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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month ago

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A John Wick x Shy!Reader shorty vaguely based on this FRIENDS imagine…

A little something for my beloved @sweetwolfcupcake . P.S. there’s bonus torture at the end 🤭❤❤ No xtra warnings really. Voyeurism? 😅 If you can handle the movies, you can handle this.

At first you don't mean to spy on the man across the street in his apartment…you just happen to notice him. A lot of him, in fact, because he was roaming around his two bedroom flat without a shirt.

That is not why you find yourself looking for him the next night, and the night after that… (Ok, maybe a little.)

He's ridiculously handsome.

So sue you, ok? What's the harm in peeking?

But peeking turns into looking, and looking turns into watching. It’s possible you acquire a little pair of binoculars from a second hand store. Perfect for the casual birdwatcher, or…creeping on your unfairly good-looking neighbor.

You know it's wrong…but there’s just something about him, and you cannot look away.

He seems lonely, and maybe that's something you relate to all too well in this city of 8 million people.

He likes to read.

He drinks amber colored spirits from a cut crystal glass.

Tattoos span the breadth of his wide shoulders; his towels are the slate gray of storm clouds.

Sometimes when he comes home late he moves stiffly, as though he's in pain.

He's so beautiful that a part of you wishes you could keep him like this forever, like a butterfly behind glass.

The first time he waves at you, you are so startled you nearly drop your tea.

You’re smart enough to do your serious creeping with your lights off. But tonight you are just sitting by the window with a book after a long day, taking it all in.

You don't know where you get the courage after a long pause, to lift your hand in return.

Longing weighs upon your chest like a cold stone.

Nothing will ever come of this.

That's what you think, anyway, until two nights later when there is a knock on your door.

II.

You are innately shy, and a certain sense of premonition makes you cross to the door even slower than usual.

When you open it to find him on the other side, tall and handsome as your darkest dreams, with a bottle of wine in his [obscenely] large hands, you shut the door right in his face.

With your heart in your throat, you open it again five seconds later to find him standing exactly as he was, only with a bit of a smirk pulling the corner of his full mouth.

“Hi.”

His voice is a deep, smooth baritone that short circuits something crucial in your brain.

Is it actually possible, for one’s eyes to truly bug out of their head?

“I know this might seem kinda strange…” he plows through the thick silence between you. “But I see you all the time, and I thought…”

As though he's having trouble articulating that thought exactly, he holds up the wine as his visual aid.

You will never know what possessed you, when you step back on shaking legs to invite a perfect stranger into your apartment at midnight in the East Village.

Lucky you, that he doesn't turn out to be a serial killer. (As far as you can tell).

You're cautious about drinking the wine at first, so you stick to your tea while you sit on the couch together and stumble through the initial social introductions.

His name is John. He works in security at a club called the Red Circle. He likes bookbinding, old cars, and the classic works of the Russian literary greats.

By the time he leaves hours later, you’re afraid you’re half in love.

III.

These midnight talks become a thing.

He is on a nocturnal schedule, because of his work, and you get by with less sleep than you need, because you are young, and you’ve come to suspect, somewhat addicted.

Since that first night he insists on turning the conversation to you. How was your day? What is your favorite book? What did you think about that art house film? It is as though hearing it all brings him some indefinable solace to him.

There is an air of tragedy about this man that you sense but fear you cannot touch. The dark shine of his soulful eyes speaks volumes, and though he never complains, you think he has not had an easy life.

Though you have noticed that the two of you sit closer and closer upon the couch as time goes on, he does not try to touch you. He knows you are skittish, perhaps, and your trust is precious to him. The first time his fingers accidentally brush yours you think your soul just might evacuate from your skin.

You begin to think that it’s for the best that nothing seems like it is going to happen, when he asks if you would like to take a daytrip upstate with him.

“Do you have a car?”

His answer is the uptick of one dark sculpted eyebrow that makes you feel simultaneously foolish and cherished. He wants to spend one of his precious days off with you.

It’s not a car though. It’s a beast. The look on your face as the two of you roar off into traffic makes John Wick laugh, a surprised huff of mirth, and you realize that somehow this is the first time you’ve heard it. This man says so much with his eyes, rather than his mouth.

On this trip while speeding down the straightaways and hugging the curves of the wilderness roads, you learn the rhythm of the Mustang’s transmission by holding and letting go of his long-fingered hand.

He takes you to lunch at a lovely Michelin starred restaurant by a lake. You eat and talk and get tangled with his endless legs under the table. The fleeting glitter of happiness in his eyes is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and you will take the triumph of that accomplishment to your grave.

He clocks a milestone too, when he drops you off at your door that evening. When he presses his soft mouth to yours with a hand on your waist, you are so enchanted you do not even flinch.

IV.

In fact, your toes curl in your shoes, and your fingers in the lapels of his smart sports jacket. It is as though you simultaneously want to pull him to you, and hold him at bay.

You are not the only one who has been holding on by a thread. You are so cute and sweet and soft and the way your eyes sparkle while you gently roast his ego on a slowly turning spit…it’s been exquisite torture, keeping his hands off you, but now that he’s got you in his grasp he can't bring himself to let go.

Maybe you're both surprised, when he backs you into your door, the delicious solid line of his body pressed against yours. And does it shock you, when you throw your arms around his neck, finally running your fingers through that luxuriously soft cloud of raven hair?

“I could…open the door?” you suggest breathlessly as his increasingly wicked lips trail down the curve of your neck.

“Good idea,” he grinds out. “It’s illegal to do what I intend to do to you here in the hall.”

This is the thing that gives you pause, and for the first time he is slow to pick up on your cues, love-drunk as he is on the taste of you.

“John…?”

“If…you want me to,” he quickly amends, looking down at you with his hair in his eyes like a man who is drowning just below the surface, this close to a lifesaving breath of air.

Do you want him to?

Usually you are so cautious, so reserved. You've had your heart broken before, and you never intended to give anyone that power again. But for the first time in a long time, you actually trust a man. John Wick has you in his hands, and you know he could break you like a twig, but he’s so careful with you that your skin aches.

“I…want you to,” you answer slowly, and the wonder in his eyes is as precious as it is heartbreaking.

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he sighs between kissing you, drinking you down, tasting your mouth like you are the delicate French wine you had with lunch. “You are so precious to me.”

You’re embarrassed to admit that your legs sort of melt out from under you after that. It doesn’t matter though. He is strong, and he holds you with such ardor that he half carries you as he clutches your soft body to his. Looking back, you'll remember that halting walk in flashes. There are pauses for kisses, and pushing jackets from shoulders to forget them on the floor. There is hushed laughter, and joyful fumbling, and his lips pressed to every inch of bared skin you offer him.

You feel like a goddess, in John Wick’s arms.

Worshipped. Adored.

In the temple of your bedroom, you are both deity and acolyte, and for the first time in your life you are eager to get on your knees for a man, just to give him a taste of the ecstasy he drives you to.

John Wick likes kisses.

It’s endearing, maddening, how eager he is to give and receive them. Upon your lips and your shoulders, the soft curves of your breasts and down your belly and between your thighs. It is a whirlwind of sensual delights, and you are naught but an aching vessel hungry to receive it all.

How complete he makes you feel, with his manhood buried inside you. As though this is the only proper place to be, tangled up with him in your soft bed. What were you so afraid of? For the moment, you cannot remember. You can't think much at all, really, just feel, and it feels glorious to be in his arms.

Afterwards you doze. When later you wake and he's not there you’re sad but resigned.

Of course he's gone.

But when you pad out to get a glass of water in your robe you find him at the window, eyeing those little binoculars of yours with an amused smile.

“I…can explain…” you stammer, mortified, the rush of guilt like poisoned lightning in your veins.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he says with a gentleness in his eyes that floors you. “I like to watch you too.”

You wonder how long he’s known? All the times he seemingly paraded around with that mouth watering chest on display…was he showing off for you? Was he baiting you??

You don't have time to ask him, because seconds later his arm is around your waist and his mouth is on yours, and he is sweeping you into his arms– destination: Round 2.

Later while he's holding you in the quiet, savoring this rare sense of peace with your precious head tucked upon his shoulder, his arms wrapped snugly around you, does he begin to wonder…

Just how unattainable, really, would Viggo make the Impossible Task?

He has everything he’s ever truly wanted in his arms, and he’s ready to tell the rest of the world to go to hell.

VI.

The next few months go by like a golden-edged dream. Dinners at fine restaurants. Long walks in Central Park. Sunday brunches and afternoons spent browsing antique stores and bookshops, looking for treasures. You go to shows and art exhibits and sometimes you just meet in the middle of the day for fifteen minutes because you need to see each other.

Magical as it is, your innate skepticism makes you wonder if it’s too good to be true.

As time goes on you start to form a rough sketch of John’s professional duties, but out of willful blindness or your own naivete with such things, never a perfect picture.

You ask if you can come see him at the Red Circle sometime, and he outright forbids it. “Nothing good happens there. It’s no place for a sweet girl like you.”

“Then why do you work there?”

“Because I have to.”

But one day when you are engaging in your playful routine of pantomiming at each other from across the street you see a shadow creeping up behind him. In a panic you wave and point. He regards you with a tilted head, not understanding.

You scream as the intruder makes his move.

Maybe you vaguely knew that John should be able to handle himself, but the scene that unfolds makes your jaw hit the floor. Frozen in shock, you watch as your sweet boyfriend John dodges blows and throws his assailant over his shoulder, twisting his suited opponent’s arm backwards, surely breaking it.

Then you realize there are two more people in John’s apartment, and you find yourself running for the door.

Why don’t you call 911?

Your lungs are burning by the time you soar down your stairwell, cross the street absolutely improperly, winning shouts and honks and the close brush of a side mirror at your back, and scale the steps to the third floor.

As you rush down the hall you realize you have no weapons. And so before you enter John’s apartment you take off your shoe, holding it threateningly at the ready. If you’d allowed yourself to think before any of this you might have been too terrified to open the door, but you are running on supercharged adrenaline and fear for the life of the man you love.

The man you love.

You haven’t actually said that aloud yet, but you realize with an unequivocal certainty in that moment that it’s true.

You expect to walk into the cacophony of a battle in full tilt.

What awaits you is the silence of a graveyard.

John sits on his couch, catching his breath, his hand pressed over a wound on his arm.

Three bodies lay at his feet in various angles.

You don’t need to check pulses to know that they're dead.

You have no words. You just stand and stare dumbly, though you must make some small sound that alerts him of your presence. He leaps to his feet, crossing the room like a panther, gathering you in his arms and ushering you into his bedroom.

Madder yet, you let him.

“Sweetheart…I never wanted you to see this.”

He says it like this is something that happens regularly.

You sink to sit at the foot of his bed, eyes wide as saucers as you look up at him. “Should we…call the police?”

It’s the most sensible thing you can think to say.

“No, baby. No police.”

Something must cross your expression. He sinks to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his. Yet he does not beg or threaten or make excuses. He tries twice before finding his voice, with the glitter of moisture in his eyes he grates out: “I understand, if you never want to see me again.”

The surge of anger inside you wakes you from your stupor more than anything. “Don’t be stupid, John! They tried to hurt you! It was self defense!”

He just looks up at you, and now somehow you know the weight of his silent dark gaze is made up of an unquantifiable amount of dark deeds just like this.

You think back on what he told you earlier about his job with a greater understanding. Because I have to.

Your sweet, wonderful John, is a killer.

What does it say about you, that your feelings for him do not change with this new knowledge?

You reach up to stroke his beard, and he leans into your touch like a lifeline, that obsidian-sharp gaze closed for a moment from the world.

“You shouldn’t be with a monster like me, sweet girl.”

If he’s trying to break up with you…you have no intention of letting him.

“You are not a monster, John.” You kiss him sweetly upon the forehead, and he folds for you, his head falling to rest upon your lap. You stroke his hair like that for you don’t know how long.

He bleeds on you–you do not care.

You stay like that until someone named Charlie comes to clean up the mess. You hear them talking through the door–you stay out of sight in the bedroom. You hear something exchange hands, like the clinking of coins.

“I’m getting out,” he tells you later, when you are wrapped up in his arms in the blue twilight of early morning.

“Is that even possible?” You cannot hide the tremulous note of hope in your tone.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

You can tell by now that there’s something he’s not telling you, but you cling to this small modicum of hope as you finally drift off to sleep.

As you lay tangled together beneath the high-thread count sheets, John Wick holds you tightly and decides then that he will be free…or he will be dead.

It’s the least you deserve, and maybe…he does too.

#torture chamber 😈#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x shy reader #keanu reeves #keanuverse #john wick friends au

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 6 months ago

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۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.

#♥︎̼ ྀoriginally me #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x mean girl reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #x chubby reader #plus size!reader #chubby reader #fanfiction #fluff #mean girl reader #spencer reid headcanon #criminal minds fanfiction

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airandyeah · 4 months ago

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Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.1

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+

The small town was nothing special—just a handful of streets, a couple of diners, and one overpriced grocery store that barely stocked anything decent. You weren’t sure why you stopped here of all places, but it was the last bit of civilization before the endless stretch of dense forest took over. You had no real intention of staying long, just long enough to grab a coffee and maybe some supplies before heading back to your temporary cabin rental.

The bell above the café door jingled as you stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with something richer—something inherently Alpha. You rolled your shoulders, forcing yourself to ignore the way your instincts tensed in response. The last thing you needed was to deal with some overconfident Alpha trying to get too close.

The café was mostly empty, save for a couple of older locals chatting in the corner and—unfortunately—two men seated near the window.

You noticed them immediately.

One was broad and dark-haired, sitting back in his chair like he owned the whole damn place, his sharp green eyes dragging over you as if sizing you up. His aura was overwhelming, dangerous, the kind of Alpha who could break a person in half with those hands alone.

The other was just as bad—tall, pink-haired, covered in tattoos, his expression twisting into something wicked the moment he locked eyes with you. He leaned forward slightly, like a predator catching sight of prey, his smirk sharp enough to cut.

“Didn’t know we were expecting company, huh, Toji?” the pink-haired one mused, eyes never leaving you.

The dark-haired one—Toji, apparently—tilted his head, gaze heavy and unreadable. “Looks like the town finally got interesting.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the heat creeping up your spine. Their scents were overwhelming, the sheer presence of two Alphas like them making your instincts stir against your better judgment.

You weren’t stupid—you knew their kind. The type of Alphas who took what they wanted, who didn’t take no for an answer.

And the way they were both looking at you? Like they had already decided you were theirs?

Yeah. Not happening.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to walk past them toward the counter without a second glance.

You had barely placed your order when you felt them move.

The air shifted, thick with their combined presence, and before you could even consider an escape, they were flanking you—one on either side.

"Didn’t mean to scare you off," the pink-haired one drawled, voice laced with amusement. "We don’t get a lot of pretty little Omegas wandering into town all alone."

You turned your head just enough to glare at him, refusing to acknowledge the way your heart kicked up at his proximity. Up close, he was even more devastating—lean muscle wrapped in inked skin, his eyes burning with something dark and hungry.

"I wasn’t scared," you shot back, voice steady despite the way your instincts were screaming at you to either run or submit. "Just uninterested."

The dark-haired one—Toji—let out a low chuckle, the sound deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That so?" he murmured, arms crossing over his broad chest. "Funny. You don’t smell uninterested."

Your fingers curled into fists. "What do you want?"

"Relax, sweetheart," Sukuna smirked, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world. "Just being friendly. Figured we should introduce ourselves, since we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other."

"Doubtful," you muttered.

"Toji Fushiguro," the dark-haired one said smoothly, completely ignoring your resistance. "And this asshole is Sukuna. We live just outside of town."

"In a cozy little cabin," Sukuna added, his grin widening. "You should come by sometime. We’d show you a good time."

Your eye twitched. "Not happening."

Toji’s smirk only deepened. "We’ll see."

The way he said it made your stomach flip—because it wasn’t a question, wasn’t even a challenge. It was a promise.

The barista slid your coffee and a small paper bag across the counter, their eyes flickering between you and the two Alphas hovering far too close. You grabbed your order quickly, muttering a quiet "thanks," before turning on your heel, ready to leave.

But, of course, neither of them were willing to let you go that easily.

"Running off already?" Sukuna teased, shifting just enough to make you sidestep around him. His smirk was all sharp teeth, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes. "Thought we were just getting to know each other."

"Yeah," Toji added, his tone lazy but his gaze sharp as ever. "You sure you don’t wanna stick around? Bet we could make it worth your while."

You huffed, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. "Not interested."

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, watching you like a predator watching its next meal. "You keep saying that, but your scent’s telling a different story."

Your steps faltered for half a second—barely noticeable, but they noticed.

Toji tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Cute how hard you’re fighting it."

Your teeth clenched as you willed yourself to keep walking. "I’m not fighting anything. You two are just unbearable."

Sukuna let out a mock-offended gasp, clutching his chest. "Ouch, sweetheart. You wound me."

You rolled your eyes and finally pushed past them, making a beeline for the door.

"You’ll come around," Toji called after you, voice filled with certainty.

"Don’t take too long," Sukuna added, grin audible in his tone. "We’re very patient men, but even we have limits."

You didn’t look back. ~~~ Walking back into town the next morning wasn’t planned.

It was supposed to be a quiet day, maybe spent exploring the woods a little or reading in peace. But, of course, your car had other ideas. The damn thing had sputtered, coughed, and promptly died a mile from your cabin, leaving you with no choice but to trek back into town under the early morning sun.

By the time you reached the small auto shop at the edge of town, you were already in a sour mood, muttering curses under your breath as you pushed open the door.

And then you saw them.

Sukuna and Toji, both standing by an old pickup truck, covered in grease and sweat, sleeves pushed up to their elbows as they worked under the hood.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Of course.

Toji was the first to notice you, wiping his hands off on a rag before leaning lazily against the truck. His sharp green eyes raked over you, that damn smirk already tugging at his lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice rich with amusement. "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, sweetheart."

Sukuna lifted his head from under the hood, a smear of grease across his cheek, and grinned. "Guess you couldn’t stay away."

You exhaled sharply, forcing your expression into something neutral. "Don’t flatter yourselves. My car broke down."

Toji’s smirk widened. "That so?"

"Mm," Sukuna mused, rubbing his jaw like he was deep in thought. "Sounds like fate to me."

You rolled your eyes. "Or bad luck."

Sukuna chuckled, stepping closer, the scent of engine oil and Alpha heat making your instincts stir in a way you refused to acknowledge. "Either way, looks like you need some help."

"I don’t suppose there’s anyone else here who can fix a car?" you asked flatly, glancing around the mostly empty shop.

Toji tsked, shaking his head. "Now, that hurts. You think we’re not good with our hands?"

Sukuna grinned, licking his lips. "We’re real good with our hands, sweetheart."

You clenched your jaw, determined not to let them get to you. "Just fix my car."

Toji chuckled, tossing his rag aside. "You got it, Omega."

Your face heated, but you held your ground, arms crossed as you watched them.

This was not how you wanted to start your morning.

Fixing your car meant one thing you weren’t happy about—showing them where you were staying.

You let out a long sigh, rubbing your temple as the realization settled in. The only way they could fix the damn thing was if they saw it, which meant letting them follow you back to your cabin.

As if reading your reluctance, Toji slung an arm over Sukuna’s shoulder, smirking. "You look like you just swallowed something bitter, sweetheart."

Sukuna chuckled, wiping his hands off on an already dirty rag. "She’s probably pissed she has to let us into her little den." His crimson eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at you. "Don’t worry, Omega. We’ll be on our best behavior."

Somehow, you doubted that.

You inhaled slowly, schooling your expression. "Can you fix it or not?"

Toji made a show of stretching his arms above his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal more of that muscled stomach. You definitely weren’t looking. Not at all.

"Yeah, we can fix it," he said, grinning lazily. "But we’ll need to see it first."

You clenched your jaw, then turned sharply toward the door. "Fine. Just follow me."

As you stepped outside, the warm morning air did nothing to cool the heat simmering under your skin. This was a bad idea. Letting two cocky Alphas—who had already made their intentions painfully clear—anywhere near your space was practically asking for trouble.

The sound of heavy boots crunching against gravel followed behind you, their presence impossible to ignore.

"Hope you’ve got a nice place," Sukuna mused as they reached their truck. "Wouldn’t mind seeing what kind of nest a stubborn little Omega like you builds."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "You’re fixing my car. That’s it."

Toji just chuckled, climbing into the driver’s seat while Sukuna slid into the passenger side. "Sure, sweetheart," he said, starting the engine. "Whatever you say." ~~~ You stood with your arms crossed as Sukuna wiped his hands off on a rag, looking far too pleased with himself despite the bad news. Toji leaned against the hood of your car, shaking his head.

"Looks like we need a part sent in," Toji said, voice calm but firm. "Fuel pump’s shot. Ain’t something we can just patch up."

You exhaled sharply, staring at your poor, lifeless car like you could will it back to life. "How long?"

Sukuna shrugged. "Depends on when the shop gets the part. Could be a few days, maybe a week."

Your stomach twisted at the thought. You weren’t planning on staying in town long, and now you were stuck—without a car and at the mercy of them.

"Great," you muttered under your breath.

Toji pushed off the car and pulled out his phone, glancing at you. "Here."

You blinked as he held it out. "What?"

"Put your number in."

You scoffed. "Why?"

Sukuna rolled his eyes. "So we can let you know when your part comes in, genius."

You hesitated, still suspicious, but you took his phone and quickly punched in your number before handing it back.

Toji smirked but didn’t say anything. Instead, he typed something, and a second later, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You didn’t have to check to know he’d sent you a text.

Sukuna held out his own phone next. "Mine too."

You sighed but repeated the process, handing it back as quickly as possible.

This time, Sukuna actually smiled—not his usual smug grin, but something softer. Something almost… genuine.

"Look," he said, slipping his phone into his pocket, "if you need to go anywhere, just call. We’ll drive you."

You blinked. No teasing. No smugness. Just a simple offer.

Toji nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "No strings. Just don’t want you walking everywhere like a dumbass."

You frowned, unsure how to respond. Accepting help from them felt like opening a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. But at the same time… being stuck out here, alone, without a car? Not exactly ideal.

Finally, you sighed. "Fine. But only if I really need to."

Sukuna chuckled. "Sure, Omega. Whatever you say."

You shot him a glare, but this time, he didn’t push it.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Perma Tags: @thenightperson

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #alpha sukuna #alpha toji #omega reader #omegaverse #a/b/o

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yokedtablet · 1 month ago

Text

sometimes I still feel the bruise

ellabs oneshot:

Post-canon, Abby and Lev return to the farm with Ellie. They find a makeshift trust that's always at risk of breaking. Sometimes Abby wakes up to find Ellie in her bed. Abby has nightmares about the Rattlers, and Ellie gets bolder with her nighttime visits.

A smutty companion to heavy (in your arms)

content: nightmares, somnophilia, dubcon, first time, fingering (a!receiving), squirting, abby's pov

1.4k words

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. It’s not her father or the hospital anymore. It’s the beach. She sees herself, sees Lev, pecked to death by seagulls. Engulfed under a drowning wave. But the worst is the drought—feeling every ounce of moisture wicked from her skin until her mouth is full of sand, and she is coughing and breathing it in and crumbling, all at once.

Sometimes, Ellie comes running. She stands in the doorway in her sleep shirt and shorts, hair all messed up, like she’s been dragged out of bed by a home intruder. The first time, she slammed the door open with a knife in hand. After that she got more careful.

Tonight, she stands there looking into darkness. “I thought…”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Abby tries to catch her breath, feeling the sheets between her fingertips, feeling the cold breeze from the open window. “Just a dream,” she says, her throat feeling choked and gritty.

Ellie lingers a moment in silence, scratching the back of her neck, unsure of herself. Wondering why, maybe, she let Abby take the room she used to share with Dina. Why the two of them were here together at all, and why she hadn’t put a knife to her throat when she had the chance.

“If you don’t need anything…” She starts to turn and disappear.

“Wait,” Abby says. “Stay.”

So Ellie sits on the edge of the bed, back hunched, unspeaking. She looks smaller than every other time Abby has seen her. She wonders if she’s been eating.

Then Abby makes herself ask what she’s been meaning to ask. “You were going to end up in here anyway. Come lie down.”

The other nights, Ellie creeps in without a sound, without waking Abby. Abby can feel her somewhere in her subconscious, and this tugs at her until she’s awake—somewhere before morning—and finds Ellie curled into her side. She’s never asked her about it. Never said that she likes it or it bothers her. Any movement one way or another and she might push her away.

They lie side by side, not touching. Ellie is all self-protective, one arm folded over the other, ankles crossed. Listening. She won’t move, Abby knows, until she falls asleep.

Within minutes, Abby’s breathing is slow and even.

“Abby,” Ellie whispers, like she doesn’t really want her to hear, “are you awake?”

Abby doesn’t respond. She’s far from sleep—maybe the furthest she’s been—waiting impatiently for the smaller girl to move to her side.

Ellie watches her. Measures her. And apparently she judges her safe in unconsciousness—no longer a threat—and seeps into the space beside her.

First, her face rests against Abby’s shoulder. She shifts her hips just enough so they press against Abby’s side. A hand rests tentatively on her stomach.

She stays like this for a while, and Abby starts to really breathe, to feel the tug of sleep again, now that they’ve drifted to this familiar place.

But the hand moves—slides down her abdomen and then back up, this time slipping under her shirt.

Ellie’s hand is cold. It takes everything for Abby not to move, to keep her breaths even. She holds so still it hurts.

The hand touches, exploratory, fingers drifting over her abs, making them clench unconsciously.

And then it drifts upward, so slowly, and comes to rest right under the curve of her left breast. It doesn’t grope, just sits there, a firm pressure radiating across Abby’s chest. If Abby turned just a little bit, she could press her nipple into Ellie’s palm.

She’s relieved and disappointed when Ellie moves away again. She feels Ellie shift, no longer resting her weight on Abby’s shoulder, propping herself upright.

Slowly, with fingers so light they’re barely there, Ellie pushes Abby’s shirt up her chest. She stiffens at the cold. She wants more touch, more feeling. She waits.

It comes. Ellie’s calloused palm slides over her ribs on her opposite side, and then—she gasps—lips press against her ribs on the other, just below her breast.

Fuck. She holds her breath as Ellie goes still. She tries to recover, but it’s too late.

“Ellie,” she breathes through clenched teeth, eyes still shut. She feels the smaller girl tense, ready to spring and run. “Keep— touching me. Please.” It sounds strained and stupid, like she doesn’t really know what she’s asking for. And Ellie doesn’t want her like this, coherent, able to defend herself. Now—

A warm press of lips against her sternum. She lets herself gasp this time, lets herself press up into the kiss, needing more.

Ellie works her way down, so slowly, leaving a soft wet trail over every freckle and scar, every ripple of muscle, each dancing under this touch that’s barely enough and everything, everything—

Every place she touches burns.

Abby’s fingers are in her hair—dry and soft and sweaty. She hooks around the curve of her jaw, pulling upwards.

Ellie pushes her shirt up the rest of the way, and guided by Abby’s hand, her mouth finds Abby’s nipple.

Abby squirms. Heat rushes from her stomach to her toes. She holds onto that tangled fistfull of hair like she’ll drown without it. Ellie licks, teeth grazing, hand finding Abby’s other breast.

“Fuck, Ellie, please—” She needs to come up out of the water and to see Ellie’s face while she holds her. She finds her own hands running up Ellie’s sides, pulling her away until she can actually see her in the dim moonlight.

When she kisses her, it feels like water. A steady breath of waves. Tongue finding tongue, open mouth gasping. Running out of air and finding it returned.

Abby wants to touch her. Everywhere. To leave reverent kisses over the scars she left. But Ellie stiffens when her hands drift. So she keeps herself to safer places—Ellie’s arms, her cheek, her hips—and lets Ellie’s rove instead. Over her abdomen, around the curve of her thighs, between her legs.

Even through her shorts, Abby knows Ellie can feel it—the warmth and wetness of all her wanting. Ellie strokes her lightly, bicep flexing, and Abby holds on for dear life—bites against Ellie’s cheek, leaves sloppy kisses down her jaw and neck.

There. Please. More. She’s already reduced to begging. Already Ellie is the one with the knife, deciding to cut her down, deciding to follow, deciding how to hurt her. Only now she slips her hand under Abby’s waistband and Abby can’t think, can’t make sense, can’t breathe.

Ellie whispers, for the first time, “fuck.” Her fingers dip into Abby’s heat. It makes her hips roll, sets her on fire.

Without warning, she pushes two fingers inside her, and Abby actually cries out—her body accepting and stretching—

It’s not the first time Ellie’s fingers have been inside her.

She’s almost cruel in her pace. No warmup, fingers curling in and up, thumb circling over her clit, arm trembling with the effort.

Abby clenches like she’s trying to push her out, like she’s trying to turn herself inside out, like everything rushing through her meets in the place Ellie finds inside of her that’s tender and almost too achy and full.

“Come on,” Ellie mutters, voice strained by effort. “Come on. Come on.”

That place swells and spills the ocean over her fingertips. One wave and then another.

Ellie keeps going until she starts to shake, really shake, and has to use all the flimsy force she has left to push Ellie’s arm away. “Okay. Okay, fuck. Holy fuck, Ellie.”

She can feel wet slick on her thighs and the sheets under her, but she doesn’t care.

It takes her a minute to realize what Ellie’s doing, her hips rocking against Abby’s thigh, until she feels the wetness, feels Ellie’s fingers claw into her arm. She presses her thigh just enough, matching Ellie’s pace. She’s using Abby to fuck herself, and that thought makes Abby squirm again, makes her want to touch her even more. She doesn’t.

Ellie cums open-mouthed against Abby’s stomach. All her muscles tense and give a final spasm, and then let go. Abby feels Ellie’s sweat against her skin—smells the musk of spent arousal, feels the wobbling of Ellie’s chin against her ribs.

Abby strokes her back gently, not sure if it will be too much. Ellie doesn’t protest, and sinks further into her.

“You’re going to fucking kill me, Ellie,” Abby whispers into the dark.

After a long silence, Ellie sighs. “I’ll try,” she mumbles back.

(read on ao3)

#ellabs #ellie williams #abby anderson #ellie tlou #abby tlou #abby x ellie #tlou fanfic #ellie x abby #post canon ellabs #my writing

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easyboyrecliner · 6 days ago

Text

friends & family are my most beloved,

the noone family , currently only consists venus van dam, frederik & joey noone. and evelyn of course. though nero padillia raised them, he isn’t being counted as family. for reasons we won’t get into as of now. the entire family is very supportive of venus being transgender and an active sex worker. fred always leaves her a little bit of extra money (don’t ask him where he has it from) on her desk. joey often stays with his mom during the week and at evie’s place at the weekends and summer break.

𝒱ENUS 𝒱AN 𝒟AM ;

is the eldest out of the three noone siblings. a trans woman, who likes classy things & a good martini. and maybe annoying her siblings. she is in her early forties. absolutely gorgeous and she owns it. nothing can waver the confidence of THE venus van dam.

venus has the undoubted support from her siblings and they’ll always step up for their sister if someone argues against the fact that venus is a woman. because who wouldn’t feel fear when fred is cracking his knuckles and evelyn looks like she is about to call your job and complain? and joey pulling out a baseball bat. venus feels deeply appreciated. as she should be. to the noore family she is their very own version of the goddess venus. and they treat her like it.

she is a sweet sister & a good one at that. you need a hug? venus is already ready. she loves her two siblings and son deeply and always offers that sisterly advice when they need it. always ready to listen to their concerns and offers support. which she in return gets. venus has a keen ear, she always listens (she loves gossip). but she has berated evelyn on her terrible choice on dating mike. definitely kinda the mom who stepped up. venus and evelyn tend to gossip over a cup of coffee, about customers up to what child ate a crayon that day. sometimes but only sometimes do they gossip about joey. venus is aware what type of clothing evelyn gravitates towards and sometimes buys them as a surprise. and venus in return gets an expensive bag that evelyn somehow got because of her connections to the modeling industry. evelyn would give her the world if she could.

F𝑅E𝐷E𝑅I𝐾 𝑁O𝑂N𝐸

the blood brother of evelyn. he is a cool dude who owns four dogs. he works as a tattoo artist and probably has done some tattoos for some samcro guys. fred is the guy you go to when you need advice on a midlife crisis. he probably has one at this very moment. who knows? signs will be there: he listens to my heart goes on…wait who said that?

well, fred definitely is the typical “older brother” when it comes to boys. for obvious reasons, cough mike. he is pretty laid back and does some mechanical work on the side. if evelyn or venus need a shoulder to cry on, he’s there with tissues and ice cream. fred has wicked humor, he reads too many deadpool comics... him and evelyn paired together is a death sentence: it gets messy, not in a bad way, just in a way that makes you question your sanity. then you realize that they’re definitely related. they roast another and if someone tries to join in while they’re roasting another…they get offended and shout “hey!”. he drinks on a tuesday. absolute type o negative fan. and bauhaus, sisters of mercy…only got into kmfdm and rammstein because evelyn listens to them. favorite polaroid is of them at a type o negative concert in 96’ where nero snuck them into.

you hurt his sisters and nephew? fred will find your location, sends a body bag in advance. a scare tactic that has always worked before. he is serious about his family and has gotten his hands dirty for them. just out sheer brotherly love.

𝙅𝑶𝙀𝒀 𝑵𝙊𝑶𝙉𝑬

joey is a bit hyperactive, but well he is fourteen…he likes to play games on his playstation & nintendo. evelyn spoils him with games, mostly due to her playing on his consoles when he is sleeping. not that he minds. joey is exactly who he thinks who he is: a silly dude who loves video games. but the thing he loves most beside his family? his mom’s and aunt’s cooking and baking skills. he could die in the apple crumble evelyn is making and die in the spaghetti carbonara venus loves to make. (he hates fred’s cooking)

he is trying to behave, well he’s trying but joey…is joey. sweet kid really, until you take away his playthings. he will turn into a sassy gremlin. after all, frederik and evelyn are his aunt and uncle, he had to learn the sass from somewhere. or maybe the sass is hereditary. joey is hyperactive and loud, he will talk over anyone else but his family members. joey always has a lot to say, he loves voicing complaints and threatening to speak with the manager. he is very witty, his humor is dry and very sarcastic. his comebacks are…lethal. don’t provoke him with a roast-off, because he will win. what you might not know about joey, is that he is smart…he plays dumb to get information he wants. which has worked in his favor more than once.

& friends.

RIOT MENDEZ

is a non binary person living in charming and evelyn’s only connection in the small town. they’ve been friends since they where children and riot always has and will be a loyal friend. they are twenty four years old and their hair has seen more dye than any normal person should’ve seen.

riot, kind of is an ally of samcro, they have a thing with juice going on and they do ride a harley. it fits with their rebellious nature. riot is very deadpan and monotone, they don’t show their emotions unless you are very close to them…so basically gemma, friedrich (not to be confused with frederik) and evelyn. riot to the average person is moody and is so sarcastic, that even evelyn understand that’s they’re being sarcastic. they, unironically, speak in a valley girl voice to piss people off. riot is the type of person, that thinks that saw (2004) is a love story and gives no further explanation. they are a weird uncle (with the heaviest dad lore ever) who got born in the wrong body and decided to question authority ever since. riot is fashionable punk chaos. they have often shown up at 3 am at evelyn’s or gemma’s houses simply because they were bored and couldn’t sleep. they love their friends and always gifts them old ass vintage stuff with no explanation on how they got it. riot had gifted evelyn six tiffany lamps. six. and those are pricey. does evelyn know how riot acquired those? no. will she ask? no. riot is a softie underneath their layers but pretends they aren’t. (bambie makes them cry). riot listens to the same bands as evelyn. but they deny liking britney or michael jackson but they’ve been seen grooving to the king of pop more than once.

GEMMA ROSE BAIRD

is one of evelyn’s oldest friends (literally as she is thirty three) and also one of her dearest. they met at acting school when evelyn was fifteen and gemma twenty-five. she still works at the diner they used to hang out at, but as manager now.

gemma can be a bitch, but only on wednesday’s. she is married to friedrich, a german immigrant who works for the feds. he is intimidating and ruthless but closes an eye on frederik (who gets into trouble thrice a month). gemma and friedrich met because evelyn knew him, and gemma is very thankful that evelyn introduced them. it is a perfect match, since they both give intimidating vibes and are secretly sweethearts.

she looks like she never smiled. ever. but gemma is the one who smiles most when riot and evelyn are around. she softens up, goes from icy to being as sweet as a marshmallow in a few seconds. riot, evelyn and friedrich are her comfort people: the ones she truly allows herself to be open with…and silly maybe. gemma is surprisingly nice, you just need to get behind her icy shield and stoic face. she is the mom friend, due to her age but also because of her natural aura of responsibility. “riot and evelyn are two shitheads who just pass of as being smart when they are together,” gemma baird 2006. they secretly give her grey hair early (riot and evelyn are worse than bill and ted from the movie bill and ted’s excellent adventure). she is no doctor but gemma is capable of diagnosing you, she has a hunch she says. will absolutely deny the fact that she feeds strays with the left over food of the diner. gemma’s humor? almost nonexistent, but she will laugh at bad jokes that friedrich makes. out of pity or because she genuinely thinks they are funny? who knows. gemma enjoys classical music and tea. always sipping tea while having a perfectly plugged brow raised while staring you down. gemma is a vegetarian!

BRIANA aka @briiverse

bri and evelyn met at a britney spears concert, which in itself is iconic. after that the pair were inseparable and close. if there’s another half to evelyn’s soul, it might be bri. their friendship is shared upon sharing movies/tvs, gossip & being the girliest of friends together. a best friend you’ll find once in your life time and who evelyn is deeply grateful for having met. the two are often seen talking together about nearly everything and nothing, just because they can. briana actually moved into the same apartment complex, so they are technically neighbors. every thursday is a movie night. and if joey is around, they have movie nights throughout the entire weekend.

briana works in a fashion department in charming, her wardrobe? luxurious and elegant. even making the heads of gemma teller turn. if the definition “serving cunt” was a human, it’s briana. is she in a committed relationship with the jax teller? maybe, briana certainly has the approval gemma, even if her and jax aren’t together. gemma would plot for them to get together.

(Ily girlie pop)

ps if you, yes you🫵 want to get added let me know!!!

tags: @katmikaelsendevotee , @miainbetween , @salemisha , @sozhuo , @bridalribbon , @snoopysites

#shiftblr #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #reality shifting #mae’s corner #sons of anarchy dr

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gilverrwrites · 1 year ago

Note

YAY PENGUIN FISCS!! Can you please do something soft and fluffy with Ozzie! Maybe he's feeling a insecure about their age difference and she makes him feel bettere? thankyou

Guys My Age

Pairing: Oswald Cobblepot/GN!Reader

Rating: Mature

Words: 561

AN: Yes! Yes, I can! I wanna give this man so much loving! 🖤💜

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

Content: Fluff, insecurities, (mild) sexual themes, age gap, implied nudity.

Please Remember: You can, and you will.

Deep, steady breathing fills the room as you lay together. Ozzie ran hot, so the silky sheets beneath you served two purposes: to feel luxurious and to stay cool under his heated skin.

Speaking of, once you rolled onto your side, you couldn’t help but run your splayed fingers over him. Enjoying the warmth of his body as you trace the roundness of his belly, then his chest, twirling your fingers in and out of his dark body hair.

Oz grins lopsidedly, exposing his wicked golden teeth. You grin back, enjoying the quiet moment together.

“I’m gonna go get us something to clean up with.” You lean in close, nuzzling your nose against his before delivering a kiss to his lips, one which he greedily accepts. “Do you need me to get you anything else?”

His hand finds its way to yours, holding it to his chest, keeping you in place. “Don’t you worry about getting up, sweetheart. You let Oz look after you.”

The mattress shuffles under your combined weights as Oz attempts to sit up. Stubbornly, you refuse to move, using your hand to keep him down. It's sweet, the way he always wants to look after you, but sometimes you wish he’d let you do the little things for him without dispute, if only so you could show him how much you appreciate the ‘royal treatment’.

“Come on, Ozzie. Your brace is already off.” You try to sound stern, even narrowing your eyes in a half-hearted glare. “I won’t take long.”

Unwilling to verbally admit defeat, he releases your hand, lips pulling into a begrudging pout as he settles back onto the comforter.

True to your word, it’s barely a minute before you return to the room, climb back on the bed and begin patting him down with a small towel.

“I must have done something real good in a past life to deserve you, darlin’.” When you look up at him, he’s watching you intently; his eyes are tender, admiring, but the remainder of his face lacks any real warmth.

“Or maybe I was really bad.” You flirt. All clean, you discard the towel at the end of the bed and place yourself close by his side, supporting yourself with one arm to allow you a full view of his face and body.

“Oh, you’re bad, alright.” A smile returns to his lips, his chest shakes under a small chuckle, but it's short-lived. “Seriously though, what are you doing, wasting yourself on an old man like me?”

“Wasting myself? Ozzie… That’s nonsense.” The skin of his scarred cheek feels soft to the touch. “You know I adore you. There’s nobody else I’d rather be with.”

“You’re sweet, baby.” He replies, turning his head, inhaling your scent and placing a chaste kiss on your palm.

“I’m sweet on you, Ozzie.” You coo, turning his head back, allowing you the clearance to lean down and lay your own kiss on his lips. “Besides, nobody else has ever, or could ever, make me feel the way you do.”

From beneath you, he snakes his arms around your waist and tugs, causing you to fall flat onto him. Strong fingers massage the curve of your spin. “How I managed to get a thing like you to fall for me is beyond me, but I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you go.”

#the penguin imagine #the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot imagine #oswald cobblepot x reader #gilverrwrites #oz cobb x reader #oz cobb/reader #oz cobb

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tiny-minecraft-rabbit · 2 months ago

Note

For rancher prompts, maybe some rancher gt? Like, borrower Jimmy is cold and desperate and so decides to take a risk and go to Tango while he's alseep to try and warm up but it turns out Tango isn't actually asleep?

The power went out sometime during the storm. It was the middle of the cold season, and the power was out. His little nook in the wall was freezing, so much so he could see his breath. The insulation packed around him had only kept the space warm for a few hours and he's already gone through the two spare tea light candles he had—nothing more than blackened metal trays and the ashy remains of a wick.

He had to find some way to get properly warm, and he had to do it quickly.

He had hoped that just taking a walk around through the walls would help—getting his muscles working, blood flowing. He was shivering the entire time. It wasn't working.

At this rate he was going to die and, frankly, Jimmy was not really in the mood to die just yet.

It was time for some stupid decisions. He opened the door to Tango's room, turning off his flashlight and setting it aside as he looked over the moonlit room. Tango was in his bed, asleep, and Jimmy hastily looked for the heater that must have been there. Tango wouldn't have stayed in the house if he didn't have a means of getting warm. However, the room felt just as cold as his own and there was no warm orange light of a space heater. There was, sitting on the floor next Tango's bed, a battery generator.

He quickly crossed the room, pulling his sweater tighter around him, and climb on top of the generator. He had hoped it would be warm, but the plastic was only vaguely not cold because his own hands were freezing. Something was plugged into though and he followed the chord up to the bed, climbing it all the way up until he was standing on the mattress and just a few inches from Tango's massive bean body.

The chord slipped under the blanket. He went to do the stupidest thing ever and burrow under the blanket to find where it led and felt the heat of blanket. He blinked down at the fabric, running his hands over it and feeling heat coming from some sort of wiring that was tucked into the fabric. A heated blanket. Beans were blooming geniuses.

He climbed onto the blanket, laid his full body down on top of it, and sighed happily as he was finally soaked in heat. He told himself that he wouldn't fall asleep—falling asleep here would be just as much of a death sentence as sleeping in his freezing nook.

He was out within seconds.

------

Tango slowly let himself breath again, having been holding it as he watched the miniature guy climb into his bed and make himself super, ultra comfy in the warm space.

The heated blanket was barely doing its job, in Tango's humble opinion, as ears and nose were still very exposed on the fact that he had to breathe. Sure, his arms and legs and toesies were nice and toasty, but he really should have invested in a space heater. He just couldn't properly get to sleep with his face freezing off despite the rest of him being warm. If the whole power outage wasn't fixed by tomorrow afternoon, he'd be investing in a trip to Skizzy and Impulse's and demanding their spare bedroom instead of trying to tough it out here.

He guesses he'll also have to offer the mini guy the same trip to Imp and Skizz's, considering it was very clear he was just as cold as Tango was.

He also had a lot of questions for him– Like, a lot of questions. Little dude randomly appearing in his bedroom with the sheer intention of commandeering his heated blanket was not on his Power Outage Bingo card. He needed to know the How–What–Where–Why of this like immediately.

The miniature guy shifted, turning in his sleep so he was pressed against Tango's curled arm. Tango very carefully lifted his other arm out from under the blanket and set it on the other side of him, creating a nice cocoon of warmth.

Tango would ask all his questions in the morning. The little dude clearly needed some rest.

#jimmy solidarity #tango tek #team ranchers #team rancher #life series g/t #tiny jimmy #giant tango #borrower jimmy #sorry but i think i peaked with cuteness for this one #what if I was a borrower and you were a human with a heated blanket and we cuddled in the dead of winter #rabbit writes #gosh borrower aus man #they're so freaking good

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satzumosupremacy · 2 years ago

Text

Nothing More, Nothing Less

Male reader x Yujin

4k Words

Tags: Smut, Cheating

Yujin always calls you during her boyfriend’s business trip, and it’s always every three months—secrecy at its finest. A pattern that you learned as Yujin kept coming over after a year of meeting her.

You got someone’s daughter, another man’s girlfriend, all under the sheets, screaming your name so desperately and erotically in your bed—no guilt, no shame. Although you never planned to keep having her, the adrenaline and thrills of another man’s woman in your bed were like no other feelings. She’s just what you want and need.

Speaking of which, a relationship with her would end in tragedy—assumingly or not, but the same way she’s cheating with you could be the same with another man. It’s only assumptions. Neither of you knows the future or what it holds.

Day three is the best, and it’s mostly every time. Yujin only had another day to recover after her legs became weak. Rarely, it sometimes becomes so passionate to the point that feelings and romance can spark dangerously. The whole house becomes a mess with clothes all over the floor, misplaced pillows, and unfinished drinks. During the night, the lights would be all off with just you and Yujin fucking in the dark. Bodies did all the talking.

The only thing you knew about her was that she just wanted to fuck—day and night. Of course, there will be breaks in between. There aren’t such things as genuine feelings of love, apart from just being together under the same roof naked. Yujin never wears a bra, knowing it’s going to be off either way, and you love seeing her nipples poking out her shirt.

“I love the way you touch and fuck me.”

The wholehearted confession she made as you spent time on the bed naked with her. Assumingly, you know her boyfriend doesn’t satisfy her, and it was a pity. Yujin needed more than just vanilla. She deserves more for the beauty that she is.

In fact, she’s good at using her mouth, apart from the dirty talking. Those very eyes of hers are always desperate and hungry for more. It’s surprising how you got a beautiful woman in bed without her boyfriend knowing. You’re keeping her secretly fucking and cumming anywhere she wants. Sex with her always leads to a hot mess most of the time and all tired after, lasting hours, and sometimes before the sun has risen. There’s no such thing as a quickie.

Mostly every time, but not always, you would act like her boyfriend out in public or even inside the house. It’s always natural with Yujin—maybe that’s what went wrong when she’s smiling with you more and keeps coming over during her boyfriend's trip.

——

It’s been around three months since you kept track; you patiently waited, knowing she’s going to text. Speaking of the devil, you received a text, and it was from her.

Yujin: I’m coming over

She knew what days you were busy or not. You waited for Yujin, but it didn’t take long until she showed up at your door again, knocking shamelessly with no guilt.

“You look beautiful today,” you said with a gentle tone.

“I have three days to be with you. Give it to me.”

“Yujin,” you paused in silence while she looked at you.

“Yes?”

“You want something to eat first?” Fucking Yujin isn’t the only thing you wanted, but treat her with respect—the beautiful woman she is. She’s a human being at the end of the day.

“Give me a taste, and then we can go out for something.” You know her after all the secret rendezvous. If Yujin wanted something, she’s going to do whatever it takes, and she’s already digging under your pants with a smile so wicked and mischievous.

“You look nice in those clothes, Yujin.”

“My boyfriend bought them. And you’re taking them off one by one.”

“Yujin that’s…” You tilt your head, somehow wondering how wrong it was, yet the sensation feels undeniably correct as her warm hands tease your cock.

Just when you believed you had witnessed the wild side of her, she never fails to leave you speechless. As the days unfold, everything else doesn't matter—she'll be in your bed, completely naked with her panties stained with your cum.

“Shh. No one knows what we have between us, Daddy.”

“Lay your head on the couch, ass on the floor,” you commanded. She loves it when you’re in control.

“As you wish, Daddy.” With a smile and a slow blink, Yujin's so beautiful that you can do anything to her. She’s in your very hands and arms at night. Yujin lays her head on the cushion of the couch while her body is slanted on the ground with her legs spread and her ass being the only thing that’s keeping her positioned. She gladly opens her mouth wide—tongue out. You shove your cock in her mouth slowly until it disappears, keeping it deep into her throat with small, quiet chokes from Yujin.

“Good girl.” You can tell she’s smirking from the corner of her mouth just from being called that. “You look so beautiful with my cock in."

No words were exchanged as you increased the pace of your thrusts. She gasps, chokes, and her eyes shut tightly under the intensity. Gently brushing her hair behind her ears, you enjoy the view of Yujin.

Pinning her down isn’t the only thing you love. Bending Yujin to a table, countertop, bed, wall, or even standing is what you also love. You have all the control while she freely moans and groans. It’s the same for Yujin—she loves to fuck you in the most narcissistic way for her pleasure. Her body is a drug; toned thighs, silky hair that gets messy after fucking, and even her beauty keep you yearning. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even pull out but go for another round after cumming. Yujin deserves it, as do you.

You love the feeling, her, and her very own sense of bringing you this much pleasure. You pull out halfway and shove your cock right in to make her gag even louder. It’s cute of Yujin—hotter as you keep doing it continuously.

No woman gave you the pleasures like Yujin. Maybe it’s that she’s over, maybe she’s cheating with you, or Yujin has been longing for satisfaction for a while.

“Fuck, Yujin.” You said, groaning and taking deep breaths. Her tears begin to form, her eyes all red like lightning, as she only had one goal: getting you to cum inside her mouth. You continuously shove your cock, and it always gets messy when her saliva leaks out from the corner of her mouth. You grunt and groan, forgetting that she’s technically someone else’s woman, but Yujin’s all yours for several nights, and you’re taking advantage of it. “Just like that. I know you missed this."

You pull out of her mouth to let her breathe. Yujin looks up to you, glaring with desperate eyes. She spits on your cock, then wraps her hands again, jerking you off and squeezing it with love. Saliva and pre-cum were the only things dripping onto her clothes. “Taste good as always.”

“Just for you, Yujin.”

She kisses your cock, slapping it on her cheeks with a smile. “I can never get tired of you.”

“How badly did you wait for this moment?”

“Too fucking long. Maybe because I love your cock better than my boyfriend’s.”

“Let’s keep it that way. He don’t need to know what you can do. Let him miss out.”

Yujin laughs, “you make me so fucking happy.”

“I could say the same. But hey, less talking, more sucking, please.”

“You’re so eager to cum in my mouth aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Yujin?"

“What about my pussy? Im also your cum-slut.”

“Bend over right now and we won’t be able to go for dinner if you’re that curious.”

“What if I do bend over?”

“Let’s-” Her thumb rubs on the underside of your tip, sensitive enough to make you stumble in your speech. “Fuck, Yujin,” you groaned. And her eyes were purely lustful at the way she was looking up at you.

“I think we should stay home, Daddy."

“What’s so special about eating out when I have you, Yujin. Am I right?”

“Eat me after you cum.” Yujin sucks on your cock again, slurping loudly and making a mess like she was sucking on a popsicle stick. You brush her hair behind her, wanting to see Yujin sucking you off so beautifully. And you’re always baffled by seeing Yujin so nasty, hot, and even beautifully sucking on your cock. It’s a blessing.

“Right there, Yujin.” Her tongue’s sliding underneath your tip. The area she loves teasing you the most. She laughs with enjoyment as you try to stand straight. Bobbing, slurping, sucking, moaning, and humming—it’s all you hear from Yujin.

Paradise, or rather the feeling of pure euphoria. In her company, time seems to stretch, and neither of you mind if the world momentarily stops revolving.

She grabs your thighs and tilts her head to the side. Her cheeks are massaging your sensitive tip. Overwhelmed by an endless flow of sensations, grunting, and panting, she’s amazing at pleasing you.

“Yujin.” You groaned her name, a longer tone of pleasure as you kept brushing through her hair.

“Mhmm.” She hummed, smirking and smiling with your cock inside her mouth.

It’s torture and pleasurable at the same time, and you don’t want to do anything about it. She continues to bob her head; her gags got louder, chokes got harder, and eyes closed so beautifully to see her eyelashes all done for you. Your breaths got heavy, panting more as she kept going. Euphoria is where you’re still at. Without a word, you push your cock right inside her deeper and nape against the cushion of the couch harder.

“I’m going to cum if you keep doing that, and I’m going to cum deep in your throat.”

Yujin nods in agreement, gazing directly at you with lustful eyes. Her throat contracts the deeper you go, and you love the feeling. You thrust slowly, faster by the second, until she begins to choke and gag loudly like usual. By any means, you would rather ruin her makeup that she put on just for you. Even if it took an hour, the look on Yujin’s face would be the aftermath of satisfaction between the two of you.

“Take it like the little slut you fucking are.” You felt her swallowing every drop of saliva and pre-cum, until choking was what she got for doing it. Letting her swallow isn’t what you wanted—a mess is what you want to see. You go deeper, pausing as she sits still without any muscle or movement being pinned down. “Don’t swallow, and be my good girl. Make a mess like you always do. Don’t be shy; it’s not like you.”

She blinks slowly, with a tear falling. A sign that Yujin listened. Her hands squeeze your thighs as you pull back out halfway, shoving right in her mouth again—continuously. Seconds turn to minutes; she’s such a mess as you look at her.

You hold onto the side of her face with a grin, whether or not you’re going to cum like this. It's not about her at this point; it’s all you—the feeling of pleasure cumming inside her mouth. And Yujin’s going to take it all like the shameless slut she comes over for.

“I’m going to cum.” You tell Yujin, and her eyes are closed shut with her head pushed harder onto the couch. Yujin coughs from all your cum down her throat, and she’s taking it with a smirk so slutty. You feel her swallowing all your cum, and you pull out as her mouth is still wide open, just licking off the extra on her lips, brushing it with each finger to savor the taste on her tongue.

“That was so much,” Yujin said, catching her breath. She wipes her lips clean and sits on the couch, quickly spreading her legs out, beckoning you for an invitation so seductively.

“Such a slut you are, Yujin.”

“You’ll shut up when you eat me out.” And she's right. You kiss her thighs, quickly licking on her folds, and she moaned right as soon as she felt your warm tongue circling in all the right places. Yujin’s legs hang onto both your shoulders, squirming around the more you eat her out.

Her legs pin you in, and you aren’t going easy. It’s also been too long since the last time Yujin came over. You were hungry just for her. With her moans being more erotic, you know all the spots to make her melt and weaken. You grabbed onto her tits, squeezing them the hardest, as Yujin could only tolerate the aggression.

Squirms, slight jerks, and her moans breaking became continuous. She tilts back, only her back arching as her legs pull you in harder. Your face became planted to her pussy. Breathing isn’t your worry; getting her to cum hard is all you wanted—right in your face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…..fuck!” Her body sinks onto the couch uncomfortably, but you’re making her like this. You wouldn't take it easy on Yujin; you want her exhausted after. “You’re gonna-”

With a pause from Yujin, you felt her body tense as she screamed uncontrollably in the most erotic way. She's cumming earlier than you ever expected. It's just minutes later that her breathing slows down. “When was the last time, Yujin?"

And you continue to kiss her thighs until she gives you an answer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said and looks to the side, embarrassed to cum earlier than you expected.

“Talk to me,” you kiss her thighs passionately, “you taste so good though. And it’s always every time that my I get a chance.”

“You aren’t disappointed, are you?”

“Not at all. Let’s go to the bed. I’ll make you happier than him.” You carry Yujin to the bed without her answer. “Just relax, and I’ll do the work today. You’ll be sleeping so comfortably tonight."

“So confident of you.”

You threw her on the bed, and she fought to be on top as you let her let it happen after a few seconds. She laughed, chuckled to be happier with you. “I should fuck you romantically. We can do what you want tomorrow, Yujin.”

“At least let me be on top. I want to feel loved tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her words made you gulp, just wondering what was happening to her without you. Although you were curious, you didn’t want to ask. "Feel free to do as you please tonight, Yujin."

“I’m sorry, this isn't how we usually are on the first night, but thanks for understanding.”

You beckon her to get closer, kissing her passionately until she begins to grind on your cock. “I’ll love you for tonight. Maybe tomorrow if you need it also, Yujin.”

“Shh, I’ll turn off the lights. Just let me have it my way. Cum as much as you want. It’s mine, Daddy.” Yujin gets up and shuts the lights off, even closing the blinds to a pitch-black bedroom. She gets on top of you, just her hands jerking you off slowly. Her hair brushes onto the sides of your cheeks as Yujin kisses you more romantically. “Love me tonight."

“Ready when you are, Yujin. Ride it as long as you want.”

A night like this wasn’t in your favor, or either, as you imagined, but you willingly accepted her feelings, just for the night.

The moment she puts your cock in her, Yujin gets closer to you in a more lustful way, staring at you romantically. And the kisses quickly became tongues fighting. Yujin grinds slowly the moment you trace over her figure, just caressing her in the most gentle way.

“Say you love me. Just for the night.”

And you’re surprised at what she wanted you to say. Regardless of whatever is going on in her life, you’re the one she’s cheating with. “I love you, Yujin.”

“Should we fuck to a slow song? Let’s try something new.” Yujin sits on top of you and browses for a song on her playlist. While she was on her phone, you caress her thighs, which you love to feel. The slow and soft, with the gentle squeezes you made, only made Yujin giggle with happiness.

“You’re always smiling when you’re with me, Yujin.”

Yujin seductively gazes you up and down in the slowest way with a teasing chuckle. “That’s because I get to be with you, Daddy.”

The song starts playing. You heard how slow the beat was, and it can come off sexual due to the lyrics. The moment Yujin lays down on top of your chest, both of you moan together as she starts to ride you.

Neither of you broke a single eye contact while the song was playing. The moment was with her, fucking each other like both of you are in love, and that’s how it remains. Even Yujin had her hands on the sides of your cheeks, begging you not to look away and keep staring at her, and only at her.

It gets more dangerous when your heart starts fluttering while Yujin already has butterflies in her stomach. Neither of you wanted to admit any of this and quietly continued with the song in the background. Her breathing became heavier, moans got softer, yet it sounded erotic at the same time while you’re balls deep in her. And both of you are in the moment together, quietly.

The time each song changes, you can only assume how long she’s been riding you without any words. Every three to four minutes is typically how long a song lasts, and you’re grunting the longer Yujin rides.

She continues kissing you, from neck to lips, and you join her for passionate kisses. It didn’t take long for tongue kisses to start happening. You hold her in like you love her, tilting your head the opposite way from Yujin and making her hair a mess.

Not until the fifth song starts playing, the music suddenly pauses as you hear her ringtone. Yujin looks at the phone and puts it on silent, playing the song again to not disturb what both of you are doing.

“It’s just my boyfriend,” Yujin said in an annoyed tone and quickly gets down towards you again to continue.

Her kisses get more passionate, riding you to the rhythm of a slow romantic song. You caress her body to your desires in the early night.

“Fuck, just like that, Yujin,” you groaned.

“Daddy,” Yujin whispered in your ear purposely, “this pussy is all yours.” She gets off and lays beside you to be on the bottom.

You quickly get up on top to hear Yujin moan loudly for the split second you shove your cock inside her. She’s a beauty while her hair spreads on the pillow. And without a word, you pin her arms above her head, thrusting slowly with the rhythm of the song.

Song after song, Yujin starts to pant every second with you, knowing she’s going to cum, and you’re almost at your limit. Her body jerks, quivering into Yujin cumming on your cock as you quickly choke her neck gently.

“Good girl,” you groaned with a deep voice.

Not long after, she hugs you while you’re balls deep in her, thrusting slowly. And you continue to stare at Yujin, right in each other’s soul, while she nods from her body brushing against the bedsheets.

You begin to choke her, not like she wouldn’t smile if her airway was blocked. Yet, she wanted love and affection tonight, and you’re giving it to her. You kiss her lips, biting them softly for the warm breaths you feel.

“Get up and bend over for me, Yujin.”

“You love seeing my back, don’t you?” Yujin gets up and spreads her legs, looking back at you putting your cock back in without rest. It’s her toned back and ass that you love so much—just a shameless woman sleeping with you that doesn’t belong to you, but only on the bed. The backlines on her back when she arched always looked so beautiful.

“Shh. Just moan for me, Yujin, like you always do.”

Her back arches more to give you a show of her body that you always get. “You’re fucking me so damn good,” Yujin murmurs into the pillow.

And you push her down, stomach flat on the bed with her moaning more erotic. Nothing sounded better when Yujin moaned in your bed all the time; it was pure bliss. Just music to your ears, and again, the thought of cumming inside her would be the best feeling every time.

You nibble on her ear, smelling the faint tropical shampoo she used today. It turns you on the fact that she got ready just for you. Yujin grips the pillow harder with her face planted. For not even a second, she wouldn’t stop moaning; it was just the right pace that Yujin loved: deep and moderate thrust—enough to feel loved.

“Say you love me, Yujin,” you murmured and groaned into her ear, just dancing with the devil and making feelings involved at this point.

“I love you, Daddy,” Yujin said, breathing along the rhythm of your thrust.

“Turn around, I’ll cum inside your pussy.”

She turned around quickly after you pulled out, beckoning you with a smile so happy that her legs spread open for an invitation. “Give it to me; no need to tell me.”

So you would, and she wouldn’t care anyway. Yujin loves how your cock throbs inside her, coating her tight walls in warm cum each time. You can tell she’s addicted to you, your cock, and everything you do to her, even in the smallest ways to make Yujin happy and loved.

“Don’t stop,” Yujin pleaded.

You’ve lost count of how many songs went by. Yujin is in your very arms, gripping you so tightly. Her hands are soft and warm, and you feel how much love she needs for this. Neither of you would be able to tell if this is love or just wanted a rendezvous.

You thrust deeper, pushing her thighs against your pelvis. Yujin moaned harder with her neck begging for attention, and you kiss her neck, making her tilt into the pillow while her arms were pinned against the headrest.

“Cum in me, Daddy. I want it!”

Your cock throbs with each stroke, and Yujin has it all deep inside her. You grunt, only thrusting harder as your body hesitates. And you cum, erupting inside Yujin while she moans from feeling it flood her walls.

“Yujin,” you said, toppling down towards her and going for a kiss that she accepted. You felt the warmth of her body after you waited for months. “Cumming inside you is so satisfying.”

Without a word, she holds you in, kissing your lips like you belong to her. You heard her moaning and humming as you joined Yujin for a romantic kiss. Back to your awareness, the song was still playing, and you turned down the volume to mute, not even caring if it was still playing silently.

“I need to shower after this.” And she stares at you with a cute smile.

“Need me, Yujin?”

“No, you’re covered in my scent. I want to smell myself on your body.”

“Join me tomorrow morning, Yujin.”

She nodded with a seductive smirk and grabbed her phone. You stare at her naked body until she closes the door to the bathroom with a bright smile.

It’s been more than twenty minutes after she came out the shower. You’re relaxing on the bed with her, quiet as you both stare at your phones and cuddling.

“Want to see my panties? It’s so drenched and stained with your cum. I could feel it.”

“So dirty of you, Yujin.”

“And you love how I’m such a dirty whore for you.” She gets up on her knees and opens the slit of her panties for you to see your cum stained. “What do you say? The night is still young, Daddy.”

There weren’t any second thoughts. You get closer to her as Yujin closes her eyes with a smile to meet your lips, until you suddenly come to a pause. “Forget tomorrow; how about joining the shower with me? Then we can crash on the bed again.”

“Fine. That’s if we can even make it on the bed, Daddy.”

#yujin smut #ive smut #kpop smut

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eridianfic · 3 months ago

Text

✧heaven is a place I know✧

You come home after a long, long day of work to find a locked door and no key. You'd go to Leander... but it seems like he'd enjoy that far too much. Maybe Kuras will take pity on you?

Pairing: Kuras x Fem!MC Length: ~10,000 words Tags: fluff, hand holding, domesticity, bad cooking, eating, medicine, female mc, bedtime story

a/n: I wrote this for an art exchange in one of the touchstarved discords:) title references this song. Ao3 link here

It’s always nice to head back after a long day of work to privacy. You’re exhausted and smelly after hours of cleaning and frying fish for the vendor in the street and some time alone is just what you need. You’ve finally gotten your own place (too small to truly be called an apartment) but it’s yours all the same, and safe behind lock and key. In the past couple weeks you’ve been saving up money for the deposit by helping out local shopkeepers, running a few Bloodhound missions with Leander, and more days than not, gutting fish - entrails and bones twisted and morphed into shapes that feel inexplicably alien. Cleaning fish isn’t the most enjoyable work, but it pays your rent better than secrets and you get a meal out of it, too. Plus, you get to meet the people of Eridia. You hear what weather the grandmas forecast, rumors of infidelity, and sometimes, a snippet of something more: gossip about the Senobium, or the Abbess, about becoming a student… and you lean in, straining your ears to listen as closely as possible over the sound of fish frying in oil. Leander makes sure to drop by for lunch on days you work there, (had come by just today, in fact), grabbing a quick bite to eat and a side hug. He only reached for the embrace on days you’d escaped most of the fish guts. Though the best you could offer was a minimal amount of slime - even the gloves you dons at work each day over your bandages fail to prevent the scent of fish from seeping into your pores. But today, you’d been pretty tidy, so he squeezed you good and proper and left with fish in hand and a cheery, “See you around, I’ll be at the Wick later if you have time for a drink!”

You had worked late, staying through the dinner rush of people hurrying to get a meal before darkness fell. You, too, had to be diligent about coming home to your room before dusk. You’d been lucky enough to survive your first (and second) brush with the Soulless and you planned on avoiding rolling the dice again. Third time’s the charm, and all that.

You’ve cherished the two weeks you’ve been living on your own. Staying at the Wick hadn’t been bad, exactly - not if you overlooked the raucous laughter that found its way into your room from the bar below, hardly diminished by the solid stone floor. Or tried to ignore the way your belongings would be in a slightly different location than you remembered leaving them last. Or if you brushed off the number of times a drunk couple would press against your locked door, fumbling at the handle for far too long and giggling until they would (at last) realize that their room was the one next to yours. Ok, maybe it had been pretty bad.

So you’d been all too eager to sign the lease that the disinterested landlord shoved at you after you saw the property. It was really only a room with a bed, fireplace, and washbasin, but it was all you could afford. At least until you were able to find more consistent work or decided to give up more of your secrets. Leander hadn’t let you move out without making a fuss. The conversation was still fresh in your mind.

“I’m still going to come by the Wick all the time,” you had said beseechingly, gesturing at the tavern around you.

“You’re sick of me already?” he’d pouted, face falling. “I can give you more space if you need it-” Despite your resolve to leave, guilt had nagged at your conscience. “It’s not that, I really appreciate everything you’ve done to help me out-”

“Are you confident that you are going to be safe? Allmother knows you didn’t even make it to Eridia in one piece. What if something happens before I can get there-”

“I managed on my own just fine for years before I met you, as long as I’m not out at night there’s nothing to worry about-”

“-So is it the Bloodhounds, then? If they’ve been crowding you, I’ll have a word with them, just let me know who-”

“No, they’ve been perfectly polite to me.” You had huffed out a breath, holding out your hand to stall the next question quick on his tongue. “Listen, I just… If I’m here, on your coin, it doesn’t feel like this is my home. It’s as if I’m just visiting for a while, like at any point I’ll have to leave… like everything could be pulled away from me.”

Stability. Something that had been so hard to come by for you. Everything lately has been in so much flux. You hadn’t been able to say the rest to him - that if you stay in the bustling community of the Wet Wick, there’s a greater chance that your curse would become common knowledge. That you’d be cast out of the city, feared by the very same Bloodhounds who have been friendly to you.

Something in him had softened, and he relented at last, concern shining in his pale green eyes. “Fine. But don’t be a stranger. I’ll be keeping my eye on you. if you need anything, or if your new place turns out to be a moldy, rat infested corner of the city, you come right back, understand?”

“I looked it over when I got the key to the place and didn’t see any rats, Leander.” you had said reproachfully. “It’s cheap but it’s not that bad.”

“Well, that’s how they get you, right? The landlord goes through ahead of time and bangs some pans together, scares all the rats away quick right before you arrive, wipes the mold away-”

“I’ll be fine.” You’d given him a small smile. “Really. I’ll come back if there’s any big issues.” Despite his protestations, he had put up less of a fuss than you’d expected. Perhaps you’ve proven to him that you can hold your own - adapted to the city better than he expected.

And so, you had moved your meagre belongings inside and taken the first long breath since moving to Eridia. You had a place where you felt truly safe. For a beautiful, independent, cozy two weeks.

But it’s on the other side of the door. You stall in front of it, feet aching from your long day at the fish stall, pulling your coin purse out of the front of your shirt and fumbling in it for your key. The key. The key that should be tucked right here in your coin purse - safe from foxes with wandering hands. But, as you jam your fingers into the lint filled corners of your bag with increasing desperation, it’s just not there. You check every possible place you can think of, hands fumbling through pockets and folds of fabric time and time again. There’s nothing there. Nothing but your coin purse (with a few grimy coins inside) and a handkerchief, slightly disgusting from where you’ve used it to wipe your brow as you bent over the hot oil.

You stand on your own doorstep, mind spinning. Maybe it fell out, somehow? You couldn’t remember anyone getting close to you today, no one of consequence. I better retrace my steps.

The conditions weren’t in your favor. The evening was late, sun low on the horizon. It bathed the city in a warm light, turning the buildings a rosy color. Flowers sat open in the setting sun, clinging to buildings and draping from hanging planters, fragrance wafting on the balmy evening breeze. It would have been quite a romantic view if you had any time to look at it.

Instead, your eyes were firmly planted on the ground, scanning for your key between cobblestones and the contents of upended chamber pots. As the light falls, your hope does too. Dread weighs heavy and sick in your gut. It’s not safe to be outside. You need to find a place to hide out, and quickly.

The Wet Wick is a little ways away from your winding path back to the fish stall. Should I go there and meet up with Leander? He said he’d be there tonight. But honestly - a part of you rankles at returning to Leander so soon after putting up such a fuss about being independent. And you might still find your key.

But there’s no key on your route. Nothing but dirty stones beneath your feet. You stand, forlorn in front of the now abandoned fish stall, and the sun starts to slip behind the rooftops of those rosy (now crimson) buildings. It’s about time you made up your mind. You run the rest of the way to the doorstep of Kuras’ clinic. The line has finally dispersed. No one in poor health can afford to wait out in the open when Soulless might drop by and turn their poor health into no health at all. You knock on the door with uncertainty, realizing you aren’t sure if Kuras is at the clinic this late. Does he live here…?

To your relief, the door opens and Kuras is before you, golden eyes wide in surprise. You lean back a little on your heels as he appears. He’s wearing his doctor’s uniform and the light from the room behind him illuminates the soft curls around his face like a halo. Though you’ve seen him a few times by now, you can never prepare yourself for how handsome he is. It’s like jumping into a cold pool - even if you try to prepare yourself for the chill, the plunge will have your heart pounding and skin tingling just the same.

“...Good evening.” You flush as he takes in your harried expression, your rumpled clothes, the anxiety that you fail to conceal behind your bright smile. “...Are you well?”

“Yes! Well - I’m well enough, I suppose, only - I seem to have misplaced the key to my place. It’s not that far from here, and it was getting dark, so… I thought I’d see if you were in. I’m rather invested in keeping my arms attached, didn’t want to waste your hard work.”

“I would hope your investment in your health would be centred around the importance of your own wellbeing, not on my behalf,” he chastises, ushering you into the clinic with a wave of his hand. “But if it’s what encourages you to prioritize your safety, I’ll accept it for the time being.”

As you look around the room, you realize that you’ve never actually been in the front room of Kuras’ clinic. Well - that’s not entirely true. You might have been carried through it when you were a breath away from death. But you’ve only seen the room you woke up in, and the hallway that led out to the back door.

This part of the clinic is minimalist but inviting. It’s a small room, with wooden chairs set along the wall and a vase of small white flowers sitting on an end table in the corner. A light, fresh herbal scent fills the air. The chairs are unpadded, the floor is stone and the rug at the center of the room is a rich brown. You try not to think about the practicalities of such a spartan design, how often there might be various fluids spilled here. A door across from you leads to what you assume is the rest of the clinic. Candles flicker in sconces along the walls.

You wrap your arms around yourself, nerves still frayed from your walk here at dusk. “Do you run this whole place by yourself?”

“Mostly. There are a few who will lend me their aid from time to time. But it is primarily a solitary pursuit.”

Despite the inviting warmth of his personality, it’s awkward as you regard each other. You haven’t been in such close proximity to Kuras since he saved your life. It’s messing with your head a little bit that he’s standing right in front of you, close enough to touch, with all of his attention trained on you. He looks down at you, concern drawing his mouth into a line. “You’ve misplaced your key?”

“Yes - I could have sworn I had it with me when I saw Leander at work this afternoon. It must have slipped out of my coin purse somewhere along my walk home. I retraced my steps looking for it but it was getting dark and I -”

There’s an intensity to his expression as you speak, brows furrowed as he considers you, but it only lingers for a moment before he’s raising his hand towards you in a calming gesture. “Worry not. My clinic is meant to be a refuge for anyone who needs one. You are welcome to stay until the morning.” He looks at you with mock sternness. “Besides, as you’ve stated yourself - I didn’t heal you just for my work to be destroyed so soon.” You laugh at that, jittery. “I intend to cherish it, trust me. Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here. I wasn’t sure if you lived here, or maybe, if you’d be attending to patients at this hour… I can just sleep wherever you have space - the floor is fine, honestly, I don’t really need all that much. I’m just thankful to not be outside at the moment.”

He turns to face the doorway at the back of the room, hand raised to his face in contemplation. “I have no empty cots available at the moment, as I have some patients who are recovering here overnight. Nothing too severe - but they require a night’s rest before they will be well again. Come. We’ll find an option more hospitable than the floor.”

He leads you through the threshold to a hallway lined with doors that you assume lead to rooms with recovering patients, and up a staircase at the end of the hallway, pausing to unlock a large wooden door.

You step into the room after Kuras. It’s a wide, open space that’s somewhere between a storage room and an apartment. There are open shelves along the wall that contain ceramic and glass containers, each marked with an old, browning label written in a spidery scrawl. Other sections of the walls have unmarked wooden cupboards that reach the ceiling. Tightly bundled medicinal herbs hang above the high arched windows across from you. Bookshelves intersperse the storage shelves, leather bound tomes sitting side by side with colorful, flimsy paperbacks. The right side of the room has two closed doors. The floor is covered by an ornate cherry colored rug, light pink magnolia flowers with winding branches twisting around the perimeter. There’s a long couch in front of the windows, mahogany arms curling down into a scroll shape.

A worn leather armchair sits at an angle across from it, crescent-shaped eyeglasses resting on its arm. A table with a chair at either end is placed near some of the shelves, written papers atop it stacked next to pitchers of water. Colorful glass lanterns hanging from the walls illuminate the space. A lit fireplace, with hooks inside for hanging cooking pots on, stands on the left side of the room, adding to the glow. You hadn’t prepared yourself for how intimate it would feel to see such a personal space. You slip off your shoes and stand hesitatingly behind him, unsure if the heat of the room is emitting from him or the fire. There’s an urge within you to examine everything in the room - but it’d probably be poor manners to scrutinise anything too closely.

“I originally demarcated this section of the clinic as a personal space where I could keep supplies or rest on the rare occasion I happened to have a patient here late at night. However,” he continues with a wry smile, “with the poor health of Eridian citizens…that soon became most evenings.” I wonder where his house is, then, if he has one?

Kuras regards the furnishings critically before gesturing at the couch before you. “I believe this is the best solution to your problem.” He meets your eyes, lips curving into a smirk. “Of course, should you find it too uncomfortable, I have a bed in the other room.”

You inhale sharply and cough, eyes darting away from his amused gaze only to trail unbidden down the long line of his body. Images flash through your mind. The warmth of Kuras’ chest pressed against your back as he cradles you in his arms. His hand, firm and warm, spanning the curve of your hip. Both of you, sleeping soundly, beneath a ridiculously downy comforter. “Th-The couch seems really comfortable, I’m sure it’ll be perfectly fine,” you say, wheezing.

He raises his eyebrows, expression still playful. “Do not mistake my intentions. I would rest elsewhere if you were in my bed. I do not require much sleep, and I have a few tasks that will occupy me for much of the night.”

As you become more familiar with him, you’re increasingly certain that misunderstandings like the one you just had are precisely his intention. In his bed. Fuck. You’d been worried about the Soulless… but maybe you should have been worried about him.

As you stand close together in the room, you are suddenly reminded of the fact that you probably reek of fish. “I’m so sorry, but is there any way I could freshen up a little? I’d planned on doing it when I got home, but, well… I didn’t get the opportunity.”

“My apologies, of course. I’ll get you a change of clothes for the night as well, as you weren’t able to bring anything yourself.” He hurries right back down the stairs, and you’re charmed by how sincerely he’s looking after you. Perhaps he’d do the same for all of those under his care - but it feels special to be attended to like this.

He returns and presses a bundle of loose clothing into your hands, along with a washcloth and a pitcher of steaming water, and leads you to one of the closed doors on the right side of the room. His bathroom. There’s a basin atop a table with a mirror behind it, with drawers and a small bar of herbal scented soap in a ceramic dish. Beneath a pointed window lies a low, long clawfoot bathtub, and a hamper off to the side. The wash basin stands far higher than comfortable for you (around chest level), and only your eyes and forehead are visible at the bottom of the mirror. You shut the door and dip the washcloth into the steaming water, sighing happily as you press it against your skin. You’re finally starting to relax. Frankly, you’re starving, but at least your stress and fear from your difficult day melt away with the oil and sweat. The bread, cheese and fruit you had waiting for you in your (locked) apartment will just have to be tomorrow's dinner instead of the meal for tonight. Carefully, you clean the grime from your skin with the hot water and soap, leaving it flushed and shining. You strip out of your clothes and into the baggy, comfortable sleepwear he’s provided for you. Am I going to end up naked every time I’m here?

Though you’ve finished getting ready, your curiosity is piqued by the intimate domesticity of being in such a personal space. Moving quietly, you slide open one of the drawers in the wash basin stand. There’s a stack of neatly folded washcloths, a tooth brush, and a small vial at the back, filled with an amber liquid. You falter for a moment before grasping it, examining it closely. A faint smell is emitting from it - golden and resinous, warm and rich. A perfume oil. Your fingers shake a little as you hastily put it back into place, pressing the drawer closed. You stare blankly out of the window above the bathtub, mind whirling. Who does he wear that for? Special occasions, dates… Fleetingly, you think about how the scent would bloom on his skin - how it would smell with your face pressed into his neck, his hair wild around you. How it might linger on you after he left, or in your sheets the next morning - You frown, trying to collect yourself, but your gaze has slid down to the bathtub and it’s as if you can see him before you, water glistening on his bare skin, hair dark and clinging damply to his face, gaze burning as hot as the water as he beckons you closer -

Tearing your eyes away from the tub, you glare at yourself in the base of the mirror. You point your finger accusingly at your reflection. Pull it together. You give yourself one last steely look before gathering your clothes in your arms and yanking the door open abruptly. “All done.”

He looks up from where he’s seated in the worn armchair, book in hand with the pair of semicircle glasses perched on his nose. “Better?”

“Yeah, I definitely feel refreshed. The hot water was nice, thank you.” And it’s definitely the only reason why your skin is flushed. Your stomach twinges again, voicing a complaint, but you do your best to ignore it. It’s too uncomfortable to ask him to make you a meal. You take a seat on the couch across from him, legs dangling above the floor. “You don’t have to look after me, I’ll be fine on my own if you need to go check on patients or do anything else…”

“Sporadically I work from daybreak to daybreak, when my rooms are filled with those near death.” He closes the book in his hand and sets it on the low table by his side, crossing one long leg over the other. “But tonight is not one of those nights. The most serious malady downstairs is a difficult case of influenza. I will spend the evening here, with you.”

You nod, happiness creeping through you like a tendril of smoke. “So do you mainly see people who are struggling with serious illnesses? Or maybe…acute cases of dismemberment? Or are there people that come by just for checkups every so often?”

He fixes you with a pointed look. “Are you inquiring because you’d like one?”

“I-I don’t mean to impose, I’m fine! I was just curious, really.”

“Hmmm.” He contemplates you for a moment, looking at you over the top of his glasses. A catlike smile plays around the edge of his lips. “In my expert opinion, I believe I should examine you further. I would like to be certain you’re not suffering any further complications from the Soulless attack. Do my due diligence, and conduct a thorough checkup.”

Despite the teasing lilt to his voice he picks up a notebook and pen from the table at his side, scrutinizing you with a professional demeanor. “Do you have any conditions that run in your family?” His eyes shift towards your arms and you blanch a little, blindsided.

“Not that I’m aware of. Truthfully… I’ve never known my family. So, I suppose I could have a lot of conditions that will suddenly appear when I’m forty that have been passed down through generations.” You grip one hand with another, bandages taut against your knuckles, unwilling to discuss your curse. Not yet. Even though he’s seen your hands already. But he doesn’t linger or press for more information, passing on to the next question with a smoothness that can only occur after years of habit. “Have you noticed any recent changes in your appetite, weight, or sleep patterns?” You heave out a sigh. “I have. Appetite and weight are fine but I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve had nightmares for a while now but they’re so much worse lately. I keep finding myself in the wastes. Bleeding out in the mud, with no one but Soulless around.” It’s more honest of an answer than you had expected to give. You don’t tell him about the other parts. How you feel the Soulless tug and rip at your limp body. Or see the faces of each person you’ve met since arriving in Eridia twist, one by one, into madness. He tilts his head slightly, gazing at you evenly. You find it refreshing that he lets things go - accepts what you’ll tell him without peppering you with questions or discomfort coloring his face. “It’s fairly common to experience nightmares after such a traumatic event. I have a few items that may be able to aid your sleep, if you would be so inclined.” “Sure. It’d be nice to not wake up flailing around every day.”

“Let’s start with a medicinal tea, and if it doesn’t diminish their frequency or intensity, we can discuss alternatives.” He jots down a note, nodding to himself. “How has your arm recovered? Any changes in functionality?”

“No, it’s been right as rain ever since you stuck it back on.” He lifts one eyebrow at your response, sly smile returning. “Would you allow me to examine it briefly?”

“A-Alright-” And before you know it, he removes his glasses and approaches you, kneeling down on the rug at your feet. His hands, warm as the water he had brought you to wash up with, trail feather-light over the tidy stitches at your elbow. He’s incredibly close to you and it’s so difficult to look at him, his presence as stark and blinding as the sun. His fingers knead the line of stitches gently, pressing into the give of your skin. Every part of you feels hot from embarrassment and the inescapable focus of his unadulterated attention. “Hmmm. Healed perfectly.” His voice is lower now, soft as velvet in your ear, and you realize he had no doubt in the quality of his work or in your arm’s healing. That he chose to do this not because of a doctor’s duty but rather due to his interest in you, desire and curiosity merely laying atop the facade of a checkup. The realization sends heat pooling into your stomach, treacle-thick and aching. He slides his hand to the edge of your bandages and your arm jerks, years of instinct filling you with alarm -

“Shhhhhh.” He calms you like you’re a spooked horse, motions slow and gentle. Kuras smooths the top of the bandages, fingers burning like a brand against the edge of cursed skin, straightening one where it’s twisted. There’s a reverence in how he touches you. And a thrill inside as you realize that he can touch your skin without fear, that he must have done so when he healed you the first time; when he gathered your lost limb with his own and rejoined it to you. Your eyes dart between the angled lines of his furrowed brow and where his long fingers rest on your arm.

“Flex your fingers for me.” His breath puffs faintly on the side of your face. You ball your hand into a fist and then open it, fingers stretched wide. “Good.” Praise, from him.Your breath shudders as you exhale. Good. It makes you ache for more, yearn to hear it again, to do what he asks. To be so very good for him. Kuras’ hand glides down the rough lines of your bandages to your palm, thumb rubbing small circles in the center of it. The rest of his hand wraps around the back of yours, cradling it in his own. Your heart pounds and you pray he can’t feel it, that the bandages offer you some kind of protection from his observation - Allmother, his hands are so big-

“Any issues you’ve noticed with your heart or lungs?” Your hand feels so hot in his, trapped between the weight of his grasp and focused attention.

“N-No, um, everything has been normal-”

Kuras tuts at you, impeccably calm. “I find myself doubting your judgement.” Your heart pounds traitorously within the firm press of his hand. He slips it up your arm to lay on the side of your neck, where your heart beats furiously in your throat. His other hand rests on the sofa next to your hip, caging you in. “I need no medical instruments to detect that your heart beats so much faster than is normal. Or to notice how your breath comes so quickly from between your lips.”

You freeze, hyper aware of the blood rushing in your ears as it thunders by. And how your breath stutters with each teasing word.

His thumb traces the edge of your jaw, and you look at him desperately. Desire burns in you as hotly as the sensation of his fingertips on your skin. His face is level with yours, eyes dark despite their golden hue. Heat emits from him in waves, sweeping over you. You can see the delicate way his bangs fall on his skin, the way his eyelashes lower as his gaze falls to your lips. “Unless you would tell me that these are not chronic conditions, but rather very recent developments…?”

Your hand rises of its own will and holds onto his wrist like a lifeline, unsure if you want to hold him still or tug him closer. Your voice is soft and breathy, throat dry. “...Recent. I seem to be suffering from the most sudden affliction.”

You look at his lips, the way they turn up so gently, and gather your courage, leaning forwards toward him, brush softly against the curve of his nose -

Grrrr.

Your stomach growls obnoxiously, shattering the moment. No, at a time like this?! You laugh awkwardly and pull away, cheeks red.

Kuras, truthfully, looks horrified.

His hand falls away from your face and he lurches to his feet in alarm. “My most sincere apologies!” He runs a hand through his hair hurriedly. “I-I have been a dreadful host. You must have not had the opportunity to eat any dinner.”

Your shame is quickly overtaken by your amusement. Wow, this is the first time you’ve seen him… embarrassed?

He turns on his heel and strides quickly to the cupboards on the other side of the room. You watch as he opens them, one by one with increasing speed, pausing intermittently to peer at the top shelves, or to extend his arm into the dark recesses. Even though most of the shelves are obscured from your view by the broad span of his back, the slivers you can see appear completely barren. You rise and come to stand by his side. If he’s going to make you something to eat, it’s only polite that you’d offer to help. But it's increasingly difficult to not feel apprehensive as you stare down at the eclectic assortment of items he’s setting on the counter. As he finds each one, he places it next to you with marked relief, brushing dust off it before burrowing back into the cupboards, head barely visible. You can hardly believe your eyes. It appears that the menu for the evening consists of only the most matured items: a jar of jam, label so worn and faded that it’s nearly impossible to tell what type; a clear glass container of some pickled vegetable, green faded through time into a murky brown; a singular apple, skin slightly wrinkled, and lastly, a much newer, pumpkin-sized sack, with “Nutrient Fortified Oats,” printed boldly across the burlap material.

The doors clatter as he closes each open cabinet and comes to stand by your side. Any remaining hope that he’d find something more palatable quickly vanishes. So… that’s it, huh. “If I knew you were this low on groceries, I’d have brought you some fish earlier. Missing key or not,” you remark, craning your neck to smile up at him. He frowns, looking down at the pile, his hands clasped behind his back. “It has been quite some time since I’ve been to the market.” You raise your eyebrows. Eons, maybe. Kuras hums contemplatively. “I thought I had some asparagus hidden away, but I haven’t been able to locate it.” You peer at the murky mystery vegetable, lifting it up to get a better look at it in the lantern light. “I think… this may be the asparagus,” you say, squinting.

He stoops to take a closer look at it. “Ah, that it is!” he declares brightly.

“Though, um, asparagus is not a vegetable that I’m overly fond of,” you hazard, looking at the jar with trepidation. Some of the stalks inside appear to have lost their shape, partially dissolving into the brine. You actually enjoy asparagus, on occasion. But you desperately would like to avoid eating this kind. “I think oatmeal sounds perfect.” It’s certainly a safer option than trying either of the items in the jars.

“A wise choice. It’s quite heartening - I prepare it for patients who have been at my clinic overnight. It seems to give them the strength to go on their way.” He retrieves a gigantic pot from next to the fireplace and hesitates. “How much would you like?”

You look at the huge pot with wide eyes and then back at him. It’s almost big enough that you could sit in it. “Oh, um, just a bowl amount would be fine…” As he starts to pour the entire pitcher full of water into the pot, you ask hesitantly, “...are you having some too?”

“No, I’ve already eaten.”

You watch silently as he adds a second pitcher of water into the pot. He tosses in a couple cups of oats and hefts the huge pot onto a hook in the fireplace, suspending it above the flames. It appears more as if he’s making an oat-based tea than it does oatmeal. He hangs a kettle on a hook next to it. Frankly, the pot contains probably about eight times as much water as you would have used yourself. But it’s his kitchen, and he’s already done you the tremendous favour of allowing you to spend the night. So you bite your tongue and think longingly about the meal you have waiting for you in your apartment. The two of you take a seat at the dining room table. “The oatmeal takes a good while to cook,” he says, handing you the slightly withered apple. That’s probably an understatement, if he normally boils it in this much water.

You take an apprehensive bite. It’s not too bad. It hasn’t gone mealy, and still has a tart brightness to it. "I saw you were reading a book earlier." You lean forwards, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. "What's it about?"

"It is a story about uncovering a criminal."

"A mystery novel?"

"Of a sort." He looks down where his hands rest along the edge of the table. You can hear the gentle sound his ring makes as he presses his hand against it. "It's one I have read countless times before."

"Is it a favourite of yours?"

"Not exactly. But it is one I find myself returning to, from time to time."

"Sounds like it's worth hearing about." You take another bite of the apple, leaning back in your chair.

He smiles a little at that, inclining his head in admission. "There is a kingdom ruled by a wise king, who is well liked and increases the prosperity of all. As he reaches the very beginning of old age - an age where he might still have some twenty years ahead of him - he falls ill. It begins as a cough that grows worse by the day. The entire castle can hear him as he coughs through the night. But one day, he falls into a dreamless sleep that no one can wake him from and eventually wastes away.”

He continues, voice measured and gaze focused far off in the distance. “The land mourns - but none as much as his firstborn son. He had hoped to learn more from his father before it was his turn to rule over the kingdom. As a testimony to the wisdom of his father, the young prince keeps all of his father's advisors and court, to guide him as the new king. Of note, there is the lead of the palace guard, a few lords of the lands within the kingdom, a royal physician, a royal magician, and the head of the palace staff. The years pass peacefully once more as the new king has much of the good sense that his father possessed. The lands are so bountiful that he selects members of the court to send to neighboring kingdoms as envoys to form alliances. He sends much of the court, including the court's magician. The new king marries and has a beautiful daughter."

The kettle whistles, and he rises, pouring the boiling water into a teacup and adding a bundle of herbs. “For your nightmares,” he says gently, placing it before you.

You sniff it warily, but all you find is the friendly and familiar smell of camomile. "This story doesn't seem like much of a mystery yet," you muse, taking a sip and settling back in your chair as you prepare to hear the rest. The tea settles warmly in your stomach.

"The base of the mystery is there already," Kuras remarks, with a twinkle in his eye. "The new king is cautioned by his queen that he trusts too easily, for she had come from a land where betrayal was common. He begins to doubt the death of his father and the sudden way in which he fell ill. He watches the remaining courtiers more closely and asks those whom he had sent away to return, out of fear that they might be swayed by gilded promises to turn against him. His daughter grows into a young girl. The magician had kept a small garden before he left as an envoy, in which he grew various plants for potions and natural remedies. He had always kept it well tended and forbade others from entering, stating they would trample the flowers. But in his absence, it begins to grow unruly. New plants spring forth from the earth, the plants in the garden diversifying without his watchful eye to weed out newcomers. One day, the princess is found in this overgrown garden - in the same, unending sleep that the king's father died from. Perhaps poisoned when she was out of view."

"Is there an assassin in the court? Or maybe someone from one of the neighboring lands?"

"The king suspects as much. He brings each member of the court into the throne room and interrogates them. It seems as if the same person who killed the king has laid in wait all these years. Lord Lautier is the leader of the largest section of the lands in the kingdom, and the king suspects tyranny. He was a lord when the former king passed. He threatens and pleads with him to tell him how to wake the princess, but Lord Lautier has no answers for him. So the king casts him into the dungeons in disgust. Next, he speaks with the head of guards, fearing a coup, but the man is earnest and forthcoming. Still, he sends him to the dungeon out of mistrust. The king even begins to suspect the queen. Perhaps she had so often spoken of treachery because of a guilty heart. And so, she too is locked away. Each person has words that appear earnest at first glance, but for the king, they ring false. His paranoia follows him like a shadow. He begs the court physician to heal his daughter, and the physician tries remedy after remedy, but nothing wakes her. He brings in every healer he can find in his desperation - but no matter what potion, spell, or medicine - the princess remains asleep. The magician is the last to arrive at the castle from his duties as an envoy. When he hears word of the sleeping princess, he grows pale and rushes to his quarters, crafting a potion. It works - it wakes the princess. The king promises the magician whatever he wants in return, but he will not accept a reward."

Kuras pauses, hearing the dull rumble of boiling water. He lifts a ladle from the wall and scoops the oatmeal into a large wooden bowl, setting it before you with a spoon. It looks abysmal. The oats float, unmoored and swollen, in the cloudy hot water. It’s more something that you could drink than eat. You dip your spoon into the, well, oat broth, and gingerly place it in your mouth. Oh, you think grimly, he didn’t season it at all. Or… maybe he did, but it got diluted by the water?

You swallow quickly and try to find another question to ask about the story. You need to buy time so you can decide how you’re going to get away with only eating a tiny portion of the food when you were so hungry earlier. I bet his patients could get better even faster if he wasn’t feeding them such a depressing meal. "So, who tried to assassinate the princess?"

"The king's fear turns to anger now that his daughter is safe. He will not rest until he discovers how his daughter became afflicted. He goes nearly mad with rage, ordering torture upon the imprisoned members of the court. One day, as he interrogates the court physician, convinced that perhaps he had not truly tried to heal his daughter, the physician speaks. How strange is it, he says, that the magician was able to cure his daughter when no other could? The king's gratitude turns to suspicion, and he orders the magician to be jailed like so many of the others. But before the magician is taken away in chains, he confesses."

You twirl your spoon in your bowl, watching as the oats spin. The room is pleasantly warm (from Kuras just as much as the fire), and drowsiness is seeping into your bones. You take another bite, hiding your grimace with a gulp of the herbal tea. "So the magician was a traitor the whole time?"

"Years ago, when the aging king fell ill, the magician had done his best to find a remedy that might ease his sleep and allow him to heal from his sickness. He read ancient texts and cultivated a flower that would aid in rest. But in his inexperience, and the king's weakened state, the undiluted flower was far too potent, and the king could not be woken. When he died, the magician lost his king, as well as his honesty. If anyone learned of his potion, he knew he would be executed. The palace grieved in the years after - but none so much as the magician. He did trial after trial and came up with a remedy to this endless sleep - though it was too late. He banished the plant from his garden and swore to never tell a soul what he had done. To live a life in service to the new king as his penance. When he was sent to a neighboring kingdom, in his absence, those soporific flowers bloomed once more. Some seeds had lain dormant in the soil despite the magician’s efforts to eradicate them. And the princess, fancying herself a florist, found them after they bloomed and inhaled their pollen. At last, the magician had a chance to use his remedy and alleviate his guilt. But in doing so, he exposed his original sin."

You glance at your tea before glaring at him in mock suspicion. “I hope that is a fictional flower. I may have nightmares but I’m quite fond of my ability to wake up. There are some unsettling parallels that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore -”

Kuras laughs in surprise, holding his hands out in supplication. “A mere coincidence, I assure you.” You yawn, waving his sentence away. “I’ll believe you, I suppose. No point in the alternative. I’m already sleepy, so if you’ve doomed me to eternal slumber, I’m probably already beyond saving. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You mull over the conclusion to the story, listening to the soft crackle of the fire. "Was the magician executed, as he had feared?"

Kuras steeples his fingers together and regards you with a long, searching look."Yes."

You slouch in your chair, pulling your knees to your chest. "But the magician didn't mean to harm anyone. I mean, he was only trying to help the king, and then he spent the rest of his years trying to make it right. Wouldn't you have pardoned him?"

Kuras sighs. "Does his remedy for the princess erase his former mistake? Can his guilt and shame bring the king back to life? What of the members of the court who were imprisoned and tortured - does the magician hold no blame for their treatment, when he could have ended it by breaking his silence earlier?"

You shake your head slowly, eyes fixed on the way his mouth twists as he speaks.

He continues, voice firm. "I do not believe atonement can be merely crossed off a list. There is no endpoint where one's good deed has nullified the initial transgression. Perhaps… the magician is right to live in service to the king as penance, just as the king is right to take his life."

It doesn’t entirely feel like the two of you are only talking about the story now. “Hmmm,” you yawn, drumming your fingers against the surface of the table next to your (mostly still full) bowl of slop. “I think good deeds can eventually outweigh the original crime, if there’s enough of them. Sure, it might not erase the initial mistake. But people learn a lot from messing up and it can motivate them to go out and do great things. I guess intention and effort matter to me, when I consider… when I consider whether someone should be forgiven.”

You rub your hand over your face, sleepiness weighing down your eyes. Despite Kuras’ promise that your tea isn’t going to put you into an eternal rest, you find yourself doubting him. There’s a desperate craving to find some warm cozy corner to curl up in that has spontaneously appeared. “It sounds like I’ll have to read the story myself. To see if I agree with you.”

Kuras seems, in that moment, older than he appears. As fixed and enduring as a wizened tree, burls formed by years of growth around one wound. His golden eyes are fixed, once more, on that distant point far beyond you. “Absolution,” he murmurs, nearly lost in the crackle of the fire. “Who can give it, save for those whom were wronged? And in their absence…”

But the moment is lost, and the man you recognise is back before you, levity glinting in his eyes.”Yes, I’ll lend it to you. Let me know whether your opinion is altered upon completion.” He rises and crosses to your end of the table, frowning at your nearly untouched meal in disapproval. “Eating well is the foundation of health,” he chides, taking your full bowl away just the same.

Your drowsiness is becoming impossible to ignore, weighing you down like you’ve been submerged in sand. “That’s why your cupboards are empty,” you mumble, laying your head across your folded arms on the surface of the table. “You eat up everything and make a h-huge monstrous breakfast or something so you can be the strongest.”

He breathes out a huff of laughter as he sets your bowl down on the counter. You continue dreamily, exhaustion making you bold. “It’s why you’re the picture of good health. Shiny hair and skin that’s so glowy and also - it’s the reason you’re never cold, I bet.”

You hear his steps pause over your shoulder, close behind you. “It appears that it’s time for you to turn in,” he says, amusement as warm in his voice as the coals in the fireplace. “And maybe next time we’ll steep the tea for a little less time, hmm?”

You close your eyes, head feeling as heavy as a boulder where it rests on your arms. It’s childish but you can’t resist. “Don’t wanna move. Bring me a blanket and I’m comfy cozy riiiiight here.”

He gives an exasperated sigh. One of his arms slides beneath your knees where they rest on the edge of your seat and his other cradles your back. He lifts you high into the air like you weigh nothing, and you hum happily, pressing your face into the warmth of his chest. The room sways gently with his steps as he carries you across the room to the couch. “Mmm. I could sleep juuuust like this.”

He laughs and you can feel the deep rumble of it, sense the soft exhale of breath against your forehead as your hair stirs.

“You’ll be thankful in the morning that you slept laying down.” He places you down on the couch so gently that the transition blends together, the strong support of his arms transforming seamlessly into the plush give of the cushions.

You keep your eyes closed and roll onto your side, facing the front door. Everything feels so heavy and comfortable. You hear the soft sound of his footsteps as he crosses the room. “Are you leaving?” you ask plaintively.

The sound of his voice is immediately reassuring. “I’ll return in just a moment.”

He’s true to his word. There’s the soft click of a door opening and closing before you feel the gentle weight of a blanket being draped around you. “Head up,” he says quietly, sliding his palm against your head to lift it and place a pillow beneath it. You nuzzle into the surface. It smells like him. Like that fragrance you found in the bathroom. Though your eyes are closed, you can feel him, standing before you. Hesitating.

Then he’s stooping, brushing the hair back from your face where it’s fallen across it. He presses a kiss to your temple, featherlight and gone in a heartbeat.

“Stay with me?” you murmur. You’d kick yourself in the morning for being so clingy, if you’d remember it. But for now, you yearn for his companionship. It’s been so very long since you’ve had someone with you while you slept. So long since you’ve felt safe enough in someone’s company to sleep with them there.

“I have some paperwork to attend to.”

And there’s a small part of your heart that wilts at that, mourns the end of your night, where morning will come and end this time together, but it feels unfair to ask again. You pout a little, turning your face down into the pillow. You hear the soft rustle of pages, his footsteps padding across the carpet, a light metallic scrape, and then - the firm weight of his back against your knees. You crack open a bleary eye in surprise. Kuras is seated on the floor in front of the couch, peering through his glasses at paperwork balanced on his knees before him. He leans against the front of the couch, pressing against your legs. He glances to the side, meeting your eyes. “Go to sleep,” he scolds you affectionately.

That pang in your heart dissipates, replaced with blossoming joy. Joy that he chooses, still, to be with you. Chooses to stay despite the childishness of your request. “You work really hard,” you mumble. You almost miss his reply as you spin into sleep.

“I must.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The soft sound of clanking metal wakes you, and as you blink your eyes open, it almost feels as if no time has passed at all. The sky through the windows is speckled with stars and the room is still dark and lantern-lit. But a new fire has been started in the fireplace, wood not yet blackened. And Kuras is there, bowed before it, ladle stirring the pot hung once more over the flames. He looks the same as he did when you fell asleep, and you wonder if he slept at all.

As you stretch, he looks over. “Any nightmares?”

“None,” you yawn, cracking your neck. It’s the most refreshed you’ve been in months. “I guess the tea works!”

“I am glad to hear it,” he says sincerely. “I’ll parcel some out for you to keep at home.”

To your surprise, your clothes are folded neatly over the arm of the couch. “How long have you been up?” you say groggily, sniffing them when his back is turned. There’s no fish scent to them, only a faint scent that you’re starting to associate with him.

“I rise before the sun so I can prepare the clinic for the arrival of patients,” he replies, taking a seat in the armchair nearby. “I’ve already seen my overnight patients this morning, they should be well enough to leave in a few hours. Breakfast is ready if you would like some.”

You head to the bathroom to change back into your clothes but stop in your tracks when you pass the fireplace and see the same murky, oat water from the night before in the pot. Oh no. He must have fed some of this to his patients already. You waver on the threshold of the bathroom.

“I’m good without breakfast today, Kuras. But thank you so much for thinking of me.” “Any coffee or tea?” Normally, you’d have tea or coffee to push back your exhaustion from your lack of quality sleep. Today, you don’t need it. Still, it seems wise to allow him to give you something - lest you have to eat leftover oatmeal. “Whichever is great!” you call back, shutting the door behind you.

When you return, he offers you a steaming cup of coffee, the scent wafting through the air. “It’s good you woke up when you did. I would like to accompany you to the Wet Wick in a few moments when dawn has broken. Leander and his Bloodhounds have a certain… luck for finding lost things in the city. It would serve us well to see if your key has been turned in. And if we leave shortly, I should be able to return to the clinic before any patients arrive.”

Despite the casualness of his words, his voice is controlled and stiff. There’s something so stern about him, so commanding, that you finish your coffee quickly, gather your belongings (with the addition of the tea and the book he’s lent you), and fall in step behind him without a word like a meek schoolchild. He walks so quickly to the Wet Wick that you have to break into a jog every few steps to keep up. Despite the fast pace, it’s enjoyable walking with him. When you’re by yourself, you have to be constantly watching for the few landmarks you know. Not to mention dodging wheelbarrows and carts in the streets, puddles full of the contents of chamber pots, and vines that seem to grow out of the gutter with the sole intention of tripping you.

With Kuras at the helm, you can simply trail behind him as a passenger, taking in the flowers, the beautiful stonework on the buildings, and the incredibly enjoyable way his broad shoulders narrow into his waist and muscular thighs. Yes, you’ve always been fond of sightseeing.

The Wick in the morning feels innately wrong, like a vampire came along and sucked all the life out of it. All the dust and grime show up in the harsh light of the rising sun. The many tables and chairs are deserted and the room is unsettlingly silent, save for the soft sound of birdsong. The innkeeper stands behind the bar, her face puffy with sleep, bent over a ledger. As she sees the two of you approach, she nods, and heads upstairs - no doubt to get Leander.

You stand by Kuras’ side, fidgeting. It’s awfully strange to be here so early. When you’d lived here there had normally been a few people playing cards or eating breakfast by the time you got up. Leander thuds down the stairs hurriedly. He looks even more exhausted than usual, hair tousled. Kuras, meanwhile, is the picture of composure, hands clasped behind his back. “Good morning, Leander.”

“Kuras! I didn’t expect you to be here so early.. and look who you’ve brought along! Thank goodness, I was so worried!”

Kuras frowns at him, and there’s an intensity to his gaze you’ve rarely glimpsed before. “Why is it that you were worried?”

“Because I found her key, of course!! Where in the world did you spend the night?” His eyes move from Kuras’ to yours, and he grabs you by the shoulders, scanning every inch of you. “I’m so happy you’re safe.” He pulls you, bodily, into a hug. You pat his back. You hadn’t meant to worry him.

“She was with me.” Leander stiffens, brow creasing as he pulls back.

You nod, smiling awkwardly. “Yes, Kuras was kind enough to extend his hospitality while I was locked out of my place. I made it to his door just in time.”

“You spent the night with him?” Leander pauses, examining you for what, you aren’t sure - before continuing. “In Kuras’ clinic? That’s no place to sleep! You’ll be lucky if you didn’t catch anything, spending time around all those sick people.” He runs his hand through his hair raggedly, distraught. “The Wick was open all night, you know you always have a room here, don’t you? I didn’t sleep a wink, I was so worried about you!”

Your eyes widen, guilt growing. Maybe you should have just come to the Wick instead. Did he really stay up all night out of concern?

Kuras’ hand falls to your shoulder, steadying you. It feels unsettlingly like you’re caught in a battle between the two of them. “The key, Leander,” Kuras grinds out, patience wearing thin.

“Of course, I’ve kept it right here on me. I wanted to make sure it was safe and didn’t get lost again.” He pulls it from his pocket and hands it to you, eyes sympathetic.

Kuras feels as resolute as a stone pillar by your side. “Yes, quite fortunate that luck was on your side and you were able to find it. Let us hope that, after today, luck directs itself towards keeping keys firmly where they belong.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Leander replies tersely, mouth downturned. “I’d prefer if she didn’t have to rely on luck to keep track of the key, too. If she lost it from her coin purse, where can she keep it where it won’t fall out?” He turns to you, hand on his hip. “It’s not safe to live on your own if you’re going to end up on the wrong side of a locked door with no way to open it.”

You clench the key tightly in your hand. “I’ll keep track of it.” Your coin purse. The one that’s tucked down the front of your shirt, imperceptible except for a thin cord around your neck. How did he know where you kept your key? Nervously, you brush your bandaged hands over the numerous pockets around your waist. There’s some in your pants and cloak - even in the top of your boots.

Leander looks at you skeptically. “As long as you remember that the Wick is open at all hours. Besides,” he says, gesturing at Kuras. “He’s not at the clinic every evening. It’s risky if you’re counting on him being there.”

“Yes, there are a few rare evenings when I’m not at the clinic.” Kuras nods at him, voice colder than usual. “I will show her my primary residence so she’ll be able to locate me in moments of crisis.”

“... And I’ll keep an eye on my key,” you say nervously, trying to dispel the tension. “That way everything will be fine.” You glance between the two of them. “I lived through the night, ok? I’m thankful that both of you are so generous and want to look after me.”

Your mind shifts again to your coin purse. Leander’s the only one who had gotten close to you yesterday. When he hugged you at the fish stall. Your stomach churns. “Well… I had better drop this off at home and then head to work,” you say, raising Kuras’ book in your hand. “Thanks again to the both of you. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble or worry.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Kuras says smoothly, warmth returning again to his voice. “And please do drop by later to let me know what you think of the story, when you’ve finished it.”

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Leander says, searching your face.

You smile back at him, but you’re not certain it reaches your eyes. “Of course.”

Your feet follow the route back to your apartment mindlessly, key in hand and thoughts spinning. It’s mystifying how your key found its way outside of your coin purse. Perhaps Leander had seen the outline of the bag beneath your shirt, or deduced that you wouldn’t keep it in your pocket. There’s a layer of guilt that lays across your thoughts like grease. He’s been so nice to you, and had looked so intensely relieved when he saw you were safe and sound. It feels unreasonable to suspect him of any misdeed. Swiftly, you drop the key into the top of your boot and kick your leg until it rests solidly against the sole of your foot. You’ll try this hiding spot for now. Until your doubts fade. At least the sharp discomfort of it beneath you will be a reminder of the fact that it’s there. You’re thankful, now, that you thought to visit Kuras’ clinic instead of going to the Wet Wick. Like Leander clearly had wanted.

You’ll have to read the book Kuras lent you quickly. The memory of his warm touch, the tenderness with which he treated you, and the heat that lingered in his gaze… yes, you desperately want to see him again. You want to learn why it is that he’s so inexplicably harsh when it comes to redemption. You want to smell that warm, resinous scent that clung to his pillow again. And, if he’ll let you, you want to teach him how to make his patients something other than disgusting oatmeal.

#touchstarved game #kuras #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved fic #kuras x reader #kuras x mc #red spring studio #touchstarved #my first longer touchstarved fic that's actually escaped my WIP folder!#also there is another lovely fic with this same premise- but I had already been working on this one for a week or so for the exchange #when that one was posted #and didn’t want to erase all my work just because another one was similar ^^;

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bengals-barnesbabe · 1 year ago

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Unattainable

Pairing: LSU!Joe Burrow X Original Fem!Character (unrequited) & LSU!Joe Burrow x BFF!Reader (eventually)

Summary: he’s the lovable quarterback that all women want to get their hands on, but none seem to successfully capture his heart.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: 18+, language, drugs and alcohol

Asking a guy out requires strategy, asking a guy out who has girls that are friends requires a lot more technique, but asking a guy out who has a girl best friend is a hopeless task. You know when you can tell that they’re inseparable from just one encounter, but everyone assures you that there’s nothing going on between them. Yea, a horrible idea to start with. The ones- like your friends- who aren’t pursuing guys in this predicament severely underestimate the task, but continue to push you towards it.

So here you are at a party celebrating his victory on LSU’s football team and in walks Y/n. She spots you and rushes over to where you’re sitting.

“Skylar! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Because your back is always to me.

“We should hang out sometime.”

A time when you’re not attached to his hip?

“You know what-

Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could finish. “Fuck I need to go, enjoy the rest of the party!”

She gives you a side hug then races back over to the door when in walks the man of the hour. Tall, kind, strong, confident and painfully unattainable, when she’s around nothing in the world exists to him but her and her ridiculously curly hair.

Y/n presses her lips to his ear with an urgent look on her face. Without waiting a second he takes her hand and walks back out. You don’t know what she said to get him to leave with her, but knowing them it could’ve been anything.

So here you are at a party for Joe Burrow, without Joe Burrow. A party you only attended to ask him out at, but here you are sitting by yourself. It was a dumb plan anyway.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next time you tried to ask him out was at a bar. You were with some of your friends and everyone was having a great time getting drunk and letting loose, when Joe and his friends walked in. You immediately started fixing your hair, outfit, anything he could see if he looked over. The sounds of your friends drunk giggles filled your ears.

“God Sky, just ask him out already.”

“She’s been crushing on him for forever.”

“If you want we could help you.”

Your eyes widened, “Kylie no. No one is doing anything, going anywhere or even looking at him.”

The girl scoffed, “weren’t you just eyefucking him?”

“Maybe you’re just not his type.” A voice joining the table whispered. Gina. She once tried to ask him out as well, when he declined she took it real hard.

“Of course I’m his type, I’m brunette and curvy like his ex.” You point out.

A wicked grin rose on her face, “maybe. But you aren’t a 5 '5-5' 7 curly headed and brown skin like his new girl.”

“They’re just friends.” The words felt like sand coming out your mouth.

“You know what, I’m gonna prove to Gina that every *hiccup* one has a chance.” Kylie stumbled off her stool and walked over to his table, it was more like a baby deer walking for the first time, then fell into him.

“Oh my god.” You cringed for her.

“She’s fucking stupid.”

“Gina, shut the fuck up.”

Over at Joe’s table, some of his friends were laughing at Kylie’s attempts at flirting with him, while y/n just looked amused. They ‘chat’ for a few minutes before you hear Ky say, “would you like to go out sometime?” You know his answer is probably going to be a no, but it’s all about how he answers and it was telling.

His cheeks blush a bit, some from the alcohol and from her question. Then he looks up at Kylie, but glances at y/n, who was now over at the bar, for more than a few seconds. You leave your seat before she comes back to the table. As you walk past the bar y/n smiles and waves at you before taking her drinks back to their table.

Why does she have to be nice?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Walking into the victory party rushes a wave of deja vu over your body. This entire season felt like one giant celebration which was great for LSU, but you were partied out by now. Kylie invited you because she’s an LSU legacy, so this was a euphoric experience for her. You just wanted to find a random corner and maybe a joint to relax. Luckily there was an entire lounge full of stoners to keep your company.

An hour into the party Kylie came to check on you and immediately started laughing at your current state. “Sky, I think you’re living up to your name right now.”

You smiled up at her with lidded eyes. “This is all I ever want in life Ky.”

“Ok bubs.”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Joe was on the other side of the lounge with his own drug of choice. You didn’t seem to notice him until his name was being shouted out.

Kylie looks over her shoulder and sees him. “Sky…”

You look around her and there he is, sitting with one leg propped on the other, LSU snapback backwards on his head and a cigar in hand. “He’s so hot, but so not worth it.”

“Since when? You’ve been trying to ask him out all year.”

You shook your head and took a deep breath. “Exactly all year it never worked out because he’s in love with her.”

“Who?”

“Her.”

Looking back over at him, Kylie watches as a girl with waist length braids walks over to him and sits on the couch.

── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ──

“You asshole, you left me with the Js to get bodied in beer pong.” You pout reaching over for his forgotten cup. “What is this?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Like a reflex, a smile pushes your cheeks up. “Why would I laugh?”

Rolling his eyes. “Because I know you.”

“Fine I won’t laugh. Now tell me.”

“It’s lemonade with a shot of vodka.”

You finally take a sip of it. “It’s not bad, why would I laugh at that?”

“Because I had to cut open a CapriSun for the lemonade.” His face flushed at the confession and tried to look away.

“You’re so cute.” You smiled and turned his head back towards you.

“Yea, that’s a lot coming from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He takes your drink and sets it on the ground then puts out his cigar.

His eyes meet yours as you unconsciously scratch the back of his head with your fingers. “That’s sweet, but I’m not- JOEY!”

Without warning he lifts you up onto his lap, his arms go around your waist and yours wrap around his neck. You feel your face get hot, “what are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done a long time ago.” Then his hands bring your face to his and kisses you.

You freeze for a moment before melting against his soft lips and inhaling the rich spice from his mouth. His cap is knocked off as your fingers glide through his silky hair. A deep groan is sucked into your mouth and his arms tighten their hold on your body.

You’re on a cloud of pure bliss just the two of you until a few whistles are heard from the ground. He pecks your bruised lips once more before you hide in his neck.

“What took you so long?” Your giggles vibrate into his collar.

“You didn’t give me many signs.” You pushed yourself off his shoulder with enough force to almost end up on the ground, luckily his arms stabilized you.

“Joseph.”

“Hey it’s true, it’s not like you were the jealous girl who pushed people away from me. You tried to set me up with Skylar once.” He defends.

“Yea because I’m a nice person and yall would be cute together.”

“See you didn’t make anything easy for me.” He smirked.

Your eyes rolled so far back you could watch the memories of him with other girls. “I can’t with you.”

“Too bad, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hate-

He ambushes your lips with a fervent desire that ends up with your teeth clashing as you start laughing. “Is this your way of getting me to stop now?”

“Yup.” And kisses you once more.

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

main masterlist

#black reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x black reader #cincinnati bengals #lsu tigers #lsu joe #lsu football #lsu Joe burrow #unrequited love #friends to lovers #girl best friend #joe burrow imagine #joeburrow #joey b #bengals barnesbabe

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socgf · 6 months ago

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you really got me - chapter 1

dallas winston x curtis!oc

wc: 717

warnings: none

“christ. turn that shit off, will ya? it’s makin’ my ears bleed.”

the sound of my window creaking open makes my head snap over to the bruised up hoodlum climbing in, with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. he mumbles something about ‘those god-damned bushes’ cutting up his back on the way up, and i roll my eyes.

“dal. i thought we agreed you would knock beforehand?" i’m not mad at him, not really. his eyes scan over my baby pink nightgown as i lie on my stomach on my twin bed, kicking my feet up a bit. i’m spinning some beatles record over on my dresser that soda and pony like to call ‘soc music’, and he flops down unceremoniously onto my pillows, kicking off his muddy boots.

“now why would i do somethin’ like that?” he teases as he reaches over and slams my textbook shut, tossing it over to my nightstand.

i groan and turn over to face him. “what if i’m in the middle of changing? you ever think of that?”

“aw hell, if you think that’s gonna keep me away…” he gives me that damn crooked smirk and i scoff at him, dramatically enough, i hope, to mask the faint pink blush creeping onto my cheeks.

“so.. what happened to you?” i nod faintly at the bruise blooming on his jaw.

“nothin’ serious, rosie. shepard got his panties in a twist ‘cause he heard i said somethin ‘bout his baby sister.”

“jesus. what’d you say?”

“man, i ain’t said nothin’ but the truth.” he looked real proud of himself for that one.

“you really just ask to get your ass kicked sometimes.” i shake my head at him, as he settles in, laying back on my floral pillows while blowing his smoke in my direction just to piss me off.

“hey. i didn’t get my fuckin’ ass kicked. you should see the state he's in right now.” dally retorts harshly. he can sound real scary sometimes, when he feels like he needs to.

my eyes widen slightly. “darry’s right on the other side of the wall. stop yellin’.” it’s not like darry doesn’t know he sneaks in through my window, but it’s kind of become an ‘i don’t want to see it or hear it’ agreement between us. not that my protests would ever keep dally quiet and respectful.

“darrel will be fine.” he stands up and stops my record his damn self, turning to me with one of his wicked grins. “i missed ya, doll.”

i shake the comment off. “you’re getting dirt all over my sheets. and ash. y’know how much laundry i have to do ‘cause of you?”

“relax, rosie.” he drawls, shrugging off his brown leather jacket and pulling his wife beater over his head, before settling on my pillows again. i try not to notice how his muscles tense as he crosses his arms. “how’s the kid been? you know,” he chuckles, “i think he’s got a mean crush on that redhead broad. cherry, or somethin’.”

“cherry valance? he won’t stop talkin’ about her. he’s smitten.” i smile affectionately at him. that’s one leg up i’ve got on soda when it comes to pony, he always comes to me for girl advice.

“can’t blame him. a real looker, that one. but tough to crack. i offered to take her out for a coke, and she told me to go to hell, i dunno.”

yeah, i needed to get off this subject. “i thought you and sylvia were-”

“nah, man. not anymore. two-bit told me he saw her neckin’ peterson at the party last saturday. two-timing whore.” he rolls it off his tongue like the name itself is filthy.

“oh.” i wasn’t sure what to say to that, or how to feel. relieved, maybe, even if i didn’t want to admit it. “well, i’m sorry.” it comes out softer than intended.

he narrows his eyes, not one to ever like feeling pitied. “i ain’t bothered.”

“alright, dal.” the room is dead silent without my record playing. “…wanna get high?”

he just pats his side of my bed lazily, pulling out a joint from his pocket as i move over to him. close enough for his cheap cologne and kools smoke to take over my lungs, but not close enough to touch.

a.n. idk what he smokes ive been trying to figure it out lols i put marlboro lights first for some reason and then i googled it and they came out in 1971. idk voice ur opinions but kools feels right. also i keep stealing his lines from the movie laughs evily

taglist: @mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d

#socgfwriting #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston #dally winston #the outsiders #matt dillon #dallas winston hcs #dallas winston headcanons

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rafecamerons-national-anthem · 6 months ago

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THE BET-RAFE CAMERON/JJ MAYBANK

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 In an attempt to break the tension surrounding the growing attraction between Y/N and Rafe, JJ jokingly makes a bet with her: if she can get Rafe to flirt with her without him getting jealous, she wins. If not, JJ gets to flirt with her however he wants for the rest of the week.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Y/N was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling over the side, looking out at the horizon. The group was scattered around, but her attention was mostly on one person: Rafe Cameron. He had been acting strange lately, giving her looks that made her heart race but never quite saying anything. And as much as she tried to brush it off, the tension between them was undeniable.

It didn’t help that JJ, ever the charmer, seemed to take every opportunity to tease her about Rafe.

“So, Y/N,” JJ said, dropping down beside her with that trademark grin of his. “I’ve been noticing something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

JJ leaned in close, his voice lowering in mock seriousness. “You and Rafe? There’s some serious tension there, and I’m loving it. He looks at you like he’s about to jump you every time you’re in the same room.”

Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you start too, JJ.”

JJ chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. “I’m serious. It’s been impossible to ignore. But I have an idea.”

Y/N turned to him, curious. “What kind of idea?”

A wicked grin spread across JJ’s face, one she knew all too well. “How about a bet?”

Y/N frowned. “A bet? What’s the catch?”

“Well,” JJ continued, leaning back casually on his hands, “if you can get Rafe to flirt with you, without me getting jealous, I’ll back off. I won’t tease you about it anymore. You win.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And what do you get if I lose?”

JJ leaned closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “If you lose, I get to flirt with you however I want for the rest of the week. Every. Single. Day.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of JJ’s usual teasing being upped to a new level, and despite herself, she felt her cheeks heat up.

“JJ, you’re insane,” Y/N replied, though the challenge in his eyes made it hard to resist.

“Come on,” he urged, “it’ll be fun. I get to see if you can get Rafe to stop being such a prick about you. And maybe…just maybe…you’ll realize that you don’t need to waste your time on a guy who can’t even admit he likes you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Part of her didn’t want to deal with the idea of being the subject of JJ’s playful attention for an entire week, but another part, one that had grown weary of Rafe’s mixed signals, was intrigued. Could she really get him to flirt without making him jealous? And what if it actually worked?

“Fine,” she said, with a determined glint in her eyes. “You’re on.”

The next day, Y/N set her plan into motion. The group was hanging out by the beach, the usual laid back atmosphere surrounding them. Rafe was lounging in a chair, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever, while JJ was nearby, throwing out comments every so often to make Y/N squirm.

Y/N couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward Rafe. The way he always seemed to be nearby, watching her with that unreadable gaze, it made her heart beat faster every time they exchanged glances. But JJ’s flirtations, while sometimes frustrating, had always been easy to brush off.

But this was different. This was a game. And Y/N was determined to win.

She approached Rafe, trying to keep the teasing tone from her voice as she sat down next to him. “Hey, Rafe,” she said casually, nudging him with her elbow.

Rafe looked up from his phone, his gaze momentarily flickering over her before he smirked. “What’s up, Y/N?”

“Not much,” she said, smiling, “just thought I’d come over and keep you company. Looks like you could use some.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah? You think so?”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes bright with playfulness. “Well, you don’t seem to be getting much attention from the others. Thought I’d make sure you’re not too bored.”

She could feel JJ’s eyes on her from a distance, watching closely. His usual teasing had stopped, and Y/N could tell he was waiting to see how Rafe would react. Would he flirt with her? Or would he pull back, like he always did?

Rafe didn’t say anything for a beat. He simply studied her for a moment, and then, with a slight grin, he leaned a little closer. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like if you were a little less serious all the time,” he said, his voice lowering with a teasing edge.

Y/N’s heart skipped, but she kept her composure. “Oh really?” she replied, fighting the smile threatening to spread across her face. “You think I’m serious all the time?”

“Only when it suits you,” Rafe teased. “But I’ve seen that mischievous side of you. Makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.”

Y/N’s mind raced as she realized that Rafe was…flirting with her. Actually flirting with her. The realization sent a jolt through her body, and she couldn’t help but smirk. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

But as she glanced over to JJ, she saw the subtle flicker of annoyance in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened as he watched them. He was definitely jealous, and Y/N felt a strange thrill at the thought.

Rafe’s attention shifted back to her, and he added, “You know, I’m not used to seeing you like this, loose, a little playful. It’s a nice change.”

Y/N leaned in closer, testing the waters. “Maybe I’m just getting tired of hanging around people who take everything so seriously.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes glinting. “I’ll admit, that’s one of the things I like about you. You don’t let anything tie you down.”

The playful banter continued, but in the back of her mind, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about JJ. His usual flirtations had been replaced with a tense silence, and it made her wonder just how far this game would go.

By the time they all gathered around the bonfire later that evening, the playful atmosphere had shifted into something deeper. JJ didn’t hide the smirk on his face when Y/N walked over to him, but there was something darker in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before.

“Looks like you won the first round,” he teased, but his voice was laced with something else. “Rafe didn’t even stand a chance.”

Y/N shot him a knowing smile. “I told you I could do it.”

JJ’s grin softened, but there was a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “Don’t get too cocky, though. You might win the game, but we both know you’re just as much of a challenge as Rafe is.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, and for the first time, she wondered if she’d been overlooking something between her and JJ all along. The way he was looking at her now wasn’t just playful, it was serious.

And as the night went on, with Rafe still lingering in the background and JJ’s teasing escalating, Y/N realized that this bet might have opened up more than she expected. Maybe the game wasn’t just about Rafe or her, it was about her realizing the chemistry she shared with both of them, and the fact that this playful flirtation was beginning to feel a lot more real than she had anticipated.

As the night wore on, Y/N couldn't shake the growing tension between her, JJ, and Rafe. The fire crackled softly, casting shadows on their faces as the group lounged around the beach. JJ was still by her side, his usual teasing grin replaced by a more intense expression as he noticed how Rafe kept glancing over at them. The smirk on Rafe’s face was still there, but there was something else behind it, a possessiveness that Y/N hadn’t quite registered until now.

"You're making this more complicated than it needs to be, you know," JJ said under his breath, leaning closer to her.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between JJ and Rafe. "How so?"

He let out a small laugh, his voice low and playful but tinged with something she couldn't quite place. "Rafe's not used to being challenged. And you? You’re making him work for it. I don’t think he’s used to that either."

She glanced back at Rafe, who was watching her now, his lips slightly parted. He looked like he was considering something, his usual cocky demeanor softened by an intensity she wasn’t used to seeing in him. Y/N felt her pulse quicken at the thought of him wanting something more, something real.

"Rafe’s fine," she said, trying to sound casual, though she was beginning to feel the weight of the unspoken tension in the air. "He’s just playing the game too."

JJ’s eyes darkened just a fraction, and for a split second, Y/N could see the shift in his expression, something like jealousy mixed with frustration. “You really think he’s just playing around?” JJ scoffed softly, then glanced toward Rafe. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Y/N. Don’t think he won’t make you regret this.”

She didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to laugh it off, but another part of her, the part that had seen how differently Rafe had been acting around her, knew there was more to this than a casual flirtation.

“Maybe I want him to regret it,” Y/N said, her voice softer than intended. It wasn’t entirely true, but the words were out before she could stop them.

JJ looked at her, his jaw tightening. The usual teasing gleam was gone from his eyes. Instead, there was something that made her chest tighten, something that felt uncomfortably close to sincerity. "You sure about that?" he asked, voice low, almost too serious.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Rafe's voice, his sudden presence breaking the tension. "Is this a private conversation, or are we all in on it?" Rafe's tone was smooth, but Y/N could hear the edge to it, the challenge he couldn’t quite hide.

She turned toward him, meeting his gaze head on. "Just talking," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Nothing important."

Rafe smirked, his eyes flicking to JJ before landing back on her. “You’re always full of surprises, Y/N. Didn’t know you had this in you.” His words felt like a challenge, an invitation to play the game a little harder, to push the boundaries even more.

Y/N smiled, but it was a little more hesitant than before. "Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think."

Rafe’s smile faded slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remained. There was something deeper there now, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. As he took a step closer, JJ shifted beside her, a slight growl in his throat that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

"Enough with the games, Rafe," JJ finally said, his voice clipped and unusually serious. “You can’t just walk in here like you own the place.”

Rafe glanced at JJ, a sharp glint in his eyes. “I don’t need permission to talk to Y/N. But you’re getting a little too comfortable with her. And we both know that’s not how this works.”

Y/N could feel the heat rising in her chest as the two of them sized each other up. The challenge between them was palpable, and she realized just how tangled this situation was becoming. The bet had started out as a simple game, a way to break the tension and prove something to JJ but now, it felt like the stakes were higher. Much higher.

JJ and Rafe were locked in a silent stare, both of them seemingly waiting for something to give. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Y/N could feel the weight of it pressing down on her.

“You’re really going to do this, huh?” JJ said, his voice tight with frustration. “You’re going to make a game out of this, turn everything into a competition?”

Rafe didn’t break his gaze, his smirk returning. “If it’s a game, then you’re the one who made the first move, not me. You started this with your little bet, remember?”

Y/N felt the words catch in her throat. She had underestimated just how deep this bet had gone, how much it was affecting both of them. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with the fallout from what had started out as a harmless challenge.

For a moment, she thought about backing out. But the way both of them were looking at her, like they were waiting for her to make the next move, left her with no choice.

“I’m done with this,” Y/N said suddenly, standing up and walking away from the group. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her thoughts racing as she tried to clear her head. She hadn’t anticipated it would get this complicated, this fast.

She heard footsteps behind her, and before she could turn around, JJ was standing beside her. His usual confident grin was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward. But I can’t help how I feel, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Y/N paused, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Her heart pounded as she looked at him, knowing this wasn’t just about the bet anymore. It was about something much bigger, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

And before she could answer, Rafe appeared beside them, his eyes dark and unreadable. “What, you thought this would just blow over? That you’d get to walk away without choosing?”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. But one thing was clear, this game was no longer just a bet. It was real. And it was only getting more complicated.

Y/N stood there, the weight of the two of them standing beside her pressing down like a heavy storm cloud. JJ’s eyes were full of vulnerability, and Rafe’s intense gaze never left hers. It felt like everything had come to a head, the playful game, the teasing, the jealousy, it was all colliding in this moment, and Y/N could feel the tension crackling in the air.

She glanced from JJ to Rafe, trying to catch her breath. What now? The question echoed in her mind, but she already knew the answer.

For all the fun and chemistry she had with JJ, there was something about Rafe that had always been undeniable. His unpredictability, the intensity in his eyes when they locked, the way he’d always watched her from the shadows like he couldn’t help himself, there was something deeper, something dangerous, that drew her in.

This was more than a bet. More than a game.

With a deep breath, she looked directly at Rafe, the words coming out before she could second guess herself. “I’m picking Rafe.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For a moment, neither JJ nor Rafe said anything. JJ’s expression faltered, like he hadn’t expected her to say that, but he quickly masked it with a forced grin, though there was something bitter in it.

“Guess I should have known,” JJ said softly, his voice carrying a mixture of disappointment and something else, something Y/N couldn’t quite place. “You two have always had that spark.” He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I’m not gonna make a scene. It’s your choice.”

Y/N could feel her heart breaking a little as she met JJ’s eyes. She had never wanted to hurt him, and yet here they were. This was the consequence of the bet, of everything that had led up to this moment. She opened her mouth to say something, to offer an apology, but before she could, Rafe spoke.

“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was firm, like he was trying to mask the emotions stirring beneath his usual facade. But his eyes, those eyes, were softening, just a little.

Y/N nodded, unsure of what else to say. She glanced once more at JJ, who seemed to be putting on an act, trying to pretend like it didn’t sting. But deep down, she knew it did.

Without another word, Y/N walked away with Rafe, feeling the weight of her decision settle over her. Rafe’s hand brushed against hers as they walked down the beach, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance filling the silence between them.

Once they were far enough from the group, Rafe slowed his pace, and they found themselves standing by the water, just the two of them. His eyes were on her, studying her like he was trying to figure out if she was still playing some kind of game.

Y/N felt the tension between them escalate. “Rafe,” she began, voice shaky, unsure of how to move forward, “I don’t want to hurt JJ. But...”

Rafe interrupted, his voice low and almost too sincere. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I just... I’ve always known what I wanted, even if I didn’t say it. And right now, I want you. Not the game. Not the teasing. Just you.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she took in his words. It wasn’t the cocky Rafe she’d grown used to. It wasn’t the guy who’d pushed her buttons and taunted her, it was something more vulnerable, more raw.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re sure about this? About us?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, feeling a surge of confidence in her decision. “I am.”

Rafe’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, she saw something in him she hadn’t seen before, a genuine warmth, a hint of tenderness beneath his usual bravado. He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

Before she could process what was happening, Rafe leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a slow, heated kiss that sent a shock of electricity through her veins. The kiss was different from anything she’d shared with JJ, slower, more deliberate, like Rafe was savoring the moment, making sure she felt every second of it. And Y/N did. Every part of her was completely aware of what was happening, and she couldn’t deny it.

When they pulled away, Rafe kept his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming out in short bursts. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I never knew how to say it without fucking things up.”

Y/N smiled softly, her fingers lightly brushing over his chest. “You don’t have to say anything, Rafe. I’m here now.”

He let out a quiet laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief in his eyes. “I think we’ve both been idiots for a while, don’t you?”

Y/N chuckled, her hands resting on his chest. “Maybe. But I think we’re finally getting it right.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, watching the stars beginning to dot the sky above them. The chaos of everything before felt distant now, almost like it had never mattered. The only thing that mattered was the quiet moment they shared, just the two of them, the world fading away.

Rafe looked down at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’re going to have to deal with all that Pogue stuff later, you know.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

The night stretched on, the waves lapping at the shore as they stayed together, both of them realizing that while the tension and the bet had led them here, it was the undeniable chemistry between them that would take them further. And for once, it felt like they were both ready for whatever came next.

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

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peace-for-levi · 2 years ago

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{when you need me...}

who would i be if i didn't project my mental health onto 2D characters/reader and not write about it? i see so many fics of reader being worried for nanami while he's out in shibuya and… we all know what happens there.

content warning: detailed descriptions of anxiety, reader refers to themselves as 'wife' (reader thinks they are a bad wife) and the use of 'she'. it's otherwise in the 2nd person perspective. negative self-talk/beliefs. use of pet names. nanami being the bestest husband. i miiiiight have made him OOC and overindulged on how soft i made him BUT ITS OK YOU GOTTA BE A DELULU IN THIS ECONOMY.

+18 discord server

No, you were not going to call him. Absolutely not! Or text him either, for that matter.

The anxiety had been bubbling away all day inside your head like billowing storm clouds. You were grateful work kept you occupied, but once you arrived home, you trudged to your bedroom. You didn't even change out of your work attire.

You knew the source of all this, too.

Nanami came home injured while you were out dealing with another curse of your own. Thankfully, he had dealt with the bleeding himself and got checked out by Shoko. But to see him come so depleted of energy – dark shadows hanging under his eyes like bats, shoulders heavy – left you extremely unsettled. You were already an anxious mess, and now there are talks of a special-grade 'patchwork' curse. Not to mention the two unregistered cursed spirits that Gojo encountered.

What was going on in the world?

Now, he had been called out to the school again. After being badly injured, no less!

What if he was asked to fight the patch-work curse again? Was that curse able to perform Domain Expansions? Your husband never reached that height of jujutsu…

Would he… make it home okay?

You worked a "normal" job, not being employed at as a teacher at the highschool. As a grade one sorcerer, though, you were sometimes called in on particularly difficult and awkward missions. Your figured your problems with anxiety in the past would slowly fizzle away if you quit working at that highschool; after all, they couldn't make you exorcise and hunt down curses as often if you didn't work there. In your naivety, you assumed that'd be the end to your worries. But they only persisted and got worse the longer your husband of four years continued to work there as a teacher.

You couldn't resent him for it, and you knew he found greater fulfillment in being a teacher than adhereing to the laborious life of a salaryman.

But, maybe… your selfish thoughts got the better of you when you wished he could work a more "normal" job like you… If he worked a job where his safety was guaranteed…

How could you say such a thing? What kind of wife says that?!

Your hand collides against your forehead, releasing a (poorly contained) groan. Your teeth continued to chatter.

Now, I'm a bad wife on top of everything else…

Gruesome images flood your mind's eye. It's obsessive, relentless. After all, you have to prepare for the worst to come, right…? That's what you always do.

If you were by his side, would that make you feel any more relieved? Just by seeing him? But like a jolt, any solution you try come up with is met with more disturbing imagery. It was so vivid, it is as if you were there.

All that gore and worry conjured up in your cursed, anxious little head. The redness – so much red – of your imagery. It seeps and spreads along the ground at a terrifying rate, the image of someone – Kento – bleeding out. No one is there to help him.

You are.

You aren't gifted like Shoko, though.

There is no amount of horror – be it from forms of media or the wicked imagination – that can prepare a person for seeing the life ebb from another; the hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that is the departing of the other. As your loved one leaves this earth.

You're anxious, you're spiralling… You just wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to confirm with you he was okay. But you disturb him enough already with your texts and calls during missions.

Of course, in reality, if you hailed for Kento, he'd drop everything to be with you. He always has.

You didn't realize your thumb was hovering above the 'send' button. Through bleary eyes, you can see a hastily constructed text. Loaded with typos and errors. You're hardly able to read it though. Thumbs fidgting, you toss the phone.

You knew, logically, that he would want to help. He always has helped. But god, maybe you wanted to be big girl for once and try deal with it without him? Maybe be a good wife who doesn't send him a barage of texts when she's anxious?

Anxiety is the leak in your boat. You have to find a way to patch that hole or you'll drown.

But how can you when your worries revolve around your husband's safety?

You try cling to the logic that he has never refused you, made you feel stupid or invalidated you. Ever. But why would you cling to logic when the voice of your anxiety echoes through megaphone at you.

Of course, you're a distraction. Of course, you're a nuisance.

You hadn't even done a single chore to help around the house today. Some wife you were…

Kento would tell you that these thoughts you have are ridiculous. But you couldn't help it. You felt like you were holding him back from everything he deserved – you were so blessed to have a husband like him. You counted your lucky stars to be with him, but you ultimately felt like you didn't deserve him.

But Kento wasn't here now. So all you had was your mind to bully you.

The thoughts come as an electrical storm in your brain that, quite honestly, are painful. It's different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow. It's uneven breaths as you claw at your chest, and it feels like you're suffocating; all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It's sobbing to the point of staining your shirt. The intense images come at you with cursed intent. Like being hooked up to a cattle fence - not enough voltage to kill but sufficient to keep things uncomfortable, paralysed with fear and unmoving. And you couldn't, for the life of you, talk yourself out of the spiral.

It wasn't as if you didn't want Kento to be there. You were just denying yourself of his presence. You thought you were being brave, you thought—

Ping!

You lower your hands from your eyes. You gaze at the phone, blinking owlishy, before picking it up.

You let out a groan. In anxiously twiddling your thumbs by your screen, you had sent the (questionable-looking) text.

You don't even have time to berate yourself, for your ringtone begins to chime.

"[F/n], honey. I don't quite understand your text," he greets. He goes back to doing what he was doing – it sounded like he was tidying something away. "Principal Yaga has us staying behind at the school to–"

He stops.

He immediately stops upon hearing you whimper over the phone.

"Sweetheart?"

You mumble, "I-I– Um, N-Nanami, I–"

What if he loses his patience today? Will this be the straw that breaks the camel's back?

You can hear him shuffling over the phone. "Talk to me, what is it? Are you hurt?"

You don't want him to leave work on your account. Damn, your thumbs! If only it stayed as an unsent draft.

You panicked. "I-I'm fine! I think I just–"

You hear him sigh. "You're a terrible liar… You're not fine." A pause. "I'm coming home."

"No, Kento, please–!"

The call ends there. Your fingers seize up and your phone falls to the bed. Your wrists bash off your head, hitting yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Ping!

Be safe. I'll be there in fifteen.

Your heart sinks, especially knowing that he'd probably break several road safety laws to get back to you as soon as possible.

Another notification arrives swiftly after that.

I love you. You'll be fine.

The fifteen minutes drag by so slowly. You're still rooted at the side of your bed. Not having changed, started laundry, started making dinner. You shake your head. It's frightful how automatically you chastise yourself for anything and everything. Once you hear the click of the door, you shudder and cower, waiting for him to come into your shared bedroom to berate you.

Your eyes are clamped shut still, even when you feel his calloused thumb rub at your knee.

"Oh, sweetheart…" he says, and when he speaks it's so soft. Soft like he'd holding fine china.

He's careful to not press your boundaries too much, not wanting to hold you tighter. But he doesn't sense any resistance right now. You let him hold you.

He holds you like you are the most precious and loveliest thing in his world.

(You are.)

As if you weren't crying enough already, his touch makes you crumble more.

"What has you so anxious, [F/n]?" he asks, rubbing your arms up and down. He pulls away briefly to ask, "May I sit?"

You nod and he sets himself down. You overwhelmed by his love. You always have been. He always spoils you with his soft, passionate touch and his gentle words. You sniffle and it takes every ounce of self control to not explode into a heaving, babbling mess (more than what you currently were.) You continue to sob into his arms.

"Shhh, shhh. You're alright, you're going to be just fine, sweetheart. But in order to be okay, you're going to have to stop holding your breath like that."

You hadn't even realized. You always had been an open book to him.

Breathe, breathe, breathe…

Your thoughts were so out of control, you were in a terrible cycle of either hyperventilating, or holding your breath. You shake your head, trying to break free. He doesn't let go entirely, but he loosens his grip. His hands hold yours, breathing deeply, as if trying to do it for you. You continue to resist, fighting his hold more as you take agonizing breaths.

"Let me hold you. Let me make things better. Let me stay."

You sob harder, knowing that once again he'll be picking up the pieces. Your pieces.

"What has you so worked up?" he asks, in between practiced, deep breaths.

Before you even have a chance to say anything, he whispers softly against your temple, "I love you. So, please, let me in."

And you let everything out.

He holds you close again once each and every worry comes out. He rocks you slowly back and forth, he plants the odd kiss to your dewy temple. He listens to you intently, taking in everything you say and more. He has heard these worries countless times before, and he listens to them as if these are being revealed to him for the first time. He gently 'shhhh's against your brow when you start to hiccup and unravel more.

As your husband, he wants to be able to promise you his safert; he wants to promise he'll come home in one piece.

But he can't do that. Because he doesn't know how any of this will play out.

So he hugs you, impossibly tighter.

"What can I do to help? Tell me what I can do to make it all okay…"

You want to be a good wife; you don't share the selfish thoughts you have, of wanting him to work at a normal job again. Even when he hated it, even when it left him feeling so drained.

So you say nothing and you let your little lie spread its wings.

You calm down in his arms, holding you until your limbs feel heavy. He continues to soothe you as best as possible. His voice was so achingly gentle, rubbing circles into your hips. It has your heart shattering into pieces.

Mindlessly, you mumble under your breath. "I just want you to be okay…" you admit.

He averts his gaze helplessly, because knows he can't promise you that. He relaxes and lays down on the bed, taking you with him. You undo the top button of his shirt.

He smiles sadly. It's the one thing he can't promise.

And though he'll never let you know, he feels like he fails in this duties as a husband.

But sometimes, he knows he's at least doing something right when he helps calm you down from such a state that you end up dozing off in his arms. He holds you til his arms limp and heavy.

In this blood-stained, fleeting life, he'll walk with you to the ends of this earth.

Even if he must depart early.

taglist: @levi-my-beloved @licuadora-nasir @nelapanela94 @whattheheckmidoriya @poisonpeche @unadulteratedtreecrusade @notgoodforlife @sckerman @theferricfox @happybird16 @jayteacups and idk who else

#cece; speaks #nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami angst #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader fluff #nanami x reader angst #jjk x you #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento headcanons

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michelle-is-writing · 1 year ago

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Help, John Wick

Word Count: 2.8k~

Warnings: mention of gun fire, blood, injury, stitches

Working the evening shift sometimes proves to be a hassle, especially when I’m needed past midnight. On nights like these, I know as soon as I leave the hospital doors that I’m all alone in my somewhat safe city. The biggest issue in my city is the constant hidden dangers within it, as reported by the news many times. The attacks are always random, and the people are disguised, meaning no one can tell who is truly good or bad.

With the clock nearing 12:05, I’m finally able to clock out and head out of my hospital and to my car. On the way to my vehicle, I notice something weird about my driver side’s tires; they seem to be flat, but one has a knife stuck in it.

“What the…” my voice trails off as I look around my hospital’s parking lot, seeing maybe three or four other cars scattered throughout it. I’m already in a not-so-safe situation, and quite frankly, walking out alone late at night is not the best decision for someone like me to make.

Instead of risking my safety, I begin walking backwards to go back into the hospital before turning around, only to be knocked down on the ground by someone running into me from my left. As I fall with the person who rammed into me, my ears pick up distinct gunshots - something you hope to never hear when you’re leaving work late at night.

“Stay down!” A deep, gruff voice yells before the weight of the body on top of me is suddenly gone, and more gunshots ring out around me. Despite the pain from being slammed down, I still manage to shuffle away and get behind the bushes next to the pavement. It’s not the best cover, but it can at least help me figure out what the hell is going on right now.

Looking through the thick branches of leaves in front of me, I spot two people now revealed by the street lights as they shoot toward the entrance of the hospital. “Why would anyone shoot at a hospital?!” I find myself muttering before I jerk my head over to the doors. There stands a dark-haired man dressed in an all black suit, a pistol in his hands as well. Only two shots are fired from that pistol before all gunshots come to a stop, but before I have any time to process what has just happened, the man is running toward me. I’ve never seen him before, and he certainly doesn’t look like someone who could shoot two people in two clear shots. His face is even cast with concern as he nears the bushes I hide behind, a hand outreached for me.

“We need to go! Now!” He tells me, grabbing my hand before yanking me up from the ground and taking off. With his hand firmly gripping my hand, I’m left with no other choice but to run with him. Feeling my fight-or-flight instincts kick in, I recognize the rush of anxiety flowing through me as well as so much confusion. Why am I running with a man who just shot several men either wounded or dead? He’s obviously trying to help me, but who exactly is he trying to protect me from?

After running across the parking lot to a car parked in the shade, the man yells at me to get in, but as I near the passenger side door, I feel myself halt as time slowly passes around me. My body feels as if it’s stuck in honey, unable to move or do anything, and my mind doesn’t feel much better.

“Get in now!” The man yells one more time, fully snapping me out of my stupor and bringing my attention to the door handle of an older car as I open it before climbing in. Alongside me is the man falling into the driver's side, quickly turning the engine on before speeding out of the parking lot. Speeding lights pass all around me while my eyes fall to my arms and hands, a burning sensation taking over my limbs. My palms and elbows are scratched up from the fall, droplets of blood adorning the scrapes before leading down to the new holes on the knees of my scrub pants, crimson liquid beginning to show through there as well.

In this moment, as my brain now begins to process the oncoming stings and burns, I turn my head toward the man, finding him to be focusing every ounce of his attention on the road in front of us as he speeds way above the limit. “What just happened?” I ask him, my voice almost disturbing him from his focus as he slightly jolts in his seat. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, his long hair moving along with him as he seemingly ponders if he should answer my question or not. For a few seconds, he remains quiet before sighing and giving in. “It’s… hard to explain,” he starts, giving me a cautious glance before looking back at the road in front of him as he speeds through traffic. Between taking sharp turns and darting in between cars, I can’t help but grasp the door with all my might to keep me from going all over the place.

“A couple days ago, you treated a patient, a man who came in with a bullet wound directly below his heart,” The man explains, making me stare at him confused. I did have a patient come in with those exact issues, but he told us he was mugged and that’s why he was shot. Why would someone try to attack a mugging victim in the way they did?

“Well, the guy wasn’t exactly mugged, and the people who shot him thought you were helping out him and his… group,” he further adds, making my eyes widen in a mix of horror and confusion. “They didn't even know your name or anything about you and they still tried to put a hit on you, all because you helped him survive. He asked me to make sure nothing happened to you, said you were a sweet girl, and I promised him I would keep you safe,” he nods his head toward the road. “So, here we are.”

Despite his explanation definitely being… weird, I don’t question him any more about it, and instead, I ask him something else. “What’s your name?”

At my question, he gives me a wary glance before answering. “John,” he tells me, gaining a nod back from me.

“John, I think you got shot,” I inform him, my eyes falling to his bloody arm. It looks like the bullet either grazed or went completely through his arm, but nonetheless, it’s still bleeding like a gunshot wound.

John barely reacts, only nodding his head “I know,” he simply explains as if it were something simple and not a bullet wound. “I’ll take you somewhere safe until we know what the group is trying to achieve.”

His words barely register in my ears before I’m turning in my seat to shake my head at him. “No, no, we need to go to my apartment,” I urge him, and just as I expected, he begins to tell me it’s not safe. “But my dogs are there!” I quickly argue back, feeling my heart pound away in my chest.

In an instant, it’s like a flip in his head switches, and he gives me a small nod in response to my words. “Okay,” he simply mutters, “Show me how to get there.”

Arriving at my apartment, John parks the car way down my street before having us run up to my back gate and get in through there. By the looks of it, my apartment seems to be untouched, and after John does a quick run through, I’m able to let out a sigh of relief. I’ve witnessed a lot of crazy things tonight, and the fact that I have a man whom I just met in my house after being shot at is crazy. However, my dogs don’t seem to care about the crazy night I’ve had as they’re too busy trying to get John to pet them. In spite of what I witnessed him do earlier in the midst of gunfire, seeing him act like a complete teddy bear around my dogs practically makes my heart skip a beat.

“Sit down here, John,” I tell him, gesturing to stools by my counter as I wash my hands in the kitchen sink. “So I can stitch up your arm,” I add, drying the water from my hands before gathering the stuff I need from my medicine cabinet. He nods at my words before sitting and waiting patiently, now with my smallest dog in his lap. Beside him are my other dogs, all sitting beside him as if they were all best friends already.

Smiling at the sight, I look up from my dogs to meet his eyes, only to be greeted by his chocolate-like eyes already staring back into mine. However, I quickly look away and begin helping him take his coat off all the while remaining careful about the arm he got shot in. It’s only after I cut the arm of his sleeve off and begin gently cleaning the dried up blood off his arm that John speaks up. “Do you treat all your patients like this?” He asks, a small smile taking over his lips as the question falls from his mouth.

I find myself smiling back at him before moving onto clean the actual wound. “Only special ones,” I tell him, earning a small chuckle back from him despite me pressing gauze with alcohol against the bullet wound on his arm. I choose not to mention it, and instead point out all of my dogs’ sudden fondness for the man. “They really like you,” I point out before examining his wound. The bullet went through the very edge of his arm, avoiding his humerus or anything major. Despite it leaving a decent sized wound, it’s still a pretty easy fix, thankfully.

Telling John he’ll need stitches only gains a hum back from him. Even when I poke the needle through his skin and pull it through, he still fails to react, and instead, John speaks up with the same tone of voice he had earlier. “I love dogs,” John confesses, using his free hand to scratch the wrinkles on my pug’s forehead. “And they’re all so cute too,” he adds, once again, not showing any sign of pain as I finish suturing his arm.

“That’s a good thing, that you love dogs,” I tell him, dressing his arm before taping it. “It shows a lot about someone,” I add, watching as he watches me closely, yet softly. As time goes on, I anticipate his next words, but even now, he still doesn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry we met this way,” John’s apology takes me by surprise, causing me to look away from his arm and stare at him. “I wish this could’ve been under better circumstances,” he adds, a small sigh falling from his lips afterward. “You’re a truly wonderful person; you didn’t deserve to be a target tonight.”

Instead of agreeing with him, I sigh as well before smiling and speaking up. “If it weren’t for you, they would’ve shot me. Over something I haven’t the slightest clue on,” I point out to him, “I know there are things that go on in this city, and I never expected to be in the middle of it, but I am eternally grateful that you were there and able to save me tonight,” Taking his hand in mine, I maintain eye contact with him and squeeze his hand. “You saved my life tonight. Thank you.”

At my words, John smiles back and nods. “No problem, nurse (Y/n),” he tells me, his thumb gently running across the back of my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here to do it again,” he adds, making my smile grow even more as his eyes never leave mine. I don’t doubt the mysterious stranger will hold true to his word, but at the same time, I want to learn more about the man outside of saving me from the city’s dangers.

“And I’ll be here to patch you up again,” I tell him back, giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning to put away all of my medical supplies. “In the meantime,” I start, glancing between him and my kit as my dogs take the opportunity to swarm him. “Would you mind explaining to me a little bit about what exactly goes on in this city?”

John doesn’t respond right away, and instead, he chooses to stand up beside me in spite of the protests from his new furry friends. Putting away the rolled gauze and cotton balls, I look over at him as he appears beside me, only to earn another small smile from him like before. “Too much for one night,” he tells me, placing a gentle hand on my arm as if to stop me from messing with my medical supplies. “For right now, you need to sleep. You’ve had a long day,” he points out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure you continue to stay safe for the night. Is it alright if I stay here?”

Seeing him gesture toward my living room where all of my dogs sit and eagerly wait for him to join them on the couch makes a small laugh leave my lips. If it weren’t for him saving my life and my dogs being so trusting of him, then I probably wouldn’t be as confident as I am with letting him stay. “Actually, I would prefer that,” I tell him, before nodding at the couch behind him. “Although I don’t think you’ll be alone, unfortunately.”

Just as I say that, all the dogs run over to us and stare up at him, causing John to look down at my dogs with a smile before his expression changes into one of concern. “You need to be bandaged as well,” He tells me, causing me to look down and see my busted up knees once more, reminding me off the dull pain currently shooting from them. “Let me do it,” he further adds before gently pushing me to sit back on the stool just like I had done with him.

“I can handle them, it’s okay,” I tell him with a chuckle. “I’ve handled much worse on myself.”

Despite my words, John doesn’t respond to me, and instead, he opens my med kit back up and begins taking out the same kind of supplies I used on him, all except for the sterilized needle and string thankfully. He doesn’t argue with me on me taking care of myself, but he acts as if I hadn’t said anything to him either.

Strangely, I allow him to take care of my wounds without interrupting him, settling for watching him instead. It’s only when he moves onto rolling my scrub pants above my knees that I find myself regretting my decision. His touch is seemingly nothing more than that of someone who cares, but I can’t help but feel the small degree of intimacy in the moment. I can’t decide if it’s his slightly rough, yet gentle hands grazing my skin or just the close proximity of him on his knees in front of me, but my mind is scrambled right now.

“Told you I’d keep you safe, right?” I hear him say, bringing me out of my stupor and down to him once again. His eyes remain on his task at hand, being careful as ever while cleaning my wounds. Instead of responding, I smile and simply nod back at him, relaxing a little as I do so. He seems to pick up on this, a soft, small smile making its way onto his face as well as he moves onto bandaging the now clean scrapes and cuts.

Once again, I feel his hands touch my skin with gentleness and care, but at the same time, I can’t help but revel in the sensualness of it as well. It doesn’t help that there are times that his touch lingers more than necessary and the smile on his face still has yet to die down. I can’t help but feel bad for the thoughts currently flowing through my mind, but a part of me likes the idea of him staying with me - minus the reason why, of course. Another part of me hopes this isn’t just a one time thing either.

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