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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the two-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that spring of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

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samaraxmorgan · 4 months ago

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Spill Your Secrets

Synopsis: Something strange happened during Sukuna’s most recent fight, he was nearly defeated. Completely losing his ability to harness his cursed energy, he had to resort to bludgeoning his enemy to death with his bare hands. Except after this sorcerer’s death, his techniques didn’t return to him. It won’t be that simple, you see, to regain his abilities he will need to reveal his deepest secret, but what on earth could that possibly be?

Pairing: Heian Era Sukuna x Reader

Contains: blood, lots of mentions of blood, very slight angst but everything ends up okay, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.0k

My Masterlist Here!!

The king of curses is nothing if not blunt, never having any problems being as distastefully confrontational towards anyone who meets his menacing gaze. Anyone and everyone, except for you; it wasn’t always like this, of course, but over the course of your time together he’s become… more reserved you could say. He would absolutely threaten to kill you if you told him he was growing soft, but you’re both more than aware that he would never dare to lay a hand on you, no matter how often you intentionally push his buttons.

Like how you are now, waiting for him to return back home and enter his throne room to find you lounging on his precious throne, your back leaned against one armrest while your legs draped over the other. Uraume can’t help but shake their head, unable to comprehend the amount of absolute nerve you possess, or more importantly, how their lord Sukuna seems almost delighted to keep you around regardless of your constant antics.

The grand doors to the estate open abruptly, slamming into the walls as Sukuna enters, the blood of his foes coating his hands and leaving crimson splatters across his broad figure. This fight must have been messy; you’ve seen him return victorious more times than you could count, droplets of blood scattered on his skin, dripping down his face and torso, but this… It must have been personal. He clearly fought with his bare hands, bruises on his bloodied knuckles and a large open gash spread across his-

Wait.

What?

No, no, that can’t be right. You blink to clear your eyes, they’re surely deceiving you, but as he stumbles into the entryway you realize that the unthinkable- no, the impossible- has happened.

Sukuna is injured.

Within the blink of an eye, Uraume is rushing to his aid as you scramble off of his throne and run towards him. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes before, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves, his hands shaking in what could be perceived as either unrelenting anger or an imperceivable fear.

Your voice wavers, panic clear in your shaky breaths as you speak, “What… Happened…?”

“Uraume, the sorcerer I’ve just fought,” He’s trying to keep his voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the underlying panic in his rushed words, “Research his curse technique and report back to me with your findings.”

With a quick nod of their head Uraume rushes out of the throne room, pulling the doors shut behind them to prevent anyone from seeing Sukuna in this condition. He lets out a shaky breath, his guard immediately dropping with the click of the doors as he presses a large hand into the gash drawn across the side of his torso, gritting his teeth as he attempts to cover the wound to prevent more of his blood from seeping out.

“Why haven’t you healed?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, although you didn’t mean it to.

He whispers right back to you, “I can’t.”

You didn’t know it was possible for your eyes to grow wider, your heart pounding painfully in your chest as you forcefully grab one of his hands into both of your own and lead him to a lounge chair. He stumbles slightly, nearly collapsing into the plush cushions; a sharp breath escapes his throat, his head leaning back against the seat and his eyes squeezing shut.

Sukuna has never had to endure pain, his reverse cursed technique always closing his wounds for him subconsciously. You reach for the foot of your long gown, ripping through the fabric to create a large makeshift bandage. Seating yourself on one of his large thighs, you reach forward to wrap your arms around either side of his waist, pulling the fabric flush against his back and whispering out a quiet apology as you tie each end of the bandage and pull it tight, compressing his wound to suppress the bleeding and causing him to huff out a harsh breath, a low growl leaving his lips as one of his hands reaches to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sounds of pain.

You pull his hand away from his lips, gently placing your shaking palm on his cheek; his eyes crack open and his head tilts subtly to meet your petrified gaze. His long fingers wrap around your trembling ones, an attempt to be reassuring, and he gently pulls your hand to his lips to press a weak kiss to the back of your hand that was now smeared with scarlet blood.

His maroon eyes look hazy as you gaze into them, swiping your thumb in an attempt to clear a drop of blood from his cheek but only smudging it across his features, “Tell me what happened.”

His brows furrow and he clicks his tongue, “That bastard hit me with… something,” He lets out a deep breath, “His attack rendered me incapable of harnessing my cursed energy. I’d assumed that disposing of him would resolve the issue, but,” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, “I assumed incorrectly, it seems.”

Tears begin to well in your eyes, your voice breaking and causing that small smile of his to dissipate and his grip on your hand to grow tighter, “Will you be okay..?”

“Yes.” He declares sternly, two of his hands reaching to cup your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and catching a falling tear on the tip of his thumb, his voice sounding softer now “Yes, my dear, I will be okay.”

Tears begin to cascade down your face as you nod your head, forcing a wobbly smile onto your lips. His thumbs brush your tears away, but leave smudges of blood in their wake. His grip on your hand never falters as his last free hand wraps around your waist, the hands cupping your face sliding to the back of your neck and gently pulling you towards him, your forehead pressed against his as his eyes bore into your own; you’re unable to read the look he gives you, but his pupils grow wider.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“He has to what?”

Uraume shifts uncomfortably in the doorway of Sukuna’s chambers, “To share a secret, I don’t know to whom, but presumably he has to inform someone of a matter he is not willing to discuss.”

The tension had settled significantly in the last two days, Sukuna’s wounds slowly but surely healing on their own with no complications; you’ve been keeping a keen eye on his injuries as you cleansed and wrapped them multiple times a day, dark red scabs beginning to form throughout the slice taken from his side. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when you heard that Uraume had discovered the cure to Sukuna’s condition, but now tension has once again began to bubble up inside of you as you peer over at Sukuna sitting on the bed next to you.

What secrets could he possibly have? He’s never held his tongue for anyone.

Except…

“Thank you, Uraume, you are dismissed.”

They nod their head and turn on their heel, pulling the tall wooden door to the chambers shut as they leave. Sukuna leans back against the pillows adorning his grand bed, staring into the flickering flames of the candles hoisted on iron candlesticks surrounding the bed and painting the room in a soft orange glow. You both sit in silence for a moment, consumed in your thoughts as the curtains sway from the gentle breeze making its way in from the open window.

You’re first to interrupt the silence, crawling backwards on his bed and leaning your back onto the plush velvet pillows, gazing up at him next to you with a soft smile, “Well, at least it’s an easy solution.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and you’re greeted with that unreadable expression once again; his pupils growing larger at the sight of you, dim candlelight softly illuminating his darkened eyes that held something behind them. His lips part for a moment, but no words can grace his tongue; his gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes, his mouth opening again but there is still only silence. He grits his teeth, his eyes squinting and brows furrowing in frustration as he turns his head completely to look away from you.

You lift yourself to sit upright on the bed, looking down at him laying beneath you and pinching his chin between your fingers, turning his head to look back at you, “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

A soft groan escapes his throat as he wraps a hand around your wrist, gently pushing your hand away as he turns his head to look towards the wall. A beat of quiet passes as his eyes fall shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips, “Perhaps that’s the case.”

You scrunch your brows together, giving him a quizzical look as you gently poke underneath his bottom eye, “Well? Spill it.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s is not so simple.”

You let out a frustrated huff, “Sukuna, we can’t keep you hidden forever. Eventually the people will hear that the king of curses is curseless.”

He grits his teeth, shooting daggers in your direction as his eyes meet yours once again, “I am well aware. Please humor me with your silence, woman.”

“Woman,” You repeat in a mocking tone, your arms crossing across your chest, you mumble under your breath, “I was My Dear two days ago.”

“You-” Two of his hands take hold of your own and pull them away from your chest while his other two rest on either side of your hips, “You’re always-” his words get stuck in his throat, his gaze up at you softening as that look in his eyes returns once again.

One of his hands leaves your hip to prop himself up on the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight as he leans his tall figure down to have his face hover right above your own. His fingers intertwine with yours as he wraps his lower set of arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap, the two of you now eye level.

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks, his voice hardly coming out as a whisper, “You don’t make this easy for me,” He lifts one of your hands to his chest, pressing your palm against his pounding heart, “My dear.”

He looks beautiful, the warm glow of candlelight cascading across his skin as his dark eyes gaze into yours, longing for you, not wanting to ever have you leave his arms.

Your voice escapes in a whisper, “What do you mean?”

He lifts the hand he had placed between your bodies up to your chin, his thumb slowly brushing over your bottom lip, “Every time I have attempted to tell you, my voice has never ceased to failed me,” He leans further towards you, your foreheads pressed against one another’s, whispering against your lips, “It seems that you always manage to tear my breath from my lungs.”

He breaks the distance between you, tilting his head slightly and running his hand to the back of your neck as he softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart races in your chest but your eyes fall shut as you melt into him, sliding your hand from its home on his heart and wrapping it around the back of his head, attempting to pull him impossibly closer. He lets a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding escape him, kissing you deeper, passion flooding from his lips and against your own.

It pains him to pull away from you, but he doesn’t stray far, his lips still brushing against yours as his eyes are back on yours, clarifying to you that his eyes have always been telling you what he has never been able to say in a breath against your lips, “I Love You.”

A/N: So THAT was his secret huh, I have the BIGGEST headcanon that he refuses to ever ever ever say I love you, and a situation like this is the ONLY way to get him to actually admit he could god forbid care for another person. Anyway I wrote this in a more… formal? style than I normally do bc my usual snarky inner dialogues didn’t really fit the vibes here, so I went balls to the walls with the fancy speak lmfao. I hope you enjoyed!!

#hELLOOOOOO TEAM HOW ARE WE DOING THIS FINE TUESDAY MORNING #I am currently asleep bc I scheduled this to post in advance #BUT HOWS YOUR MORNINNNNGGG??#im kinda nervvy to post this asdjshdhshs the writing style is SO not me BUT it does fit the fic with it being like #old timey #tw blood #nav ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #Sukuna x reader #ryomen Sukuna #heian sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #my writing

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oumaimas · 5 months ago

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June Jordan, I Must Become a Menace to my Enemies

#words #june jordan #then let love freeze me out

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a-confused-spoon · 2 months ago

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Jinx's haircut: how Powder and Ekko's story comes full circle

Hi! So, it appears Jinx will be cutting her hair short in season 2 (which is cool as fuck), and I’ve been seeing a lot of discussion on it, so I wanted to share my two cents 😊

I might refer to Jinx and Powder as if they are different ideantities, but I'm aware that's not how that works; it's just an easier way to express myself. Also english isn't my first language, so apologies for any possible wiritng mistake (this is a bit of a mess 😅)

* deep breath in *

As it has already been pointed out, this choice must have a deeper reason other than esthetic (I've been seeing the phrase "hair holds memories" used a lot), and what's even more interesting is that her new look resembles a lot how she used to look like as a kid; a bit bizarre, given how the entirety of season 1 showed us how Powder and Jinx's coexistence only brings the girl pain. As a matter of fact, the finale makes it clear to us that even she sees these two sides of herself as mutually exclusive.

So why and how exactly would this happen now?

What I keep going back to is the idea that maybe, just maybe, this has to do with her possibly "taking the lead" in Zaun; whether she actively becomes a leader or if she just "leads by example" (therefore passively), it doesn't change the fact that for better or worse she will be depicted as a leading revolutionary figure.

And fair enough: she singlehandedly killed half of the Council, the people who hold decisional power and have contributed to the misery on the other side of the river. After Vender's failed attempt on the bridge and Silco's focus on his own business dealings with Piltover among everything else he did, Jinx's attack on the city - something she does to ultimately solidify her identity as Jinx - opens a door that the Undercity was waiting to be opened for decades.

Here's the thing:

Being Jinx doesn't just mean acting on unbridled rage and being a menace to society; it means being feared by most, if not all, with the only possible exceptions being those who also accepted their inner monster. To put it in Singed's words, "If you take this path, they will despise you".

Being Jinx fundamentally implies loneliness.

Silco was consistently reminding her this: "I am your family; everyone else betrays us" / "Everyone betrays us Jinx! Vander! Her! They will never understand, it's only us".

In the official clip 'Enemy of my enemy' we find out that he only saw her cry twice, the two scenes we also witness as an audience, meaning he didn't see her cry once during the timeskip, and I'm sure it's safe to say that she most definitely did cry a lot given how she goes from episode 3 Powder (scared, couldn't grasp the concept of killing someone, heartbroken by the nickname jinx) to episode 4 Powder (a beast, kills in cold blood, has taken Jinx as her actual name)... it must've been an ugly transition, and it definitely didn't happen overnight; if Silco, who was the closest person she had all that time, didn't see it, then I think it speaks a lot on how alone Jinx really was in her darkest times.

For all the love he had for her, he reinforced this idea of isolation as an unescapable consequence of the right path, and I think this is also reflected in the lair that (supposedly) he found for her, especially when you compare it to the Firelights’ one:

The Firelights (this is important for later) are all about community and sharing joy as well as struggle and pain; they live in a place of healing, filled with life, without a roof so the sunlight can reach them during the day, and at nights living bugs that shine a light of their own fill up the hideout.

Jinx's place is diametrically opposed to this: it’s dark and looks cold, it's completely made of metal, the roof’s blocking any natural light and it hangs above an abyss with no bottom to be seen; the only company she consistently has are the puppets of her dead brothers and the only living thing that knows his way in is the only one that can understand, the only one she can rely on - aka Silco himself.

However, as Jinx herself knows, this may have worked for him, but it wasn't working for her for the longest time: she never stopped yearning for affection, love, friendship- that part of her never really went away; it was only being suppressed, suffocated, maybe unintentionally, and I strongly believe that it only worsen her trauma, and it's one of the things that made her spiral so bad into her depression, to the point of hallucinating.

I think that Silco's line in the baptism scene is particularly relevant here: "You need to let Powder die, so the fear of pain will no longer control you", where the fear of pain would refer to the fear of being on her own, of always failing and disappointing others, of being weak and never satisfying the desires, expectations, hopes that Powder carried within her to be “a valuable member of the team”.

If she lets Powder die (which again, she does in the final episode of season 1), this is no longer a problem: if she doesn't do teams, because teams don't want a jinx to begin with, that fear can't get to her; if she's a solo player, a self-sufficient loose cannon, she won't need to rely on anyone but herself because she's strong on her own and does not need the support of others.

If her power lays in the monster she is, the one everyone condemns her for being, then that childhood wish of hers just isn't a realistic option.

...but then this happens.

We know from the teaser trailer that in the operation Caitlyn's leading, 'finding Jinx' and 'neutralize any agent still loyal to Silco' are separate objectives. Which makes sense, since as far as they know Silco was the leader of a group of people, and now that he's gone Jinx is an individual under her own agency and her own agency alone. If initially she fights by herself, for herself because she can and fuck Piltover, then it all falls in line with what I stated so far.

But then we hear Sevika, who has hated Jinx's guts and who Jinx has hated back since day one, telling her to get the people together, to unite the Undercity as one because she can do that. Mind you, the girl has lived in Zaun all her life, she knows damn well that the end of Piltover is something the entire Undercity has been waiting for (“Imagine what the whole of the Lances could do!” from episode 2); yet despite this she needs to be openly told what is going on, that she’s not sizing the opportunity she’s created. She isn't, cause... her? Leading? A group of people? No. Not after the last time she tried to help, and most importantly, not after everything she learned under Silco.

Jinx can't fathom the idea of herself as a part of a part of a team. How can she? She literally just came to terms with isolation as ever present- and now, for some reason, the people of the city, who always either ran away from her or wanted her gone, are dying their hair blue in her image, trusting her, following her, painting murals of her as the bringer of revolution.

She isn't taking power forcibly like Silco did; she's just doing her thing, her Jinx thing, and Zaun, on its own, is choosing her as the leading figure.

Imagine how frustrating it must be for Jinx to look back and realize that Silco, her father- who has loved her, forgiven her, raised her, called her perfect, defended her, was there for her, saved her, guided her- was wrong, and put her in a condition of never ending existential pain when she could’ve had it differently the entire time; imagine how confusing it must be for her to look back and realize that it never mattered whether or not others understood her, 'cause she wasn't as unlovable or unforgivable as she thought herself to be in the first place, that Silco and Vi were never her only options.

Imagine how painful it must be for her to look back and realize that for all this time she could’ve had friends and be accepted and be trusted and rely on others because she never HAD to be alone.

...keeping this in mind, let's talk about Ekko and the missing flashback from episode 7 for a moment.

Admittedly we don’t have a lot of information, other than it took place not too long after the events of episode 3 (then again, to be fair, we don’t know a lot about their relationship as enemies as well: it’s all between the lines; I surely have my own opinions of how they feel about each other being on the enemy side, but I don’t believe it’s super relevant here). What’s for sure about this flashback is that it was a defining moment in both Ekko and Powder’s journey, especially for the latter. Someone surely died, and it 100% was Powder’s fault. It could be both the result of her very first crisis or her first intentional murder; in both cases it results in her deciding for herself to align with Silco as opposed to her best friend.

The way I like to see it is that, since the trauma was still very fresh, she might have been too scared of the idea of fighting alongside others after what happened last time, and she pushed herself to kill someone on purpose just to push Ekko away and prove a point (Silco’s point). I love the idea of the tragic irony of Ekko being the one person Powder managed to really save, and Powder being the one person Ekko couldn’t.

Personal headcanons aside though, the last part is the most important one here: Ekko couldn’t save Powder from Silco, and by extension everything he represents.

I’d like to point out that one of the most tragic aspects of the two becoming enemies (to me) is that, throughout those years, they reciprocally were the only living person the other shared a past with (well, Vi too, but she was in prison the entire time).

Silco not only takes over by force, he also marks as his all the places of said past: the Last Drop, Vi and Powder’s house�� one line that always stuck with me from episode 7 is when Ekko tells Vi “All that’s left is Jinx, and she belongs to Silco”.

Not with Silco; to Silco. As if she too a piece of the past he turned into his property.

It’s like he understands that while yes, Powder made the decision by herself, that she wants to stay with Silco, he also knows that the man is the one to blame for... well, all of it; the kid was there when Silco showed up unprovoked at Benzo’s place, he knows things went downhill from there.

Ekko knows that he is the bigger problem and the bigger enemy. Even Vi, without knowing a thing about the past few years, can tell Silco put some shit into her sister’s head; Ekko can probably guess the same, difference being that Ekko has the responsibility of keeping other people safe, and he can’t risk it all for someone that, while possibly manipulated, ultimately isn’t collaborative. Ekko can’t jeopardize all he’s built and done for his former best friend, no matter how much it hurts him to be her enemy.

Back to season 2.

Like the entire fandom has already pointed out, there’s a 99.9% chance there will be an alliance between them and Jinx, especially when looking at Ekko’s new outfit.

Of course, this will not be immediate: my guess is that while Jinx works alone at the very start Ekko will be with Heimerdinger and following the arrest of the Firelights we see in the trailer maybe there’s a split. And even after Jinx takes charge so to speak, and possibly frees them, among others, from Stillwater, it’s possible there will be (and there should be) stages in the alliance: initial distrust, potential fight within the community- like yeah, let’s not forget what Jinx did to these people.

Even if they do go ahead with it, it is probably out of necessity more than anything else, with not one but two military forces against the whole of the Underground. It’s not like they’d be the most ecstatic faction about it, and the same goes for Ekko, which is why the new look will probably come in later.

But exactly like he could see Powder for a brief second on the bridge clearly enough for him to stop himself from beating her, he will, most definitely, see her again through Jinx's inner turmoil... that, and she also can’t keep her shit together when it comes to what she's feeling, the girl really is an open book.

And yeah, the situation would be pretty emotionally disorienting: she's being as Jinx as ever, but people like her now, which is something she used to want as Powder, who is supposed to be dead, and they're willingly following her like they willingly followed Vander and there's murals of her with him, though she's pursuing what aligns more with Silco's dream, but also turns out Silco was wrong about Powder, who might still be alive deep down- the whole thing is a big big mess.

Despite everything that I said about him, it’s not like Jinx would start to resent Silco. She could never, not after his last words to her. They mean the world to her, he means too much to her, and let’s not forget she probably hear his voice now too, along Mylo’s and Claggor’s; it might even be a calming voice to her, one she’s happy to hear even if she knows he’s not real… which makes it all worse and more painful to deal with.

In this scene from the trailer, it seems like Ekko’s talking to her (some have pointed out the blue hair out of focus). Since this is still the look in season, at this point in time Ekko (and the rest of the Firelights) are not truly committed to this alliance with Jinx, and vice versa, Jinx is still figuring out how to deal with all this unexpected appreciation.

If there’s one thing we’ve learned about Jinx’s way of dealing with inner conflicts, especially ones that deal with the memories of the past, is that it often leads to disaster. This is a bit of a long shot, but what if the reason Ekko’s so beat up Is because she unintentionally sabotaged one of their own attacks on Piltover? Or perhaps they were caught up in a tough situation because of something she did or didn’t do? My point is that if he really is talking with her while in this condition, she probably is in a similar one.

Regardless, they are on the same side, and they are having a conversation. This is very likely the first time they reach out for each other since the day she chose to not go with him.

And I think it’s believable that of all the people she now has beside her, she’d talk to Ekko: he has this leader stuff already figured out. He has and still is taking care of people and keeping them safe better than she ever will, and on top of that, he still is the only one in Zaun (again, aside from Vi) who has known her since before she was Jinx, and he spared her on the bridge. He’s the perfect person to open up to.

And, get this, not only Ekko understands the pressure of taking the lead: he knows what it means to look back at someone you were fond of and feeling the pain of being wronged by them. He knows what it’s like to look back at old memories of someone you trusted and wonder if all those moments together really were what you thought they were, he knows what it’s like to wish it could all go back like it was, just so that candid version of them you have in your mind can still be true, present and untainted by the ugliness that now ruins all those precious moments.

He knows, 'cause he went through it with her... and now he can finally reach her.

Ekko may have not been able to save her from Silco then, but he can save her from Silco now.

And since he has built a community that grieved together, went through pain and joy together, he simply does what he’s always done with the Firelights. Sharing.

He tells with her what has worked for him: “Sometimes, taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind”- in the Franch dub he says “leaving a part of oneself behind”- meaning it doesn’t have to be all or nothing: she has the power to choose what to kiss goodbye and what can stay…

…and then she cuts her hair.

I think it’s important to note how these two moments are very similar in setting. I kid you not, the first time I watched the trailer I was convinced this was a scene where Jinx was burning Silco’s body after she killed him- which frankly could still be the case. I’ve also seen discussions being made for the little girl we see in the trailer being burned here, or Sevika, but I don’t think it’s either. Jinx is completely desensitized to death, even when Silco died her makeup isn’t this ruined. My guess is that this is something much deeper:

Jinx never properly grieved the past. Ever. So, maybe, she’s burning the part of herself she’s leaving behind. The hair she cut.

The hair Silco used to braid for her.

These two scenes parallel each other because “nothing ever stays dead”, but Silco must stay dead, for her own sake. For her own happiness: she is leaving him behind for good.

Only after this moment we get the new look for Ekko: he can work with this new Jinx, the one that now knows she can work within a team, even to the point of committing to the outfit (lol).

If in season 1 Jinx accepted her identity as it was defined by Silco, in season 2 she's re-inventing it under her own conditions: she gets to choose what "being Jinx" may or may not include. And it will always include a little bit of Powder.

Thanks for reading! 💚💙

#or I could be completely wrong #and someone just cuts it #but still #it was fun to write this #arcane theory #except not really #arcane #arcane season 2 #jinx arcane #ekko arcane #arcane silco #powder #timebomb #i ship it #but this also works platonically

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thedinanshiral · 3 months ago

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Inside you there are two wolves..

I recently made a tweet simply sharing a fraction of my thoughts on the Solavellan motif of wolf&halla. I decided to expand on it here.

I never adhered to the whole wolf/halla Solavellan thing. That dynamic is simply not for me, not with them. I think Solas is more likely to fall for an equal; even if Lavellan technically isn't, she's definitely the closest he's met in a thousand years. She's the white wolf [in his romanced tarot card] Adding to this, he respects her opinion and counsel, she inadvertently may help him make up his mind about what he'll do next (woops) aka giving him purpose, and she can also vow to save him from himself. She's both his guide and guardian. This is his romanced card for a reason.

I can understand why many people may like to frame Solavellan in the wolf&halla motif. He's an ancient elvhen, she's literally thousands of years younger than him. He's wise beyond her imagination and she knows by comparison basically nothing of their own history. He's the deciever and she's the deceived. The predator/prey dynamic is right there, at first.

Solas is a proud man, one may argue even arrogant, but he's also a serious man, focused, disciplined, he wouldn't fall for just anyone, he wouldn't open his heart to someone he may consider lesser even in the slightest. While he refused to acknowledge present elves as people and maybe thought of them as little else than a bad dream he had to wake up from at any cost, Lavellan earned his trust, his respect and admiration, through her actions, her own "indomitable focus", and by showing him the respect and admiration other Dalish denied him on sight. She gave him hope for the future of his people and that must have been priceless, she literally changed his whole world.

At that point there was no hunting, no preying, no seeing Lavellan as another chesspiece on the board, even if she couldn't be allowed to be anything else. She defied all his preconceptions and rendered him vulnerable. Their relationship is consensual, up to a certain point it ends when Lavellan says it ends, he doesn't pursue further if rejected. Actually, it's Lavellan who pursues him most of the time, why isn't Solas the halla here? He's the one being chased!

Lavellan is a wolf too, the white wolf.

The Exalted Plains has shrines to Fen'harel, one in particular is flanked by two wolf figures, one white and the other black. His dual nature is always present; in Dalish lore he's despised as the betrayer but also revered and his favour still sought after. As the Dreadwolf he was both friend and enemy to the people, depending on which side they were on. He's prideful but can also be crushingly selfless.

I really like this shrine because of these statues

The white and black wolves also appear in his tarot cards.

When he falls for Lavellan, he's locked in for good; even as he ends the relationship before even giving it a name, his card changes to his romanced one, and there's no going back. Lavellan can't undo it, he won't even though he's the one insisting their love can not be. But it is, and it is for life. Wolves mate for life. This immediately tells me Lavellan is also a wolf, and she's represented in his romanced card as the white one.

At the forefront, walking next to him, watching, guarding him. Colours are light, golden, the scene is calm, serene.

If he's never romanced then the other card of his give us a very different image:

His shadow becomes a giant black wolf that towers over him, right behind him, leaning forward almost as if about to engluf him, consume him. This is possibly a representation of his Dinan'shiral, and more clearly of his Dreadwolf aspect. He's set himself on a journey he can not stop and from which he can not return.

Interestingly enough there's an alternative version of this card that was discarded:

In it his head isn't covered by a hood, he carries no staff and there is no moon. The menacing wolf haunting him remains the same.

While the black wolf walks behind him, the white wolf walks beside him. He considers Lavellan his equal, even in all their differences. While the black wolf seems about to consume him, the white wolf is guarding him, staring at the viewer as if asying "Do not dare disturb his peace". He knows she'd do anything to protect him out of love even as he's decided to destroy himself out of love for his people (and tons upon tons of guilt).

Lavellan made him vulnerable in a way he had not foreseen and so he had no defenses against that love. I strongly believe only a romanced Lavellan can change his mind, at the very least make him doubt at the last moment. As much as he respects and appreciates a friend Inquisitor, it simply isnt' the same. Lavellan is to him a light so bright he had to force himself to look away lest he became blind and lost in it.

I remember people were puzzled at first, why if his romanced card is The Hierophant it had almost all elements of The Fool? There's two simple reasons i can think of. First of all, he's a fool in love. Falling in love with Lavellan is probably the stupidest thing he's done since he woke up, considering he's on a suicide mission to end her world. But that he did speaks of trust, opened up possibilities he hadn't imagined, Lavellan's innocence was contagious and powerful enough that he really had to struggle to turn away from her.

At the same time, the Hierophant is a teacher of tradition, which really had been his role all throughout Inquisition, and the last thing he does before cutting the romance was share more of that lost knowledge to Lavellan, the truth of the vallaslin.

Solas' romanced card is two cards combined referencing multiple aspects of their character and relationship, and we could also consider the Fool to be Lavellan, because the defining element in the card design that can make people wonder which card is it is the white wolf. She's the fool mortal that fell for a god, she's the Keeper who fell for Fen'harel, and she didn't know it until it was too late.

As for his final card, The Tower, it doesn't necessarily have to be so terrible. Much like Death, The Tower is about change. The end of the old to allow for the new, and changes can be positive or negative, they can be gentle or earth-shattering. In Solas' case we know he's aiming for the resurgence of the world he knew by destroying the one he inadvertently created when he put up the Veil, but this card may also symbolize the destruction of all his preconceptions and ideas, the realization that the world he knew was gone and another strange one he couldn't accept had taken its place, the symbolic death of a part of himself as he changed in his time with the Inquisition.

I imagine the white wolf represents his soul, in a way, the thing by which he may be redeemed. And that is Lavellan. No halla, but a wolf that's been tracking him for years, hunting him down to stop him because she and she alone has the power to do so. And he's been running away from her for as many years because he knows this even better than she does, he knows she's his last remaning weakness, the one that makes him vulnerable enough to break his resolve because in the end hers is stronger.

I really don't think he'd be capable of harming Lavellan, and if he does i feel it would drive him mad and cause him to lose whatever control he'd have left. He'd lose his light, his soul, his heart, leaving behind only the shadows. He chose to leave rather than take Lavellan out of the equation here and that tells me he can't bring himself to do it, it's too late now, he feels too much for her.

Now I'm extra curious and anxious to see what role the Inquisitor will play in The Veilguard, if they'll meet Solas again, what effect that would have on both of them.

And I hope neither tries to do something stupid..

#solas #lavellan #solavellan #DAI tarot #dragon age

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year ago

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Hello! I hope you are doing well, I have an idea, feel free to ignore but I hope you like it.

Yandere Male Deliquent x GN Ex Bully

Like he tried to make them explode and being their “true self”, because in the past, when they were younger, they defend him and he became a delinquent just to see them again.

Sorry if my English is bad.

Bye!

YAN! DELINQUENT OC x GN! EX BULLY! READER

Also your English great anon! Dw about it.

AAAAAAA I’ve meaning to do more Yan! Delinquent recently anon!! You read my mind. For those new to my account. I already have a Yan! Delinquent OC named Mori Ban (see tag: hns.moriban) who was the first to really blow up from my yan! ocs. I always loved this trope with yan stories hhh

tw/cw: DDNE, mention extreme bullying, assault, and harassment. (brought out my trauma for this one). i imagine reader to be amab/masc for this one but there are no explicits allusions to that.

Uttering the name [L/N] [Y/N] was enough to strike fear in the hearts of men. Literally and figuratively speaking, your voice was enough to make even the highest of authorities piss their pants. Not only were you capable of destroying a person’s physical body with your very own hands, you were able to dismantle everything from their relationships and reputation to their financial situations in life.

People predicted you to grow up and become an even more menacing, ruthless person. You had the potential, and with the way you were it was simply the natural trajectory.

But like you always did, you broke everyone’s expectations.

You were like the delinquent version Serena Van Der Woodsen. Mindlessly strutting in as if you hadn’t put several companies to bankruptcy because the owner’s kid looked at you the wrong way. Nonchalantly eating your lunch in the same vicinity of your old victims as if you hadn’t shoved their face into the toilet as a way to pass time. Cheerfully waving at the student council president as if you hadn’t constantly blackmailed and assaulted them for several years just so they’d do your homework and projects. No one was safe from you. You had no code. As long as you felt like it, any life could be destroyed.

Standing opposite to your current path was Mori.

He used to be the punching bag of your lesser goons. Known for being weak and poor, only good for his academic excellence.

He grew up to be almost as fearsome than you. Where-areas you were coldblooded, revelling in the pain you brought upon others. He was a lot more morally guided. Sure, his enemies often suffered worse fates physically, but he wasn’t like you in the way he picked his battles. He only brought hell to those that deserved it. Those that hurt other people first.

And then there was the way he treated you.

You technically belonged to the category he dealt with. You ruined dozens, maybe even hundreds or thousands of lives in a whim. You were the devil in a pretty suit of skin. Despite your lack of hostility nowadays, you never apologised or took accountability, never attempted to atone for your mistakes. The only reason why others haven’t confronted you about it was because of fear. They didn’t want to potentially anger you and set off a bomb.

But Mori? Mori could handle you.

After all, he dedicated his whole life to being your equal; serving you, aiding you.

In fact, he was just so disappointed to see you this way. All disgustingly docile and horridly disciplined. What kind of monster tamed you to be like this? Mori chuckled at the thought. No one but him can match you. You must have started behaving yourself for the sake of appearance. All of this was just a façade. If you had truly changed you would have begged for forgiveness to those you’ve wronged. If you had become a better person then you wouldn’t be discreetly glaring at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

If someone had truly taught you to be a goody-two-shoes he would have killed them ages ago.

“Hey, [N/N]. Sweetheart. How ya doin?” Mori leaned forward. He grew to be quite a ways taller than you and had to lean over to meet you face to face. Much to your chagrin.

“Fine. It’s so nice of you to ask Ban. If you’ll excuse me.” You adeptly moved to the side. You had dealt with this man-child several times throughout the semester already and knew to just avoid him at all costs lest you lose braincells and precious energy talking to him.

However, you could only take two steps before his hands grappled unto your wrist.

“Woah woah woah there. We’re not done yet.”

You don’t look back, and firmly yet calmly stated, “Yes, we are.”

“It’s a little late but we have yet to give you a homecoming party. That wouldn’t be fair for the great [Y/N].”

You turned back. Eyes wide, not of surprise or anger, but from sheer awe of this man’s audacity.

“I know what you want, and you’re not getting it from me right now.” You scowled at his beautiful pink eyes and effortlessly yanked your arm away from him. You didn’t know it yet back then,

but you had already lit the match.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

#hns.moriban #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yancore #dom reader #sub yandere #yandere drabble #yandere self insert #yandere x y/n

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theminecraftbee · 1 year ago

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Doc wakes up slowly. He's had a lovely night of sleep, cozy in bed, dreaming of fantastical misuses of withers. Hotguy gave him an autograph and personally thanked him for finally blowing up Scarland's sound system and getting one over on anyone who might make a button. For some reason, Scar's alien from season six was also there, and then it exploded. That was pretty great too. And everyone had clapped for him, and told him he was the best, most important creeper in the world, and that all of his enemies were just haters, and that they would absolutely listen to all of his opinions, which were perfect, always. And they covered the Hermitcraft server in fresh, ripened tomatoes, and everyone helped him garden them.

It really was a lovely dream. He didn't particularly want to wake up, except perhaps to tell everyone about all of the aforementioned perfect opinions. But alas, even after a perfect, lovely, cozy night of sleep, mad doctors must wake up--

--and scream, as a menacing figure holding a knife looms over his bed. He throws a punch at whoever the person is before thinking and hisses, overestimating his strength and knocking them over. He scrambles for his light.

"Owww," says someone from the floor. Wait.

Doc peers over the edge of his bed. "Grian? What on earth are you doing, man?"

"Almost falling on my knife. You know, this is harder than I thought it would be," Grian says. He is holding his knife in one hand and cradling his now very crooked, bleeding nose with the other. Doc would feel bad, but... ehhh, it's Grian. Who had been standing over his bed with a knife. He probably deserved it for... something or other, Doc'll figure it out.

"You need help?" Doc asks.

"Right. No. Let's get back to this," Grian says, standing up and brandishing the knife again. The effect is much less frightening now that the lights are on, there's blood dripping down the front of Grian's sweater, and it's clear Grian is a bit uncertain of how to look intimidating. "I need you to know Mumbo only has one best friend."

Doc blinks.

"...okay, man?" Doc says.

"What?" Grian says.

"Yeah, like, I don't know what you're talking about. Mumbo and I sometimes talk about redstone, but--"

"You talk about redstone? How dare you! Mumbo is mine, you hear? Mine!"

Doc blinks again, slower. He considers pinching himself. This would be an odd addition to an otherwise lovely, perfect dream, but dreams can become weird nightmares pretty quickly, you know? That would explain why Grian's doing whatever this is.

"I mean, I don't know, he normally comes to me about it?" Doc says.

"Cheater..." Grian says.

"What?" Doc says.

"I can't believe you two! Guh! That was my offended noise!" Grian says.

"Look, uh, I don't really understand what you're doing here man--"

"I'm warning you off of Mumbo! I heard around the block you're his best friend now, so I'm going to kill you now unless you stop that."

Doc squints. "With the knife?" he asks.

"Yes, with the knife!"

"And why am I his best friend?" Doc asks.

"You got the crown! Mumbo said whoever got the purple crown would be his best friend! That's not allowed, only I'm allowed to be his best friend! So I'm, I'm being all threatening! And stuff! Please tell me I'm being threatening," Grian says. "It's been a while since I had to do something like this, I'm modeling off of a different guy I knew, but you know, it's very important to me that you're warned off properly! So there!"

Doc looks at Grian for a while.

"Yeah, uh, man, sure. I'm... really threatened," he says.

"Really?" Grian says.

"Yeah. Really. Very threatened. Hey, uh, my elevator buttons are Grian-proof, supposedly, but I don't know if--"

"Are you--are you trying to distract me by offering me buttons? I'll have you know that doesn't work anymore! Not when it comes to Mumbo!" Grian says. "Although. Hypothetically. If you were telling me there were buttons I could press that you think wouldn't have consequences no matter what I did. That sounds like a challenge."

"Yeah, man, I mean, uh. No. Don't press my buttons--"

"Gotta go bye," Grian says, very quickly, and he shoots out of Doc's bedroom. Doc stares after him through the door.

"I'm going back to fucking bed," Doc says, because frankly, this has convinced him he doesn't need to be awake. And also a security system. A security system that can roast pesky birds. He's sure he can come up with something. Mm. Roast bird. He falls back asleep, vaguely convinced he'd dreamed up the whole incident.

(In the morning, he finds a very grumpy Grian stuck in his elevator. Well. He supposes having to fix it is worth the expression on Grian's face there.)

#hermitcraft #docm77 #grian #a bee fic #okay look just saying grian is NOT gonna be normal about this one folks

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moribondslut · 2 months ago

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hey you, you're way ahead of me, you're drunk on apathy

hey you, so bored and cynical. it's fucking wonderful they sold you out! and, oh, they've bought and sold it all it's gone! they've taken it and built a mall! and now they're playing your song!

#''All art is propaganda and ever must be despite the wailing of the purists.#I stand in utter shamelessness and say that whatever art I have for writing has been used always for propaganda..#for gaining the right of black folk to love and enjoy. I do not care a damn for any art that is not used for propaganda.'' Du Bois #“do you not see what's happening right now? do you not see the fall of empire? i love this mall! it has everything!” Yasiin Bey #art under empire and further neoliberal capture of revolutionary spirit #we even fuck the same #(play your song - hole)#angry lol #i must become a menace to my enemies

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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Hail, Commander [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki returns from war, and certain traditions must be upheld. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Language. Salirophilia (dirty Loki) Exhibitionism. Descriptions of violence/blood. (w/c 1.6k)

The clang of armoured spears vibrated the stone beneath your feet. Once. Twice. Three times.

You drew your gaze away from the twinkling lights of Asgard stretched below the balustrade, turning in a hurried curtsey as the returning commander approached. Nerves twisted in your stomach, though you had no idea why.

It was always thus when Loki returned from war.

He strode majestically through the towering columns, removing his horned helmet as he went. The clanking sound of the guards standing to attention in sequence as he moved past them broke the evening stillness, metal on metal clanging. It made your thighs squeeze together beneath the long skirts covering them.

His leather cape billowed theatrically behind his towering form, the fine silk lining catching the transient flicker of a hundred torches lighting his path. He shook his hair, heavy with the weight of battle fought. And won. It had been weeks since the younger prince had stalked the halls, and tonight he was on the hunt.

Reverently, you lowered your gaze, each purposeful stride of his muscled legs moving in your direction with predatory singularity. His usual flawless fairness was marred with ash and dark stains, visible on the gold of his armour even in the moonlight.

He hasn’t even bathed, you thought, a thrill racing in waves through your blood. The slap of his boots against the ground echoed in the silent night, becoming louder before stopping abruptly. You could smell the heat emanating from him; lustful intentions oozing from beneath war-ravaged leathers. The lingering smell of stale copper and sweat crawled up your nostrils.

Loki's cape swirled around his ankles in your line of vision, settling in shredded folds.

“Look at me.” he growled, lifting your chin with one curled finger. His thumb danced across your bottom lip, dragging the plump down.

For the first time in weeks, you saw his face; menacingly beautiful under starlight. His eyes were bright, the whites contrasting ethereally against layers of blood and soot smeared across his brow, his cheekbones, his throat.

“My Prince.” you greeted huskily. Loki gave a small nod in response. “You have been victorious, then?” you coyed, feeling your heart beat faster as a smile curled at his dry lips. “Could you ever doubt me, precious one?” he murmured, cupping your cheekbone. “I will always arrive victorious to you. Victorious for you.”

He flipped the edges of the cape backwards, before pressing you against the stone balustrade in a crushing kiss. His lips tasted like smoke and metal; the sharp tang of old copper springing to life on your searching tongue.

Loki groaned as your fingers caught on the lengths of his hair, dragging through the residue of crusted blood and sweat. His head fell back as you pressed closer to his chest, a mischievous palm rubbing over his stirring manhood.

"My filthy soldier..." you muttered darkly, observing the telling bob of his Adam’s apple cast in murky shadow.

The veins in his neck pulsed, thick ropes of muscle standing proud against the cake of grime which coated them. "Filthy Prince, if you please..." he goaded through shallow breaths. “You may be my betrothed, but I am still your superior.”

You stifled a giggle, feeling his cock inflate rapidly beneath layers of heavy leather as you grasped shamelessly at his hips, tugging at buckles and straps that hung sluttishly from every angle. Gods, how you had missed him. You gyrated firmly against his centre. Just once.

Loki's shoulders flexed beneath the heavy armour, head tilting with a hard glint to his features. With a stomach dropping pulse, you realised that look would have been the last thing his enemies ever saw.

"Tread carefully love..." he whispered menacingly, a tingle of anticipation rolling up your spine as a knowing smirk cracked the dried dirt by his dimples. His eyebrow cocked, a hand you knew would leave a soiled trail down the fine silk of your dress sliding to rest on your lower back. "I am not in a merciful mood."

You bit your lip, watching Loki break into a mischievous smile. His teeth were blindingly bright against the stains streaked on his skin, layered effects of deadly strikes and blows and carnage mapped in each square inch of his face. “Do you see them?” he purred, tilting his head. You shivered, casting a glance to the dozens of Asgardian palace guards lined up along the promenade to the great hall; their stares fixed ahead. “They have orders to stay at their post all night.” he murmured.

“Your father has organised a feast for your glorious return…” you hummed, as Loki hoisted you to sit atop the balustrade with a soft thump. Loki pursed his lips knowingly, a playful twang in his voice. “And I have still yet to bathe...as you may have noticed.”

He placed a lingering kiss in the curve of your neck, the resulting groan of desperation from your parted lips making him chuckle against the skin.

“Do you wish me to stop?” he murmured, kissing messily up your heated neck as he spread your legs. You squirmed on the wide stone balcony, tightening your knees against his hips. His mud-roughed cheek grazed yours, warm breath making you shiver against the evening chill. “Do you have the strength to wait, love?”

“No…” you whispered shakily, letting your fingers unclasp the buckle slung over his chest. It loosened the front panel of his leather armour, falling open. Your hands dove inside, kissing him like he had returned from the dead. Perhaps he had.

“Good.” he growled, whipping the sides of his leather battle garb around your widened thighs. Concealed fingers skimmed ribbons of silk up your legs, the fabric falling beneath his touch like enemies beneath his sword. Pushing it around your hips, he inhaled the musk of hot, feminine arousal rising between your bodies; sweet against the copper tang of his filth.

“You know not what I have done for this moment, love.” he muttered, combing a dirt laden hand through your hair. “The chaos I have wrought.”

Your back arched, feeling his wetted cock press against your slit; desperate and fierce. The stone of the balustrade grated against your ass as you shifted towards him, urging him to fill you with the closeness you missed. To complete you again.

“Loki…” you mewled pleadingly as a smirk tugged his cracked lips. It was tradition, that he would tell you his tales. Loki’s return wouldn’t be the same without them.

“I slaughtered legions, each demon falling to my feet with a final wail of hopeless anguish…” he whispered, nudging the leaking tip against your entrance. Your hips bucked upwards, urging him on.

“Their blood ran in rivers, darling. You should have seen it, the pathetic fear in their eyes before they felt the quick of my blade slice across their throat. F-fuck...” he groaned, breaching you with a low, guttural sigh.

Loki’s fingers grasped around your thighs, tugging you down his cock. The scrape of the balustrade stone stung the curves of your flesh, any discomfort obliterated by the exquisite sensation of his manhood setting every nerve of pleasure alight. His metal wrist-guards pressed against the flat of your thighs as he rocked your hips, lost in the theatrics of his arousal.

“We tore t-through their defences…” he gasped, delivering small thrusts with aching precision. “It was brutal. Messy. We...g-gods...o-obliter-rated...their...uhhh...h-hope-”

“-More, Loki…” you keened in his ear, fingernails scraping down his shoulders beneath the overcoat as your head fell back. The god chuckled as he enveloped you, the cape like wings covering your modesty as he fucked you like a common whore, perched upon the balustrade.

The angle of his hips was perfect, each roll of them edging you closer to inevitable orgasm as a steady beat of drums began to pepper the air. The Procession, you realised; each beat of percussion seeming to tremble the very breath from your body.

“Their army p-parted like leaves...scattered, sand in the wind before our mighty f-force.” he panted, edging deeper into your wet heat. Every drag of his heavy cock was tortuously slow, melting you from the inside out as he tried to maintain some element of subtlety. Your knees rose against his ribs, letting him lean you back over the balustrade.

“So much destruction, love.” he murmured, as firelight from the wall torches flickered tepid warmth behind his head. “So much power your god held in his hands. All for you.” The streets were full tonight, candles held by citizens setting the winding path to the palace alight in grateful homage. A booming, solitary voice heralded from below, soaring to the heavens. "Hail, the victorious dead." The familiar mantra vibrated around Asgard's high towers, washing over the muted hiss of the slow moving crowd walking the cobbled streets. Hail, the ghostly refrain of a thousand souls echoed in response. "Hail, our glorious commander." the voice sang solemnly; the ceremonial vindication making Loki delve further into your cunt with a shuddering sigh. Hail, Commander. Hail. Your voice joined the reverent murmurs of gratitude crashing against the walls of the palace like a wave, hundreds of feet below. Each syllable from your lips was a lullaby, whispered wetly against your commander's skin.

You clenched, hearing him hiss beneath the veil of tangled, filthy hair. He muttered ancient curses, pelvis grinding against your clit as he rocked you towards the precipice.

“How many, Loki…?” you groaned, feeling his balls tighten against your slick sex. He let out a growl, scraping his teeth down your cheek with a feral moan. “Thousands, my love." he purred darkly. "Dead at my feet.”

With a strangled gasp, you came around him; leaning into his war-soaked leathers to stifle the scream clawing in your throat. You had no idea how clandestine your fucking truly was, but whatever the guards thought they were seeing out the corner of their eye - you did not intend to confirm it.

“They cried for m-mercy at the end.” Loki gasped, tacky curls falling against his brow as he watched himself sink inside your leaking pussy, still quivering with aftershock. “Their cries...uhh..that’s it, f-fuck, d-darling...their cries went unanswered.”

Loki’s breath hitched at his own words, a wavering moan snaking past his lips as a low hiss. The god's carved jaw pointed to the stars, clenching as he approached climax with a dirty growl rolling in his chest.

“No mercy.” you whispered against his cheek, concealing another moan in his shoulder as he fucked you to the slow beat of drums in the distance.

“No mercy.” he echoed quietly, before fastening his mouth to yours.

Continued in The Feast

A/N: @mischief2sarawr I hope this somewhat satisfied your mighty balustrade related need. Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @smolvenger @liminalpebble @psychospore @littlespaceyelf @lokischambermaid @praq123 @lokisgoodboy

#loki x female reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader smut #loki marvel #loki oneshot #loki x you smut #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki au

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒.

DAY SEVEN OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cosmic horror au + western au + "you're a fucking nightmare. kiss me."

pairing: jack daniels x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft enemies to lovers

summary: with celestial dancers ensnaring victims with entrancing performances that lead innocents away from their homes. Jack and you, cowboy sheriffs with a history of discord, leave town in search of the missing people.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: daddy kink, mirror sex (kinda there's a mist that imitates your desires and copies your movements so technically it's like a mirror but without a reflective surface), outdoor sex, piv, hint of horror imagery, dirty talk, size kink (jack is a big boy in every universe fight me)

a/n: sorry y'all this is unedited but hopefully i didn't make too many mistakes! enjoy xx

“I still don’t understand why we need to go together. I’m completely capable on my own.”

On cue, Starlight whinnies and shakes her head, her disagreement apparent. You frown at the horse, “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you quip, refusing to look at Jack whose laughter rings out.

The lanterns you have on each horse illuminate the road ahead but do little in actually illuminating your surroundings. Shadows linger in every corner. The sky, despite still having the sun up, is a dusty copper, dark clouds swirling and forming shape of all watching eyes. The world had become an odd place. Humans were mere ants now, easy to crush beneath the forces out of your control. Distance between towns had become wide, each town having deputies to protect the innocents within. Dangerous weapons had been forged to fight against the evil and given to every sherrif in town.

Lately people have been gone missing. In the dead of night celestial dancers would just stand at the edge of town, ensnaring victims with entrancing performances to take them far away from their homes. You didn’t ask what these dancers did to the ones they captured, you assumed it wasn’t anything pleasant.

You and Jack being the more talented sheriffs of the town had been picked to locate said missing people. The further you two traversed away from town, the more menacing and confusing the world around you became. The darkness moves. Creatures of all kinds snarling and drooling within the deep forests.

“I know you’re capable, sugar,” Jack remarks, he expertly guides his horse, bringing the two of you into closer proximity. The rhythmic sound of hooves fills the air as you draw near. “But you must admit, this is a dangerous job.”

You only shrug, “Beats being here with you.”

“You hate me that much that you’d be willin’ to die?” he says with a lazy grin. “That’s a bit extreme, even for you.”

“I doubt this is going to be that hard. You just like teasing me.”

“Hmmm maybe. . . but I blame you for that, sugar. You’re too fun to tease.”

A loud sigh parts your lips and you shake your head. Jack was and always will be insufferable. In all honesty, Jack wasn’t so bad. He just had a talent for getting under your skin. But you had to admit, your frustrations with him had been shifting into something else, something like desire, for a while now.

Your fingers tighten around the reins. You’ve been trying really hard to ignore the flutter in your stomach whenever he was around, you’d never hear the end of it if he figured it out.

“Shut up,” you grumble, lowering the front of your hat. “You’re incorrigible.” You glance over at Jack, who's trying to stifle his laughter but failing miserably. Your frown deepens.

“Incorrigible?” he snorts. “So sophisticated with your insults today, should I be flattered?”

“I’m just running out of words to insult you with.”

His smile falters slightly, annoyance creasing between his brows, “Funny.”

Jack’s annoyance brings a smile to your face. You’re about to say more, eager to get under his skin just like he does yours, but suddenly he lifts a hand and halts his horse. You do the same, tightening the reins until Starlight comes to a full stop.

He presses his forefinger slowly to his lips and points ahead with the other. Goosebumps raising across your skin, your gaze turns to the dirt road.

There’s nothing.

Until there’s something.

The first thing you notice is the eyes; they’re red dots, gleaming and staring into your soul.

Then you notice the antlers sprouting from behind the skull of the long figure. Two of them curling around its jaw. It's wearing a long cloak, the type similar to what you and Jack wear when the weather is turning cold. The light of your lanterns reflects on the figure,

Panic flaring in your gut, your eyes snap to Jack. He’s only staring. Calm and steady. “Look down,” he mouths without looking at you.

The silence is deafening. You look at the eerie figure again, its hand now stretched towards you both as if beckoning you to come closer. It’s a bony hand, a sickly grayish-green. You hold your breath and lower your gaze. Your lids flutter in surprise as you notice the sheep at the figure's feet. They have horns just like him, and have the same glowing red eyes. The animals stare at you, not a sound coming from them.

Shepard of the Voidborne, your mind whispers to you. You were told that he was once human and after being driven out of his mind, became one of the cosmic horrors that lurked all around. He had his sheep and that was pretty much it. He only came out during the night. The shepard was harmless for the most part but if you made a sound or attacked, your death was immediate.

The tricky part was that you had to sense him before he came. You had to catch the stillness of the wind, the sudden silence that befell, and the scent of the dead.

You didn’t notice any of that.

But Jack had.

The Shepard and his sheep stare at you long enough that it feels like forever. He never lowers his hand, the invite always there if you were stupid enough to take it.

You fight against letting out a breath of relief when he finally turns away, the sheep mimicking him. Fear coating your tongue, you close your eyes and focus on your heartbeat instead, willing it to become silent.

He doesn’t make a sound as he leaves and you only realize that when Jack gently touches your cheek, pulling you back to reality.

“He’s gone, darlin’,” he says surprisingly soft. “You’re safe.”

His fingers curl towards the back of your ear, palm cradling the side of your face, warmth spreads. Your breath hitches and you quickly avert your gaze, “I see that,” you say sharply. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, ma’am,” Jack muses as you do exactly that, his gaze glinting with mischief.

You try not to think about the lingering warmth left on your cheek.

The horses are tethered nearby, and the lanterns cast a warm glow around your small circle of safety. You set up a modest fire, its crackling flames pushing back the encroaching darkness.

Jack produces a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag. He uncorks it and offers it to you with a grin. "Care for a drink, sugar? I figure we've earned."

You accept the offer, taking the bottle and taking a long, deep swig before passing it back. The warm burn of the whiskey helps chase away the lingering chill of fear from your encounter with the Shepard.

Jack settles down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He gazes into the flames, lost in thought for a moment. Then, he turns his attention to you, his eyes softening with concern. "You okay, sugar?"

“I guess,” you mutter. “I didn’t notice him.”

“Who? The Shepard?”

You nod and he shrugs, “He’s a hard bastard to notice. It ain’t your fault.”

“That’s not an excuse. I should’ve sensed him. . . somehow.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. "Well, you know, I've got the devil's luck. Besides, I've got you to watch my back. When I’m with you I’m more alert, darlin’."

“So you really do think I’m incompetent?”

Sitting by the fire, you both share the bottle, taking turns. You can't help but notice how the flickering firelight plays across Jack's features, casting his rugged face in a warm, inviting glow. You feel slightly ashamed for how you’re acting. Deep down you know this has nothing to do with Jack thinking you’re not good enough, but with the growing knot in your stomach, you need to divert your emotions into something more violent.

“The only thing I know is that I wanna protect you more than I want to do myself.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath suddenly coming in short and fast. You swallow around the knot quickly forming in your throat.

"Well, aren't you just a regular knight in shining armor?" you huff in mock annoyance, attempting to lighten the weight of his words.

But Jack doesn't take the bait this time. Instead, he surprises you with a genuine, soft smile. "You're strong, no doubt about it. But even the strongest folks deserve a bit of pampering now and then, don't they?"

You're momentarily taken aback by his sincerity, the hint of vulnerability. Jack reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light.

"Jack, you don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass," you murmur, your irritation fading as you meet his warm gaze.

He leans in a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes drop to his lips and move back to meet his gaze again."I know you're tough as nails, but that doesn't mean I can't be here for you. We all need someone to lean on, sugar."

You find yourself lost in his eyes, the flickering firelight dancing in them, and for a moment, you let your guard down.

"You're a fucking nightmare,” you smile, heart rapid in your chest. “Kiss me."

The chaos, the darkness, the shadows—all of it stands still. Jack closes the distance, soft lips covering yours, his tongue traces the seam of your lips. He’s not at all how you imagined. He’s not rushing you. Instead, he’s taking his sweet time memorizing the curve of your lips with the tip of his tongue.

Only when you moan does he slip his tongue between your swollen lips, licking himself further into your mouth. He cradles your face with both hands, thumbs moving down as if tracing tear streaks down your cheeks.

Neither of you notices the thick fog starting to accumulate around you. A sinister whisper crackling within the gray. It settles around you. Listening to your needy whimpers and Jack’s groans—it observes, takes in the desire reflected in your features, and shapes begin to form.

The fire goes out with a loud sizzle.

“Fuck—” Jack hisses, pulling away, hand moving to grab his gun. He pulls you close. You’re still tasting him on your lips, dazed and confused as to what’s happening. There’s a moment of silence between you two, your surroundings illuminated only by the lanterns.

The fog is unnaturally thick. You hear sounds; breathy and intoxicating. The voices grow louder, a tingle spreads over the back of your neck, and you notice that they’re oddly familiar—

Your cheeks burn when you notice they’re the sound of your moans. Both Jack’s and yours. The shapes are still forming, only mere silhouettes of two people perched on top of a log, their poses the same as yours.

“Eidolon Veil,” you mumble, drawing Jack’s attention to you. “I heard of it, never actually saw it before.”

“What is it?” he grunts a response, hand still on your waist. “And why the hell is it moanin’?”

“It’s harmless,” you answer. “It’s a reflective fog that takes the shape of those within its circle and mimics their desires as well.”

Jack snorts, lowering his gun, “So what, you’re tellin’ me this mist is gonna show us fuckin’ like rabbits soon?”

You turn to him, a hint of mischief in your eyes, “If that’s what you desire, then yes,” you grin. “Though the image becomes vivid only if the people actually go through with it. If not it’ll only show a preview and move on to its next target,” you raise an eyebrow at him. “You really don’t know what it is?”

“I don’t research the creepy crawlies as much as you do,” he croaks. “Are you sure it’s harmless? In this world nothin’ is.”

“I think it has to do with substance,” you say. “Desire keeps it from dissolving entirely. So it’s basically looking for food.”

An especially sharp moan echoes from the mist and you involuntarily press your thighs together, arousal growing between your legs. Jack also shudders at the sound. He palms himself through his pants, your eyes dropping to where his cock strains against the thick fabric.

“Let's give it something to choke on then.”

Throwing all caution into the wind, you two strip down eagerly, your mouths always a breath away. The figures within the fog become more tangible, you can see yourself clearly now, your face painted with want and arousal. You get on all fours and the mirage does the same, Jack is on his knees right behind you, hand slipping between your legs. He traces his fingers up and down soaked folds, circling your clit, you feel the heft of him over the curve of your ass.

Your breath hitches as he pushes two fingers into you, electricity crackles over your skin, a moan parting your lips further. The mirage mimics every sound and movement, and watching it turns you on in a way you didn’t think was possible.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jack coos. “Such a sight—and so darn wet.”

He fucks his fingers deeper into you and pulls them out slowly. Jack leans over to kiss the skin between your shoulder blades, the movement of his fingers slow as he works you open. Your head falls and you arch your back, wanting more. He doesn’t stop until you’re a sopping, trembling mess. Slick drips down his fingers and all the way down to his wrists.

When you look at the mirage, the Jack within the fog makes you taste yourself on his fingers.

Your Jack hums pleasantly, pulling out, he traces the plush of your lips with wet fingers before slipping them into your mouth. You suck eagerly, your cunt fluttering at the lewdness of it.

He cups your neck and pulls you up so that you’re flush against his chest, your pulse quickens as he presses his lips against your ear, “You think you can take me, darlin’?” he asks and kisses your cheek.

“Y–Yeah,” you whimper, the fog echoing your answer.

You haven’t gotten a good look at him yet but you do feel him. He’s thick and hard, dragging his cock up and down your slit. You shudder as the head catches against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re drippin’ sweetheart,” he says with a grin, breath tickling your neck. “And you’re shakin’, worried I’m too big?”

His voice drips with sarcasm and glee, he teases your entrance with the head, smearing precome over the sensitive skin. You gasp and feel your nipples tighten, without thinking you spread your legs further.

“Yes!” your mirage echoes your thoughts. You let out a deep exhale, blood rushing to your cheeks. “You’re so big, Jack—It won’t fit. . .”

“Is that right now?” he murmurs, dragging the curve of his nose down your neck. “You say it. I want to hear your voice.”

You clear your throat. Beads of sweat gather at your tailbone, “Y–You’re big,” you whimper and as a reward he cups both your breasts, playing with your nipples. “I don’t know if it’ll fit. It’s been a while.”

He takes a sharp inhale, “I’ll make it fit,” he growls, exhaling his breath simultaneously.

With that, Jack sinks into you.

He sucks on your neck and continues to gently pinch your nipples, waiting for your to adjust to his size. “That’s it,” he purrs, licking the salt from your skin. “You feel so good around me, sugar. Look at how fucked out you look already.”

He holds your jaw and tilts your head up, you clench as you see yourself. He was right. You look utterly fucked out; kiss-swollen lips parted, chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

“Jack,” you whimper. “Move, please.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you, lips pressing against your neck before letting you go. Your palms fall to the ground. “You’re made for me, pretty girl, don’t you forget it.”

Before you can say anything, he pulls back his hips and slams into you with force. Your fingers dig into the soil, your body going rigid before becoming loose again. Jack fucks you thoroughly, slowing down while pulling out only to snap forward. He’s loud. Growls and grunts bouncing off of his clenched teeth, he holds on to your waist and the mirage echoes it.

With every thrust, he knocks the air from your lungs. Pleasure swirls in your stomach, shirt circuits your brain. Your lips part wide with a series of moans, your breasts tingling. Your senses narrow on the way his cock fills you, how deep he is inside, and how you just want to scream—not his name necessarily, but something you can address him as.

With both your and your mirage's moans getting louder and louder, your mind whirls. You’re gushing with every thrust, your orgasm rapidly building.

Daddy, your mind suddenly shouts. Your body tenses, your cunt squeezing around him in away that it forces the slows of his thrust. Jack groans at the overwhelming tightness, his cock pulsing. You watch the mirrored reflection, see the veins popping in his neck, see the debauched look of his face.

Daddy.

“F-Fuck—” you rasp when Jack resumes his thrust, faster and harder than before. He smacks your ass, pain blossoming over the skin.

Then suddenly you hear it.

It’s your voice but not your lips that moves.

“Again—Daddy—” the voice is strained, as if your replica is equally as embarrassed as you are.

He stops and you see his confusion in the fog. “W-What?” he murmurs. You shake your head, your frustration growing as you press your lips tight together. Jack smoothes his palm over your back. “What did you just call me, sugar?”

You clear your throat, “Technically it wasn’t me,” you say weakly. Jack smiles as he drags blunt nails down your skin, your body reacts and arches towards him. You sigh. “It was a mistake.”

“Not it wasn’t,” he quips. “You said so remember? The thing about the veil mimicking our desires?” he doesn’t wait for your answer as he bends over, covering your body with his. He whispers, “You can call me, daddy, if you want to. I don’t mind, darlin’. In fact, I like it.”

You nod and he slowly drags himself out, and equally slowly pushes back in, “Use your words.”

“Yes, d-daddy,” you gasp, the word hits your tongue just right.

Jack draws back again, satisfaction pooling in his eyes. He grins and a part of you can’t help but feel flustered. “That’s what I want to hear,” he kisses the back of your shoulder and continue to move inside of you.

The sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of you sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You moan in pleasure as your orgasm builds with each thrust. He grips your hips, thrusting harder and faster as your orgasm nears its peak. You can barely keep your balance as the waves of pleasure wash over you in a glorious chorus of bliss.

“Oh—daddy—” you sigh, your tongue loose. The fog picks up your moan, echoing your words. You bite your lip as his hands move from your hips to your chest, massaging your breast with each thrust.

“Look at that face,” he says with a moan, forcing your gaze up. “Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he teases. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Then ask for it, sugar.”

“P-Please, daddy, make me come,” you moan, you’re pleasantly helpless under him. “Pleasepleaseplease—”

With one final thrust, you tip over the edge; your orgasm rattles through your body accompanied by a series of groans and daddy’s. Adrenaline rushes through your system—your toes curl, your neck arches and your eyes roll back as pleasure washes through you.

The mirage echoes every sound as Jack pumps his cum into you. He lifts you by the shoulder, forcing your head towards him as he claims your lips in a heated kiss. He swallows your moans, your whimpers and sucks your tongue until you’re compeltly pliant against him.

Once he’s finished, the fog starts to dissipate until it’s only the two of you, lying in the dirt, panting, the fire alive once again. Jack kisses the top of your head before pulling out, and you look away, his spend drips from you, making a mess between your thighs, your face heats up.

He tenderly cradles the side of your. Jack smiles and you can’t help but smile as well, burying your face into his palm.

“That was—damn,” you manage to say. You blink and sit up, looking around you. There’s nothing but darkness and the sound of crickets.

“Seems like your daddy took care of you,” Jack purrs, pecking your lips before pulling you into an embrace. You glare at him as he nuzzles your neck.

“If you mention that to anyone else I’ll kill you.”

He laughs whole heatedly, “I don’t kiss and tell, sweetheart. Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”

“So the Eidolon Veil moved on,” you say, changing the subject. “I guess it was well fed.”

“It seems like it,” he responds, kissing your forehead. Your heart flutters. “C’mere, let’s get you dressed before you catch a cold. We still have a whole lot of investigatin’ to do tomorrow.”

“Can’t we just stay like this? A little longer?”

He kisses your temple this time, his warmth seeping into your back. “‘Course we can, darlin’.”

You lean into his embrace and he manages to pull one of the blankets from his pack, covering you. Your eyes trail the stars in the sky.

Little moments of peace like this are worth savoring just a bit longer.

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman the golden circle fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic #hauntedhoedown

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ltash · 5 months ago

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Venom

Part 3 "Anastasia Romanov"

Ghost x female OC

Warnings: Very Dark themed, mentions of murder and blood, dark sadist Ghost.

You are taking me to Makarov, Anastasia.

No. I am going to hell Simon Riley and I am taking you with me.

"Don't underestimate her. She may be small, but she's a feisty little thing."

Moscow, Russia

Anastasia sat in her small Moscow apartment, the patter of heavy rain against the window providing a rhythmic backdrop to her thoughts.

At just 21 years old, she had become Vladimir Makarov's right hand, a trusted lieutenant in his shadowy world. Despite Makarov's elusive nature and unknown whereabouts, he maintained contact with Anastasia, serving as a surrogate father figure in her life after she had tragically lost her parents at the tender age of 15.

Makarov had guided her into the Russian Ultranationalist party, where she underwent rigorous training and emerged as one of their top agents.

As she sat in her small apartment, Anastasia couldn't shake the image of Makarov's face, lit by the cold glow of the tunnel's lights, his expression a mix of triumph and menace. He had relayed the news to her with a chilling calmness that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I killed Soap," Makarov had said, his voice resonating with a deadly pride. "One of their finest. A young lad with a bright future, now extinguished."

Anastasia had known of Soap McTavish, a sergeant among the Task Force members, revered for his skills and leadership. His death was not just a tactical victory for Makarov but a symbolic blow to their enemies—a demonstration of power and ruthlessness that defined their brutal conflict.

As she stared out into the rain-soaked streets of Moscow, Anastasia wrestled with conflicting emotions. The thrill of victory mingled with the weight of guilt and remorse. She knew that in their world, there was little room for sentimentality or second-guessing. Survival and success demanded unwavering commitment, even in the face of moral ambiguity.

The rain continued to fall, a relentless drumbeat against the windowpane. In the silence of her apartment, Anastasia prepared herself for the next mission, the next test of her loyalty to Makarov and the Ultranationalist cause.

The buzzing and ringing of her phone jolted Anastasia out of her trance. Her heart raced as she glanced at the screen, recognizing the number immediately. Her hands trembled as she answered the call, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello, my dear," Makarov's voice came through, speaking in Russian with that familiar mix of authority and charm.

"Hello, Makarov," Anastasia replied, her voice steadying as she took a deep breath. "It's been a while."

"Yes, it has," he said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "I hope you're ready for what comes next. We have important work to do."

"Always," she responded, her loyalty clear in her voice. "What do you need?"

Makarov's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "There's a target I need you to eliminate. He's been a thorn in our side for too long."

"Who is it?" Anastasia asked, already mentally preparing herself for the mission.

"Ghost," Makarov said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Simon Riley. He's working as a mercenary now, a ruthless killer. He used to be a soldier, but that part of him is long gone. We can't afford to let him interfere any longer. I want you to find him and finish the job."

Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. She had heard stories of Simon "Ghost" Riley, the infamous operative who had once been a member of Task Force 141. His reputation for ruthlessness preceded him, a far cry from the disciplined soldier he had once been.

"There are no pictures of him," Makarov continued. "But you will recognize him by his skull mask. He's extremely deadly, Anastasia. He could kill you without a second thought, so you must be extremely careful."

"Understood," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "I'll take care of it."

"We've arranged an apartment for you in the same building he lives in," Makarov added. "Get close to him, gain his trust, and then execute him swiftly."

"Consider it done," Anastasia replied.

The call ended, leaving Anastasia staring at her phone, her mind racing. She had a mission, a directive from the man who had been her guiding force for years. But now, the lines between loyalty and morality were blurred.

The next day, Anastasia found herself on a flight to Manchester. The dossier Makarov had provided included everything she needed to know about Simon Riley’s current whereabouts. As she arrived at the nondescript apartment building, she noted how perfectly it blended into its surroundings—a fitting place for a man trying to live under the radar.

The apartment she had been provided was modest but functional, directly across the hall from Simon Riley's. She moved in quickly, arranging her belongings and preparing herself for the task ahead. The plan was simple: get close, earn his trust, and then strike when he least expected it.

Anastasia entered the apartment building with her suitcases, taking in her new surroundings. Manchester wasn't cold like Russia, but the air carried a damp chill that clung to her skin. She walked through the lobby, noting the modern decor and the warmth that radiated from the newly built structure. The building was cozy, a stark contrast to the harsh environments she was accustomed to.

She made her way to the hallway where her apartment was located, her steps echoing softly on the polished floor. The air was tinged with the faint smell of fresh paint and new carpets. She reached her door, her mind racing with the details Makarov had provided. She didn’t know exactly which apartment belonged to Simon Riley, but based on her intel, it was adjacent to hers.

Unlocking her door, she stepped inside and took a moment to survey the space. It was modest but comfortable, furnished with all the necessities she would need to blend in and execute her mission. She set her suitcases down and began unpacking, methodically arranging her belongings while her mind stayed focused on the task ahead.

Later that evening, as she finished settling in, she decided to take a walk around the building to familiarize herself with the layout. She left her apartment and turned right, walking past several doors until she reached the one next to hers. She paused for a moment, her heart beating a little faster. This could be it—the apartment of the infamous Ghost, Simon Riley.

She continued down the hallway, noting the emergency exits and the location of the stairs and elevators. The more she knew about her surroundings, the better prepared she would be.

After unpacking and settling in, Anastasia decided to get a view of the city. She needed to clear her head and assess her surroundings further. Manchester was different from the sprawling, frigid expanse of Russia. It was a smaller city, yet bustling with activity. People moved briskly through the streets, a mix of locals and tourists contributing to the vibrant atmosphere.

Stepping out of the building, she felt the wind tug at her long red hair, causing it to wave behind her. She took a deep breath, the damp air filling her lungs as she glanced around, searching for a place to get a drink. While she wasn't an avid drinker, she found herself occasionally enjoying a drink to unwind, especially when she had much on her mind.

Walking down the street, she noticed a quaint pub tucked away on a quieter side street. The warm light spilling out from its windows and the faint sound of laughter and conversation drew her in. She approached the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. The atmosphere was cozy and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension she had been feeling.

She made her way to the bar, slipping onto a stool and catching the bartender's eye. "What can I get you?" he asked, his voice friendly.

"A glass of wine, please," she replied, offering a small smile.

As she waited for her drink, she let her gaze wander around the pub. People were gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing. It was a scene of normalcy that felt almost foreign to her after the years of intense training and missions. When the bartender returned with her wine, she took a sip, savoring the moment of tranquility.

Her thoughts drifted back to Simon Riley.

As she sat there, contemplating her next move, she felt a presence beside her. She turned to see a man, perhaps in his late thirties, with a kind smile. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the empty stool next to her.

"Go ahead," she replied, curious about the stranger.

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Ghost checked out of his hotel room and made his way back to his apartment after finishing his mission. The execution of the mafia boss had been swift and clean, just as he preferred. His movements were practiced and deliberate, the guitar-shaped sniper case slung over his strong shoulder blending in with the urban landscape.

When he reached his apartment building, he turned the key in the lock but something caught his eye. The light in the apartment across from his was on. It had been empty for quite a while, and he hadn't expected anyone to move in while he was away.

His eyes narrowed, and he cursed under his breath. "Fucking hell." The thought of having a new neighbor, an unexpected visitor, every now and then was unwelcome. He thrived on solitude and the ability to come and go without scrutiny.

Setting his things inside his apartment, he tried to relax. But the familiar tension wouldn't leave him. He felt the need for a drink, something strong to take the edge off. "Hell, I could murder for a whiskey now," he muttered to himself.

Without wasting time, he swapped his skull mask for a more discreet balaclava and threw on his usual attire—hoodie and sweatpants. It was a look that allowed him to blend into the background, just another faceless figure in the night.

He exited the building and headed to the nearest pub. It was a small, unassuming place where he could disappear into the crowd. He entered the dimly lit space, scanning the room out of habit before approaching the bar.

"Kentucky, straight," he ordered, his voice low and gravelly.

The bartender nodded and poured him a generous measure of bourbon. Ghost took the glass, finding a secluded corner where he could sit with his back to the wall, a clear view of the entrance. He took a sip, the fiery liquid burning a path down his throat, grounding him in the moment.

As he drank, his thoughts drifted back to the mission, replaying every detail to ensure there were no loose ends. He was meticulous by nature, every action calculated and deliberate. His mind then wandered to the new neighbor. He hadn't seen who it was yet, but he would soon enough. He needed to be aware of his surroundings, and anyone new was a potential threat until proven otherwise.

His eyes scanned the room absently, noting the faces and the exits. It was a habit ingrained in him from years of living on the edge. He saw a few regulars, but no one paid him any mind, just the way he liked it.

As he nursed his drink, a flash of red hair caught his attention. A woman sat at the bar, talking to a man. She seemed relaxed, her laugh genuine, a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor. He dismissed her as just another patron until she turned slightly, and he got a better look at her face.

The red-haired girl was beautiful, to say the least. Her big blue eyes shone in the dim light of the dingy pub, and small freckles adorned her face, adding a touch of innocence. She looked very young, possibly in her early twenties. As Ghost observed her, he couldn't help but notice the way her presence lit up the otherwise gloomy room.

The boy who was talking to her was just another bloke, trying to charm her. Ghost recognized the type instantly. "Huh! Fucker," he cursed under his breath, knowing exactly what the guy was after. He had seen it countless times before—guys trying to sweet-talk their way into a woman's bed.

But then, Ghost wasn't much different. One-night stands had always been his go-to, a way to use women and throw them away like tissue paper. He was fond of it, the detachment and simplicity it offered. Emotions were messy and complicated, and he preferred to keep things straightforward.

As he watched the interaction between the red-haired girl and the boy, he felt a strange sense of irritation. He wasn't used to caring about such things, but something about the girl intrigued him. Maybe it was the way she held herself, confident yet approachable, or perhaps it was the hint of mystery she exuded.

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"I'm Jack," he introduced himself, extending a hand.

"Anastasia," she responded, shaking his hand.

They struck up a conversation, and Anastasia found herself relaxing a bit more. Jack was a local, and he shared stories about the city and its history, providing her with useful information about her new environment. As they talked, she kept an eye on the time, aware that she needed to stay focused on her mission.

After finishing her drink, she thanked Jack for the company and stood to leave. "It was nice meeting you," she said, offering him a genuine smile.

"Likewise," Jack replied. "If you ever need a tour guide, you know where to find me."

As Anastasia stood to leave the pub, she moved towards the door just as it swung open, revealing two imposing figures. They were rough-looking men, their faces hardened by years of disregard for civility.

"Excuse me," Anastasia said calmly, trying to pass between them.

"What's the rush, sweetheart?" one of them leered, reaching out to grab her wrist with a meaty hand.

"Come sit with us," the other sneered, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale cigarettes.

Anastasia felt the grip tighten around her wrist, her heart racing with a mix of anger and caution. These were the kind of men she had dealt with countless times before—brutes who thought they could exert their will on anyone they pleased. In her line of work, she had learned to make people like them taste their own medicine, but creating a scene here could attract unwanted attention and jeopardize her mission.

"Let me go, please," she pleaded, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The man holding her wrist only laughed, a cruel sound that echoed in the dimly lit pub. His companion grinned maliciously, clearly enjoying the situation.

Anastasia's mind raced. She assessed her options quickly, weighing the risks. Fighting back now could escalate things, drawing unwanted scrutiny. She needed a way out without compromising her cover or exposing herself.

With a calm demeanor, she tried reasoning one last time. "I don't want any trouble. Just let me go," she said firmly, locking eyes with the man holding her.

The tension in the air was palpable. Other patrons glanced over curiously, sensing the brewing conflict. Anastasia kept her composure, her mind racing through scenarios and escape routes.

"Leave her the fuck alone. You motherfucker," the voice growled, slicing through the air with a husky, raspy British accent. It was a voice that commanded attention, filled with a raw intensity that made even the rowdiest patrons at the bar pause and turn to see what was happening.

The two men who had accosted Anastasia froze , their eyes widening as they turned to face the figure behind her. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel to see him for herself.

He towered over her, almost a foot and a half taller, his presence imposing and commanding. Piercing brown eyes stared out from behind a skull-printed balaclava, giving him an air of mystery and danger. He was dressed in dark, nondescript clothing that hinted at a life lived on the edge.

"And who the fuck you think you are?" one of the men snarled, his grip tightening painfully around Anastasia's wrist. She winced, feeling the pressure of his fingers digging into her skin.

"Your worst nightmare," the figure replied, his voice low and cold, each word laced with a promise of retribution.

"You know who I am?" the man barked, his bravado faltering slightly in the face of the stranger's imposing demeanor.

Without hesitation, he moved with lightning speed. In one swift motion, he seized the man's head and slammed it down onto the bar with bone-crushing force.

A sickening crack echoed through the pub as his teeth shattered and blood sprayed across the counter. Before the man could react, Ghost struck again, this time driving the man's nose into the hard surface. The counter splattered with blood.

The bar erupted into chaos as screams and shouts filled the air.

Anastasia recoiled in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. She had seen violence before, but the sheer brutality of Ghost's response left her breathless. She watched in a mix of horror and awe as Ghost stood over the subdued man, his chest heaving with controlled rage.

The second man, sensing the danger, released his grip on Anastasia and stumbled back, his hands raised in surrender. He exchanged a fearful glance with his companion before hastily retreating from the scene, disappearing into the crowd of panicked patrons.

Ghost remained unmoved, his gaze sweeping over the bar as silence settled over the chaos he had unleashed. His balaclava obscured his face, masking any emotion that might lie beneath. Slowly, he turned to look at Anastasia, who stood trembling before him.

"Are you alright?" His voice, still raspy but softer now, held a hint of concern.

Anastasia nodded slowly, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

Her gaze locked with Ghost's intense brown eyes, and for a fleeting moment, everything around them seemed to freeze. There was an undeniable pull between them, a magnetic force that drew her in despite the chaos and danger that had just unfolded.

But fear surged through her veins, overpowering any curiosity or attraction she felt. Without a second thought, she turned and ran. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted through the deserted streets, every step echoing the urgency of her escape.

"Was he the one she came after?" Her mind raced.

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