things Billy had said to you that day in your office when you’d mentioned Frank working with Madani was that some secrets were better left buried. That choice of phrasing left you with a gut feeling that it wasn’t what Billy had left buried, but who. 

“But you didn’t sacrifice anything, did you Billy? No…you sacrificed someone, and it’s come back to haunt you. So who was it? Someone important to Dinah? Or to Frank?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Billy snapped, suddenly getting defensive. His dark brown eyes had eclipsed into pools of disdain, and his lips were twisted into a faint snarl.

“I’m not lettin’ that bitch destroy everything I built.”

Rising to his full height once again, Billy’s expression shifted back into a passive and more controlled one as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I’m gonna send Frankie an invite to do a little trade, you for whatever he’s got.”

Letting out a dry scoff, you shook your head as you stared up at him.

“You’re really more concerned about losing your wealth than your best friend?”

“If he digs too deep, he’s gonna find somethin’ he ain’t gonna like, and the war he waged on New York is gonna look like a fuckin’ daydream compared the nightmare he’s gonna bring to my doorstep.”

Billy’s words seemed to pour over you like a bucket of ice, your fiery rage fizzling into frozen perplexity.

“War on New York? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s eyes flickered up from the phone in his hand, meeting your confused gaze. He arched one of his dark brows, looking at you curiously. 

“Oh c’mon, you haven’t figured it out yet? You’re a clever girl. You didn’t put together the pieces I gave you?”

“What pieces?”

“The gift I left on your desk.”

The file. The one that had Frank’s name on it. You’d had a sneaking suspicion Billy was the one that left it, but you never asked him about it, or paid it any attention after your argument with Frank. A furrow of annoyance settled between your brows.

“I never read it.”

Billy seemed genuinely surprised by that, and also confused.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t my business, and Frank found it anyway and took it.”

He eyed you silently for a moment before slipping his phone back into his pocket and sitting back down on the edge of the crate. Billy cocked his head to the side slightly.

“He tell you how his family died?”

Immediately, you went rigid. A wave of emotions crested within you. The recollection of Frank’s vulnerability in opening up about his tragic loss was fresh. It wasn’t something you’d forget anytime soon, or ever. Hearing the grief in his voice, seeing the pain in his eyes; the worst day of Frank’s life was seared into your memory as deeply as the memory of your own. Billy bringing it up so casually incensed you all over again.

“Why does that matter?”

Billy let out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose at your defensive tone. 

“Did he tell you how they died?”

He repeated his words in a more firm voice, holding your heated gaze.

“Yes, you dick. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Instead of being angry at your insult, a smirk curled at the edge of Billy’s mouth. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, and it filled you with a sickening feeling of foreboding. 

“Pop quiz, sweetheart. Who were the three gangs the Punisher took out?”

Bewilderment wiped any lingering emotion from your face. Billy’s question seemed to send a shock through your brainwaves, causing a delay between it and your mouth.

“What?”

“C’mon, this is an easy one. You wrote an article about the guy. Who were they?”

Billy’s eyes twinkled with amusement under the harsh fluorescents, clearly enjoying knowing something you didn’t. He was taunting you, and despite knowing better than to give into his little game, your curiosity got the better of you.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the Mexican Cartel.”

Billy’s lips spread into a pleased smirk at your reluctant answer, and he gave you a faint not of his head.

“Good girl. Now, you had a uh, mentor, at the Bulletin. Ben, right?” 

The mention of Ben’s name sent a pang through you, but Billy’s sudden switch in topics from the Punisher’s victims to Ben gave you mental whiplash. He didn’t give you more than a second to react before he continued.

“He wrote an article a few years ago about a little shootout, ended in a massacre. Remind me, where was that?”

Anxiety shot through you, making every single hair on your body stand to attention. 

“Central Park.”

“And there was one survivor. What was his name?”

The apprehension you felt was evident in the way you lightly gripped onto the arms of the chair. You hadn’t known that answer when Ben originally worked on that article, but you knew it now. Trying to keep up the strong front you were putting on, you attempted to keep your voice even.

“His name was never released.”

“No, it wasn’t. But when he woke up from that coma and found out his entire family had been killed in that shootout, he sure as hell made sure that New York would never forget the one they gave him.”

Billy watched the way your expression transitioned from translucent coolness, to perplexity, and finally wary hesitance. Keeping his eyes locked on you, he slowly rose from the crate, stalking towards you, but instead of coming to a stop in front of you like he had earlier, he began to circle you like a predator. 

“Tell me sweetheart, who was there that day?”

“Why does that-”

“Just answer the question.”

Letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, you began to rattle off the details you remembered from the article.

“The Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the-”

Immediately, you froze. Billy came to a stop behind you, and you could almost feel the way he was staring at the back of your head intensely.

“And?”

His voice was calm, but you could detect a hint of amusement. He was enjoying this, forcing you to solve his little riddle. But this time, you didn’t want to put the pieces together. You didn’t want to solve this puzzle. You wanted to run away from it. 

“The Mexican Cartel.”

The words were barely a decibel above a whisper when they left your lips, but in the silence of the space, they seemed to roar in your ears. Your hands were now gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that your knuckles had gone stark white, the flesh stretched taut over the bone. 

Feeling Billy’s hands settle on your shoulders, you flinched, and he squeezed them roughly in response. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he bent down to speak directly into your ear.

“What’s his name?”

Billy was a master manipulator. He was toying with you, trying to get a rise out of you by messing with your head. That’s all this was. It was a cruel trick, trying to make you think that the man who had single handedly wiped out the three largest gangs in New York City was the John Doe from the hospital. The he was-

“C’mon, you’re a smart girl. I can see the gears turning in your head. You know his name. Tell me who the Punisher-”

“The Punisher is dead.”

The sharpness and volume of your voice seemed to echo around the space you were currently trapped in. 

“Dead, huh?”

Billy gave your shoulders another firm squeeze before letting go and appearing in front of you again. He looked down at you, taking in the way your eyes were wide open, your breathing had become ragged, and your nails nearly bled from digging them into the wood of the chair so hard. He knelt down in front of you, brushing your hair away from your face, causing you to flinch at his touch, which seemed to annoy him.

He ran his hand through the strands of his raven hair, pushing it back into its perfectly gelled style as he let out a deep exhale through his nose and glanced around absentmindedly.

“He should be. Shoulda died a long time ago. Hell, that bullet to the head shoulda put him down for good. But that stubborn son of a bitch just refuses to die.”

Shutting your eyes, you could see Frank in the cabin. The golden sunlight coming through the window, shining on his tan skin. His warm brown eyes locked on yours, making you feel like he could see right into your soul. The roughness of his calloused palms stroking your cheek while tucking your hair behind your ear. The velvet baritone of his voice echoing in your ears.

We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. 

I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started.

I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. 

It was there. It was right there. Frank had inadvertently told you the truth that day, and you hadn’t even realized.

Billy could see the revelation you’d had when you opened your eyes. He could see the evidence of the truth shining along your bottom lash line. You were so thunderstruck by your epiphany, you didn’t budge this time when Billy reached out to brush a stray tear away from your face.

“Nah, he ain’t dead sweetheart. He's been right by your side this whole time. And when he finds out I've got you, he’s gonna come for you.”

It didn’t matter what Frank had found on Billy. As soon as he found out what Billy had done to you, he was coming. But it wasn’t Frank who was coming.

It was the Punisher.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[demodraws0606]

Jax's fear of being trapped and what that might imply about his past/future

Hello 2 days ago i've developped a chronic case of Brainrotting about Jax, tragic I know.

I'm kinda basing this slightly of what Gooseworx have said in QnAs though I will not rely on it because I think purely relying on a creator's words and not the media isn't really satisfying.

The main thing that stood out to me in this episode with Jax was that he seems to fear punishement.

He seems really freaked out when Gangle proposed the idea of Cain punishing him...

And then he immediatly goes to Zooble to be like "lol you don't believe Cain actually could punish us right ?" and while he's proven right at the end of the episode, the fact that he immediatly tries to seek reassurance that he wouldn't get punished says a lot. In fact in his expressions he looks both sides while saying it almost like he seems...unsure/anxious (idk the right word).

Also when he's brought into the employee training scene. He's weirdly...afraid and shaken by it ?? (not showing the screenshot cos everyone remembers that scene).

Which like, I understand that was terrifying but it was a strangely strong reaction to something that...light ? I mean he wasn't brainwashed or anything. I might be stretching it but all of it, including the scene's purpose makes me wonder if it brought Jax bad memories of...something.

After that scene happens, he completely acts normal and stops trying to be a dick completely.

Now this isn't a convo about weither that's Jax's true self and his jerk self is a persona. People are trying way too hard to either try to make him a one dimensional asshole or secretly a good guy which like he's neither he's a bastard with layers. But that's not what this is about so ANYWAYS.

All of this made me wonder what was Jax's main Thing, more so his theme or the thing that makes him tick.

We know with Gangle it's her issue with masking (her dreams, how she feels, etc...), Ragatha being a people pleaser, Zooble's body dysmorphia, King's memories and how they link with the loss of his wife and Pomni's desire for companionship.

For Jax we actually don't really know other than...he's a dick and he's using it to cope which like....duh ?

But with this episode and also a little thing that I got from researching QnAs (because i'm normal and chill like that) made me realise what could Jax's Thing.

A Fear of Consequences and being Trapped

Now the main thing that drove this thought was me finding out Gooseworx assigning a song to Jax which is this one.

Don't fence me in, huh....

That line meaning a desire to not be restricted and not losing their freedom.

This makes me think this is probably what Jax's character is at least partially about, or more so...his biggest fear. Being restricted, reprimended or trapped.

I think in part that fear could be related to his past, which I'm gonna throw my cards here, my own personal theory is that he was stuck in juvenile detention for misbehaving as a kid. That experience traumatising him enough that he was probably similar to the Jax we've seen at the end of episode 4, just Tired.

Now does it Necessarely have to be a juvenile detention center, honestly no ? But it's the thing that makes the most sense in my head.

Either way this also explains a lot of things about his behavior in the circus.

He's now secluded in a space with absolutely 0 Consequences, the one person who can dish it out is an AI who is probably programmed to never harm humans (directly at least). He's even proven right at the end of episode 4.

I think what led to Jax's shit behavior was this realisation that this is pretty much now his Safe Heaven. In real life he can't just be who he wants to be, there's potential consequences that he's afraid of.

Now I know I'm gonna hear like "oh so you just think Jax is an asshole by nature", I don't think he is (i don't think he's ever been a nice person his life but like there's a difference here), I genuinely think he's not more so being himself rather that it's just that he's overcompensating for the lack of freedom that he's felt his entire life.

In a way it's similar to how people act on the internet.

Imagine that you were a misbehaving kid and you were reprimended HARSHLY for it, to the point where you're not really fixed per say but you're stuck being terrified of even being slightly flawed.

But now here he is, in a place where death doesn't matter, the harm he does doesn't matter and the one person who can actually hurt him just gives him weird shenanigans that give him opportunities to lash out.

However, there's a tiny little problem...

This fantasy cannot last forever forever and I'm not talking about them getting out because as far as they know it's out of the cards for them.

It's very much clear that the circus with the arrival of Pomni is becoming more tight knit and less divided, creating a more solid friendship group with the help of Pomni being an actual normal nice human person (Zooble is nice too but they're more jaded and too depressed to deal with most of everything, and Ragatha is a whole baggage).

It's becoming increasingly clear in the episodes themselves as well that, Jax can't just be an asshole anymore. Every episode since episode 1 has led to him being reprimended or him not being given what he wants. The group is becoming closer and they're sick of his bullshit.

He also probably doesn't like being alone and hated. We see him seeming sad at the talk of Kofmo's funeral before having to go back to being angry and dismissive in his facial expression.

Maybe he really did want to go to Kofmo's funeral but like would anyone actually believe he would be genuine, after being an asshole for so long would it really be worth for Jax to just break it all right there.

But it's clear he's also not really enjoying being alone.

Jax in a way is basically burrying a hole for himself. Being an asshole was his perfect dream after probably living a life of boredom and repression but now that this consequenceless existence has finally revealed itself to just be a mirage, he's now unable to access the things he really needs.

Actual friendship.

It's clear that the Digital Circus has a point of companionship being extremely important, in fact when we get mentions of Kofmo's abstracting we get also mentions about how no one really founds his jokes funny. Kinger mentioning how making someone feel alone and unwanted is the worst thing you could do to someone. Gangle is saved by Pomni and Zooble's presence.

However there's no one at fault for Jax's isolation, he only has himself to blame.

Ive got more but i'm tired so hope you guys enjoyed it.

[buttercupblu]

i wanna fucking tear you apart

Vampire SuguChoso x Reader|Halloween Special Three-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: oh god, where do we begin? let's start in the home of the supernatural, shall we? the great city of New Orleans. and you are absolutely about to shit bricks for having to return here, and not for a reason any sane person would believe. you don't even want to say it out loud and make it real, make them real. but you have to find them, someone's life is at stake if you don't. and the worst part? you reluctantly have to rely on someone, something you've spent years convincing yourself was just a figment of your imagination. be careful reader—or not, you seem to get off on that—because you're about to walk headfirst into something that's going to change your entire world and make you question everything you swore you'd never believe in. w.c: issa surprise. whoever gets the closest, gets a drabble of their choice (restrictions apply. i have to be familiar with the show/story. drop an ask to participate :3) tags: summoning ritual w/ special guest possessive Ghost Gojo who is annoying asf as always but even moreso bc now he can bounce all over the place, ghostly touches, hands up skirts, no bathroom privacy?, taunting and flirting through sexual assault, he's obsessed with your smell and is a panty-sniffer 🧍🏾‍♀️, cunnilingus, fingering, P in V and literally getting the breath knocked out of you, creampie? (you'll understand), coercion for a taste, rutting, and you don't know if you hate him for all of it by the end of the beginning of your journey angel’s note: Satoru...please.. earworm 🐛: tonight you belong to me remix, or the original by Patience and Prudence, it's creepier in my opinion but such a great song

—Believing—

You don't believe in vampires.

So why in the entire fuck are you standing outside of a restaurant hoping you'll be able to talk to a ghost?

You glance up at the sinking sun, the sky bruising with dusk as the nervous tap of your heel against the cobblestone almost syncs with your heart.

Be cool, be cool.

Surely no one's noticed you sitting here for the past 30 minutes, fidgeting with your fingers, mentally pacing back and forth trying to decide if you'll walk through those doors you haven't opened in 6 years.

Those pale green doors that hold centuries worth of secrets that can never escape.

Including...

But what if all of that was just in your head?

You were younger back then, new to New Orleans, and all those stories, legends, and creepy tales could have easily messed with you.

No.

You know what you saw.

What you felt.

What you heard. His voice. That smile...

Your chest feels like a knot tied too tight, yet a strange hope flutters beneath the nerves.

Hope that the past wasn't just some weird trick your mind played on you.

Because you could never forget it.

You just hope he hasn't forgotten you.

You take a breath watching the sun finally slip behind the horizon of the place of your eerie past. The old, chipped sign still hanging crooked above the door, and wrought-iron lanterns cast orange halos on the cracked sidewalk.

Closing time is near, and so is the truth you came here for.

But will this be another bust? Or will you finally get to confirm that all of it was real?

It has to be, he has to be...because he's the only one who can help you find where they are. If they even truly exist.

And the second you finally muster up the strength to face and push through those heavy, creaking doors, there's no turning back.

Walking in feels like you've gone back in time, and everything is just as you left it.

"Hi, welcome to Muriel's." The hostess greets you with a smile that you try to reflect back, hoping that she won't notice your nerves—or worse, that someone from your past will recognize you. "Just to let you know, we will be closing in about 30 to 35 minutes but you are welcome to dine in or takeout." And her eyes drift over your less-than-formal attire, a slight flicker of curiosity in her expression, but her pleasant smile never wavers.

You clear your throat. "Dine in, please," you say, and she nods, tucking a menu and silverware under her arm before leading you through the over-the-top space—each step digging you further into the rabbit hole. The details of what you left behind propels you back into the past, and suddenly you're 19 again, juggling plates and wiping down tables under the watchful gaze of the old regulars. When you last worked here.

The hum of conversation fills the space, but you tune it out, your eyes scanning for familiar things. What the restaurant purposefully lacks on the outside, is equally lacking on the inside.

The tables, dressed in those heavy burgundy cloths. The stuffy velvet chairs, more decoration than comfort. The twinkling glass chandelier that always sparkled a little too brightly for the dark, moody space, and the drapey curtains, still tacky as ever, decorate the walls and clash between the old-world elegance and overdone theatrics.

The bar stools are still worn in the same places, and the corner booth where the kitchen staff would gather to sneaks shots of whiskey after closing still stands strong.

You don't see anyone you recognize—thankfully—but the atmosphere still feels the same. Especially when it seems like the walls are watching you, their quiet judgment as thick and heavy as the air filled with the smell of fried shrimp, garlic, and something bitterly sweet, like old wine left to ferment for too long.

Walking past the table where you used to sit with your tips, counting down the hours until closing and sweet escape, feels heavy, and every step after is like pulling back a curtain on memories you buried deep, unsure if they ever really even happened. But every flicker of light, every clink of glass, makes your heart race just a little—confirming some kind of PTSD because even if your brain doesn't remember, your body does.

The whispers. The rattling. The presence. Always there, but never seen.

Showing up here almost every single day was definitely the bane of your existence, but you couldn't just quit, not back then.

You needed the money to make ends meet, especially when you chose to go to school out of state.

A broke college student struggling to stay afloat in the wild and "haunted" streets of New Orleans where every shadow told a story and every corner whispered a myth.

NOLA, of all places: home of the supernatural you've never believed, and yet here you are, purposely choosing to have a seat at its table. And nervously glancing over at thee table, perfectly set as if waiting for someone special, yet desolate and tucked away from the rest. The phantom feeling of what happened there years ago creeps through your body as you pick at your meal, trying to ignore the urge to bolt on what you think is the stupidest plan you've ever had in your entire life.

By the time you finish up, your heart is pounding, but despite being the worst place you've ever worked in, the food is still as good as you remembered. It always felt like a home you've never visited, soothing your body and making you fight tendrils of sleep.

The restaurant quiets as the final patrons start to leave and you're one of the last stragglers. You pay your tip and stack your dishes out of habit, and now the real waiting begins. "Shut up, shut up," you say to your gut feeling. "I can do this." And you take one last deep breath and yourself before you head towards where everything first went down: the bathroom.

The long, narrow corridor seems darker than ever, the black walls and red carpet only adding to the sense of isolation where you'll be camping out until closing.

You catch a glimpse in the large mirror and pause, barely recognizing yourself—nerves tightening your expression, tension locking your shoulders.

You look like you've already seen the ghost you've come to meet, but give yourself a reassuring head nod, though it feels hollow. Nevertheless, you enter the stall where it all began. Of all the places to meet a ghost...it had to be while you were hovering over a toilet seat. That perv.

Crouching into place, you pull your knees into your chest and try to steady your nerves, listening to the sounds of the restaurant closing—clattering dishes, murmuring voices—all of it mingling with your thumping heartbeat.

This is so stupid, you think, hiding in here like this, feeling so ridiculous you try not to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all. But the thought of backing out now and being like "Oops, my bad." to the staff feels even crazier. You're officially in too deep to turn back now.

You shift in your spot and try to get comfortable, knowing that closing can take quite a while in a place this large and "fancy". But your anxiety is not having it, and you nearly lose your balance, your feet slipping and almost falling into the bowl. You curse, gripping the sides of the stall for stability when you freeze, swearing that you heard a snicker.

You hold your breath thinking you've been caught, but when a silent moment passes then two, you huff and shake your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. You know must be hearing things but fuck, how long is this going to take?

It's nerve-wracking when the staff do finally come in to do bathroom checks, but after what feels like an eternity, you're sure the coast is finally clear. When you creep out of the stall, the restaurant is eerily still now that it's fully closed, and once you've collected yourself, you make your way out, finally ready to sit at the table you've been staring holes into all evening.

The velvet rope falls to the side as you part the way. Your fingers trail over the cold cutlery on the table—the finest in the restaurant, decked with gold trim and sitting on porcelain platters. A small smile tugs at your lips. He's always been the type to require the finer things, even in death. Though you're surprised he hasn't turned the place upside down at the slight wrinkle you catch in the tablecloth.

You sink into the chair, the soft and barely worn cushion molding beneath you, almost welcoming you to the table amidst the unsettling darkness, urging you to quickly pull out your candle and a pair of lace panties. Doubts swarm your mind, but you begin anyway, preparing to start the ritual you've never tested before and solely banking on what you've come to know and what you've experienced.

But what if he doesn't show up?

He hasn't the last few times you've visited, and this...this is the most extreme measure you've taken so far.

If this doesn't work, then nothing will, and you hold your breath as you give the match a hard look before striking it, watching the flame cast a glow in the shadows before bringing it to the wick and lighting the darkness.

The restaurant seems even more disturbing as you glance around the dark. Watching, waiting for any movement, any indication of a presence, of his presence. He's never been predictable, so good at surprises and keeping you on your toes as you worked your shifts from the sun up until it set late at night. Giving you the biggest of scares the first time you felt a brush of your ankle in the bathroom. Thank God you were already on the toilet.

Now, all you can do is wait. Wait and hope that tonight is diff—

Goosebumps rise on your skin and that PTSD kicks in again, catching a glimmer of light in the corner of your eye as a sudden chill creeps in, slithering over your skin. It's subtle at first, like a draft through an open window, but quickly intensifies, feeling the temperature drop by several degrees. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, and for a second, you swear you can see your breath fog in the dim light of the unnatural cold.

Your arms cross over your chest, instinctively rubbing warmth into your skin, and just when you go to wrap the sweater you brought around your body, it hits you—that smell you could never forget or find anywhere else. Heavy, almost suffocating. Filling your nose and seeping into every breath when you hear his voice echo out of nowhere.

"Panties for dinner?" The voice curls around you, laced with that same mischievous edge you remember from years ago.

"Shit!" Your stomach plummets into your ass when you look up. Across the room, in the dim reflection of a nearby mirror, you see him. White, ghostly hair sitting atop a tall, slim figure, his form hazy around the edges like smoke threatening to dissipate.

You can't make out all of him, but the presence is unmistakable. And standing right behind you.

You can't even breathe, frozen, staring at the mirror and his sly grin. But when your fight kicks in and you whip around, there's nothing, just empty air and your hot breath floating in it, and you nearly pee yourself when you turn back and he's sitting right across from you. Calm, composed, and smug as ever, resting in his favorite seat in the house. Reserved just for him.

He leans back, white cotton-clad arms crossing behind his head, his ghostly form flickering in and out of the dim light—almost making him completely translucent save for the reflection in his circular sunglasses. "I know times are changing but—" he tilts them down to eye the lace panties you've laid out. "Even I wouldn't think of adding such a delicacy to the menu."

You release a breath you didn't know you were holding and swallow. "Hello, Gojo."

You never thought you'd say that name again, feeling foreign, yet familiar on your tongue, and though you were just scared out of your wits, relief washes over you. Because at last you know you're not crazy. Not then, and not now.

He's real, and now eyeing you up and down as if you're the next thing on the menu.

Seeing him brings back a flood of memories—memories of late-night shifts, of him toying with you when no one else would be bothered.

Though you've never been the type to believe in anything you can't see, working here taught you differently, and you learned that ghosts are surprisingly easy to find. Or at least, it's easy for them to find you.

He laughs. "Damn, really?" raising a brow, "What's with the formalities?" And he sounds offended for a reason you almost forget why before he has hearts in his eyes.

"Look at you," he says, his voice a soft puff, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. His pale blue eyes gleam with something between amusement and enticement as he takes you in. "All grown up," he pops. "And here after all these years. I didn't think you'd have the guts to come back...and bring such...interesting offerings." His lips curl into a slow smirk.

“Well, Satoru,” your lips purse, “It’s not like I haven’t been trying," you say remembering the frustration of the past few weeks. “I figured something…unconventional might work. Finally.” 

He tsks, casually lifting the lace and dangling it on the end of his fingers before wrapping it in his hand. Eyeing you with mischief as he brings the offering to his face and drowns his nose. 

“You know…” he breathes deeply, “I’ve yet to find anyone else who smells as sweet as you.” His eyes flutter shut a moment as if savoring the scent, his grip tightening. Then, as quickly as the moment came, his expression darkens, his tone going low and sharp eyes snapping open before they narrow. “You can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to have something like that stripped away from you.”

The words hang in the air, thick and cutting. And you know exactly what he means.

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” The question that's been gnawing at you spills out, weighed with weeks of trying and failing to reach him since you first came back, wondering why he wouldn’t show. “Because I left?”

Gojo scoffs, smacking his teeth, and looks away, still holding the lace before dismissively letting them fall to the table. “Is it even worth asking?” His eyes flicker back to yours, dripping with disdain. “You sound so sure. Less of a coward now than you were back then,” he mutters, a bitter edge creeping in that knots your stomach.

“Tell me,” he leans, voice crawling with vice, “…was I too much for you that night?” And your throat tightens, memories of your last shift at Muriel’s rushing back full force. 

Most tourists who flock to this charming, haunted restaurant only know the glossy version of its history.

It’s themed, plays up its rumors, is gimmicky, and serves great food all in one curated pot.

But what most don’t know, is that back in the day, it actually used to be a house—a grand, extravagant mansion that was a symbol of wealth and power, drawing in the city’s elite. But all of that splendor needed someone just as luxurious to maintain it and its reputation for being the place to be if there ever was one. 

And that someone was Gojo.

A filthy rich owner with an exorbitantly large bank account and an even larger love for hosting extravagant parties. He didn’t throw these gatherings just for fun—no, they were about keeping the eyes of the elite on him and his sprawling mansion. His house wasn’t just a home—it was a glittering symbol of his status. 

And as famous as Gojo was for his parties, he was just as infamous for his way with women. A relentless womanizer, he cycled through lovers like the seasons, keeping them rotating out of his door like clockwork and was quick to turn down anyone tried to trap him with promises of children or love. 

Gojo very much valued his freedom, up until he took his very last breath. 

With no one to pass along his estate to, he left no heirs and no family to carry on his legacy, and everything he possessed was auctioned to the public. Being sold to someone just as wealthy and lucky enough to be able to continue the home’s reputation.

But even in death, Gojo didn’t care for sharing the spotlight, or his house.

Through the years, the infamous home was passed from hand to hand, and with each new arrival, Gojo made sure they knew he was still a guest with the same appetite for attention he’d always had. 

His tricks started small, mere nuisances at first—footsteps in empty hallways, doors that wouldn’t stay shut, flickers of lights just as someone reached for the switch. But anyone who dared to claim the house as their own quickly realized that Gojo wasn’t the type to share his space. Years passed, and the mansion’s reputation grew darker. Haunted, they said. 

No one could live there without being tormented by the mischievous, jealous ghost of its original owner, making no one want to touch it with a 10-foot pole. For quite some time, the formerly luxurious home sat on the market, a ghost of itself collecting dust and weary stares from passersby familiar and foreign. But it wasn't until someone got the brilliant idea to say fuck it and try to bank on the legends that it was finally opened to the public, done in a way that was guaranteed to attract people from around the world—by turning it into a restaurant. And consequently making Gojo’s antics truly infamous.

At first, the new owners didn’t believe the stories. It’s just old pipes and drafty halls, they said. But that excuse wore thin. Quickly. 

They would return to tables flipped overnight, chairs scattered around the space like a storm had blown through. Champagne glasses, polished and neatly stacked at closing, would go flying across the bar and shatter against the walls by morning. Whispers could be heard in patrons’ ears during dinner and ruin appetites. 

Workers began quitting. Customers stopped coming.

Eventually, enough was enough, and the owners, desperate and undoubtedly true believers now, decided to strike a deal with the restless spirit and finally appeal to his easily bruised ego. And they set up an exquisite V.I.P. table just for him, even going so far as to allow reservations to be made to have dinner with him and appeal to his sense of companionship once every blue moon. 

Once again, Gojo was the center of attention, and just like that, the chaos stopped.

For regular diners, at least. But then, you came along.

At first, it was subtle—small things that could easily be dismissed as accidents or coincidence. 

A fork slipping from your grasp, a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye.

You’d been warned about Gojo when you were hired but quickly dismissed it as a funny story to tell tourists (like you weren’t borderline new to the city yourself). 

You didn’t believe—not in ghosts, not in any of it. 

That is, until the antics became too much to ignore, and Gojo grew tired of playing games.

The whispers weren’t vague murmurs anymore—they were in your ear, low and teasing and calling your name.

The pranks weren’t harmless either—pinches of the fat on your thighs almost made you drop dishes, gushes of wind fluttered your skirt, exposing your flesh to customers, cool breaths ghosted your neck while taking orders. And on the more vulgar end of the scale, you learned that Gojo had an infatuation with your panties, ghosting his hand under your skirt to skim the fabric and trap remnants of you on his fingers to smell and taste. And when that wasn’t enough, he would resort to stealing them, almost always running off with a pair before the end of your shift so he could relish your intoxicating scent while you were away.

He wanted your attention and was relentless, loving to see you flustered and squirming. And he wasn’t going to stop until he had it.

Then came that night. 

The night everything changed.

It was a quiet evening at Muriel's.

The last of the guests had filtered out, the last of the servers and kitchen staff had gone save for a few, and only a soft clatter of dishes in the back and the low hum of the kitchen being scrubbed down kept your company at the end of your shift.

And it had become the usual for you to be the only one left at the end of the day. Ever since your promotion to shift lead, you were the one expected to close up most days. It was a small step-up—more responsibility, slightly more money—but it almost meant longer hours, on top of still being a full-time student. The bags under your eyes couldn't be darker, but someone had to make sure everything was in order before locking up. You were happy to take the extra cash and kill some debt, but nights like that one—when the restaurant was eerily still, and you were the only one walking its halls—made you question if the raise was really worth it.

You were wiping down and fixing the last of tables, mind drifting, tired, and very, very ready to go home and start your second shift on your school assignments.

You felt your muscles slowly tensing, your movements growing slow and stiff. The air was growing cold as fuck, colder than it'd ever been in the restaurant making hairs stand on your arms and your brows furrow. You wondered if the heat had finally kicked out in the old place when a familiar scent hit you. A thick, heady fragrance that'd been haunting you for weeks—opulent, like aged leather, tobacco, and something sweet like an overripe plum. You'd smell it before, but it was stronger than ever that night, filling the air like a thick perfume that almost made you choke and your heart quicken. Because you were the only one in the restaurant.

A whisper right in your ear almost sent you to glory. "Leaving so soon, beautiful?"

You jolted, a rush of heat and cold spiraling through you as you whipped around expecting to find an empty room as usual, but your rag slipped from your fingers.

Because this time, there it was.

Not just a flicker of light, not just a trick of the shadows—but standing there, casually leaning against the bar as if it'd been waiting for you. Its hair white and ghostly, catching the low light and loosely floating around its sharp, pale face. A man, unworldly and almost hypnotically angelic.

God, he was a vision of the past, looking like he'd stepped straight out of the 18th century. Dressed in a loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt that wasn't buttoned all the way, revealing his chest and looking impossibly soft as it bobbed around him with every subtle move. Untouched by the laws of physics like it had a life of its own along with his baggy, almost billowing pants that seemed more of an accessory to his form than a garment.

He looked like he was floating in water.

But it wasn't just the look of him that struck you—it was his presence.

You'd been receiving little snippets of the supposed guilty party for months, but now he was revealing his full form and moving around the room with an ease that was unnerving. Graceful in a way that made him seem more like a dream than a ghost, his feet barely touching the ground as he circled you—a predator accessing its prey.

He wore circular sunglasses, perched right on the bridge of his nose. The modern touch starkly contrasted the vintage quality of his existence and made him all the more haunting. They reflected the dim light and hid his eyes, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze piercing right through you.

He smiled—lazy, dangerous, and knowing—like he could see every one of your thoughts. "Like what you see?" And your stomach twisted. Because whether you wanted to admit it or not, you couldn't deny that you had been waiting for him.

For months, Gojo had been playing with you, pushing and teasing to the brink of borderline insanity. But never in your wildest thoughts did you expect this. Not for him to ever fully reveal himself. Or for him to be so...ethereally gorgeous in a way that made your mouth dry.

You couldn't help but to stare, captivated by his strange, almost unsettling beauty. You'd been told about his promiscuity, his natural ability to captivate women and now you could see how.

He was an enigma, an impossible class of time periods—both out of place and yet perfectly at home in this old, creaky restaurant.

And despite every instinct screaming at you to get the hell out of Dodge, you were drawn to him, just as you had been since that very first whisper in your ear that made you second-guess reality.

"Well, say something." He laid his cheek on his palm. "Or am I just that handsome?"

And there it was—that egregious arrogance you'd heard so much about dripping from every word, as if he hadn't been terrorizing you from the moment you stepped foot in the place or just given you the jumpscare of your life. Though, what threw you off the most was the way he didn't sound like you expected; his voice didn’t match the way he dressed or the era period he seemed to belong to. It was subtly modern, as if he'd been changing his speech as the years went on.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased, and you swallowed hard, struggling to find your own voice, but the sight of him, his sheer presence, made it almost impossible.

“I’m not scared,” you finally croaked out, lifting your chin, though your voice betrayed you. And the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them, his brows raising and grin widening as he sensed the challenge in your words.

"Not scared, huh?" He stepped closer until the distance between you was almost nonexistent, calling your obvious bullshit by the way you could barely handle his taunts during your day shifts. He paused.

"Boo!"

You jumped, then immediately felt like a little bitch for falling for the oldest trick in the book. You didn't find anything funny but Gojo roared and slapped his knee. "Awww, you're so cute when you're pissed," he remarked, wiping a fake tear at your scowling face. But then his sensual smile returned, reaching out to tilt your chin. "So what'll get you riled up then, brave little waitress?" And he's behind you before you could turn away, running your blood cold as his nose grazed your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair.

You swatted at him, more out of instinct than logic and quickly spun around—only to find nothing. Just empty space and the faint scent of him still hanging in the air like a ghost.

Fuck, where is he?

Your heart thundered in your ears, each breath coming quicker and quicker as your wide eyes scanned the room.

Panic surged through you, fighting to steady your nerves when you turned back and there he was, inches away from your face.

"Fu—!" You flinched and he snickered. "Still not scared?" And he took another step forward.

Your shaky breaths said yes but your head shook no, trying to stand your ground even as your feet moved backwards.

"No?" he grinned, closing the distance between you with every step. "Good. I don't want you to be." Still, his eyes glinted behind those ridiculous shades that hid too much and made it impossible to think straight. Your body moved on autopilot, flight instead of fight kicking in, until the small of your back collided with something solid.

Your breath hitched, aimlessly reaching behind to steady yourself when the soft, velvety fabric sent pins and needles through your body, slowly realizing that you had bumped into the table you just spent too much time painstakingly freshening up earlier—his table.

His grin was positively wicked now and he watched it dawn on your face, registering the fact that you had bumped into the very thing you unironically set up for him. The cool surface pressed into your lower back, cutlery clinking and shifting beneath your fingers as you pondered escape, but you were trapped.

Gojo leaned over you. "Funny," his cool breath brushed your cheek. "I've been watching you for a while now, you know," he mused, his hand slowly creeping up your thigh. His fingers barely brushed beneath your fluffy work skirt but jolts still rocked through you, and you stiffened as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I can detect heart rates," he continued, voice a low purr. "And yours? I've been listening to it for months since I first started...playing with you." He smirked. "How it slows down when you think it's all in your head. How it spikes every time something moves that isn't supposed to. How scared you look when you can't figure out what's happening."

He practically towered over you now, and he down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips as he added, "But it's never beat this fast before." And a breath caught in your throat when his hand slid higher, his fingers curling around the divet of your hip.

"You take such good care of my table, doll. No one has done it better since it's been here." Your knees went weak feeling him knead and trace patterns over your hip with his thumb. "Sooo," he smiled against your ear, "It's only fair I put all that hard work to good use right?"

You tried to twist away, you really did, but it was a fruitless attempt to put some distance between you and the ghost. His grip was ironclad and anchoring you to the table, even in his spectral form, and it reminded you that though he was just a spirit, his strength was all too real, and the cool burn seeped through you, yet contrasted the involuntary warmth pooling between your legs.

You swore under your breath as your body betrayed you with each ghostly touch, shivers cascading down your spine. Your jaw clenched as you tried to ignore the arousal gathering in your panties, but Gojo was no amateur. He had done this dance for far too long and far too many times, and he knew the signs better than anyone.

He pulled back just enough to really get a good look at you, the smirk never leaving his face as he took in the blush creeping up your face. The rapid rise and fall of your swelling chest, the way you tugged on your lower lip in a poor attempt to maintain some semblance of control.

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he murmured so sincerely, but it felt like a trick as his other thumb now traced slow, maddening circles up your inner thigh, inching ever closer to the heat radiating from your core. You started to protest, but the words died in your throat when he finally brushed the damp fabric of your panties.

Your mouths fell open, both of you caught entirely off guard at how surprisingly wet you were.

Gojo let out a breathless chuckle, eyes darkening beneath his glasses at the feel of your warm slick. "Just say the word, beautiful," a silken whisper that seemed to wrap around you along with the continuously languid strokes of your puckering clit.

"Hah," you reluctantly moaned, panic mingling with helplessness in a battle between your mind and body.

Because there was no denying the effect he was having on you.

The gradual build-up of unhinged chemistry had unknowingly begun even when he was just an easily dismissive taunt—no matter how much you wanted to resist.

And the bastard knew it.

Reveled in it even, his ghostly fingers toying with the elastic edge of your panties and teasing you with the promise of something more. You just had to say yes.

No.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the fabric of the table bunching under your fingers as you tried to reason with yourself, to not drink the stupid bitch juice, but with each stroke, each tormenting touch, your resolve crumbled more and more.

"Look at me." His tone left no illusion of choice, and your eyes fluttered open to meet the reflection of your pathetic face in his sunglasses. The distorted image mocked you before he pulled them down the bridge of his nose. "Good girl." The corner of his lip tucked under his teeth and he rewarded you with a firmer touch that made your hips involuntary buck towards him with a mewing "Ah!"

His ghostly laugh filled the room and vibrated through his hand resting between your legs. "I wonder," his brow quirked, eyes wandering over your body. "What other sounds I can draw out of you?"

You tried to respond, lips hot and ready to tell him to go to hell, but the only sound that escaped you was a strangled whimper feeling his fingers hook under your panties and pull them aside, exposing you to the cool air as you looked into his intense gaze. He didn't even have to look to know that you were absolutely dripping, and heat bloomed in your face, your thighs rushing to clamp shut but his other hand firmly held you open.

"So stubborn," he smiled, feeling so lucky he was already dead by the way your eyes shoot daggers, and he got an idea looking at your cute tight-lipped face. "Let's see how long you can keep up that fight of yours, hmm?" And he continued his dizzying but purposely feather-light strokes, determined to bring you to the precipice of shattering into pieces.

If you thought you were crazy before, you felt absolutely insane now the way you had two voices on your shoulder, an Angel and a Devil.

This is a ghost, for God's sake, the angel panicked, screaming about the sheer insanity of the situation.

That dick might hit different though, the Devil argued, voice husky and persuasive, reminding you of endlessly late nights spent studying and the dry spells that came with it. Typical of an obnoxiously busy youth battling between college and work.

It'll literally be out of this world sis, the Devil purred, and though you wanted to cringe at your conscious's bad joke, you couldn't help but acknowledge it as something that just might be true. Because despite the disbelief you were in about the reality of your situation, Gojo's very real, very rock-hard, and solid dick pressing against your knee was undeniable. And the idea of it sinking between your walls snuck into your head all on its own.

Your hand trembled, reaching out, wanting—no, needing to feel the subtly thumping temptation that promised a release you hadn't experienced in far too long. The outline wasn't enough, you needed to feel its girth, its length, and your shaky fingers ghosted right through him.

"Ah ah ah," he chided, caressing your cheek. "Not until you say yes." And you felt physically ill as you took a second to even hesitate. To consider. Absolutely mad. Insane. And disgustingly aching with a need so strong it made your head hurt until both of your bickering voices fell silent when you blurted, "Yes!"

And the world itself held its breath.

But it was all Gojo needed, his eyes flashing in triumph with a devious smirk. And in a movement too fast for your eyes to see, he hoisted you up and turned you over, a gasp escaping your lips and he pushed you into a sinful arch until your chest planted on the table.

The heat of his gaze was blazing, taking in such a lewd display that was begging to be touch, and who was he to resist? Allowing his hands to roam your body with an urgency that left you breathless, his touch cold yet exhilarating and racing your beating heart.

Nudging your legs apart, he crouched down, cooing.

"Even prettier than I imagine." Pushing a huff out of you as his thumb slid in, slowly stretching you and coating his finger in your fluids that made his already translucent finger glisten.

His lips curled into a devilish grin at the sight of you, sprawled out of the table, your face flushed with desire and breaths short and needy. He brought his thumb to his lips, tasting you and almost dying all over again, the mix of savory sweetness and tangy heat making his already painfully hard cock twitch with anticipation.

"Delicious," he purred, "But I need more," and you couldn't even process his words before his hands were on your thighs and spreading you wide, his breath cool against your heated flesh. Then his mouth was on you, tongue tracing circles around your sugary clit, lazy but heavy when your head shot up, feeling him suck it into his mouth with an expertise that made your hand shoot out and try to tangle your fingers in his hair. Helplessly whining and squirming, yet failing to pull him closer to grind down on his face to chase his tongue because he was a ghost after all.

But he was in bliss with your taste and obliged your silent wish, dipping in and out of your core and bringing you to the brink of shattering into a million pieces if it hadn't been for the dick in his pants that was so impatient, and you groaned feeling him pull away with a huff.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, lips glistening with your watery mess as he rose to his feet. "Like a sweet, delectable dish." His thumb rolled over your slit. "But I want to feel you come undone on my cock." And you jumped when you felt his thick, hard length teasing your entrance. Sending a jolt through your body at the sensation of his cool, ghostly flesh against your warm pussy before his hands dug into your hips and he slammed into you with a force so strong it knocked the breath from your lungs.

In an instant, you both froze, him buried to the hilt inside you and feeling your unprepared pussy squeeze and struggle to adjust to being so unbelievably full. Feeling every ridge, every vein of his cock throbbing inside of your tight, little walls.

He groaned, "Fuck," hissing and fingers digging into your flesh as he fought for control. "You feel so..." Losing his words, his hips began to move, thrusts slow and deliberate as he started fucking you and fucking you good after months of build-up and playing with you. Shaking the table until it creaked and groaned, the cutlery clinked and dishes fell to the ground as he drove into you again and again and again making your hands scramble to find purchase on the table and hang on.

It was too much. It was heaven on a very big, very thick, drool-inducing stick. It was so delicious that the intense ache bordered pain and made you want to get away yet run towards it at the same time. But he wasn't about to let you go anywhere.

"I don't know who you've been holding out on me for," he gruffed, eyeing screwing shut at your tight, fluttering pussy, "But tonight, you belong to me." And he punctuated his point with deep, harsh, thrusts.

"Go-Go-GoJO." You stammered over his name wanting to beg for relief, but he just wrapped a hand under your neck and pulled you back against him.

"Call me, Satoru, doll," and he kissed your cheek, still bullying your pussy until your walls caved and hungrily sucked him in.

"Sa-Satoru," you managed, almost breathless, "I'm going to..hah, I'm about to..."

You couldn't even get them out, damn near blacking out when you came and came hard, a powerful, unexpectantly early orgasm ripping through your convulsing body. Wave after wave after of white-hot pleasure washed over you until your body went limp against him and your legs crumbled as he let you collapse against the table.

But he wasn't finished yet and he bit his lips, still deeply pushing through your sore and fluttering walls, his mind a heady mix of egotistical pride and unyielding desire as he felt you shudder and unravel beneath him. He marveled at the sight of you utterly defeated yet still clinging to the table, the way your sweet voice called out his name in ecstasy, and every shaky breath and tremble as he pushed you into overstimulation until his own breath grew uneven.

His release was coming and coming fast, the telltale sign tightening in his core as he watched your ass ricochet off his snapping hips, teetering on the edge of release.

His fingers dug into your nearly limp body and held you in place, each thrust becoming more desperate and erratic because even though his dick was a punisher and you were practically lifeless, your pussy was still whooping his ass. Coaxing him to dig deeper and deeper and look Nirvana right in the face until with a hoarse groan, he finally shattered and moaned your name, knocking your hips into the table and stilling right against your cervix until he spilled into you with a fierce, unrestrained release that left him trembling and breathless and you heady and wondering if you could get pregnant by a ghost.

Huffing, he folded over you, feeling like life had been pulled out of him once again, needing to be as close to you as possible as he grasped the fat of your ass between his fingers. "Fuck, love," he said, damn-near delirious, and the words slipped out before he knew what he was saying. "I would've made you a wife in my first life." But you didn't even have enough consciousness to process the never-before-said words that many before you would've given their very soul to hear.

As the world around you faded to black, the only thing you were aware of was the feeling of Gojo's body pressed against yours and him murmuring your name in your ear like a promise, and to this day you still don't know what he meant by putting your hard work to good use because after allowing him to have his way, his table was left in absolute shambles.

Those few minutes of pure, carnal delirium had burned into you, leaving you shook, figuratively and literally for weeks, even after the semester ended and you returned home for the summer.

And while most would think that would have been the best night in your entire existence and left you begging for more, it actually left you rattled to your core and questioning your sanity. Seeing him, feeling him, almost every night after in your dreams.

Convinced that the pressure of academics, a new city, and your overworked imagination had become too much, you made a choice—one that resulted in you transferring schools and never returning to New Orleans. You left behind your job and all the friends you made and told yourself that the encounter with Gojo had to be nothing more than a full mental breakdown. And yet...

The feeling of him lingered with you for years. So real, so vivid like he was somehow watching, somehow waiting for you to—

"Earth to beautiful." His voice sliced through your trip down memory lane, dragging you back to the present. You blink, realizing with a start that he was no longer sitting across from you.

Following his voice, your gaze darted to the left, and there he was again, lounging on one of the plush chairs in the corner of the restaurant.

You shift in your seat, hesitating as the memories collide with the present. "No," you start, remembering his question. "It wasn't that..."

Gojo's playful smile dims just a little but enough to notice. "Then enlighten me, doll, because last I remember, you just up and left without so much as a goodbye."

You swallow, the knot of guilt building in your stomach. "It wasn't because of you—"

His laugh cut through your words, sharp and bitter, echoing off the walls when he vanishes only to reappear behind you. "Sure didn't feel that way to me, sweetheart."

You whip around to face him, but he's already gone, reappearing across the room, his shoulder leaning against the wall. "You thought I wouldn't notice?" His arms cross. "Didn't even come back for a single shift, just left me hanging like I had done something wrong...no one's ever done that before." And the way he's trying to suppress the sadness in his voice lets you know that he's obviously still salty about it.

For once, the entertainer had his own entertainment—genuine, proper, and unlike anything he ever experienced in the life he knew before and even after death. And it had been stripped away from him just like that.

"I didn't—" And he's gone again, this time materializing at the bar, resting his elbows on it like this whole conversation is nothing but a joke because truthfully, "I've missed playing with you," he confesses.

Heat rises in your cheeks, a mixture of flustered embarrassment and lingering guilt, and you don't know how to feel anymore. "I didn't leave because of you," you insist, but even to you, it sounds weak.

"Then what was it?" Gojo taunts, appearing at a table closer to you, leaning forward in that all-too-familiar lazy, arrogant pose. "Got spooked? Couldn't handle me?" His defensiveness makes it clear he' isn't really listening. "Or maybe..." his voice drops low, "You liked it too much." And your pulse instantly spikes, his teasing combined with what may be a sliver of truth, making your skin prickle.

He watches you with a wolfish grin, knowing exactly what he's doing, how he's affecting you. And when the obvious look of frustration appears on your face before you start to chew him out, he's gone. And you've officially had it.

"Dammit, Gojo!" you snap, pushing up from his table. "Would you stop already?" Your eyes dart around for the source of your anger, trying to follow his shifting presence as he flickers in and out of view. "I came back to talk, not to play your stupid ass games again!" you shout, hoping that'll trigger him, but the room falls silent, the only sound being your own soft breath. You call for him but when he doesn't answer, for a moment, you feel regret, thinking maybe he's finally let his emotions get the best of him and he's disappeared forever.

"Tell me..." and in a sudden flicker, he's in front of you, his touch cold and electric as he softly brushes your cheek. "After all these years..." His fingers draw a slow line from your neck to your tummy. "Can you still feel me...down there?"

And your jaw slacks open,

You let out a short exhale, instinctively taking a step back, but Gojo is already pressing forward, making you stumble back until the cool wood of the bag digs into your lower back like déjà vu. You try to move but his hand is already on your waist, fingers possessively curling around you, and with a casual, effortless push, he hoists you onto the bar and parts your legs with ease before slotting himself between them as if he's always belonged there. And fuck it stirs something deep inside you.

You should be scrambling to get down, but you hate how easily your body reacts to him instead, how the pull between you feels just as strong as it did back then, as if the years apart meant nothing. But Gojo isn't afraid to throw away his ego to show you he misses you, even after all this time. And damn it, you feel absolutely insane realizing that part of you misses him too, even if it was just a few months of build-up and one explosive night.

But you're older now. You're not the same naïve girl he could easily swoon with a smirk and a whisper of words.

No, you were here for a reason and didn't hesitate to swallow down your confusing desire to stick to the mission. Even if it meant breaking his heart.

“Stop,” you say more to yourself than him, but the firmness in your voice surprises both of you. Pulling away from his lingering hands, you shake your head. “I’m not here for that.”

His hands freeze in place, and he leans back just enough to meet your eyes. “No?” He mocks surprise. “Then what are you here for, sweetheart? Because I’m having a hard time believing this isn’t it.”

You lift your chin, forcing out the words before you lose your nerve. “I need your help, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, but his smile slightly falters when he sees you’re serious.

“Help?” He tilts his head. “And here I thought you just missed me.” His smile widens, but there’s something dangerous in it now. Something that makes you remember just how unpredictable Gojo can be. And just you think he’s got the wrong idea and is going in for a kiss, he leans back and gives you space. He sighs, his arms crossing over his chest and gaze flickering over your face. “What could I possibly help you with?” And his willingness to listen is what surprises you the most, but you still can’t believe what you’re about to say, and you draw a steady breath to help get the words out.

“I need to find them.”

His brow quirks. “Them?”

“...the vampires.” And the second the word leaves your mouth, his grin falters.

For the first time since he appeared, the amusement completely drops from his face and suddenly, he's very careful with his words. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”

“I—” You hesitate, wanting to say that you don’t know what you believe in anymore. Never in your entire life did you expect to have a full-fledged conversation with a ghost, let alone be fucked into oblivion by one, but here you were, living reality as it was and anything was possible at this point, but instead, you just say what’s true. “Things have changed.”

“I see,” his eyes narrow as if weighing your words and he shrugs, walking off a bit. “Quite the 180,” he muses, “But who knows, maybe they’re real, maybe they’re not. Maybe I know,” and he turns back, leaning in. “Maybe I don’t,” he whispers.

His words taunt you, but it’s the look in his eyes that hold you captive, as if he’s trying to pull the truth right out of your skull. “Why? Why are you so eager to find them?” And you’re taken aback by his suddenly jealous tone. 

“It’s my friend…” you start, and you feel pathetic for wanting to cry. “She’s missing.”

Gojo’s face slightly softens, but he doesn’t speak. You just know that he’s listening, truly listening now.

“She started acting all…weird before she disappeared,” you continue, your throat tightening as the memories of you meeting in college race through your mind. You stayed friends after you left, but she never did. “She mentioned vampires once, but I just thought she was messing around. NOLA, y’know?” You shrug. “I blew it off,” you confess, “But now…she’s gone and I—now I don’t know what else to think.” And all of the despair you’ve been suppressing finds its way to your chest.  

But all Gojo cared about was getting an answer that satisfied him, and in an instant, he’s behind the bar, his fingers ghosting under your chin and tilting your head back until you’re forced to look at him. 

“So this is about your friend then? Not the vampires?”

Your face twists. “Yeah, of course, what else?”

He looks off to the side, muttering something under his breath. Then his eyes narrow, glinting with something unreadable as they snap back to yours. “And why do you think I’m just going to hand you that kind of information? That I would even have it?” And the temperature around you drops so sharply you can see your breath hanging in the air. 

The weight of what you're asking for sinks in when you see just how serious he is, even more so than the power Gojo holds, even if it is just secrets. And yet, here you are, asking him to hand it over like it was nothing. Your throat tightens, lips cold as you swallow hard, but you want him to know you're serious too. “Because I know you can help me, Satoru,” you say with deliberate emphasis. “I remember what you said once…about knowing things.”

If there was anyone in New Orleans who could provide the answers you needed, it was Gojo. He'd been around for centuries, passing through time and history and collecting secrets like currency with effortless charisma and casual conversation. He could easily draw out the most guarded truths from anyone he deemed important or anyone who fell for his seductive charm, always knowing which strings to pull. In this city where the supernatural runs deep, Gojo is a bank of information and the gatekeeper of everything hidden beneath the surface. And just from what you'd told him, he knew this situation was dire.

The silence that follows stretches too long for comfort, weighty as he just watches you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, panic flutters in your stomach.

Have you pushed him too far? Was this plan to reconnect with him for answers nothing more than a foolish misjudgment? What if Gojo chooses revenge and leaves you with nothing—all of this…for nothing?

But then, ever so slowly, that unmistakable smirk returns as he leans close enough to almost brush your cool lips. “Vampires, huh?” His mouth curls into a full, dangerous smile now. “You must be desperate, coming to me for that.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver, and you nod though you hate that it's true. “I am.” And Gojo chuckles, the sound both chilling and thrilling as he traces your jawline. “Then I suppose we’d better make this…interesting.” But you aren’t even surprised because if there was one thing you didn’t need to be told, it’s that Gojo never makes anything easy. Never has. But at least he’s willing to strike up a deal.

Gojo only agrees to tell you what you need to know on one condition: “I want to taste you,” he says simply, like it’s nothing. “That’s it.” And you can’t even fully process the words as his arm slips around your waist, gently pulling your back against his chest, his hand snaking down to find home between your legs. “I didn’t get to properly the first time,” he muses, his breath cool against your neck. Sharing the sentiment as if he knows you may never come back. 

Your pulse quickens, the gravity of what he’s asking settling in. Memories of that night—the sheer intensity of it—clouding your judgment and flooding your mind like the heat building between your legs. The request hangs between you like a blade. Giving you a choice, but you know there’s no real option here. If you refuse, he might not give you what you need. But if you agree…

“That’s it?” you whisper. He nods. And after a moment’s ponder as his fingers tease against your skin and spur your decision, history repeats itself when you once again say yes.

In an instant, he’s on his knees in front of you, eliciting a gasp from you when he swiftly pulls you to the edge of the bar. He blissfully hums, his hands gliding up and down your thighs like silk before parting them like the Red Sea. He ogles you, the blue of his eyes flaring at the sight of your unclothed and oh-so-pretty, glistening cunt confirming what he already knew, that the lace panties you used to summon him had come freshly off your body. 

His eyes darken with desire, never leaving yours as he leans in. "This. This is all I want," he murmurs, and his lips brush the inside of your thigh with a featherlight touch.

“Mmph.” Your fingers curl into fists as you fight the urge to grab his hair and guide him to where you’ve been throbbing the most. Because despite your words earlier, the way your body responds to his touch, every tremble, every subtle sigh, doesn't lie. 

You wanted this as badly as he did. 

But Gojo is in control; his movements deliberate, slow, and savoring every inch of your exposed skin.

And he’s determined to show you exactly what you’ve been missing. 

His cool breath fans against your skin, his lips soft, teasing, and leaving a trail of icy fire as they move closer and closer to your center, to the source of your intoxicating scent that hooked him like an addict from the moment you first entered the restaurant six years ago. 

Your fingers clench the bar's edge, the cool wood a poor substitute for the touch you crave.

God, you wish he’d stop toying with you. Even when you give in and give him exactly what he wants, he still finds a way to make everything a game.

And just when you’re ready to huff and puff, you draw a sharp breath, the first flick of his tongue against your sensitive flesh almost making you fall to pieces. Your back arches as if struck by lightning, unable to help the moan that echoes in the deserted restaurant.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he delves deeper, circling his tongue around your puffy clit and puckering hole. And he’s true to his word, taking his time to explore and properly savor you with long, languid strokes that have you gripping the bar until your knuckles turn white. 

Like a man possessed, his hands claim your thighs, devouring you with a maddening intensity and leaving you breathless. A sinful blend of pleasure and arousal as he navigates your most sensitive spots as if he’s done so a hundred times. Cooing into your folds, slurping your juices like a refreshment, making you completely surrender and his name slip from your lips in a desperate, needy whisper. 

He smiles against your bud he sucks like a popsicle, your brows furrowing and body arching as he expertly brings you to the brink of desperate release. “Patience, sweetheart.” Gojo looks up at you, eyes gleaming with mischief as his tongue swipes at the taste of you on his lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”

But waiting is the last thing on your mind as you stare at him, your body aching for more before his lips hover just above your throbbing core. You’re holding your breath without realizing it, every nerve in your body attuned to his every move before he’s on you again, his fingers digging into your flesh and the slight sting only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Fuck baby,” he laps, a digit slipping into your tight walls, “I’ve missed this.” Adding a second that hooks right onto your G-spot and shoots stars into your eyes—making it worse by slurping your clit into his mouth in a nasty combination while pushing in and out.

The pressure inside you mounts and your eyes roll uncontrollably as you teeter on the edge. Your breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps as your body winds up so tightly it feels like you might shatter as you chase the sensation, hips bucking into Gojo’s face.

His hands clamp down on your thighs. “Stay still,” he commands, his low growl vibrating through you. But his words only fan the flames of your desperation, whimpers escaping you before he’s back at it, his tongue dancing over your clit with fiery precision. 

You’re about to beg, to plead for release, hands scrambling to grasp him when you know you can’t when he slightly pulls back. 

His gaze locks onto yours. “Now,” he says, “Now you can touch me.” And for a moment, you’re not sure you’ve heard him correctly. 

But then you feel it—the change like a switch has been flipped—a newfound solidity where there has been none before that your body instinctively responds to. 

You reach out, tentative at first, and find yourself shocked when your fingers graze the top of his head. His hair is unexpectedly soft; threading your fingers through the silky strands and gripping them lightly as your legs wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer to chase ecstasy. 

Years have gone by, lovers have come and go, but nobody, nobody has been able to slurp, suck, or devour you anywhere near as close as Gojo. He eats you with a passion, with a determination to make you fall apart and come undone like the pleasure is more his than yours. If you could say there was ever a true eater who ever walked this earth, the first person you think of is him. And if you were around in the 1800s, you probably would have tried to trap him and ride his face into the sunset too. 

You pull him flush into your cunt and grind your clit against his tongue without remorse. And it’s that low, guttural hum, his nose nuzzling deep against your folds like a madman and fingers harshly curling right against that perfect, gummy spot in you that finally sends you toppling right over. With a final, drawn-out moan, you shatter beneath his touch and the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of color and light. 

Your legs tighten around him, holding him in place as you ride out the storm of pleasure, grasping his platinum locks with both hands and drenching his face with your sweet release as you cum harder than you have in 6 years.  

Your mouth falls open in shock, embarrassment flushing your body from both squirting for the first time and expecting Gojo to release you in disgust, but his only response is a low hum of approval, and his hands slide up your body to pin your writhing hips down and drink as he pleases. Not missing a single drop. 

Your body pulses with aftershocks on his tongue, each wave weaker than the last but he doesn’t stop. And when your eyes cross from the overstimulation, you beg and blubber until you can’t anymore and finally collapse on the bar, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat as you come down from the high.

Full and satisfied, Gojo slowly pulls away, a smug slip playing on his lips as he licks them. Gazing up at you, his eyes—bluer than ever—roam over your flushed form. “Delicious as ever,” and his praise is almost as sweet as the sight of you. “Now,” he says, rising to his feet, “About those vampires…”

You take a second. “Right…,” and huff, “the vampires.” You’re so spent you almost forgot what you came here for, your core feeling tight and sore as you attempt to sit up. Little groans slip out before Gojo catches you off-guard, smashing his lips against yours in the first kiss you two have ever had—letting you taste yourself on his cool tongue and making your head swim. You could lose yourself it in, seeming to go on forever as his possessive hands roam all over your body.

You moan into his mouth. “Go-Satoru.” Trying to fight the heady feeling, but you should’ve known better. An indulgent man like Gojo would never stop at just one taste.  

He can feel you slowly cracking, and when he finally breaks the kiss, your lips are left swollen and tingling before he steals your breath again when he begins rutting against you. 

“I want to fuck you down on my cock so bad.” His face is buried in the crook of your neck, breaths coming in short, ragged pants—sick off of the scent of your hair. “Would that be so bad?” 

“Satoru,” you breathe out, a plea, a warning? You’re not sure which. “We had a deal, Satoru,” you remind him, struggling to hold onto any semblance of control. The sensation of his length rubbing against your sensitive and still-soaking core is almost too much and a solid reminder how full you were that night, and how full you could be again.

For a moment, it feels like he won't stop—and maybe you don’t want him to. But your resolve, silent yet firm, cuts through Gojo’s haze of desire, even if your body isn’t strong enough to resist and push him away yourself. And with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, Gojo huffs, and swears to himself as he's the one to pull away.

You swipe your bottom lip, for a second missing his on yours, and it takes a moment for you to clear your head, your hands unsteady as they fumble to straighten your clothes and fix yourself up as you slide off the bar. It's only after several deep breaths that your pulse begins to steady, and you can meet his eyes and that same infuriating smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Tsh, you’re no fun,” he teases, but there’s a note of respect in his voice. 

Ignoring his comment, you square your shoulders. “I need to know how to find them, Gojo.”

His hand flies to his chest. “Ouch.” You roll your eyes. “Alright, alright,” he relents, running a hand through his hair. “A deal’s a deal.” He casually leans back against the bar, his tone turning back to business. “You want to find the vampires? The best way is to start with the hunters.”

You frown in confusion. “Hunters? …Vampire hunters?”

He nods, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You find the hunters, you find the vampires.” His voice is calm, but the words hit you like a train.

Oh, this is real. 

Very, very real. 

And your blood runs cold at the weight of your situation, of what you’re getting into.

Your friend wasn’t just caught up in some strange myth or superstition.

You’re not just playing detective anymore.

It was one thing to try to be brave and find out what happened, but it was another to step into the world of those who hunted them, those who lived every moment of their existence on the edge of life and death—purposely seeking out something so dangerous that they have to be exterminated.

“What? You scared now?” His head tilts, noticing your hesitation. “It’s simple,” he laughs, “You get in with them, you’re as good as gold.” And though his words offer the solution you’ve been searching for, they also bring a chilling new reality. And you have to decide if you’re really ready cross a line you can never uncross.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “And how do I find them?”

Gojo grins. “You don’t find them, sweetheart.” He pushes off the bar. “They find you.” He takes a few slow steps towards you. “Especially someone like you. They’ll practically smell the desperation.”

Your eyes narrow at his comment. Desperation? You’ve been called worse.

Nevertheless, your heart hammers in your chest, each beat trying to signal your impending doom. 

“So, what? I just wait around for them to find me?” Frustration creeps into your tone.

Gojo waves his hand. “No, no, no,” he laughs. “You need to be smarter than that.” And he becomes more serious. “Make yourself known in the right circles. Go to the places they frequent. Show them you’re not someone they can just ignore. Play the part.” And you’re quick to pull out your phone and jot down the few places he rattles off.

As you type, a heaviness creeps in—a strange air shifting between you and Gojo. He watches you carefully, noticing how tired you look, the subtle sag of your shoulders, how your sigh carries the weight of exhaustion. This whole ordeal has felt like one long rollercoaster, but this is just the beginning of your even more difficult journey. And even though he knows what you’re in for, he can’t help but admire your determination.

"You know...I meant what I said before."

You don't look up, finishing up your notes. "About what?" 

"About making you…" he hesitates, but doesn't finish.

But something feels off, and when you glance up from your phone, you catch Gojo’s eyes.

There’s no more teasing. No more smirking. He’s watching you with something else, something that feels heavy yet unreadable. And it clicks weird when a vibe passes through the both of you, simultaneously realizing that the time to part ways has once again come. 

And you’re just as lost now as you were then about how to say goodbye. 

There’s a strange, bittersweet feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watch him casually stroll back to the table where this all started.

“Don’t.” He plops down, sensing what you’re about to say. “I’ve never been good at those.” And though it flashes through your mind that he’s been bitter for six years because you never did the first time, you respect his wish and don’t say it this time either, only pursing your lips and offering a slight nod.

As you turn to leave, Gojo calls after you, softer now, almost…concerned. 

“Be careful.” 

And it’s enough to make you stop and glance back at him, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in his tone. He pushes his glasses up with a small smile, a little sparking reflecting off the lenses.

“But I don’t have to tell you that.”

And just like that, the moment hangs between you—unspoken thoughts and unfinished sentences floating heavy in the space.

You softly laugh, glancing down at your hands to fiddle with your fingers, trying to swallow the thanks welling up in your throat. The last thing you want is to make this moment any more awkward than it already is—as if this entire night hasn’t been batshit crazy. 

Gojo may have made your life a living hell during one of the most pivotal times of your youth, but he’s also one of the most unforgettable things that’s ever happened to you. And it’s in this moment that you finally decide that maybe…that wasn’t so bad. 

…Fuck it. 

You decide to say something anyway. 

But when you turn back to look at him, he��s gone. His scent, his aura, vanished, like he was never there at all. Only leaving the restaurant which sits still and lifeless. Chilling…because it’s never felt so…warm.

“...Thank you,” you whisper to the empty space he left behind, the words feeling almost weightless as you slowly exit the space for what may actually be the last time. It feels strangely freeing, the weight of the night finally easing as you take one last look before the doors close behind you with a quiet click.

Stepping outside into the warm New Orleans air feels so different now like you’ve left something behind in that old restaurant. 

Maybe it’s Satoru.

Maybe it’s a part of yourself that knows things will never quite be the same after this.

It feels like you’ve just spent eternity trapped behind those vintage green doors, and now the world outside looks both familiar and frightening, but the night air hits you like a fresh start.

You're really going to do this. You're going to find the hunters, and through them, the vampires. And then... well, you’ll deal with that when the time comes.

After all, you've already faced a devil, and you're still standing. 

What's a few vampires compared to that?

angel's note: bwahahaha, why do i even bother trying to condense things? ghost gojo was not supposed to have his own part, let alone (blank)K WORDS, he enjoyed reader waaaaay more than intended but obviously, i am not in control of my own stories. but yoooo, first and foremost, the BIGGEST of fucking s/o to @blkkizzat for helping me bring this story to fruition. i told her that i wanted to do a sugucho vampire fic and she said "bitch, where's ghost gojo??" so you have her to thank for this absolutely delectable first part

no worries tho, it's nothing but vampires and blood-sucking 🩸 from here on out, so drop ya name below if you want to be added to the tag list|sidenote: this post lining up with the full moon was not on purpose 😶 graphic credits: fangs banner (anitalenia)|glitter blood divider (violentbudd)|halloween MDNI divider (meeeee :3)|animated red divider (cafekitsune)

art credits: Sugu: 1 (hidouuc) 2 (blobfishswims) 3 (rice5x)|Cho: 1 (yappdoll) 2 (n/a) 3 (koshinomli) 4 (zeilorene)| Toru: 1 (_3aem) 2 (jjk_myaa) 3 (nala_bert) 4 (yurriima)

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 20/?

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻From the author: ✊🏻✊🏻 Knock, knock… it's me again with my new chapter. I want to assure you right away that I'm not obsessed with sex in the car (after all, this is the third scene where they have sex in the car), it's just that this scene appeared in my head so suddenly, and they were in the car at that time... 🤭😁 Anyway, let me know if you liked this? And also, do you like the plot development?

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and love you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad , @kelsyx33 (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 18. Dangerous.

Your eyes are closed, and there are thousands of thoughts in your head. All of them create chaos in your head and you can't understand what is important to think about now and what is not worth attention. This causes anxiety. You should be happy because you finally have a relationship. You have a loved one who is supposed to make you happy. Of course, you are sure that he will make you, but what is happening in your life right now makes you feel like you are in limbo.

Jungkook is your best friend who is now your boyfriend. He belongs to the mafia and does a pretty dangerous job. You imagine, just for a second, what he does and what he looks like, and you feel horror crawling through your body. You feel discomfort mixed with anxiety and open your eyes.

The Mercedes drives smoothly, but with its characteristic engine growl. The interior is warm and smells like unobtrusive citrus. Jungkook is watching the road, holding the steering wheel with one hand.

You look sideways at his profile without turning your head. His perfect face seems to be getting beautifully to you every day. You literally can't stop admiring him.

Jungkook looked calm, almost detached, focused on the road. His sharp features seemed to be carved by God himself: a strong jawline, a straight nose, perfect symmetry of his eyebrows, which moved slightly as he thought about something. His lips, slightly pursed but soft, beckoned to be touched and tasted.

His hand gripped the steering wheel. The tattoos were eye-catching. You looked at his long fingers and imagined them holding a gun. His index finger pulled the trigger and a shot rang out. Someone had died by his hand.

You shook your head slightly to clear away the horrific image you were sure had never happened. Jungkook would never kill a human. But you are saddened by the thought that you doubt. You can't say that you believe that Jungkook is not a murderer. But how can this gentle, caring person take someone's life? You are confused and completely disoriented. You just don't know what to believe.

Why are you thinking about all this while driving in the car? You know about the situation with the devices that Doohoon stole. You have a vague idea of what awaits Jungkook when you arrive in Seoul and he meets Namjoon. You're scared and nervous about revealing this to Jungkook so that he doesn't worry about you. Will Namjoon be really angry? Will he punish him in some mafia-style way or just tell you that another $50 million is added to the blog and let Jungkook go? What a lot of money!

Although everything is perfect between you and Jungkook right now, you can't keep thinking about who he really is. Knowing criminal world, the life will seem to you like a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later it will explode. However, your feelings for Jungkook are growing every day, and you think about how you can save him. What can you do to make him leave the mafia and finally live like a normal person?

You pick up your new phone and look at the time. It's eleven in the morning. It's only a thirty-minute drive to Seoul.

Jungkook notices that you are awake and looks over at you. A smile touches his lips and he reaches out to you. He places his hand on your thigh and squeezes it lightly.

"Did you doze off?" - He asks. His voice is hoarse and gentle at the same time. Your eyes instantly find his and you smile back. In fact, you were awake. You were trying to sort out the chaos in your head. But all you got were not clear thoughts but a headache.

"A little." - You lie. "I lost my sleep rhythm. It was hard for me to wake up at 7 a.m. to get ready for the trip." - You admit.

"How much sleep did you get?" - Jungkook asks looking ahead.

"Three hours." - You say. Jungkook's eyebrows fly up.

"Baby, you need to get more sleep. I'll take you home and you can go straight to bed." - Jungkook is worried. You struggle to smile.

"Okay." - You agree. After a moment, you speak again. "Your mom must have been sad that you had to leave in the morning, right? It would have been better if you hadn't stopped by your parents' house at all." - You say in a sad, slightly guilty voice. Jungkook could have stayed with his parents longer, but he spent a lot of time with you yesterday. And this morning he left because he had to meet Namjoon.

Jungkook heard what you said and laughed softly. He stroked your thigh as if to calm you down.

"That's what my mom said when I told my parents I was just passing through. I told my mother I was on business near Suwon so I came to see them because I was miss, even though I had important business in Seoul since morning. My mother was touched that I wasted time to coming to they and instantly melted." - Jungkook told you. You raised your eyebrows, unhappy that Jungkook was manipulating his mother's feelings with a lie.

"You lie to your mother and think it's okay?" - You asked, irritated. Jungkook gave you a quick glance and the smile disappeared from his lips.

"I wasn't lying. It was almost like that." - Jungkook defended himself. "If I had told her that I had come for a couple of days but had to leave in the morning, she would have been upset. Besides, I promised her I would come back after the new year."

"You've been lying a lot lately." - You complained, even though you knew Jungkook was right. The fact that he lied made sense. But he was really lying a lot, and you were nervous about it. He's the one who can lie to you easily!

"Only the last four years." - Jungkook says ironically, meaning that it started when he met Namjoon. You snort in displeasure.

"More. About six years." - You say. Jungkook raises his eyebrows, wondering why it took so long. He looks at you questioningly, and you stretch your lips into a luscious smile. "You wanted me all along and lied about me not being your type." - You explain. Jungkook smiles again, the smile of a man who has been exposed.

"Is it my fault that you didn't reciprocate for so long?" - Jungkook asks you. You're shocked. Meaning you didn't respond? Did he show any interest in you? He just liked to tease you and make you blush. He's been with a lot of girls, even though he says he's liked you since high school.

"Reciprocated on what? You never even hit on me like a normal guy." - Jungkook bursts out laughing.

"I'm sorry. I did it the best I could." - He says through his laughter.

"No. You didn’t do all the best that you could. You were just a playboy. Who thought, that his best friend wasn't going anywhere anyway." - You said it a little harshly. Jungkook didn't stop smiling, but he raised his eyebrows. It sounded like an accusation.

"Do you know me that well, baby?" - Jungkook jokes, trying to calm you down. Because he can already see you're getting annoyed.

"Yes. I know you very well. I just don't know why it took you so long to ask me out. Did you want to be free longer?" - You ask sharply, trying to be calm.

"I was in a relationship before you, so the 'free' theory isn't true, baby. I dated Minsoo at school for a year, and I dated Jayon for about a year too. And I dated Ha Young for a long time. But when I started working for Namjoon, it became difficult to have a girlfriend. I wasn't a playboy." - Jungkook explains indignantly. The mention of Jungkook's exes makes you even more irritated. You give him an angry look.

"You were!" - You growl. "Do you want me to recall all your passions that wrote to me to stay away from you? For some reason, your last one isn't there, although I'm sure she wanted to threaten me too. That's probably why you stopped talking to me during your first year at university." - Jungkook exhaled nervously. You were angry about this. You sat up straight and crossed your arms over your chest. Jungkook rubbed his palms on the steering wheel.

"Okay, if you think I'm a playboy, so be it. But what are we arguing about? You accuse me of not courted you well, but you've never even flirted with me as a joke. All I ever heard you say was, ‘I'm going to kill you, Jeon.’" - Jungkook imitated you. You choked on your anger and indignation.

"Did I have to do that? I thought you were my friend, and I didn't think it was necessary. But you were flirting with everyone, you didn't miss a skirt. And it spread to me too because I have boobs. That's why I didn't react." - You snapped back.

"You liked me, you could have reciprocated." - Jungkook says lightly.

"No, I didn't. I didn't like you!" - You shouted. Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Jungkook gave you a look full incredulous. "I only started to like you when we started living together." - You lied.

"Are you answering for your words?" - Jungkook asks you in a serious tone. You can hear your heart beating desperately against your ribcage, and you delay your answer for a long few seconds.

"Yes. I'm telling you the truth." - You say with determination, but you're afraid you don't sound confident. "If I would like you, how I was okay with you fucking every girl in town?" - The muscles in his jaw are pulsing. He's irritated. He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and you never miss this gesture.

"You've dreamed of being in those girls' shoes, and don't tell me you haven't, baby." - Jungkook says slyly. Although you expected a more angry reaction, judging by the look on his face.

"Never. You're the one who must have wanted me to be in their shoes, because you've been wanting to fuck me for so long." - You reply defiantly. Jungkook snorts. You approach him, leaning over the armrest. You can clearly see the shine of his perfect skin. "You should have just confess to me instead of sticking your dick in everyone's." - You smile. Jungkook pulls off the road and parks on the side of the road. You fall back on the seat. You stare dumbfounded at the road, trying to understand why Jungkook stopped. Before you can say anything, you feel Jungkook's hand squeezing your cheeks. His face is just a few centimeters away and his eyes radiate something devilish.

"Your big mouth is too big sometimes. I can put my cock in your mouth. That you'd stop saying stupid things." - Jungkook says thoughtfully. He looks at you with authority. You feel a piercing sensation between your thighs, and you think you just wet your panties.

"Try your luck, Jeon." - You say through clenched cheeks. You feel Jungkook's fingernails digging into your skin. Jungkook laughs, but it's a laugh that sounds like something between mocking and maniacal.

"Why do you like provoking me so much? Do you get off on me being rude to you?" - Jungkook asks, and you feel him already undoing the button on your jeans. You get wet in anticipation of Jungkook's fingers on your pussy. He's right that you like his roughness and power. But you can't admit it. Of course you love it when he's gentle and caring, but those eyes, those eyes in front of you, they set your whole being on fire.

"Don't even touch me!" - You scream when you feel his hand slowly slide down your pants. Jungkook's eyes darken even more when you don't let him. His cock instantly hardens. Jungkook captures your lips and his fingers are already touching your folds. You grab his hand, but your strength is not enough, because you can't resist your desire to have him touch you.

Jungkook terrorizes your lips, his tongue literally fills your entire mouth. You return the kiss with the same passion. He caresses your clit and you can't help but moan into Jungkook's mouth.

"Take off your pants quickly and get on my lap." - Jungkook orders you. You are flushed from his kiss and touch. Jungkook pushes his seat back as far as it will go. He notices that you are sitting still. You don't listen to him right away, and he gets mad. "Baby, don't try my patience. Otherwise I will punish you severely." - Jungkook asks you. Although it sounds like a pure threat. You smile slyly. You wonder how he can punish you severely?

"Make me, Jeon. I wasn't planning on sitting on your such promiscuous cock tonight." - You say as if you're testing Jungkook's patience. He's horny and eager to get satisfaction, and you won't bite your cheeky tongue. Jungkook slowly approaches you. He doesn't touch you, he just moves a short distance away. You unconsciously squeeze into the seat.

"You have half a minute to take off your clothes and climb on my lap. Otherwise I'll climb on top of you and you'll choke on my cock. Choose, baby." - He says gently. You look at him and realize that you are too excited. The wetness between your legs and the aching more screaming at you to listen to Jungkook and do as he says. Without looking away from your boyfriend's black eyes, you take off your jeans. Jungkook leaned back a little and smiled victoriously, one corner of his lips quirking up. "What a good girl." - He says and returns to his seat. Jungkook lifts his hips and pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers. He lowers them to his knees so they don't get in the way.

You see Jungkook's erect cock, eager for attention. The thick vein that runs along its length attracts your attention and you want to feel it with your tongue.

You quickly get rid of your jeans and thong. You don't take off your turtleneck, thinking that you don't need to undress completely for a quick fuck.

Jungkook is waiting for you. He pumps his cock several times, smearing his pre-cum. When you climb onto his lap, he smiles evilly. You don't even expect the punishment you're going to get for your long tongue.

You press your pussy against his aroused cock and bite your lip. Jungkook grabs your hips and lifts you up to enter you right away. He won't stretch you this time. You have to be punished today.

You will feel the head of his cock running over your clit. Jungkook uses it to rub your wetness. When he presses his cock against your entrance, you sigh with anticipation. He plunges into you and you think he's going to go slowly, but his hands on your hips jerk you around and he enters you abruptly. A cry of pain escapes your mouth. Jungkook admires you, his lips curved in a cocky smile. Your eyes are closed, your eyebrows are drawn together, and your mouth is open. This expression could easily pass for pleasure, but your face is pure pain.

"You didn't think I'd be gentle, did you? As I remember, you like me to be rough." - Jungkook says with difficulty. His voice is low and husky. He's trying to withstand the way your tight pussy is squeezing his cock.

"It hurts..." - You whimper. Jungkook squeezes your thighs with his fingers and gives a deep thrust. You scream again, but less painfully. Now it's more pleasant than painful.

"You're being punished, not having lovemaking." - Jungkook tells you. You open your eyes and see his face radiating lust and anger at the same time.

"Why are you punishing me? For I telling that you fucked everyone?" - You say slyly. Jungkook looks at you defiantly and slams his hips into you again, plunging his cock into you as much as possible. It's as if he's knocking all the air out of you when he does this. You forget how to breathe when he starts fucking you intensely. You moan in pleasure, moving your hips to meet Jungkook's.

"You need to be punished for running your mouth. What business is it of yours how many I've fucked?" - Jungkook asks, breathing heavily.

"Business?" - You gasp. "It’s my business, because you could have fucked me a long time ago instead of all those whores." - You say indignantly. You talk as if you're not sitting naked on Jungkook in the car right now, filled to the brim with his cock.

"I'm fucking you right now, and I started doing it when we were friends. Aren't you also my slut too?" - Jungkook asks, smiling. You moan as you bounce on him. Are you his whore? Only he and you can't be compared to them.

"No. I'm not..." - You want to tell him not to put you on the same level as those girls. But his cock pounding into you, making you feel incredible, silences you.

"Oh, yeah. Just look at you. You're sitting on my cock and you can't get enough. You love it when I'm rough with you, like a real whore." - Jungkook's voice is hot. Your head is spinning.

Jungkook catches a glimpse of your erect nipples, visible through your black turtleneck. He takes one hand off your hip to free your breasts from your clothes. Your tits fall out and move in time with your movements.

Jungkook doesn't like the way your clothes are in the way. He stops you and takes off the last thing you're wearing, over your head. He throws the turtleneck elsewhere and pounces on your attractive nipples.

Jungkook grabs one in his hand, kisses it gently at first, then swirls his tongue around it several times. He suddenly sucks on the nipple so hard that almost tears barely appear in your eyes. You hiss, just sitting on his cock. Your pussy is throbbing and you wouldn't mind if Jungkook paid attention to your clit. He sucks on your nipples, and it hurts a lot more than all the other times.

"Does it hurt?" - Jungkook asks, pulling away from your breast. You bite your lip so hard that it hurts too. You nod that it hurts, but that's not the right answer. Jungkook smiles with satisfaction. Your punishment continues as he begins to pound you with his hips again, ruthlessly pushing his cock into you. You are as close together as possible, so you can feel his pubic bone with your clit.

Your knees are getting tired of holding onto the narrow seat on the sides of Jungkook's thighs. But Jungkook doesn't care.

He looks down at your pussy and thinks that you must be finally punished. You continue to ride Jungkook's cock and suddenly you feel a blow to your pussy. It doesn't hurt too much. But fuck, it's so unusual. You stop and watch Jungkook's cruel smile in puzzlement.

"This pussy is responsible for your long tongue. You can apologize to her for your impudence." - Jungkook says sweetly. You want to protest, but another stroke silences you, almost choking. Jungkook touches your clit, just as you wanted him to, and he massages it, making you feel euphoric. But when he pinches your clit, you scream. And Jungkook giggles in amusement. You squeeze his shoulder with all your strength, and if he wasn't wearing a sweatshirt, you would have scratched him.

"But you were right, baby. When I was fucking all those girls, I was imagining you." - Jungkook confesses. His voice is still brutal with no hint of sweetness. "Because all I ever wanted was you. You're my cherished dream come true." - You open your eyes and finally see his loving smile. You feel like everything inside you is on fire. He lights you up with a fire that spreads throughout your body. Your soul trembles at his words, as do you. You lean into him and kiss him, putting all your feelings into this kiss. Jungkook responds. Your lips tell each other that you are in love.

Jungkook squeezes your buttocks as he moves you around on his lap. You lean on the seat with one hand to keep your balance. You speed up your movements. You feel Jungkook's cock grinding against your walls. He touches your G-spot, building up your orgasm. A wave of pleasant pleasure slowly covers you. One moment and the knot in the bottom of your stomach breaks, engulfing your body in blissful pleasure.

You moan into Jungkook's ear and he can't get enough of the sound. He keeps fucking you so he can come himself. He hardens to the maximum and lifts your juicy hips to get out of you. You get up and instantly fall back on his lap. His hot cum paints your pussy and his stomach. You watch his cock twitch, spewing white liquid. When it softens, you finally look up at Jungkook. You see him smiling with satisfaction. You reflexively lift your lips in a smile.

"You didn't come in me, so that's a big success." - You joke. Jungkook grabs your neck and pulls you gently.

"Is that mouth ever going to stop being so big?" - He asks before kissing you one last time. You taste your boyfriend's lips and can't get enough.

"Never. I was given to you so that you would never relax in your life." - You answer, pulling away from Jungkook's lips. Jungkook laughs and you get off his lap. You have to clean yourself up. Before you can make it home.

Jungkook dropped you off at house. He wanted to help you carry your things upstairs, but you assured him that you could do it yourself. You argued for a long few minutes and you convinced him. He kissed you goodbye and left for the main office of «Mono Corp».

Jungkook was almost calm. He could have been nervous. After all, Namjoon had found out about everything. But Jungkook had everything under control. He was in Japan those days while you were away, and he was able to return all the devices. And they in Korea by now. Hayato texted he last night and told him that he and the devices were in the port of Busan.

Jungkook parks the Mercedes and goes up to the top floor of the building. He doesn't meet any of his friends on the way and it's a little strange. Where did they all go? He approaches Namjoon's office and greets the secretary. The woman nods and invites him inside. Jungkook crosses the threshold and finds himself in the sacred place for the boss of an influential mafia clan.

He felt heavy, like a mountain pressing down on his chest. This happens every time he finds himself in this place.

Namjoon's office wasn't just a workspace - it was a zone of authority that Jungkook hated and respected at the same time.

Dark wood on the walls, a large panoramic window overlooking the masterpiece lights of Seoul. A huge ebony desk with papers and documents on it reflected the very essence of this place: everything is under control. Namjoon was sitting at the desk, leaning slightly forward, focused, but his expression was not stern. There was an invisible warmth in him, but it was all deliberate.

"Jungkook." - He said quietly, without the usual pressure and threats that accompanied normal meetings in the mafia world. "Have a seat." - He pointed to the couch, which was located away from the table.

"Hello." - Jungkook greeted, bowing him and sat down on the designated seat. Namjoon put some papers aside. He ordered coffee from his secretary for the two of them and stood up from the table.

Jungkook didn't look at Namjoon, but he knew exactly what he was doing. The sound of his expensive shoes broke the silence. Namjoon sat down across from Jungkook and stared at his subordinate.

Jungkook looked up at the leader and stared intently at his expression.

"What's up, kid?" - Namjoon asked with an uncharacteristic warmth in his voice. Jungkook pressed his lips together, showing off his mole under his lower lip.

"All is right." - Jungkook didn't lie. Namjoon lazily turned his head to the side, his gaze remaining calm but studying. His whole appearance was like a challenge, but not aggressive. It was an intellectual strength, a strength that didn't need to be brutal. He looked at Jungkook, and his eyes reflected a patience that could end at any time.

"Why did you hide everything from me?" - Namjoon asks. Jungkook knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Jimin had nothing to do with it. It's completely my fault. So please don't punish him." - Jungkook says at first. This brings a faint smile to Namjoon's lips. He's always so noble.

"Jimin knows me well, he should have foreseen that I would find out about your affairs anyway." - Namjoon said more coldly, showing that Jimin would not escape punishment for covering up for Jungkook. "It's so funny, kid, that you thought I wouldn't know that 50 million dollars disappeared from under my nose." - Namjoon let out a shrill laugh. The laughter echoed in Jungkook's ears like an intrusive fly.

"I didn't think you wouldn't find out, I just wanted to solve it on my own. Without bothering you." - Jungkook said in his defense.

"Solved it?" - Namjoon asked mockingly, raising his eyebrows. Jungkook wanted to answer, but the secretary came into the office with two cups of espresso. She silently put the coffee tray down, clearly sensing the tension around, and left as quickly as she could. Namjoon took the white, small cup with the black drink and took a sip. The aroma of coffee teased Jungkook's receptors. But he didn't want to drink coffee right now.

"Yes." - Jungkook replied, more firmly than he wanted to. Namjoon tasted the coffee and nodded his head.

"I like how you decided. You took almost a month to find out where the devices were. Beat that asshole to a pulp in front of our Japanese partner. And because of you, I wasted 10 minutes of my life listening to his father complain and demand compensation from me for some reason." - Namjoon said. He put the cup of coffee on the table and adjusted his expensive Rolexes.

"I'll explain..." - Jungkook said. He regretted answering so quickly. How could he explain if everything was tied to you?

"What exactly do you want to explain?" - Namjoon clarified. "Why did Doohoon, as soon as he got to Korea, immediately start make trouble to you? Or why did you beat him up and leave his blood all over the hallway? Or how did you manage to lose my 50 million dollars so easily?" - Jungkook exhaled a long breath. There were no answers to these questions, specifically for Namjoon.

"I returned the devices." - Jungkook said, carefully avoiding the topic of Doohoon.

"So what? I don't want them, I want the money." - Namjoon says dryly, and now Jungkook hears the tone he's become accustomed to.

"I'll sell them personally, I already have a new client." - Jungkook says.

"Are you sure, that I have to give you another chance?" - Namjoon asks a rhetorical question. Jungkook looks him in the eye, not afraid of his boss for a second, even though he should be.

"I'll sell them for 100 million." - Jungkook replies, and a spark lights up in Namjoon's eyes.

"100 million." - Namjoon repeats. He is silent for a second and then answers. "Don't let me down, kid. If you don't sell it for 100 million, you know This amount will be added to your debt." - He says, and it's no surprise to Jungkook. It was expected.

"I won't let you down." - Jungkook says. Namjoon finally smiles. It seems that the sum of 100 million dollars has lifted Namjoon's spirits quite a bit. He is relaxing, his posture shows it, and Jungkook is also relieved.

"But the question of Doohoon is still open." - The clan leader speaks up about him.

"I will deal with him as well. Please give me some time." - Jungkook asks. Namjoon stares at him again with a long, piercing gaze.

"Go ahead. But really deal with this brat, because I have enough problems from his father. I have more important things to do." - Namjoon says and finishes his espresso.

"I'll take care of it." - Jungkook promises. Namjoon nods in acknowledgment.

"Why does that guy Doohoon hate you so much? I remember he didn't like you in high school or something." - Namjoon says. Jungkook doesn't want to talk about this topic at all. So he keeps his mouth shut. "But thanks to him, you work for me." - The clan leader suddenly says, and Jungkook looks up at him.

"I'm only working off my debt, no more. Since Doohoon is back in Korea, you could demand your money from him. He's the one who owes you." - Jungkook says a little sharply. Namjoon's face radiates disappointment. He doesn't like the way Jungkook is talking. He would rather have Jungkook work for him voluntarily. He sees Jungkook's essence, and this job he's doing is perfect for him.

"You'll work off his debt because you're just as involved in this." - Namjoon says coldly.

"I didn't turn you in to the police, and I told you that many times. I'm not the reason you lost the money." - Jungkook defends himself.

"I don't care. Whether you were involved or not, the two of you brought him to my club." - Namjoon cuts him off, referring to the police officer's son. Jungkook stops talking and decides that the conversation is over. He gets up from the couch.

"I have to go. I have things to do." - Jungkook bows and is about to leave when Namjoon's words make him freeze in horror.

"So you two became enemies because of your girl friend?" - Namjoon asks. He said he knew everything, didn't he? Jungkook turns and glares at Namjoon. "She's really pretty, I understand why there's a war. How long have you two been living together? Jimin says she has a temper." - He pauses, enjoying Jungkook's look, and continues. "But kid, lets you make sure that your girlfriend doesn't affect my company's income. Really handle everything yourself, so I don't have to interfere personally."

Jungkook has left and you are standing on the street. There is even more snow in Seoul than in Suwon, but all the roads are well plowed. Your hands are freezing from the slight frost, and so you want to get inside as soon as possible.

To get into the building, you have to cross the parking lot, because that's where Jungkook dropped you off. You wrap your jacket tighter because there is a terrible draft in the yard and grab the handle of your suitcase. You walk away thinking about a hot bath. You don't notice the gray Volvo parked in the parking lot, not far from the high-rise building. When you pass by and hear the horn honking, you jump in surprise.

You want to scold the person who honked the horn, but you drop your suitcase, which falls on the snow compacted by cars. Doohoon stands with his car door open and smiles at you with difficulty. He can't do it normally because his face is so beaten up.

His right eyebrow is cut, and it looks like there might even be stitches because he has a large bandage on it. His lip is split in two places. There are severe bruises under both eyes, purple and burgundy in color, which suggests that they are slowly coming off. Doohoon's appearance is horrifying. Only brown eyes, the color of the whiskey, remain of his handsome face.

"Hello, candy." - He greets you, and you just want to run. You instantly remember everything you've been told Jungkook about Doohoon and you want to made him another bruise. You come to your senses. You pick up your suitcase and walk as fast as you can without saying hello to Doohoon. He catches up with you, grabbing your arm. You pull your hand away.

"Don't touch me!" - You shout. Doohoon presses his lips into a line and almost immediately grimaces in pain. His acting is Oscar-worthy.

"Let's talk, candy..." - Doohoon asks you. You feel a kind of growing anxiety. With Doohoon, you felt this all the time.

"We have nothing to talk about with you. Just like all the times before." - You say angrily.

"You came together and you return to his apartment. I can see that my words about Jungkook didn't impress you at all, although you had a slightly different reaction at the party." - Doohoon says. You pierce him with a look worth a hundred knife cuts.

"What's your business with me and my reaction? Stop following me." - You ask. Doohoon smiles, restrained and almost sweet.

"Do you remember what I said to you that night?" - Doohoon asks, but you don't answer. "I told you that I like you. That's why I can't stand aside while Jungkook is with you. It's not stalking, it's caring." - You raise your eyebrows and get even angrier.

"I don't need your concern. I don't like you for the life of me. And your behavior scares me." - You confess. Doohoon laughs heartily.

"Scares you?" - He repeats mockingly. "Does my caring scare you more than Jungkook whose hands are up to their elbows in blood?" - You freeze with a shadow of fear on your face.

"He didn't kill anyone..." - You say quietly, not believing yourself.

"Candy." - Doohoon calls you gently. "He did. You're a smart girl, you should know that people connected to the mafia are not saints. If you knew what he was doing, you'd change your mind." - You stare at each other for a while. You don't know what to say in defense of Jungkook. But Doohoon is wrong. Jungkook is still a very good person who has been trapped. And it's all thanks to Doohoon.

"Whose fault is that?" - You ask. "It's your fault that Jungkook is working for Namjoon." - Your voice is laced with venom. Doohoon takes a step toward you and you can hear your heart pounding, but you remain unmoved.

"Maybe so. But I'm not the one who pulls the trigger on a gun and beats people to death." - Doohoon says looking down at you. You look bravely into his cold eyes. "He is dangerous to you and you realize it. One day you might get hurt because of Jungkook." - Doohoon reaches out and touches your cheek. "That's why I'm here, to save you." - You're not impressed by his words. You knock his hand away.

"Who gave you permission to touch me?" - You ask harshly. "Get off me. Leave me and Jungkook alone. I don't need your concern because I know who you really are." - You jab your finger at Doohoon's chest. "You envious piece of shit." - Doohoon laughs. His anger has been growing as fast as a fire burning through dry grass. Your stance of resistance only strengthened his desire to possess you. Are you deliberately making him obsessed with you?

You walk away and Doohoon doesn't stop you. He looks at you and thinks you just signed your own warrant. He was trying to persuade you to distance yourself from Jungkook in a nice way. It looks like he need to move on to more effective ways.

You disappear from Doohoon's sight and he walks back to the car. Once behind the wheel, he dials the number he needs. Several long beeps reach his ear.

"Hello?" - Doohoon hears on the other end of the phone.

"I need to hire some guys. Remember when we talked about this?" - Doohoon asks. He starts the car and hears the sound of the engine.

"Kidnapp some girl?"

"Yeah. Find those guys who have a beef with Jungkook. I'll come to you right away and we'll talk about it in detail." - Doohoon doesn't wait for an answer and turns off the phone. His Samsung flies to the seat next to him. Doohoon steps on the gas pedal and leaves the parking lot of your and Jungkook's house.

↰ Previous chapter ⋮ ≣ Index ↓ ⋮ Next chapter ↱

[jennifer-jeong]

Reader plays LDS game and little does she know that the boys can feel her emotions whenever she plays it or whenever she gets the card or memories of her fav boy for example-Zayne and the other two gets jealous idk and how they wish to be real and be with her.......

HELLO I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME A HOT SECOND I was stressing and thinking about how to approach this but I think I got it now >:) (also school and life is kicking my ass but we don't talk about that)

Fluff | LADS x GN!Reader "Virtual" Boyfriend

Rafayel sneak peak LMAOOO^

CONTENT Fluff, slight angst, gender neutral reader, Rafayel crack, mentions of the boys trauma, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

What I’m thinking is that the boys are conscious within the world of your phone. They can feel you and hear you but they can’t quite see you. You’re almost invisible in a way but they can feel your energy when you’re present. They feel it when you poke them in destiny cafe or touch them in the kindled memories. They hear your voice when you speak in game. They’ve lived the lives outlined for them in their lore and you’re who they’ve been searching for. They’re restricted in what they can say to you when you interact, it's some weird force they don’t understand. They know when you’re online but the same weird force prevents them from finding you, you have to go to them. (Zayne lives both lives of doctor and dawnbreaker, which he is happy about. He would’ve passed away if he had to be the one of two Zaynes to be dawnbreaker)

XAVIER hates that whoever made this world made him suffer for like a century only to have him find you and you aren’t even actually there. But he still loves feeling you there everyday, even if he's not the one that got chosen to sit in destiny cafe. Whenever you listen to his audios or interact with him through cards, destiny cafe, or playtime, his hands are shaky. It’s the only thing that he actually gets to express to you of his own free will. They shake because he’s so nervous but excited to finally be with you. He’s a patient man, he’s willing to wait for you everyday, he just wishes he could be where you actually are ): . He’s a smart man with an excess of free time, he’ll figure out how to get to you, someday.

ZAYNE has spent his whole life in this world in love with you. But now that he’s got you, and he can’t even see you, he’s started to accept that you’re just always going to be out of his reach. He loves when you do visit though, it makes him feel so warm. When you interact with him, he wants so badly to just be able to freely speak to you and tell you how much he loves you. His character is pretty cold because that is his personality, but when he sees you, he desperately wants to stop being distant with you, he wants to tell you all the soft and warm things he has to say. He wants to be where you actually are, he’s sick of basically just being Dawnbreaker Zayne where he just dreams of you and never gets to see you. He’s solved so many mysteries in the medical and wanderer hunting world though, he’s probably genius enough to figure this one out too.

RAFAYEL has been looking for you this whole time and is so frustrated that he found you and can’t even freely speak to you. Rafayel often ends up in glitches in the game because he desperately wants to break out of his confines and just talk to you. Every time you interact, he’s trying to find some way to tell you he loves you and that he’ll always be here no matter what. He gets pretty jealous when he doesn’t get to sit in destiny cafe with you, he doesn’t know who exactly sits in his place but he wants to be the only one you have eyes for, the only one that you touch, even if it’s not quite “touching.” He’s already lost everything he has except for you. He’s willing to do anything to get to you, he just hasn’t figured out how to do it, yet.

Rafayel glitch collection:

+ THIS video LMAOO

Personal follow up hc that they can interact with you when you daydream of them!!! It’s the only way they can reach you and feel you properly. Pretend they eventually figure this out and you live happily ever after !!! (cope)

Photo credits from twitter! https://x.com/nonbiriotome/status/1754530273033683337?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/miyabi_lad/status/1754318127339639244?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/zaynerei/status/1760258500746445149?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/xaviersdaily/status/1759516449758908615?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/yubeljin/status/1752770210124210303?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/nonbiriotome/status/1759228703186227235?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g

|| MASTERLIST <3 || Thank you for the ask and for reading! ||

[yandere-sins]

Hiii, Could you write Satan kidnapping MC because they're his favorite writer? I had this idea recently and it looked promising. Maybe MC is so talented that people compare their books and Simeon's books.

Thanks for your request! It’s very fitting for Satan :3

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

"How's it coming along?"

Satan's voice tore you out of your daydream—a nice one, of a world far, far away—and you twisted around to see him come through the door, setting down his bag before returning your gaze and smiling. You didn't hear him come in, nor noticed how fast the time passed since he left, but immediately you felt uneasy again. "Not so good," you muttered, turning back to you laptop and biting your lip, now overly aware of his footsteps creaking over the floorboards.

"Let me see," he asked. Leaning over your shoulder, Satan gently nudged your hand off the mouse to scroll up your manuscript to read what you had added over the span of the last few hours. There were fewer new pages than he expected as he scrolled too far the first time, and you only slumped more on your chair, too afraid to admit your failure.

"Hm... I'm not sure. It's just lacking the certain something, you know what I mean?" he finally commented as he reached the blank half of the last page you wrote before sighing, shaking his head. "Didn't you say you wanted me out of the room for peace and quiet? I thought that would help you."

Fiddling with your thumb, you kept silent for a while as his body continued to weigh down on you. It was his impatient threat to say something, to make him understand your views. But how could you? In his eyes, you may very well not have been human, but you two would never see eye to eye regardless of how he viewed you. "I tried..." you eventually muttered, looking down and hanging your shoulders.

"I don't really feel motivated... A-And I'm hungry! I can't work like this! It's blocking my inspiration to be in this room, I haven't been outside in a week!"

Pushing back your chair, Satan moved out of the way just in time to dodge it ramming into him. A part of you felt bad for almost hurting him, but it was the part that hadn't understood yet what kind of situation you two were in.

He was the demon that lured you into a trap by promising to be your patron, and you were the dumb human who didn't think twice before agreeing. Nowhere on the contract did it say you'd have to spend your time in his home, in front of his scrutinizing eyes, but you had been naive and gullible, all too happy to sign without reading the fine print.

Stumbling back, you felt the adrenaline rush as you opposed him for the first time since he had brought you here. It was your fault, you knew that. You had enough sleepless nights to reflect on your mistakes. But Satan could not make you his puppet, no matter how much he wanted you to. It's not how the creative writing process worked! With so many restrictions he put on you, it was impossible to create anything—no matter how much he loved your creations.

As you watched his hand rise into the air, you heard a tsk escape from his lips, and you looked away, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing for impact. You've seen his anger, witnessed his rage. It had never been directed at you, but with your mind running wild all day—just not with ideas for your new book—you were sure it was time for him to lash out at you.

Instead, you felt the gentle warmth that his palm emitted as he cupped your cheek, and your eyes blinked open in confused astonishment. "I'm sorry," he said, his expression full of concern and shame. For a moment, you almost forgot he wasn't human; his reaction felt so validating and real. As if he truly recognized how he wronged you.

"You said you wanted some alone time and I thought it would be best to give you what you wanted. But you are right. I should have taken your needs into consideration."

Satan spoke these words so earnestly, not a hint of a lie in his voice. It felt surreal to hear these words, knowing he had kidnapped you in the first place. "No, I'm sorry, I..." you started before catching yourself. Why were you apologizing? Wasn't it his fault you flew off the handle? It had been Satan who had tricked you, so why were you feeling bad all of a sudden?

"No, you are right. I can't keep you cooped up here all day, even though I long to see your new story. It was selfish of me when we were supposed to be partners in this, so forgive me."

Dropping his hand from the gentle caressed to your face, Satan held it out to you. You couldn't help but be hesitant and unsure. What did he want? Would he hurt you if you accepted the invitation?

"Please let me make it up to you," he explained, sincerity in his eyes as he stood there, waiting for you to agree. It all felt so unreal, but the paranoia made you unsure how to act. You had already imagined all kinds of scenarios, from the horror ones to some that made you blush. Being a writer, your anxiety didn't give you a clear sign of what to do, and after being stuck in an unfamiliar, dark place for more than a week, barely surviving on the food and water you had been given, and even less on the few hours of sleep every day, it was a surprise you could even come up with more scenarios in your head.

"You're not mad?" you asked hesitantly, eyeing his hand with suspicion. You already knew the palm would be warm, his long fingers perfect for wrapping around your hand, and his touch soft and gentle. After being deprived of social interactions, it was a tempting offer.

Satan shook his head, sadness rushing to his features again. "No, I'm worried and ashamed I let it come so far. I will make it up to you. I'll show you the beauty of this world and take you to experience unforgettable things. I didn't ask to be your patron so you'd live out the rest of your life like a caged animal. I want to support you, even if I have failed until now. Will you give me the chance to right my wrongs?"

Even though you felt nervous about making this decision, Satan had said all the right things. Everything you had wanted to hear from him, assuring you that you had also been heard by him. When he first approached you for this partnership, you had been unsure as well; deal with the devil and all. But he had seemed so sincere back then, too. So convinced in your skills and talents, sweeping you right off your feet. The same was happening now, although if he meant what he said, then his intentions were still pure.

Slowly, you placed your hand into his, choosing to trust him once more. After all, he had approached you for this deal. Surely if it was this important to him, he'd not mess it up again, right? Satan beamed when you gave him your answer, nodding once in confirmation as his hand wrapped around yours.

"Let's go then!" he announced, and before you could ask where to, he had pulled you after him, opening the door and bathing you in the warm, beautiful sun, leaving the darkness behind.

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

"You good?" Satan asked, patting down the blanket around your shoulders. You nodded, swallowing down some of the soothing tea in your hands before smiling.

"I think I can do it now!"

A gentle smile played around his lips as he chuckled, excited after hearing your enthusiastic reply. "Then I'll be over there, reading. Call out if you need anything."

It had been the right choice to trust him. All this time, you had been fearful and wary when, actually, he was a good guy. People would think you'd gone mad, hearing you talk like this about a demon this way, but they didn't know Satan. Some demons truly were good people, perhaps better than most humans you knew.

After that little argument in the afternoon, he had done his best to give you back the freedom you craved. He took you to a nice beach town, where you two played in the sand next to the ocean, took a long walk and talked, and ate delicious food from many different vendors. Had you two not been in a professional relationship, one could have almost called it a date.

But that wasn't important. Important was that when he asked if you wanted to continue this partnership, you agreed. On the condition this time that he wouldn't restrict you as much again and listen to you, to which Satan willingly shook hands. You went back with him to his domain with fewer worries, less stress, and actually feeling inspired to sit down and write. And once you cozied up with a blanket and some tea, you were happy to fulfill your side of the contract—at least until you were too sleepy to continue.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw Satan lounging in his armchair, his own steaming cup of tea on a side table as he read his book. He noticed your gaze, meeting it with a smile and a slight wave and you returned the gesture before looking onto the empty page of your manuscript again, getting ready to throw yourself into the story. You could do it! You knew that now. You had all the support that you needed, and Satan had become more of a friend than the captor you had originally thought him to be!

All you ever wanted was to write, and now, it was your time to shine.

All thanks to Satan's help.

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

Humans were easily frazzled, weren't they?

Vulnerable, fearful creatures. And yet, he couldn't help but fall for you the moment he read the first sentence of your book. Satan remembered that he thought, "Wow, they get it," as he dove into a story filled with passion for the obscure, something that couldn't have been from a mind as fragile as a human.

But it was, and so he found you.

And you were everything he wanted you to be.

So for a moment, he panicked when he saw you distraught. For a moment, he could feel the feeble connection of your pact waver, threatening to tear as the contract he made the first time had been rushed and haphazardly. He knew better now than to be careless around you. You, who had the power to make and break him, turn him into an obedient puppy to your whims, even though he was the scariest dog your world had ever seen. If he wanted to keep you, he had to rethink his plan, better it, and put a leash so tight on you that you'd be unable to escape his grip.

Inevitably, he fixed the problems easily, building trust that you should have never allowed to form between you two. Satan relished in the sight of your turned back, your fingers tapping away merrily on the keyboard of the laptop he got for you. Don't get him wrong, he adored your works, loved the obscure, wild ideas that you put into words so lovely that they touched his ruthless soul.

But it was you he wanted. You he loved.

That's why he decided to be patient. Even with the itch in his fingers to pin you to the ground, the burning on his lips to capture yours so frevently you'd forget yourself. The inescapable pull you had on his whole body as if you were the demon binding his soul to yours, and that annoying part of his mind that wanted nothing more than to rip it out so you may have it.

Satan couldn't let you know all these things he wanted to do with you, the way he'd have you captured in his arms until you stopped thrashing. It wasn't enough for Satan to have captured you, he wanted more. He wanted to still his anger with the softness of your body in his hold, soothe the rage inside him with the sound of your voice. Know that every word you'd write, you'd do for him. It made him anything but angry—greedy, gluttonous, prideful. He could act like the main character in your book all you needed, but it wouldn't change the fact he was the villain at the end of your story.

But he had already captured your body, soothed your distrust, and soon, he'd have that new creation you'd only write for him and him alone. Thus was the new contract he made you sign. A contract you accepted much too easily after he showed you the illusion of freedom you were craving. As if there had ever been a choice for you.

You were a simple soul, even if your mind was brilliant. He could read you like a book, the way your body shuddered against his touch as you dreamed of him—dreams he planted in your head for you to nourish with your ideas. And Satan could play this game for a long, long time, dragging it out until you'd accept his love willingly, seek it out like he had sought after you. Even if it would take forever, he'd practice the illusion of patience.

All so he could have you for all eternity.

[leyyvi]

It's 3:04 in the afternoon when you're buried nose-deep in writing your research paper. And though you've been trying to focus on it for the last half hour, the only thing on your mind is literally all of the other things you need to get done. Clean your room, do the dishes, finish that late assignment (it's been almost a week now!) Shit. Too many things to do, and there's never enough hours in the day to feel like you can finish them.

You may or may not have been tipping over the edge of a breaking point for a while now.

But you've been convinced that it was hidden fairly well, at least from your friends. They don't press more than a simple "good luck with your paper" or "talk to you soon" when you tell them how busy you are.

However, your boyfriend definitely notices.

Levi isn't one to not speak his mind when something bothers him. In fact, he's pointed out several times in the last week that you shouldn't be overworking yourself. Out of anyone you know, Levi knows your limits the most. And he must see it where you don't, considering he's walked into your apartment with his copy of the key and is now standing over you, a paper bag in his hand as he glares down his nose.

"Hey," you mumble, turning back to your laptop screen in front of you. But the laptop is forced shut by a veiny hand, replaced with the plop of that same paper bag Levi was just holding. "Whats that?"

You pout when he slides the laptop down the dining table.

"Lunch. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know you are, don't fight me on this. Please just eat with me. Forget about your work for a minute."

He pulls out the boxes in the bag, revealing a couple of sandwiches. Fine, maybe you're a little hungry.

"You didn't answer my calls so I had to guess what you would've liked," Levi murmurs as he slides the boxes toward you. You mutter an apology, but he's not mad. He waves it off, simply telling you to eat and "stop worrying about shit for one damn second."

With anyone else, it might've pissed you off.

When you're absorbed in your work, it's hard to gather energy to talk to other people, let alone even take care of yourself. And yet, somehow, Levi is the one person who manages to read you like a book. For some reason, he's able to pick up on your bouts of silence and understand what you need. You always wondered how he can do that.

And though he's yet to say "I love you", you wonder if gestures like this are close enough to that.

He doesn't ask about work, merely sits with you and eats in silence. The brief moment of quiet feels good, comforting even. Especially in Levis presence. Despite his coarse language and tendency to maintain a glare most if not all times, you've always found him to be so... Stable. A steady wall to lean on when the world makes your stance tremble.

You really love that about him.

When you two have finished, Levi promptly cleans up the table. You assume it's okay to go back to work, but his hand lands on yours when you try to pull it back.

"You're done for the day," he says with a firm stare. The usual one he gives when he absolutely refuses to listen to any counterargument you might come up with. "We're gonna go for a walk, take you outside. Just get out of this shit and breathe some real fresh air."

"I'm not a dog," you grumble as he holds out his hand to you now to help you stand.

"Mhm," is all he says.

You two walk around the neighborhood, Levi having taken away your phone in an effort to keep you from too much more screen time. He'd return it if you really asked, but you're thankful for the restriction in all honesty.

Usually, Levi isn't the one to initiate an exorbitant amount of physical contact. It's you who tends to absentmindedly cling to his arm while you're talking. And it's generally you who comes up behind him to cover his eyes and make him guess who, despite the fact that he already knew just from the sound of your footsteps.

Most often, Levi does attend to little touches here and there. The back of your neck, the edge of your hip, the top of your thigh, along the line of your jaw. And now in this moment, it's when Levi steps up a little and takes your hand completely in his. It isn't anything new for you to hold hands, but it's rare for him to be initiator.

You appreciate that. Those moments where he's willing to be more brave about touching. It's calming, feeling his fingers between yours as your arms sway with every step.

"I'm sorry for being so short with you lately," you sigh, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk you step on. Levi always seems to make a subconscious effort not to step on them, even now.

"It's nothing. I'm always short with you, anyways..." He trails off quietly.

Your sudden snort startles him, obvious with the incredulous look on his face as you burst into a tiny fit of laughter. His brow raises in confusion.

"That wasn't even close to being a funny joke and you're still laughing?"

"It was funny to me! You're always funny."

"You're the only person in the whole world who thinks that."

"Must be why you're dating me, right?"

His hold tightens around your hand. "I'm dating you because I l-"

Levi cuts himself off and inhales through his nose, pushing his sunglasses up to hide his eyes as he recomposes himself. "I'm dating you for a multitude of reasons."

"You could be more specific."

"If you keep talking I'm gonna have fewer reasons," he clears his throat, hovering his free hand over his eyes to shield himself from the sun, leaving remnants of the summer's heat on his skin.

You smile, for the first time in a few days, actually. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better."

"Hmph." Clearly, Levi has nothing else to say.

[doromoni]

A Rivalry Misunderstood | LN4

Ships : Lando Norris x McLaren Driver! Reader

Genre : Angst , Romance

Warning : Toxic! Lando , Possessive! Lando

Summary : You’re the new Golden Rookie of McLaren F1 , a driver loved and accepted by everyone. But Lando may beg to differ.

masterlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Quickly passing by every motorhome as you joyfully skip through the paddock , signing merchandise and taking photos with the fans. The Sprint race had just finished — with you getting your first Formula 1 win as a rookie! Well technically, but you were happy either way. Congratulations and pats on the back were constant from your team and even competitors as you made your way towards your own motorhome.

Life as a rookie in formula 1 had its ups and downs , majority of the people around have been supportive. However, oddly enough, you expected the least person to be against you would be your teammate … yet, here we are. You never understood Lando’s dislike towards you , it was so out of the blue and you could not think of anything you could have done to earn his mistrust.

You were always on your best behavior, and you always made an effort to be friendly towards your senior driver. You always made sure that you were cautious and that you didn’t step on any toes.

Busy with your thoughts, you reached your motorhome. So here you are, walking towards your designated driver room. Nearing the hallway of your destination.Head filled with thoughts but at the same time empty, not noticing the built figure as you turned the corner. Both bodies weren't aware of the other person, bumping into each other with a thump.

The person was heavy for sure, a built composed of lean and hard muscles. How would you know? He was currently lying on top of you. You were pressed by his chest, while he was on top of you. Yup … definitely muscled, you can feel it through your fireproofs

" Urghh, watch where you're going " you groaned in pain. Suddenly , you were face to face with the your teammate, Lando Norris.

His face was painted with an expression you cannot understand ... His toned arms were beside your head, trapping you between him and the floor . You stared at your co-driver, his hazelnut brown wavy hair, dark emerald eyes as green as the amazon forest, and a jawline that could rival a sword.

Unconsciously, your hand trailed the bridge of his nose to the soft and plump lower lip that the man possessed.

" What the hell are you doing" Stopping yourself from examining him more, and finally connected the dots. You were pressed on the floor by Lando Norris! The person who hated you and wanted you gone.

Almost automatically, you put your hands on his chest — an effort to push him . But alas, your efforts were null, when he suddenly pinned your hands above your head.

Struggling from his iron grip, and sighing into submission and decided to use your brain rather than brawn. Since trying to force yourself out would do you no good, knowing that he was much stronger than you were.

Having enough of his attitude and his harsh treatment , you realized being nice was never going to work— and that you don’t actually care about what he thought of you. And for the first time with him , you set your foot down and served him the attitude that he served you all the time that you were his teammate.

"I think your male bravado is content now, right? having a girl defenseless and restricted. I suggest letting me go now " you felt his hold on your wrist grow even tighter.

Steeling your front , you stared back into his glare, challenging his piercing glare.

"Why? Do you have somewhere to go? Have more people to suck up to? Don't you think that's low ,even for you?" A dangerous glint in his eyes. And an animosity in his voice that you couldn't decipher. He drew his face closer to yours, you felt his breath on your cheeks , an inch more his lips would touch yours.

Suddenly finding the situation amusing, a chuckle slipped your lips. Your chuckling then turned into laughter, and this stunned Lando, as he stared at your face, still sharing the same breath.

He can’t beat you on track, so he now uses other tactics to up you. Funny.

"Funny, such accusation are done by you , don't you think? Oh that's right its because the team actually prefers me now over you. Now that I’ve actually given them a win... hmm or maybe we all should be like you and bow and cower when max’s car shows in the mirror? “

Of course that wasn’t true, you just wanted to aggravate the English driver more. Once again, you tried prying your hands off his grip.

"Shut the fuck up . You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. " Lando bit back with so much animosity. You were definitely scared now .

Realizing that you are in the middle of a hall way and is still beneath Lando, you once again struggled to push him off.

" You know what, let go of me! I need to go to the debriefing for Pete's sake" You started squiggling trying to move away from under him, when an deep growl vibrated through your ear, causing shivers down your spine and goosebumps littering the nape of your neck.

"Don't.Move" Hearing him swallow and steady his breath, you smirked as you lay still below him and glared into his eyes challenging him further

Lando finally lets go of you as he stood up. Scrambling to your feet and dusting yourself off ; adjusting your driver suit and fixing your hair. You the felt his stare on you.

"What? The hell are you staring at?" With a scowl, you folded your arms and returned his stare with a glare.

"You changed your fireproofs" You looked down at your clothes . Your race suit was half open and your fireproofs were showing.

"What? Even my uniform you've got issues with? Should I also have my uniform exactly like yours instead? " you asked with a sneer as you patted the crease on your pants

"Stop trying to be different from everyone on the team! Fucking mooching on every mechanic . Know. your. fucking. place “ The British driver said scathingly.

Suddenly pissed, you decided to provoke Lando even further. Having enough of his bullshit. You drew your body near his , going on your tippy toes and placing a delicate hand on his chest, slowly dragging your fingernails to draw patterns on his fireproofs, feeling him tense under my touch. Fuck it! You were already a slut in his eyes anyway.

Slowly moving your lips to his jaw then towards his ear and whispered

"Does that make you angry, hmm, Lando? little ol me taking your precious spotlight? People adoring me instead of you. “ You tutted , making sure your voice held rotting sweetness

“All eyes on me. Does that make your blood boil? You getting nothing while I have everything, Lando?" Adding emphasis on his name, you gently moved your hand towards his hair and pulled.

Feeling Lando freeze and grow rigid from your touch you chuckled, you were about to move away, when you felt a hand wrap around your waist and suddenly pinning you against the wall with force.

" Don't fucking test me princess. Your playing a dangerous game. No one will look at you, I'll make sure of that.... Don’t prance around trying to win everyone to your side, you’re only mine to look at “ His lips ghosting the shell of your earlobe as he pulled you into his embrace even tighter.

Your breath hitched when you felt his teeth nip your ear. His lips traveled down your jaw to your neck, harshly biting the skin he traveled. He licked the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sucking and lapping his tongue over the bite. He let out a moan while you whimpered.

" Baby? I Never knew you could taste this good" Speechless , you stared at him as he licked his lips, your mind trying to gather any thought it could process.

"Win all the races you want, I don’t care. But don’t fucking flirt with anyone … and I don’t care if he’s your engineer. " With a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze on your waist , Lando was gone

You stood shocked, heart pounding, in the deserted hallway,trying to piece everything that just happened.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hello!! If it isn't too much to ask, could you make a Fred fic with reader on her period? Mine are absolutely excruciating, especially in the first two days, to the point of crying on the floor and stuff :(( it's totally okay if you don't want to, I just like to imagine Fred trying his hardest to pamper his s/o (and probably freak out a bit because honestly, periods are a nightmare men will never understand). Have a nice day ♡

Anon, it would be my pleasure! I’m so sorry you’re suffering, I had an endo flare up last week that nearly sent me to A&E so you have my full sympathy. You know that feeling when you could destroy the world and everyone in it but then your period starts and you realise that it’s been that all along? 🖤

Warnings: mentions of periods, menstural cycle, PMS, blood, pain. Best friend George, Fred is a sweetheart.

Words: 3.4k

The princess and the period.

You'd had a really terrible day, a horrible, never-ending bore of a day, at least in your mind. It started from the very second you woke up, alone in bed without Fred beside you. You'd slept through your first alarm and had nearly been late for an interview you'd had scheduled for months within the Department of Mysteries. You'd taken the visitors entrance to the Ministry to acquire your required visitors badge and had been held up by some Muggle incident that had rendered London at a near standstill.

The interview, thankfully, had gone well but you couldn't help but fixate on the discomfort you felt in yourself the entire time. Your clothes felt uncomfortable and restrictive and you felt bloated to the point that it was showing through your clothes.

You'd had plans to meet with Arthur after your interview for a cuppa and a catch-up at the small cafeteria whilst he took his break, something you'd been looking forward to all week. You made your way back down to Level two where the department of magical law enforcement was and walked through the mini atrium until you located the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, only to be informed by Perkins that Arthur was running a tad late, caught up with something that required his immediate attention. Though this was far from unfamiliar, your temper had flared and you had barely managed to contain it, choosing instead to silently seethe as you waited in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs near the main desk. You weren't mad at Arthur by any means, you don't think you'd even been mad at him, but having to stay in uncomfortable clothing and wait when you were already having a bad day was just irritating you further and further as time dragged on, not helped by the incessant ticking from the muggle cuckoo clock on the wall that was driving you mad.

Arthur finally emerged twenty minutes later, apologising profusely as he grabbed his coat and ushered you back into the lift, a bright smile on his face as he began asking you about how your interview went and how his son was. You'd spent a nice half an hour together having a cup of tea and a freshly made slice of cake, something he was keeping a secret from Molly, but as you parted and made your way out of the Ministry to travel home, your mood had almost immediately soured again.

The street was still busier than usual, the noise of people shouting and car horns honking were essentially non stop and you couldn't wait to get home and relax away from the chaos. You had to stop by the shop on the way home for some ingredients for dinner that night and found upon entering the shop that they were completely out of what you needed. You huffed out a breath, feeling yourself getting worked up again and tried desperately to think of alternative ideas to work with what you already had at home but your mind was foggy and unable to concentrate, coming up with nothing. You felt like crying, stood in the middle of a crowed aisle in the muggle supermarket, feeling utterly pathetic. You cursed under your breath and moved away from the aisle towards the exit when you passed the small bakery counter, the sight alone of the small chocolate fudge cake on display enough to make you pause. Without hesitation you bought the cake and walked straight to the checkout, feeling defeat at not getting what was needed for dinner but at the same time, feeling a little victory at acquiring the chocolate cake you were so looking forward to.

You were exhausted by the time you opened the door to the apartment, cursing Fred in your mind for placing the anti-apparition jinx upon the store and the flat above and for not fixing the floo function on the fireplace which had forced you to manually travel into central London and back and then walk up four flights of stairs in your business heels. You were in a foul mood, tired and ready to snap from the day filled with complications and irritations.

You walked into the kitchen to place the cake on the side after kicking off your heels and saw a load of dirty pots piled up in the sink and a mess made on nearly every surface of the countertop, clearly from one of the twins on their lunch break.

You let out an aggrieved groan and slammed down the bag containing the cake on the small kitchen table, huffing and cursing under your breath as you chucked down your wand and walked immediately into the bedroom in a huff.

You rolled your eyes seeing the wardrobe doors open and the bed covers strewn everywhere from your rush this morning and groaned again, now in disdain for your own actions. You walked off once again, now annoyed at yourself and stepped into the thankfully rather tidy bathroom. You started the shower, wanting to wash the entire day away and get out of your uncomfortable clothes immediately which you happily threw onto the bathroom floor without a single care.

The shower helped, feeling a little cleansed by the water and familiar scents of your shower gel, though it didn't remove your bad mood entirely; thoughts of the messy kitchen and lack of dinner ingredients were still playing on your mind only winding you up more. You stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a big fluffy towel and walked into the bedroom to put your comfy clothes on, a big T-shirt that used to belong to Fred and your black joggers, aiming for ultimate comfort. You hadn't heard from George or Fred today except for the nice note they'd left on the fridge door wishing you luck for your interview, though it wasn't unusual, the shop was always busy.

You walked to the kitchen, completely ignoring the mess and pits that were not yours to clean and made yourself a cup of tea, almost crying as you looked at the slither of milk left in the fridge. It was enough for one cup of tea but nothing more and you cursed yourself again for not thinking of grabbing milk whilst you were at the shop.

You sat down in the living room with your cup of tea, wet hair thrown up in a lazy bun and had just pulled open the book you were currently reading when Fred burst through the apartment door.

"Ooh there's my princess, how did your interview go?" He says loudly, bombarding you instantly with a kiss to the head and throwing himself down onto the sofa beside you. You closed your eyes in annoyance, just wanting to relax and on the cusp of being able to before he interrupted.

"It was fine," you replied with a shrug, really not feeling up to explaining your day just now. "They said I'd receive an owl by the end of the week."

"Know you'll get it princess, always have been the smart one," he says, apparently thinking nothing of your rather clipped reply.

"Anyway, we're taking you to dinner tonight to celebrate," he says in a sing-song manner, stretching out on the sofa to put his feet up on the coffee table.

"But I haven't gotten the job," you countered, placing down your book, casting one last sad glance at the cover.

"Yet," he replies, stretching out and pulling open his tie just a fraction, eyes closed with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Any other day you'd have jumped at the chance to go out for a meal with your loved ones but upon looking at your comfy yet completely inappropriate outfit to go out in, your face fell. You'd have to put actual clothes back on, do your hair again and reapply your makeup that you'd just scrubbed off in the shower. You couldn't be bothered, at all. You wanted to sit and read with your cup of tea, switch off your brain and eat your weight in chocolate cake. But then you remembered that you had no solid idea or complete ingredient list for any viable meal and maybe going out would be the only way of eating that night.

You felt another wave of annoyance come over you as you considered having to get all done up again. Couldn't they have warned you? Left a note or something so that you didn't shower the minute you got in? You knew you were diverting into unreasonable territory as they were just trying to do something nice but you couldn't help it, you'd rather vomit slugs than have to get ready all over again and out of your comfort clothes.

"Anyway, best get back or George'll curse my eyebrows off, 7pm gorgeous, wear something sexy," he says, straightening his toe as he wiggles his eyebrows at you before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, "proud of you sweetheart." And then he's gone and you're left reeling.

Wear something sexy? Who the bloody hell was he to request that? Your boyfriend of years, but still.

You looked down at your outfit again and felt a ridiculous but prominent sense of loss, wanting to stay bundled up forever. You check the clock on the wall and feel aggravated once again as you see that it's nearly 5:50pm and you'd have to start getting ready. You begrudgingly dragged yourself into the bedroom and sat at your little table, staring into the mirror and felt no motivation or desire to get ready, looking at the drawers in front of you but not actually wanting to open them.

That's how George found you a little before 7 as he slipped away from the shop, seeing you sitting at your makeup table in tears. He rushed in as soon as he saw your tears and crouched down to try and comfort you, eagerly listening though it must have been hard for him as the crying was affecting your voice and all that came out were a few unintelligible whines.

"I just don't want to," you say with a hiccup, wiping away your fear from your cheek. You didn't think it would actually get this bad but your curls hadn't gone right, the hairbrush you found was not your favourite and sometimes pulled your hair a little as it brushed through and nothing at all would make you look sexy tonight with your bloating. You didn't want to wear uncomfortable heels again, nor walk anywhere in them and by the time you'd gotten to take a sip of your tea, it was cold.

"Shh, it's alright," George says soothingly trying to calm you. He placed his hand on your shoulder but quickly removed it as he saw your little glance at it. It wasn't that you didn't want to be touched per se, but his touch very heavy on your already uncomfortable body. "We don't have to go, it was only an idea."

You sniffled miserably and looked at your best friend, wiping away the tears. "But we don't have anything for tea, they didn't have any-."

"Then we'll order in, get something delivered or we'll nip out and bring something back," he says, not quite interrupting you but just enough to make you stop spiralling. You nodded meekly, feeling utterly pathetic again. "Right, I'll go tell Fred we're staying in, then we'll close up and order something okay? Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

You'd seen his eyes flicker to your still full mug and frown as he entered, figuring it was something that had set you off. You shook your head, already feeling like he'd done too much for you.

"Okay, we'll be back as soon as we can," he squeezes your shoulder and walks out.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup sparingly applied but messed up thanks to your tears and your hair curled but not how you wanted it and sighed, feeling overwhelmed with guilt at shooting down your boyfriend and his brother. They'd only tried to do something nice and you'd completely spoiled it, too selfish and caught up in your own feelings that you'd been unreasonable and unkind. You considered wiping the makeup off your face but thought better of it but you reach for a big scrunchie and tie your hair back into a high ponytail, making you feel a little better.

You threw back on your comfy clothes and trudged into the kitchen, retrieving your wand to cast a few spells that had the kitchen cleared in no time. You poured away your cold tea and put the kettle back on, still seeking the comfort as you had before.

The twins closed up the shop in record time and Fred pulled you into the bedroom with him as he undressed, slipping out of his suit and into his own loungewear.

"Princess you should have said," he says gently, reaching for you, his hand cradling your face as he looks into your eyes, "I didn't mean to pressure you."

"No it's not you, I've just been off all day, everything's irritating me and I just want to switch off," you explained, hearing the remorse in your voice.

"Then relax you shall," he says with a smirk, "kiss first though?" His cheeky smile extends to his eyes and you catch his gaze flicker at your lips. You eagerly reach up on your tiptoes to place a sweet kiss onto his lips and you pull away smiling, feeling like it's the first time you'd properly smiled all day.

George ordered food for you all before hopping in the shower and arrived back in the living room wearing his comfiest pyjamas, pulling you into him for a hug as Fred fired up your favourite muggle movie on the TV, also joining you on the large sofa.

It was pitch black when you woke up, your eyes struggling to focus as you came around, confused as to what had woken you up. You could hear Fred breathing deeply and evenly, sound asleep. You looked at the little alarm clock beside the bed, lifting your head up from the place between the pillow and Fred's shoulder where your head rested and saw that it was 2:34am. As your consciousness begins to clear, you frown, feeling a soreness in your abdomen that you couldn't place, feeling as if you needed the toilet but without the urge to go.

You extracted yourself from your boyfriend's side, which never proved to be an easy feat, and walked to the bathroom, dragging your tired body along. You turned on the light and quickly shut the door to stop the light from disturbing your sleeping boyfriend and sat down on the toilet, turning the tap on out of habit. You pulled down your sleep shorts and underwear and immediately understood why you had an ache in your stomach, and why you'd been out of sorts all day.

Your period.

Every month without fail, the moment you discover your period had started, the pain heightens at least ten notches. You winced as you wiped, kicking off your underwear and shorts that were soiled and dragged yourself into the shower. For the second time, you sighed as you entered the shower, your body screaming at you out of exhaustion as you rinsed yourself off. You grabbed a towel and raced into the bedroom to grab a pair of panties from the dresser and ran back into the bathroom to sort your pad out. You then slipped on some new pyjamas and dragged yourself back to the bed, illuminating your wand to check that nothing had gotten onto the sheets, or worse on your boyfriend sleeping beside you. Luckily, it hadn't.

You suddenly didn't feel tired anymore, body wired from your lukewarm shower. You walked to the kitchen, padding through the flat on barefoot and flicked the kettle on, searching through the cupboard above for a jar of hot chocolate you kept in.

You grabbed your hot drink and flicked on a lamp before you pulled a black cushion from the side of the sofa to sit on, not wanting anymore accidents to happen. You didn't turn on the TV right away but instead chose to sit in the partially illuminated room and try and wind down. You couldn't get comfy at all, wiggling your hips to try and ease the ache between them, feeling like your lower abdomen was being constricted from the inside, shooting pains going down your leg and an uncomfortable pressure in your bum. You could sob with the pain, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry but you couldn't, I'm too much pain to even try and move, your entire energy being consumed by simply existing right now.

Your periods had always been bad, starting just before your third year at Hogwarts and though through time they had evened out a little, they were still unpredictable at best and monstrous at worst. You shifted your hips again, trying to relieve the tension you felt and groaned quietly, wishing that you'd filled up your hot water bottle before sitting down.

Medicine in the wizarding world was spectacularly different from the muggle word though a little less advanced as the wizarding community came with added complications such as diseases and ailments that muggles would never know existed. Witches and Wizards often didn't react well to normal muggle remedies nor pharmaceuticals, something you'd learned at Hogwarts from Madame Pomfrey, something about the magical ability burning through modern pharmaceuticals at a rapid rate, rendering them ineffective.

You placed your mug on your stomach to try and gain some heat from it and rested your head back on the sofa, breathing deeply and trying to calm yourself so that you could go back to bed. Feeling yourself getting sleepy, you placed down your mug and pulled a soft blanket over you, trying to get comfy as you settled into the soft material of the plush sofa.

"Princess?" You heard a quiet voice call out, your eyes on the verge of closing. You opened them just a little, sensing Fred's presence behind you and you twisted in position to look at him, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through your groan at the motion.

"What are you doing out here? George snoring too loud again?" You smiled appreciatively for the joke and reached out for him with grabby hands, needing some comfort. He wordlessly slipped in beside you on the sofa and immediately wrapped you around him, blankets and all as he kept you bundled up. You reached for his large hand, feeling the absurd heat he always radiated under your fingers and placed his hand onto your tummy. The heat from his hand spread over your skin instantly and you could feel it penetrating deeper and deeper, soothing your pain.

"That time?" He asks delicately and you nod into his chest, your eyes still heavy as you breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of Fred. "Want your water bottle?" You paused, considering it but slowly shook you head.

"Not right now, got you," you mumbled into his chest, his warmth and presence soothing you further into sleep. You felt him chuckle, chest rumbling with the vibration and he reach down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

"Out of ten?" He asks, keeping his hand placed delicately on your belly.

"Eight at least," you groan, your eyes closing as your toes twitch out of the intensity of the pain.

"Oookay, what can I do?" He asks, clearly a little freaked out by the high level of pain you admitted, knowing that it really must have been bad as you always had a high pain threshold.

"Just sit with me," you say, feeling depleted.

"Wanna go to bed or are you happy here?" He says after a few minutes. The heat from his hand has begun to feel redundant, your skin now the same temperature as his.

"Water bottle first?" You asked innocently, hopeful that he'd accommodate you. He presses another kiss to your head and tells you he'll bring it in before shoo'ing you into the bedroom where you sink down into the soft sheets, finally feeling comforted enough to close your eyes.

[hazelfoureyes]

Sending in anon because I'm a coward... 😩

I'm a new reader, and I just have to say-- your "a doe in fall" series is just... AMAZING!!

I could go on, and on and on about how much I love it. But what gets me the most is always Alastor's dialogue, because as someone who is also on the aro/ace spectrum, I just get it so much. Especially the subtle hoping that reader can like... Read his mind about how he feels for her, and the weird sort of stockholm syndrome we sometimes develop with ourselves after being alone with only our own company for so long, and it really is, lol, like you just get so used to being alone for so long because you know the idea people have of you, you can't truly live up to, so you don't want to "disappoint" them that you actually aren't like they are, so you just sorta... Keep them occupied at arms length-- Therefore you're forced to adapt to your company being the only love you have for a long time. it's like an obligation.

And when or if the special somebody who understands you comes along, you realize... "Wow, I've been living like this for so long, is this what it feels like to be loved and appreciated, in spite of my oddities, or maybe even in favor of them? Strange..."

Emphasis on the "strange" part because, when you're so deeply entrenched in your own soul, sharing your space for another almost feels more like learning how to swim rather than an instant "click", sparks, fireworks and whatnot. The excitement of the magical "other" has been long since drowned and snuffed out of you.

So, when this somebody who is similar to you, or just simply understands, doesn't try to change you or ignore you, but instead envelopes you and adores you, the appreciation is deep and overflowing. But there's a part of you always pinching your heart, a sort of awareness of something that isn't the case, wondering "Is this a dream? what if it is and I'll wake up and this is not at all what I was thinking?".

Haha... ANYWAY, sorry for the slightly morose and LONG read 😂 But I always think of how similar I am to how you write alastor and it's scary in a way, but comforting (especially since he's my first and biggest fictional crush) except in this case my profession would actually be burlesque. Especially since I work in the exotic dance world. It's fascinating being aro/ace in the SW world, I could go on forever- But yeah, I absolutely love your writing!! Makes me feel less alone in this world. Annnd surprisingly I always feel so sensual after reading, I love love love it!! Reading before work always gets me in the mood to dance and pretend I'm Y/N, lol!!

Much blessings ❤️❤️

*cracks knuckles* listen here babycakes, I eat this shit UP. Exploring Human Ace Alastor is my BREAD AND BUTTER. I go into ESSAYS in the AO3 comments in this 😂

you really understand, which makes me so happy and is confirmation I’m conveying him the way I want to.

Now I’m gonna ramble and echo you basically 😂

I really think Alastor (atleast in this story) feels that excitement and strangeness of how open he can be around Autumn (since she doesn’t have a proper name cuz she’s reader 😂). He’s a fish out of water despite the fact he’s actually being his most authentic self. Like you said, it’s new to him just to be … Alastor. To be honest and upfront. His normal operating mode has been so restricted for so long he’s struggling with how to be himself. And then that fear—- well what if I’m too much? What if I ruin this, when I finally have something worth keeping? He’s never gotten this far and the fear of losing that comfort is terrifying but so is the actual comfort itself. It’s new and foreign.

A deep uneasiness that’s if he fully embraces this he’s gonna just fuck it up and it’ll be his fault this time. Not a misunderstanding or misalignment of needs but a confirmation he wasn’t good enough anyway.

“it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” he would say that’s bullshit

and because of the situations he’s been in before, he’s never gotten to actually explore physical intimacy in a “safe” environment. He was always going into interactions because he had to if he wanted to keep people around. It was a necessity, not something he actually sincerely wanted to participate. So he tried to keep them happy with other means of affection and intimacy to maintain some safe distance but eventually, always, things would fall apart. At a distance or up close.

that’s why that most recent part was called Learning. Alastor is trying new things to learn more about what he’s okay with or doesn’t care for even offering in the future. Autumn is learning (that night, tho she doesn’t understand it yet) that he’s still figuring out how to meet her halfway (even tho she’s not even asking for that) when he’s used to being forced to meet people where they are. And Detective Brady, of course, is learning he may have found motive for Tommy’s disappearance.

I’m really glad you’re enjoying his portrayal and that you’re resonating with parts of him! That makes my soul hum! 💖 your line of work mixed with your Aro/Ace-ness sounds like such an interesting conversation if we’re honest! That’s a small aspect I love about Autumn. She’s in this field that’s (wrongly) considered to be hyper sexual and full of air headed wanton whores, but she’s the first person to be like “oh! You aren't into this stuff. Let me adjust my expectations. I’ll ask for clear verbal consent, not initiate, and I’m totally okay with never fucking again if it’s for your love and company.”

I work in the SW industry in a sense (Personal Assistant) and one of my biggest pet peeves is all of the shit people project on SWers.

sorry for the essay I could talk about this for ETERNITY

omg and THANK YOU! 🥺💖💖💖💖

Referencing:

A Doe in Fall (Human Alastor x Burlesquer Fem Reader)

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

[marsprincess889]

Me getting political

🇬🇪🇪🇺

So, I know I mostly only really talk about vedic astrology here, but I'd like to speak to the very same audience who found and followed me because of that about what's going on in my country. So, followers, dear mutuals, those couple of ppl I know irl who are on here, or someone who randomly found this_please, read and interact. (!!!please)

For context, the vast majority Georgia, mainly gen z, has been protesting a "foreign agents law", which is almost identical to the law that russia passed in 2012 and that has resulted in significant restriction of the freedom of its citizens. So, eurovision, met gala, whatever.... this is the reality my country lives in.

I had no idea so many people from other countries were this misinformed about georgia(in general)? People thinking photos from our massive protests were not from here because we have "police" written in english and not "policija"(which is not a fcking georgian word??????)?

People thinking america funded, I repeat, MASSIVE protests that have been going on for a month(and have also taken place in the march of last year for the same reason), just because some of the protestors wrote signs in english? Like, the sheer idea of that is honestly infuriating.

I don't think anyone who has not lived in Georgia will understand the situation clearly. The government is ordering to beat up peaceful protestors, is using pepper spray on them.... and most of the protestors are teens and young adults, trying to make a better future for themselves and for generations to come, tired of fighting the same fight that their parents and grandparents have fought.

When you are born georgian, patriotism is instilled in you like vow. I was born in 2002, a decade after my country exited the soviet union, fresh out of the notoriously hard and dark 90s(full of poverty and crime), six years before I started school and russia invaded the city of Gori. We learned all the poems and novels of our great writers, learned the stories of them fighting for freedom of speech, for the freedom of our country, our teachers would explain every detail of their astristry and their importance. At some point I think we all got tired of it, no matter how loving and full of care they were, but then I remember the presentation my class did in sixth grade about february of 1921, how Georgia exited the russian empire in 1918 and how the brand new(at the time) constitution was implemented just a few days before the red army came in 1921... MY PARENTS were born when Georgia was in ussr, my mother had to spend her years as a young student in the 90s in constant fear of danger on the streets, our parents saw the worst of it and did everything in their power for us to live in a better environment. But we're first generation in georgia who grew up with internet, who is fluent in internet slang and is way more informed, with a completely different mentality, for whom the decades of oppression is more distant. We know russia is an enemy, we know what our country has gone through, but we are the first gen with the freedom to speak up when yet another attemp to control is made.

We have a very long and rich history and one thing that is clear from it is that we are supernaturally resilient, and our refusal to be subdued has protected not only ourselves, but countries that lie west from us, the countries that make Europe, that we consider ourselves a part of.

My friends know I'm the quickest to say that I feel like I don't belong here(georgia), that I never really connected to what I saw, generally, in my country, but maybe there are thousands like me here. Maybe(100%) the men in power haven't been paying their due respect to my generation and how persistent we have been in our actions and convictions. And maybe, the rest of the world(western countries) have significantly undervalued our importance. We deserve our due, and to me, the least that others can do, is to educate themselves before typing or speaking about us.

We are not a "former soviet country", we are an ancient civilization with an extremely unique culture that has survived to this day, that has protected its customs, identity and the right for freedom, and has been under almost constant threat for losing them. And, once again, if there was any doubt, we are not our government.

I sincerely hope for this to get as many notes or possible, or at least, to reach the right people.

[male-fictioner]

I Want You Back

Pairing: Yandere ex-bf Zac Efron x male reader

Category: Yandere

Warnings: stalking, possessive behavior, spying, manipulation, that's it ig

Word Count: 1.1k +

A/n: I had this sitting in my drafts for the longest of times, I finally had to write it. I'm not very good at writing yandere content, as I never have written in before. But I hope you like it.

You had met Zac a long time ago through some mutual friend. At that time you didn't know how things would end up. You and Zac quickly became friends and very close and soon you realised that you might have found someone you love. 

When Zac asked you out you couldn't have been happier. You were over the moon and had a perfect date. This was 4 years ago and within a while, you had made it official with each other. 

The relationship had been great for all the while you two dated. You did not have any complaints and he treated you like a prince and showered you with all the love and gifts. This is why he was so surprised when you broke up with him almost six months ago. 

That decision came when you felt very restricted and tired in the relationship. Don't get me wrong Zac is amazing but you needed to just be alone for a while and he didn't understand that.

Over the last few months, you felt guilty about breaking up with Zac after how well he treated you and loved you. And also because it seemed like the universe wanted you to get back together too. 

Everywhere you would go, you would be forced to remember Zac. Like when you saw this cute teddy bear near the stairs of your apartment complex. It was exactly like the one Zac had won for you at the Arcade for one of your dates. The resemblance was uncanny and made you wonder if it was that very same one. At first you thought maybe it's the effect of breaking up a relationship that lasted 4 years but after a while rather than missing him less, you started missing him more.

Every now and then, you were made to revisit a sweet memory you shared with Zac. This made you reconsider your decision. Made you doubt yourself. Made you think whether breaking up with Zac was the right thing to do. Did you make a huge mistake? Will Zac take you back?

You still weren't sure if you wanted to get back with him. So you ended up deciding to find a quick and easy rebound. Maybe this would help you move on.

Finding a rebound was not difficult at all. Guys nowadays want a quick and NSA fuck mostly. So you hooked up with a good looking guy you found on Grindr. 

This guy was so nice and sex with him was also amazing. After Zac you really hadn't been much physically or emotionally available for anyone and this was a welcome change in your life.

After you guys hooked up, this man asked you if you wanted to go out sometime. You really liked him so you agreed for the date. 

You and him texted back and forth for a couple of days. After careful consideration for both your schedules, you decided on a date, which was a week later. 

Imagine your shock when you showed up to the venue that was discussed, after dressing up nice and sexy, the man did not show up. Not only that, he did not respond to any of your texts, or pick up your call. After waiting almost an hour, you concluded that you had been ghosted. 

Feeling sad due to you getting stood up, you started going back home dejected. And you were standing face to face with the last person you had expected to see. 

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” Zac asked, feigning surprise.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you quipped not wanting to admit you were almost on a date.

“Well I was just passing by. But you look really nice. Very handsome. So naturally I'm curious.” He raised his arms to show that he did not mean to grill me or something. 

“I had a date, but he stood me up.” You admitted rather sheepishly remembering how Zac never made you wait. 

“He must be a fool to miss out on a date with you. I would give anything for that opportunity.” He replied earnestly. 

Seeing him and listening to his words made you feel more guilty. “I missed you,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. All your thoughts and strength went away after realising how much you had missed your ex boyfriend after the break up.

“I miss you all the time,” he confessed. This made your heart melt a little. “Did you have dinner?” 

You just shook your head to indicate ‘no’. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Zac asked, hopeful that you would say yes.

You just replied, “It's a date,” and dragged him along to the closest restaurant.

Over dinner, you discussed everything, including your reason for leaving him. Zac promised to make an effort to better understand your feelings and wants. You promised to let him know if it got too much so he can dial down a little. And with the help of clear and truthful communication, you both got back together.

Well truthful communication on your side at least. Because Zac had been keeping a secret from you that he was sure he would take it to his grave.

The secret was regarding how he got you. All those coincidences that led to this serendipitous moment, were no work of fate at all. They were all in the plot of the mastermind Zac Efron. 

You finding the teddy bear that looked exactly like the one you had from the arcade was because Zac kept it there. He had to go all around the town to find that exact teddy. He had memorised your schedule and positioned the teddy bear exactly in a place where you would spot him right away at the perfect time when you would be coming home from work. He also knew that you wouldn't be able to abandon such a cute teddy bear, you just would take it home with you. And what you could never know is that this seemingly harmless teddy bear was fitted with a camera and microphone by which Zac had been able to keep an eye on his darling and make sure he is safe. And if he needed to beat anyone up if you brought them home with you (which you didn't, making Zac believe that you still love him). 

The fact that he could jerk off to your naked body was just an added benefit. He could see all your actions and he did not believe it to be wrong because he was just taking care of you. 

Every time you would see something related to Zac, it was because he had planned it that way. And he was glad he did because he finally got to have you back.

Now that he had you, he planned to never let you go away from him. No matter how far he had to go.

Your feedback and comments are highly appreciated. Also my requests are open!!

[gregrulzok]

Analyzing Interview with the Vampire is fun because going down one train of thought often leads me to a totally separate conclusion. Let me take you on the same journey I went through, real quick:

I started off thinking about the whole Claudia As a daughter vs. As a sister thing. I mean, it makes enough sense why she'd want to stop being their daughter so she could finally feel equal to at least Louis, if not Lestat.

But it's not that simple - she specifically requests to be called their sister after she witnesses Grace "bury" Louis. She even comments that she wasn't meant to be Louis' daughter, and that she was MEANT to be his sister. What's the significance here?

Louis specifically wanted a daughter when they made Claudia. Or rather, he proposed she be a daughter - Louis wasn't asking for a sister, in fact he HAD a sister and, at the time, at least some sort of relationship with her (albeit a tense one). If Claudia was meant to be a replacement for Grace, surely there have to be some connections between the two?

Well, there aren't. Grace's presence in the show is fairly understated, and they don't parallel Claudia almost at all - Louis and Grace are close at first, drift away slowly, Louis never struggles with her growing up, never feels like he has to take care of her, never feels bound to her like he does Claudia.

But... He does feel that way about Paul.

Paul, like Claudia, was fragile and needed care and attention. Paul, like Claudia, was chained to Louis. While he was alive, Louis was closest to Paul, and took care of him.

(And after all, both characters share a bird motif and the allusion to jumping off a high place to their deaths (and these things were put on Claudia, forced on her like a costume. Traits associated with Paul grafted onto Claudia)).

So, okay. Claudia isn't Grace, she's Paul - the reason the revelation comes to her after Grace abandons Louis is just because she never met Paul and had no way of understanding his and Louis' relationship.

In lieu of Paul, Louis is now taking care of Claudia - she's the family he has to look after, and therefore gives him purpose, and therefore chains him and restricts his freedom.

And all of this makes the lines where Louis cries to Lestat and laments never having a family of his own even more interesting, because... What family? Louis wasn't married, wasn't seeing anyone, wasn't even vaguely interested in having a family.

Had Lestat not come around, would Louis have gotten married? Had children? Does he really believe he would have, when the only woman he even shows a vague interest in is a prostitute he sometimes visits? When he all but laughs off the idea of marriage when Paul brings it to his attention?

No, Louis wouldn't have gotten married. He wouldn't have gotten anyone to take care of - because he already HAD someone to take care of. He was taking care of Paul. He couldn't, wouldn't have gotten married and had kids - not just because he was gay, but because if he had, and he moved out, what would have happened to Paul?

When he's lamenting no longer having a family, and being unable to have a family, he's lamenting the loss of Paul, and he's lamenting that now he has to leave an eternity without him, without anything to fill the void. He threw away his chance at marriage and kids for the sake of a man that he now has to spend eternity without.

...

And.

What if Paul was conscious of this?

On that rooftop, what if, on some level, Paul realized that he was holding his brother back from living a full life. When he urged Louis to get married and got immediately dismissed, what if he realized, or knew all along, the role he played in that dismissal, that decision?

...

What if Paul killed himself because he thought he was holding Louis back?

[mimisempai]

The end of loneliness 7/7

Chapter Summary

The end... or the beginning...

Notes

This little story, started on a whim, is coming to an end. 

Thank you for following it. I hope you've enjoyed it.

On Ao3

Rating G - 2689 words

Masterpost here

"So, is the big day coming soon? I guess you're looking forward to it, even if it's not something completely new for you."

Anthony took a sip of coffee, wondering what the best answer would be. Yes seemed too restrictive, but it wasn't as if he wanted to go into the details of his new living arrangements with Aziraphale. Yes, of course he was happy to move in with him, but... 

"Anthony?"

Nina's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he replied quietly, "I'm... cautiously optimistic. Granted, it's nothing new, but it's... different."

Nina nodded.

"It's better that it's different, don't you think? It means he's not a substitute." 

She took another sip of coffee and added, "Anyway, I'm happy for you. Well, not so happy for him, seeing how hard it must be to live with you..."

"Hey, that's mean!"

Nina laughed, then her face became serious again as she said quietly, "If life has taught me anything, it's that you have to take your happiness where you find it. So I'm glad you decided to give yourself a new chance with him."

Anthony mumbled, "There was nothing to decide because everything happens naturally between us."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing, I talked too much."

"You, talking too much?" 

Nina chuckled before she continued, "When it comes to talking about stars or even ducks, yes, you could be accused of talking too much, but when it comes to your private life, that's not the case. I was joking with you, I heard you loud and clear and I understand what you mean, so for me, who's been watching you a little bit since the beginning of this relationship, it's clear that things are natural between you. Anyone who sees you together can see that there's something special." 

After taking another sip of coffee, she added, "Although there is one thing that intrigues me."

"What is that?"

"Well, how will you manage to live together, since you both have your individual habits, not to mention your past experiences, which are rather... different from what I know."

Anthony had asked himself the same question. Sure, they'd been together for almost a year, they'd each left things at the other's place, each had a key to the other's apartment, but they'd never spent more than a few days at a time together. Obviously, living together was something new, but somehow Anthony had a feeling it would work out.

"I guess we'll see as we go along," he replied confidently.

"You know where to find me if you want to talk."

Anthony nodded. 

The friendship he'd formed with Nina had grown stronger after Christine's death, but especially since he'd been with Aziraphale. Before they'd just been colleagues who worked well together and shared the same dedication to their work, but it had long since gone beyond a professional acquaintance and he knew he could count on her.

"I know. But let's stop talking about me, it's my turn to meddle, how are things going with the new music teacher?"

After a difficult relationship that had ended in an equally difficult way, Nina had needed time to rebuild herself, but the start of this school year had put the new music teacher in her way, who had gradually managed to break through her shell.

"It's...taking its course."

Although Nina complained that Anthony didn't talk much about himself, she was hardly more expansive, and it often took a drunken evening for them to confide in each other, so Anthony didn't insist.

The conversation lightened as the break came to an end, and after that the afternoon passed unsurprisingly for Anthony, who was mostly looking forward to going home. 

However, he had a little trouble concentrating in anticipation of the changes to come. 

**********

He was pleasantly surprised to find Aziraphale waiting for him in his living room when he returned home.

"Anthony!" Aziraphale exclaimed happily, rising to his feet and coming over to greet him with a kiss. 

They hadn't seen each other for several days, both of them busy with classes and the move, so the kiss lasted longer than usual, and they were both panting when they pulled away.

Anthony found himself thinking that he wouldn't mind this kind of moment if it became part of their routine in the future.

"How was your day? Did you see Nina? And your conference?"

That too was something pleasant, and although he'd found the incessant flow of words a little destabilizing at first, Anthony had come to realize that his lover's questions were always sincere, that he expected answers and never asked them out of politeness.

"Busy as you can imagine, but exciting, I have some very interesting and interested students, it's nice. Nina and I have been talking about things, about us, hardly about her." Aziraphale chuckled as Anthony continued, "And my conference went well too, although there was an old hag in the back who kept trying to contradict me. You know me, though, I didn't let it bother me." 

Anthony stroked Aziraphale's cheek with his knuckle as he asked gently, "And you? How was your lunch with Muriel?"

Since Muriel and Aziraphale had hardly any classes together this year, they had agreed to see each other two or three times a week for lunch. 

"It was fun. They're excited for us, well for me because I'm going to be living with the handsome Professor Crowley."  Aziraphale chuckled before continuing, "They even offered with their boyfriend Eric to help us move our stuff in once our apartment would be ready."

Anthony smiled.

"You really do have a valuable friend."

"We have a valuable friend," Aziraphale replied with a wink as he grabbed Anthony's hands and led him to the sofa.

Once they were both seated, they quickly found themselves in what seemed to be their favorite position, Anthony leaning back with his head in Aziraphale's lap, Aziraphale immediately burying his hands in the red hair. 

They were often very busy, even more so now, but they had quickly learned that it was important to take time for themselves, even if it was only for a few minutes. 

Anthony, humming with satisfaction, suddenly turned his head to look at Aziraphale and asked quietly, "Are you really happy that we are going to live together?

Aziraphale nodded eagerly.

"Yes, absolutely. Why? Do you have any doubts?"

"Doubts, no, but perhaps a little apprehension. After all, you don't know if I'm easy to live with."

"Nor do you if I am."

Aziraphale leaned over and planted a kiss on Anthony's forehead before continuing, "I'm aware of our different backgrounds, my inexperience, your experience in this matter, but I'm sure we'll manage."

Anthony was always pleased when Aziraphale played the reassuring role. Since that famous evening when he had comforted Anthony and helped him cope with the pain of grief, his lover seemed to have gained confidence in himself, and Anthony was pleased with the way it had subsequently balanced their relationship.

He nodded.

"You're right. I guess I'm worrying for nothing."

After a few moments of silence, he changed the subject and asked, "Do you have anything planned for dinner?"

Aziraphale leaned over again and whispered, "Well, for dinner, no. But I confess I have something in mind for dessert."

Anthony straightened up, then sat astride his lover's lap and began unbuttoning Aziraphale's shirt as he replied, "I say we skip dinner and go straight to dessert."

When Aziraphale responded by capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, Anthony forgot all his uncertainties about their future life together.

**********

A few weeks later, when Aziraphale was up to his neck in revisions and couldn't take it anymore, he threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Aziraphale?"

"I'm here, in the study."

When Anthony entered the study and saw the state his lover was in, he closed the door behind him, approached him, put his arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. Aziraphale leaned back even more and closed his eyes. 

"I'm going to have a hard time concentrating on my revisions if you make a habit of doing this."

Anthony's hands slid over Aziraphale's shoulders and began a firm massage. 

"How about this, does it help?"

Aziraphale groaned as Anthony's deft fingers had just hit a particularly knotted muscle.

"You and your distracting hands can't be here too often or I'll never be able to work properly, but a massage like this, on the other hand, is... effective. I didn't know you knew how to do that."

Anthony didn't answer, and his hands paused for a moment before resuming the massage. At his silence, Aziraphale turned his head and was surprised by the sad expression on his lover's face.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

"Um... it's something Chrisitine used to do for me when I was stressed before exams."

"Oh Anthony..." 

Aziraphale grabbed the hand that remained on his shoulder and squeezed it.

Anthony squeezed back and said sadly, "Sorry... I didn't mean to spoil the mood."

"Don't be sorry. I don't want your wife's name, your past, to be taboo. You have the right to talk about her, to be sad or happy when you remember her."

After a moment of silence, Anthony kissed Aziraphale' head again, "Thank you for being so understanding.

"I'll be less so if you stop what you were doing."

Aziraphale's attempt to lighten the mood worked, and with a chuckle, Anthony resumed the massage.

After a few moments of silence, Aziraphale said quietly, "You know, it's funny. Before we lived together, I used to keep all the things I wanted to say to you later in my head, but now that we're in our new home, I feel like I have access to you all the time, and it's...".

"Good?"

"Better than good."

Aziraphale stood and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, adding, "To be able to do this all the time, whenever I want, it's really, really amazing and I don't know if I would be able to live without it."

Anthony planted a kiss on Aziraphale's nose.

"That's good, because you won't have to live without it."

**********

For some time now, whenever he went to meet Aziraphale, Anthony had the impression that he was being followed by stares in the university hallways, more so than before. Sometimes he even thought people were giggling behind his back. Yet he felt no hostility.

"I feel like they're staring at me."

He was pouring two glasses of wine in the kitchen and had said this as he handed one to Aziraphale.

"You can't blame them for being curious. After all, I'm in a relationship with the handsome Professor Crowley, who makes everyone drool, girls and boys alike."

Aziraphale laughed lightly as Anthony rolled his eyes, then, after taking a sip, added, "And also... um... I may have bragged to Muriel for a moment about your... prowess in a rather loud voice." Seeing Anthony open his mouth, he hastened to add, "Nothing explicit, just little details."

"Little details..."

"Oh, but nothing, just that I'm satisfied, that's all."

Hiding his face in his hands, Anthony growled, "Aziraphale, tell me you didn't talk about our sex life in front of everyone."

"Uh... you want me to lie?"

"Aziraphale!"

"Not in front of everyone. It's just that Muriel asked me questions, and I got carried away and talked a little loud. I told her little things. That you like my cooking, that you like green plants and ducks, that our balcony has become an observatory because of your telescopes, that I find you sexy in the morning when you wake up, nothing too intimate..."

"Only in the morning?!"

Of course, that was all Anthony heard.

"Sorry, I mean even sexier than usual."

"Aaaah, that's the reason for these little morning quickies."

Aziraphale, relieved that his lover wasn't too upset with him, asked cheekily, "Don't you like it?"

"Don't change the subject. What else did you say?"

"That's all, I promise. Well..."

"What?! Come on, spit it out!"

"Everyone probably heard me say that I've never been happier in my life and that I love you more than anything."

Just like that, Anthony's irritation disappeared. Smiling affectionately, he cupped Aziraphale's face in his hands and ran his thumb over his lower lip before saying softly, "And I feel the same."

He expected to feel the same sense of guilt that sometimes gripped him when he spoke of his happiness with Aziraphale, but not this time.

He was truly happy.

**********

"You look good, Anthony. Everything okay with you and Aziraphale? I have the impression that living together is going very well." 

Nina and Anthony were walking out of the teachers' lounge to go home.

Anthony nodded, smiling as he thought back to the conversation Nina and he had had just before he and Aziraphale had moved in together, and this time he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Things are going very well, yes."

"I can see it. You look... happy. However, if I may..."

Anthony's eyes narrowed, waiting for what Nina would add.

"Given the bags under your eyes, may I suggest you get some rest tonight?"

Anthony chuckled softly.

"I'm sure I'll rest... sometime, if not tonight. We're only on our honeymoon... sort of. And both he and I are... enthusiastic."

Nina shook her head and laughed.

"Like I said, enjoy the moment." 

"What about you? Still status quo with Maggie?"

Nina looked at her watch and replied, "Actually, we're having dinner tonight. So I'm going to leave you now, because I have to get ready, and besides, it's been a long time since I've done this, so I have to prepare myself mentally."

"I know how it is, but don't worry too much. Knowing Maggie, I'm sure it will go well."

"One can only hope."

Nina tapped him on the shoulder, then added, "Well, I'm off. Have a nice weekend."

She started to walk away, then stopped and turned around, saying in a low voice, "Say hello to your sweetheart and don't let him tire you out too much."

Nina winked and walked away for good.

Chuckling, Anthony continued forward, quickening his pace, now in a hurry to reach Aziraphale.

"Aaaah, so it's not just me."

Anthony, surprised, turned to see Aziraphale behind him.

Confused, he asked to his lover who was now walking beside him, "What do you mean?"

"You tell your friends intimate details about our relationship too!"

"Certainly not."

"Don't deny it. I heard your entire conversation with Nina."

Anthony, now unable to deny it, muttered, "Busted."

To his surprise, Aziraphale grabbed his hand and almost ran, pulling him into the next classroom. Once the door was closed, Anthony found himself pinned against the door as Aziraphale captured his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. 

Anthony, though surprised at first, took his lover's face in his hands and responded to the kiss with equal passion, burying his fingers in Aziraphale's hair. A few moments later they parted, breathless.

Anthony caught Aziraphale's hand and said, panting, "I'm not complaining. Not at all. But what's the reason for this, angel?"

With his eyes shining and a broad smile on his lips, Aziraphale replied, "You talk about me to people, you brag about me. That means you're proud to be with me."

"Of course I am. How can you doubt it?" 

Aziraphale planted another kiss on Anthony's mouth. "Old habits die hard, you know."

Anthony squeezed his lover's hand gently and nodded in understanding. After all Aziraphale had heard about himself from his own family, it was normal for Aziraphale to still have doubts sometimes. 

He brought his lover's hand to his lips and said softly against his palm, "Let's go home.

After adjusting themselves, they left the classroom and walked home, hand in hand, indifferent to the stares that followed them.

Anthony couldn't wait to be there. 

He tightened his grip on the small velvet box in his pocket. 

Soon Aziraphale would have no doubt that Anthony was proud to be with him.

Proud to love him.

He would only have to say yes.

[navybrat817]

Is our lumberjack nervous to be a dad?

A little bit, nonnie.

Prepping the Nursery

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve reflects as he readies the nursery.

Word Count: Almost 900

Warnings: Fluff, ki-ssing pregnancy, slight feels (it's me), canon divergent, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Set in Into the Woods AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a warm and sunny day when Steve decided to paint the nursery. After testing a few colors and picking a theme, he wanted to get to work. You wanted to help, of course. He requested that you wore a mask, even though he had the window open the fumes wouldn't overwhelm you. He also asked you not to climb on the ladder.

"Hope you don't mind me using this," you said, putting on one of his old shirts before you joined him. You didn't button it though, keeping your bump exposed.

Still look better in my shirts than I ever do.

"Don't mind at all. Just stay off the ladder. That's an order," he half teased.

"You do remember I'm a perfectly capable human being who can take care of herself. I had a whole career as a writer before I met you and still do," you teased softly, observing one of the walls. He knew the room was going to be beautiful. "Between you and Bucky, I swear."

"Between the two of us, what?" he asked.

Bucky already proclaimed himself as an "uncle" and expected Steve to be the same to his baby. He couldn't believe both of you got pregnant around the same time. Maybe fate was trying to give them more of the happiness they deserved.

"The baby proofing. The restrictions. It's just a shock you don't have bubble wrap around me."

The sheepish smile on his face along with his mumbled apology made you laugh away your exasperated expression. You insisted on sticking with your routine, even on your tired days, and you wouldn't push yourself more than necessary. It was in his nature though to be protective of those he cared about. You were no exception and neither was your precious cargo. And if anything happened to you or your baby, he'd-

"Steve?" you asked.

He didn't answer as he set his paintbrush down and guided his hand to your stomach. He'd never forget the pure, unbridled joy he felt when he learned he was going to be a father. He may have shed a happy tear once he wore you out with celebration sex. It was a dream come true.

There was also an exposure of fear when all he wanted to do was wrap himself around you and keep you both safe from harm. Physically, he was now more than strong enough to keep you both safe. But with the ailments he had from his childhood, would any of those pass on? Would the serum wipe those chances out?

He just wanted his baby to be healthy.

You had enough to worry about being attached to the former Captain America. It made it easier to walk away from missions completely for the time being with a baby on the way. He had seen enough of the horrors of the world and felt the blood on his hands. He didn't want that on his doorstep.

"Steve," you said again, your eyes filled with understanding. "I'm teasing you, okay? If it makes you feel better to keep an extra eye on me within reason or be a little protective, that's more than fine."

You weren't just saying that to placate him and that alone made him relax. "Thank you. I appreciate that," he said, kissing your temple.

One of the things Steve cherished about your relationship was the give and take. You didn't cave to his whims without a second thought and he didn't enforce rules just to stay in control. Balance and communication made your bond stronger.

"And, peanut, your mama really is a strong, perfectly capable human being. A brilliant writer and a loving woman," he smiled, rubbing your stomach. The best person he knew. "I just can't help myself and I'm very lucky she puts up with me."

"We're the lucky ones, Beefcake," you said, placing your hand over his. He knew you were smiling behind the mask.

"I just want to do right by both of you," he said.

He wanted to be a hero in both of your eyes by simply loving you.

"Peanut will hear all sorts of stories about you one day and wonder how he got so lucky to have you as a dad," you said. From the moment you found out you were pregnant, you thought you were having a boy and he wasn't going to argue with your instincts. "You'll be his whole world."

You two are my world.

"Not as lucky as he'll be to have you as a mom," he said, tugging the mask down to give you a proper kiss.

You moaned a little as his beard scraped against your face. "Are we going to get any painting done?"

"You come in here wearing my shirt and saying sweet things and you expect me not to take advantage of that?" he smirked, pulling you close by your hips.

"Oh, no you don't. You said I have to wear my mask," you teased, trying to cover your mouth again. "That was an order."

"Fuck the orders," he half growled, kissing you again.

The two of you eventually got the nursery painted and he couldn't have been prouder with how it turned out. The room represented love and a new beginning. And he couldn't wait for the day his baby made his home complete.

Steve and Bucky will both be amazing fathers. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi