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c0ffeejelly1 · 2 months ago

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Manhandling him

Multiple character headcannon

Authors note: UGH pls this whole things was for jokes bc I can’t really be that ask to make something I feel is good. Teehee. Also I can mischaracterise all I want okay let a girl dream pls. (POST-TIMESKIP!!)

Warning: man it’s like the smallest hint of the nasty freaky stuff

“Babe, you got something on your face. Let me just…” You reach out to your boyfriend, making him look your way by gripping his chin firmly while you flick away a bit of ‘glitter’ from his cheek. “There you go.”

Strike one.

That was just the beginning of your strange behavior today.

“Hey baby, c’mere I wanna kiss…” you call him over from the other side of the kitchen counter, only to yank on his collar and pull him in for one hell of a snog. “Seriously, you have no business looking this good today.”

Strike two.

Just what was up with you today?

You just got home from work, and as he’s about to sit up to see you, you suddenly push him back down onto the couch, mumbling something about how much you “missed him”.

Strike three.

You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your lips, but then you pause to check out his face.

Perhaps you took this prank too far…

The type to be oddly into it

“…are you hard?”

This snaps your boyfriend out of his thoughts.

He’d never ever ever thought he could find himself in a situation like this. this is the kind of stuff you see in movies, right? I mean, come on!

Just picture how mortifying it is to be turned on from someone mistreating you! It’s pathetic!

He can’t just blurt out, ‘oh hell yeah I’m hard’ in response to that question—why would anyone even think to ask that? What can a guy do in a moment like this except deny it?

“What? N-no!…” He glances away, feeling the weight of your intense gaze. “…maybe?”

When you raise an eyebrow at him, his mask crumbles entirely. There’s no use in pretending.

You’ve already seen right through him, leaving him no option but to retreat into a shadowy corner and disappear.

“Yeah.” He responds, his voice tinged with disappointment. “I…I am.”

Maybe it’s because of the way you handled him like he was nothing that made him so bothered.

Maybe it was the way you looked so desperate to have him that did it for him.

Either way, he’s discovered something about himself he never knew he ever had.

And make no mistake, you were going to exploit this discovery to the fullest.

“Have I told you how much I love you babe?” You pull back from his face after practically devouring it as he stands there, grinning like a lovesick fool, dishes still in hand.

“I think you should tell me more.”

“Wrap up with those dishes, and I’ll give you a demonstration instead.”

Be ready for one hell of a night cowgirl. Wink wink

Charcters: serizawa, armin, EREN, REINER, ukai, ATSUMU, Osamu, Gojo, CHOSO, leviathan, SATAN, DIAVOLO, IIDA, denki, tamaki, CHILDE, Cyno, sanji, LAW

The type to think you’ve finally gone crazy

you call out to him, noticing he seems lost in his phone. Yet, oddly enough, he flinches slightly every time you speak.

This reaction occurs whenever you draw near him, as if your voice startles him, even when you're just a breath away. It’s not that he dislikes your voice; rather, it feels like he’s a bit intimidated by you now.

What happened to the confident guy who was with you just two days ago? Why does he seem to be tiptoeing around you like a child with a fragile toy?

“Y/N…is everything alright?” He approaches you cautiously, maintaining a bit of distance, trying to balance his interest with a hint of hesitation. “You’ve been…um, I just wanted to check—are you upset with me?”

“Upset with you?” You set your phone aside, raising an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be upset? Did you do something wrong?”

That’s the very question he’s grappling with. Your passionate touches and fervent kisses have left him bewildered about your feelings.

Are you so enamored that you can’t help yourself, or are you retaliating for something he might have done? Suddenly, a thought strikes him.

“…If this is about how intense things got last night, I’m sorry, but you did ask for it when I warned you I wouldn’t hold back—” His words are cut short as your hand swiftly covers his mouth.

“No! No that’s—just no. It was a prank babe, a trend I saw online” you say, removing your hand and placing both on his shoulders. “Last night has nothing to do with today or any other day.”

“Not even you complaining about being sore?”

“Not even me complaining about…wait I never did that!”

“Yeah buts it’s easy to tell.”

Charcters: REIGEN, giyuu, giyomei, JEAN, KAGEYAMA, hinata, kuroo, OIKAWA, AKAASHI, geto, NANAMI, Solomon, IZUKU, Diluc, LAIOS, zayne, LAW (Sowy I can see him as both)

The type to also manhandle you

Did you honestly believe you could manhandle him without facing the same treatment in return? Come on this is your boyfriend we’re talking about, In fact, I think he’s thrilled that you can boss him around so effortlessly.

So thrilled that he makes it into a competition

“Okay let’s see who tackles the first person on the bed.” His eyes shine with enthusiasm as he confidently places his hands on his hips. “If I win I get to have my way with you, and if you win, you get to have me have my way with you. Deal?”

You pause for a moment to process his words “…uh, how is that fair?”

“What do you mean?” he replies, brushing off your concern with a grin.

“I think it’s perfectly fair. No matter the outcome, you get a nice little reward, right?” His voice dances with mischief as he nudges you playfully with his elbow, clearly trying to elicit a reaction.

You roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance, before relenting, “I guess it’s not so bad..”

“Exactly! Now, I’m going to count down. Ready? 3…2…” Before you can fully grasp what’s happening, he lunges at you, tackling you onto the bed before he even reaches 1.

“H-hey! That’s cheating, you can’t do that!” But your protests are ignored, your boyfriend already having you wrapped in his warm embrace, his face buried against your neck.

“This is what you get for how you’ve been treating me today.”

“What are you talking about?” You pause for a moment, though you suspect he’s finally caught on to your little scheme. “You mean me kissing you like any normal woman would with the love of her life?”

“No. Just you touching me all weirdly…”

“Don’t say it like that you make me sound like a perv.”

“Maybe cause you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…”

“I’m not.”

Charcters: RENGOKU, tengen, connie, NISHINOYA, hinata (yes again), kuroo (YESSS AGAIN), BOKUTO, TENDOU, MAMMON, DENKI (twice and what), kirishima, ITTO, rafayel, LUFFY

The type…yeah you ain’t doing that

Screw everything I just said in the intro. If you genuinely think you can manhandle this man and succeed. You’re crazy.

“Hey, come here, you’ve got something—” The moment your hand nears his face, he seizes your wrist, staring at you as if you’ve just committed a serious offense.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh…I’m trying to like get the little speck of glitter off your face.”

“We don’t own glitter?”

“Dust then?” He shoots you a skeptical glance.

“…sure.”

So that was an absolute fail…

But you’re not ready to throw in the towel just yet. No way! You just need to bide your time until nightfall, when he’s all soft and cuddly. That’s when you’ll make your move.

As the evening unfolds and you’re prepping for bed in the bathroom, you catch sight of him reaching for something in the cupboard above you. This is your moment. The time to pull him in close and—

SMACK

“The hell? What was that for?” He rubs his forehead, clearly taken aback by your sudden move.

Who knew kissing your boyfriend could be this complicated? Somehow, you ended up colliding headfirst into him, and now he’s clearly fed up with you.

“That wasn’t how it was supposed to go…” you say with a shy smile, nervously scratching the back of your head. “You alright?”

You gently move his hand away from his forehead to check for any damage, and to your surprise, he lets you.

Wait a minute… you actually moved his hand, and he’s okay with it? Is this manhandling? I think it’s manhandling. It’s manhandling.

“…I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I touched you!”

“??”

Pls stop confusing this man he’s already tired enough.

Charcters: dimple, akashi, MIDORIMA, aomine, sanemi, KAGEYAMA (yes again), TSUKISHIMA, iwaizumi, TOJI, LUCIFER, bakugou, AIZAWA, sylus, ZORO

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suksatoru · 2 months ago

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—sixth sense!

↪ rin has a specil sixth sense reserved just for you and your silly antics <3

pairing: itoshi rin x fem!reader

rin itoshi has a very special skill, one where he can predict when you're about to spew absolute nonsense. he says he has a sixth sense reserved just for your antics, and he also swears you're going to be the reason he has a full head of gray hair before he turns twenty.

"rinnie," you try again—pouting when rin exhales sharply from his nose, refusing to meet your gaze. rin sits on the ground at the end of his bed, and you sit perched on top of his blankets—hanging your head upside down to stare at him like the cheshire cat.

"no." he replies, short and curt as you drape yourself over his shoulder with a sigh. he shifts the slightest bit so you can comfortably curl your head against his form. you nose at his throat before speaking up again, quieter this time.

"pretty please? it's really all i want, rinnie. it would make my day—no, my life! please?"

rin thought you were the idiot in this relationship, but he knows he's the real lovesick fool. it wasn't impossible to say no, he says it to other people all the time. but your eyes are hopeful and round. and truthfully, the sight of your frown was truly his undoing.

rin lets out a dramatic sigh, loud and annoyed—and you know he accepts his defeat when he hands you his hair brush with a grumble. you roll off of the bed, sitting criss cross on the ground across him in an instant as you grab the nearby rubber bands laying on the floor with a dopey grin

"you just relax while i work rinnie! i promise, you won't even know i'm here!"

rin's deadpan expression only makes you laugh quietly, and you lean forward to place a gentle peck onto his lips. you hover over his mouth after pulling away an inch, taking a moment to admire his face before grinning

"grumpy," you muse as you gently brush your nose against his. rin mumbles something about you knowing nothing about personal space as he tugs you onto his lap

"if i'm bald by the end of this—"

"oooh rinnie your hair's so soft! i'm stealing your shampoo later," you interrupt with a giggle, pressing soft kisses onto the crown of his head as his shoulders slump. his broody expression is far too adorable to not kiss, and after peppering enough kisses onto his cheeks to leave them tinted pink—you get to work.

rin doesn't know why you want to style his hair. he regards your sparkly pink hair clips with an eye roll. but your fingers are gentle and soothing as they work to brush and style his hair, and he can feel the exhaustion slowly dispersing from his muscles as he leans into your touch.

"it feels...nice. thank you," he murmurs softly, gently rubbing your thigh as you hum in response. he moves to take a glance at you, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your tongue poked out in concentration as you work on tying his hair. cute.

it takes another fifteen minutes for you to finish your assault on his head. rin's practically putty beneath your fingers now, and there's a barely visible furrow between his brows when you pull your touch away from him.

"you look like a prince... you should totally let me style your hair more often, rinnie!" you gush, smiling softly as you admire your work on him.

"i'll be the judge of that," he mutters with a small smile, reaching onto his bed to grab your phone. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling when he sees your wallpaper being his back and jersey number, but the smile is wiped off his face in an instant as he lets out a startled yelp—staring at his reflection in the camera app.

"yeah. not happening, you cheeky brat." he scoffs, pointing at his head with a scowl

"y/n, tell me where you got five hundred charms of hello kitty clips... what damned store did you rob? and why are there pink extensions in my hair? are they—is that fucking glitter in them?"

rin eventually fell victim to a photoshoot, though he shouldn't be surprised. did he really think he'd escape you that easily? he's not very amused by your new wallpaper of him afterwards, but he can't even try and stop the amusement glimmering in his emerald eyes.

"not a soul will see those pictures. or i swear, i'll stick you in a gold fish tank y/n." rin mutters later that night as you two lay in bed, pressing feather soft kisses onto your shoulder blades as he silently admires the way your lips jut out in an adorable pout. his threat isn't very scary when he holds you like you're the most precious thing in his life, but you nod anyway.

"okay," you sigh in defeat. rin's eyes narrow suspiciously as he wraps his arms around your waist, settling in for the night as he turns off his bedside lamp.

"night, y/n." he whispers gently, his lashes brushing against your cheek as he kisses you softly. your hand gently brushes his bangs away from his eyes, and his face softens at your giggles

"night, rinnie. tomorrow you can style my hair! and then, we can be twins..." you affirm quietly. it's dark in the room, the night outside blanketing you two. there's a sliver of moonlight pouring through the window, and it's the only reason you're able to see the gentle smile on rin's face before you fall asleep.

blue lock masterlist :P

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dksfml · 6 months ago

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off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

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katsu2ji · 2 months ago

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fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact with you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of you laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you'd done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

#⋆.˚ s writes!#— jjk!#jjk #jjk megumi #jjk fushiguro #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x y/n #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi

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gojosoups · 2 days ago

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Till Kingdom Come

cw: fluff, angst, royalty au, war, blood, violence, character death, grief/loss, whipped gojo, love at first sight, he fell first and harder, bros obssessed, politics blegh /j, power imbalance?, all characters are 18+, SFW

a/n: dropped a lil fic while I’m on break. also ignore any minor changes, I’m indecisive lol.. see you all soon! art credits to @/loquatini on tiktok <3

So this is what your life has come to?

Perched upon the throne, in a kingdom that had long lost hope in its monarchy, you remain as its sole heir. The royal family lineage had long been dead, with no prospect of future heirs due to your husband’s poor, sickly condition, which—bless his soul—sent him to an early grave.

You were a widowed queen, in a land that did not belong to you, but was still your home.

So, like the dutiful wife and queen you were, you took your place on the dusty throne, not once batting an eye at the objections of the King’s council nor the high court.

You became a beacon of hope to your kingdom, which, although small in size, was great in strength. You became what the kingdom needed in a time of despair and crisis, in a time of famine and fear. You carved your place into the very stone walls of the kingdom, and the nation rejoiced, welcoming your rule with open arms.

Your people loved you, and under your rule, Veralia thrived.

The nation stood strong and prosperous beneath your iron will until one day, the gates of your kingdom were breached. An emperor from beyond the oceans and seas, who dared to weasel his way into your high walls.

Emperor Gojo Satoru.

A man feared across kingdoms and lands, a man who dared to threaten your rule.

Though you had taken your place on the throne, soon you would take your place on the battlefield, charging through the hordes of horses and knights with your blade held up high, aiming straight at Gojo Satoru.

And Satoru, nonetheless, felt the true meaning of love at first sight in that very moment.

All it took was one look at you—hair disheveled, clothes bloodied and in tatters, chest rising with every breath—as you stood before him, blade pressed to his throat, eyes sharper than a knife, piercing straight into his soul.

Just one look in your eyes, and he was done for. The only thought left in his mind was, "God, I have to marry her."

Amidst the chaos of war, surrounded by clashing fleets and the sound of an ongoing battle, Gojo Satoru knelt before you, smiling like a madman with that charming, boyish grin.

Your hand trembled in his as he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your delicate skin as he dared to speak those four forbidden words.

“Will you marry me?”

Your blade fell to the ground, a sound so loud, so final, that the battle itself seemed to halt. Soldiers from both kingdoms remained frozen, awaiting the command of their ruler as they bore witness to this spectacle.

"You want to marry me?" You scoffed, sneering at the audacity of this man, and yet, your heart couldn't help but race. Whether it was from the rush of battle or the shiver that ran down your spine from a mere kiss, you’d rather not say. “Then leave your throne.”

Your eyes blazed like a warm fire, stirring his insides with butterflies as you stared at him, unyielding and challenging.

"You must leave your throne then," you said in a tone so final, "recall your troops and betray your kingdom for me. Forsake everything you know, and live the rest of your life beside me, in my kingdom, under my rule."

And Gojo, being the lovesick idiot he was, merely grinned.

"So," he said, rising to his full height, towering over you with fingers tangled in yours, "when do I start packing?"

Then, softer, almost inaudible, he spoke. Words meant only for you, whispered amid the quietness of the battlefield.

“I'd rather kneel before your throne—to your every whim, to bow down at your very feet, and kiss the ground you walk on, Your Majesty—than sit alone on mine."

After all, Gojo Satoru was a fool in love.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑��𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

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yandere-romanticaa · 6 months ago

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˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜.

❝ heaven is my baby, suicide's her father, opulence is the end. ❞ - lana del rey.

various! yandere! honkai star rail men on how they claim you ~

🎀 I just wanted to make a little post which features my favorite male HSR characters lolz. Also, there's zero reason why I picked the song for the title other than the fact that it is for the ✨ aesthetic ✨!

❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 !

What better way than to leave a mark on his beloved than by his mere presence alone? Jing Yuan is a simple man in his core, even if his tactical nature or even mischievous side can get carried away at times, The General is all too aware of his influence on the Lofu.

The sun could stop shining, the sky could fall and darkness could envelop the whole galaxy but not even that could erase the impact that Jing Yuan has left on you.

Wandering eyes follow you everywhere you go, quaint whispers have become a daily occurrence for you as the entirety of the Lofu knows who you lover is. Some praise and envy your position as The General is known to be handsome, kind and strong. They secretly spit at you and curse your very existence, nasty jealousy rotting them to their core as you march on like a solider to war, aimless and uncertain.

There is also of course the opposite end of the spectrum - adoring fans who just gush about your so called relationship with the dashing general. Hours are wasted scrolling away on your phone as you browse through the endless sea of lovey dovey articles, pictures taken you weren't even aware of that existed, and a plethora of other things you could even bother to remember.

All he needed to do was to just give you a nice golden collar to seal the deal. At least that would be the more obvious way of him trying to brand you as his own sweetheart.

He had his own little secret though. A velvet box was kept hidden away in his desk, ready to be opened on a special occasion.

Depending on how you got on with the general in the future, the little thing in the box was either going to make you the happiest person in the world or, he really would finally shackle you with gold.

❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 !

Sunday, ever the gentleman, would try to remain subtle about his feelings towards you in public. There are just some things that you do not do, nor share with the outside world.

This is a rule he always tells you to follow.

Still, all he needs to do is to speak. Honeyed words fall from his lips like candy, always so sweet, so addictive, so passionate. Even a man like Sunday, who is known for keeping his cool, cannot hide his infatuation with you. He rambles and rambles, sometimes even losing himself in his thoughts as he sings his praises for you, like the lovesick fool that he is.

Sunday likes to think that he is being cool, suave, but he is literally anything but.

Sometimes, he gets a little too carried away. Sometimes, his darker desires get the better of him, which can set you off a little. He's always so sweet and apologetic whenever he upsets you...

Please, he says through gritted teeth.

Don't mind my ramblings. They don't mean anything. Truly, they do not.

Disregard those pleas entirely as they are nothing but hollow. All one needs to do is to look into his crazed eyes, and that is where you will find out just how true everything he's saying really is.

❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐀𝐎𝐐𝐈𝐔 !

This sly fox has such a hard time keeping his hands to himself... In all honesty, can you even blame him? Whenever he sneaks up on you, Jiaoqiu cannot help but to place his hands literally anywhere on your soft body and he is not shy about showing his true feelings.

Bearing his pearly white fangs, Jiaoqiu likes to bite from time to time.

The desire to do so is further enhanced with every sweet noise you make. Now now, don't cover your mouth, be nice! Every squeal, sigh, groan, even scream are so precious to him... Don't deny him the pleasure of not being able to listen to you.

It's very cruel of you, he says with a pout.

In the cover of night, he likes to trace the markings he left on you with his tongue, maybe even adding even more marks in the process. If you bleed a little, it's all fine and dandy.

You always taste sweet to him.

And the thought of other people being able to see the red bruises which bloom into hideous purple in green bruises on your neck... My goodness, he thinks to himself.

He could just devour you whole.

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bueckersstuff · 22 days ago

Text

HER NEW OBSESSION

Part I Part II Part III Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

The soft glow of your bedside lamp bathes the room in warm hues, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Paige lies beside you, her blonde hair fanned out over your pillow, her blue eyes tracing the contours of your face with a lazy sort of fascination. Her fingers ghost over your arm, drawing invisible patterns on your skin, the sensation light enough to send a ripple of shivers through you.

"You're staring," you tease, your lips curling into a smirk as you turn onto your side, facing her fully.

"M'not," Paige murmurs, though the small grin tugging at her lips betrays her. "Just admiring the view."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. This—whatever it is—has been going on for days, maybe even weeks now. Nights spent tangled in each other's arms, limbs draped over one another like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It's a silent routine neither of you have acknowledged out loud, but neither of you has dared to stop it, either.

Paige shifts closer, pressing against you until there's hardly any space left between your bodies. Her hand slides up your arm, tracing over your shoulder before settling at the base of your neck. "You’re warm," she mumbles, tucking her head under your chin like she belongs there.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her without hesitation. "And you’re clingy."

"Shut up, you love it," she shoots back, her breath fanning against your collarbone.

You do. You really do.

Her fingers play with the hem of your hoodie—her hoodie, technically, but she had tossed it over to you one night, and it somehow became yours. Now, it smells like the two of you, a mixture of her perfume and your detergent, an unspoken claim neither of you address.

Paige lifts her head slightly, her nose brushing against your jaw. "I should sleep, practice tomorrow."

"Then sleep. No one’s stopping you."

She exhales a quiet laugh before nudging her forehead against yours, her lips just a breath away. "You make it kinda hard when you're this close."

You don’t move, don’t pull back. Instead, you let your fingers trace slow circles against her back, committing the feel of her to memory. "Sounds like a you problem."

Paige hums, her fingers now threading through your hair, her touch slow and deliberate. "You're such a pain."

"And yet, here you are."

She doesn’t argue. Instead, she presses the softest, laziest kiss to the corner of your mouth, a touch so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all. But then she sighs, burrowing into you again, her grip around you tightening like she’s afraid to let go.

Neither of you speak. The silence between you is comfortable, weighted with something neither of you is brave enough to name. For now, it's enough to just exist like this—like two lovesick fools tangled in the sheets, living in a moment that neither of you dares to define.

You’re curled up on the couch, tucked into Paige’s side, your legs draped over hers as the soft glow of the TV flickers in the dimly lit dorm room. A movie plays, some overly romantic love story about a celebrity falling in love with a regular girl. You’re barely paying attention to the plot—too caught up in the way Paige absentmindedly traces her fingers along your arm, her touch featherlight yet electrifying.

This has been your reality for weeks now. Late nights tangled up together, stolen kisses in the quiet of your dorm, whispered words meant for no one else’s ears. No labels. No questions. Just the warmth of her presence and the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in a world that constantly demands her attention.

Your head rests against her shoulder as you exhale softly, watching the couple on screen navigate their love against the backdrop of fame. There’s a moment of quiet vulnerability between them, the kind that makes you ache for something you can’t quite name. Without thinking, the words slip from your lips.

“I think I’d want something like that… just, you know, a normal life. Something simple. Growing old with someone without the whole world watching.”

You don’t notice the way Paige’s fingers pause against your skin, how her body tenses just slightly before she forces herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, she feels something crack within her—a sharp, undeniable realization settling into her chest like a weight she can’t shake off.

She looks at you. Really looks at you. The way your eyes soften when you talk about the future, the way you absentmindedly play with the hem of your sleeve, so unaware of the silent war raging inside her.

Because she knows.

She knows she can’t give you that.

She knows that no matter how much she wants you—how much she’s grown addicted to your presence, to your laugh, to the way you fit so perfectly against her—she will never be able to give you the quiet, simple life you deserve. Her world is loud, relentless, and unforgiving. It demands too much, takes too much. It’s anything but normal. And you? You deserve normal. You deserve steady, safe, and certain.

Paige swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to look back at the screen, pretending like your words didn’t just shake her to her core. She wants to tell you, wants to explain why she suddenly feels like running away, why the thought of wanting you so much scares the hell out of her. But she can’t. Because the truth is, she’s a coward.

So instead, she tightens her arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple, as if that can make up for the words she’ll never say.

And for now, you don’t question it.

The change is subtle at first. Small enough that you don’t think much of it. Paige starts coming home later than usual, her schedule stretching into the night. At first, she tells you it’s just extra practice—Coach is pushing them harder, she says. You don’t question it. You know how serious she is about basketball, and it’s not like she hasn’t stayed late before.

But then, it happens again. And again.

One night, you’re lying in bed, waiting for her like you always do. But tonight, the silence stretches. You check the time. Midnight. You don’t remember the last time she got home this late. You fight to keep your eyes open, but exhaustion takes over before you hear the door.

At some point, you realize you’re falling asleep before she even gets back. The sound of her key in the lock, her bag dropping onto the floor—those little things that used to signal her arrival—aren’t waking you up anymore. You’re already deep in sleep by the time she returns, and when you wake up, she’s already gone again.

You’re not sure when she got back, but her side of the bed is untouched. She must’ve crashed in her own room. Your stomach twists, but you push the thought away.

It’s like you’re moving in opposite directions, barely catching each other in passing. You try not to think too much of it.

Then the weekends change, too. Saturdays used to mean lazy mornings tangled in bed, stealing kisses between half-asleep conversations, making breakfast together even if neither of you knew what you were doing. But now, Paige has plans. You don’t know what kind, exactly—she just says she’s busy. And she doesn’t offer more than that.

“Where are you headed?” you ask one Saturday, sitting in the couch as she throws on a hoodie. The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting patterns across her face, but she doesn’t look at you.

“Just out,” she says vaguely, tying the laces of her sneakers. “Gotta get some things done.”

You wait for her to say more. To give you something. But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” you say quietly, watching as she grabs her phone and tucks it into her pocket.

She hesitates at the door, just for a second. Then she leaves.

You stare at the empty space she left behind, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

At first, you make excuses for her. Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe the season is taking a toll on her. Maybe she just needs some space. But the doubt seeps in like a slow drip, filling the spaces where certainty used to be.

One evening, you casually ask again, "Are you staying late at the gym again?"

She barely glances up from her phone. "Yeah, something like that."

Something like that.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, pretending you don’t notice how distant she sounds. Pretending it doesn’t feel like she’s slipping away, one late night at a time.

The dorm, once your shared little world, felt colder. She was distant. Conversations were clipped, forced. The warmth in her voice when she said your name had disappeared, replaced by indifference. The weight of Paige's absence settles heavier with each passing day. The routine you once had—lazy mornings tangled in sheets, whispered jokes before class, her hand instinctively finding yours without a second thought—has become a distant memory. Now, it’s replaced by silence, cold and suffocating, wrapping around the dorm like an unwelcome ghost.

She comes home late. So late that you don’t even wait up anymore, your body giving up before your heart does. Sometimes you hear her, the shuffle of sneakers against the floor, the zip of a duffle bag, the sound of a shower turning on. But you don’t move. You don’t greet her. And she doesn’t greet you either.

Then came the rumors.

At first, you ignored them. It wasn’t uncommon for people to talk about Paige—her popularity, her presence. But the whispers were relentless. They carried weight. The flings were back. You heard about them from passing conversations, from girls giggling about how Paige had been seen with someone new. It wasn’t just one name being thrown around—it was multiple. The stories were different, but the theme was the same.

Paige Bueckers was back to her old ways.

Still, you refused to believe it. Not without proof. Not without her telling you herself.

Then you saw them.

Faint, but there—marks on her neck when she came home late one night, barely acknowledging you before shutting herself in her room. You heard the flirtatious lilt in her voice when she was on the phone. She didn’t even bother lowering her tone anymore, as if she didn’t care if you heard or not.

And yet, she never said a word to you. No explanation. No confrontation. Just distance.

And it hurt.

More than it should have.

One night, when she finally came home, you couldn't take it anymore.

"Paige."

She paused, her hand still on the doorknob to her room. "What?"

"Where have you been?" Your voice comes out small, but the weight behind it is anything but.

Paige doesn't even look at you. "Out."

"Out where?"

A pause. Then, "Does it matter?"

Your chest tightens. "Yeah, it kinda does."

She scoffs, rubbing a hand over her face. "You don’t own me."

That one stings. But you push past it. "I never said I did. But you just... you disappeared. You won’t even look at me anymore."

She stays quiet, jaw clenched.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly. "You know what’s funny? I didn’t believe any of the rumors. I thought, 'No, she would tell me. She wouldn’t do this to me. Not like this.'" Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it.

Paige finally looks at you, something unreadable in her eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," you whisper. "Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me you’re not..." You swallow hard. "That you haven’t just been—been running around with random girls again like none of this meant anything."

Paige’s expression flickers for just a second—guilt, regret, something deeper—but it’s gone just as fast.

She hardens, turns away. "I never promised you anything."

"Are you seeing someone?" Your voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the weight behind your words.

She didn't answer immediately. Just looked back at you, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. "Does it matter?"

It was like a slap to the face. "Does it—" You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "Of course it matters. After everything—"

"We don’t have labels," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "You knew that."

Your stomach twisted. "That’s not the point, Paige. I—" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t care about labels. I care about you. And I don’t understand why you're—why you're doing this."

She clenched her jaw, looking past you instead of at you. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs.

She stands, moving toward the bathroom, signaling that the conversation is over. But you can’t let it end like this. Not like this.

"Was any of it real?" The words come out choked, barely above a whisper.

Paige freezes in the doorway. Her back is to you, but you see the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her fingers twitch at her sides. For a moment, you think she’s going to say something—something that will fix this, something that will bring you back. But she doesn’t.

She walks in. The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left there, sitting in the dark, realizing that maybe—just maybe—you were the only one who thought this was real.

You don't know when it started—this gnawing feeling of inadequacy, of doubt creeping into your bones like a slow-moving poison. Maybe it had been there for a while, festering beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to seep into your thoughts. But now, it consumed you.

It wasn't just Paige's absence anymore. It was everything that came with it.

You tried not to care. You really did. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw her. The way she used to be with you, the way she made you feel like the center of her world, even if you never put a label on it. And then the intrusive thoughts followed.

Were you not good enough?

Had it been nothing to her?

Had you just been another name on a long list, another brief distraction before she moved on to the next?

You started comparing yourself to the girls in the rumors.

Were they prettier?

More exciting?

Was there something you lacked, something you failed to give her?

You wondered if, when she was with them, she thought about you at all. If she even remembered the way she used to hold you close like you were something precious.

It drove you insane, the not knowing. The lingering questions, the way your mind refused to give you peace.

So when the big game came, and the victory party followed, you made a decision.

You had to see it for yourself.

Had to put your questions to rest.

Had to stop this stupid, reckless hope that maybe, just maybe, Paige wasn’t doing what everyone said she was doing.

And if the rumors were true… if you saw it with your own eyes…

Then maybe, finally, you could let her go.

The pub is alive with flashing lights and bass-heavy music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Bodies sway, pressed together in an intoxicating rhythm, but your focus is razor-sharp.

You scan the room, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and something more dangerous—something close to dread. Then, like a nightmare brought to life, you see her.

Paige.

Surrounded. Girls draped over her, touching her, laughing, leaning in too close. And she—she’s letting them. Entertaining them. Smirking when one whispers something into her ear, leaning into another’s touch. Paige is in her element, basking in their attention like none of it matters. Like you don’t matter.

And then, as if she feels your eyes burning into her, she looks up.

Your gazes lock. For a moment, time seems to slow, the music a dull thrum in the background. You wait—hope—for something to flicker in her eyes. A sign of guilt, recognition, regret. But there’s nothing.

Paige holds your stare with a stoic expression, unreadable, detached. Like she doesn’t even know you.

A knife to the gut would have hurt less.

You almost crumble right there, almost let the tears spill in front of all these strangers. But pride keeps you standing, keeps you breathing through the ache clawing at your chest. Paige sees the flicker of pain in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly before you force them shut.

But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

You turn away first. If she wants to pretend you don’t exist, then fine. Two can play that game.

You push your way through the crowd toward the bar, ordering the strongest drink they have. You down half of it in one go, desperate to erase the sight of her from your mind. You focus on the burn in your throat, on the blur of people moving around you. Anything but her.

Until someone steps into your space.

“Been watching you all night,” a voice slurs, hot breath brushing against your ear. A guy, taller than you, his grin lazy and overconfident. He leans in, too close, fingers ghosting over your wrist. “You alone?”

Irritation flares in your gut. “Not interested.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he coaxes, his grip tightening slightly. “Just one dance, sweetheart.”

Your jaw clenches as you try to yank your arm free. “I said no.”

The guy clicks his tongue, still holding on, still pushing. “You’re real pretty when you’re mad, you know that?”

Before you can shove him away, a new presence cuts in—solid, imposing.

A voice colder than ice. “Let. Go.”

Paige.

The moment Paige stepped between you and the guy, the entire party seemed to pause. The look on her face was murderous, eyes dark and sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The guy, clearly drunk and emboldened by whatever liquid courage he had consumed, barely registered the threat at first.

"The fuck are you doing?" Paige’s voice was low, dangerous.

The guy scoffs, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “Relax, I was just talking to her.”

Paige doesn’t blink. “You were harassing her.”

“It’s not that serious—”

“Try touching her again,” Paige interrupts, voice quiet but deadly. “See what happens.”

The guy falters. Paige doesn’t break eye contact, her entire stance daring him to make another move. Finally, with a muttered curse, the guy raises his hands in surrender and disappears into the crowd.

Silence lingers between you. The pub moves on as if nothing happened, but everything inside you is trembling. Paige’s gaze shifts from where the guy disappeared to you, and suddenly, all that ice and fury is directed your way.

You took a sharp breath, shaking off the momentary shock. "I don’t need you to save me."

Paige finally turned to you, expression unreadable. "Then what the fuck are you doing here?" she shot back.

Your stomach twisted. "What the fuck am I doing here?" you echoed, incredulous, feeling something snap inside you. "Are you serious right now?"

Paige exhaled through her nose, as if already tired of this conversation. "You don’t belong in places like this."

That set you off. "Oh, but you do? Right. Because this is your scene, isn’t it? You and your little… fan club."

Something flickered in Paige’s eyes, but she didn’t react the way you wanted her to. She just tilted her head, crossing her arms. "I don’t know what you want from me."

"I want to know what the hell happened!" Your voice cracked despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "I want to know what I did wrong, why you suddenly started acting like I don’t exist, why I had to hear about your flings from random people instead of from you! Why you keep pushing me away like I was nothing!"

Paige’s expression hardened. "I never promised you anything."

Your breath caught in your throat.

The words landed like a physical blow.

She had never said those words before. She had never needed to.

"Wow." Your voice was hollow now, the anger drained and replaced by something far more devastating. "So that’s it, then? You don’t give a shit about me?"

Paige exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I—"

"Paige, what the fuck?" Another voice cut in, and suddenly, Azzi was stepping between the two of you, eyes flicking from your devastated expression to Paige’s clenched jaw. "What the hell is going on here?"

KK was standing a few feet away too, watching with a disapproving look that made Paige’s shoulders tense.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to laugh, though it sounded broken. "Nothing. There’s nothing going on. Right, Paige?" You turned to her, daring her to correct you.

She didn’t.

KK didn’t wait for Paige to answer before grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you away. "C’mon, let’s get you home."

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t.

The last thing you saw before turning away was Paige, standing there, watching you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. But it didn’t matter anymore.

That night, you vented everything to KK, voice cracking as you let out weeks’ worth of bottled-up emotions. She didn’t say much, just listened, holding you when your body shook from trying to suppress your sobs.

When sleep finally came, it wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy and suffocating, filled with the weight of unspoken words and all the things you wished you never felt for Paige Bueckers.

KK went back to the pub. She had seen Paige in all kinds of moods—pissed, cocky, exhausted, even heartbreakingly vulnerable—but this? This was different.

She watched as Paige stood at the bar, gripping her drink like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. Her jaw clenched, her eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t anything good either. Azzi stood beside her, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

“What the hell was that?” Azzi demanded. “That was low, even for you.”

Paige didn't respond at first. She just stared at the rim of her glass, like the whiskey swirling inside could somehow answer for her. Azzi sighed in frustration, shaking her head.

“We actually thought you were getting better these past weeks,” Azzi said, her voice quieter, like she was still trying to understand. “We thought maybe it had something to do with her. And then you pull this? You acted like she was nothing to you.”

That finally got Paige to react. Her grip on the glass tightened. Her head dropped for a second, her expression unreadable, and then she did something neither of them expected—she asked, voice rough and hesitant, “Did she cry?”

KK and Azzi froze.

KK recovered first, eyes narrowing. “Why do you care?”

Paige let out a slow exhale, tilting her head back as if trying to keep something from spilling out. “Just tell me.”

KK hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, she did.”

Something flickered in Paige’s expression—guilt, pain, regret. It was all there for just a second before she forced herself back into that indifferent mask she’d perfected over the years. But KK and Azzi had known her too long, had seen too much. They weren’t fooled.

Azzi shook her head in disbelief. “Paige, what are you doing?”

Paige swallowed hard, still not looking at them. “Making her stay away.”

Azzi scoffed. “That’s bullshit. You want her. You need her. We all see it.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Wanting something doesn’t mean you should have it.”

KK frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paige finally turned to them, her blue eyes clouded with something heavier than she could put into words. “I heard her that night. We were just watching some random movie, and she said it. Just like that. This little comment about wanting a normal life, growing old with someone without all the chaos. She didn’t even know I was looking at her.” Paige let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. “And that’s when I knew.”

Azzi watched her carefully. “Knew what?”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “That I can never give her that. My life isn’t normal. It never will be. I’m about to enter the draft soon. Everything is only going to get more complicated from here. I’ll be traveling nonstop, constantly in the public eye, surrounded by people who only want a piece of me. She deserves more than that. More than me.”

KK and Azzi exchanged a look. For the first time, they saw past Paige’s usual walls, past the cocky bravado and recklessness. This wasn’t just Paige running away because she was scared. This was Paige believing she wasn’t enough, that she would ruin something good before it even had the chance to become something real.

Azzi’s voice was softer this time. “Then why don't you explain it to her?”

Paige hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t do explanations. And she’ll end up hating me anyway if she sticks around long enough.” She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face. “It’s better this way.”

KK’s voice softened. “Is it?”

Paige clenched her jaw. “It has to be.”

Azzi shook her head. “The sad thing is, you might actually be right. If you can’t give her what she wants, maybe she is better off.”

Paige flinched, like the words physically hurt her, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

KK studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Then why does it look like it’s killing you?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just finished her drink and signaled the bartender for another.

The morning after the disastrous night at the pub, you wake up feeling like you barely slept at all. Your head is heavy, your chest is worse, and the sting of last night still lingers like an open wound. But nothing could have prepared you for what you see when you check your email.

Subject: Housing Reassignment Notice

Your stomach drops before you even open it. Hands trembling, you click on the message, scanning the words that don’t make sense.

You have been reassigned to your original dormitory, effective immediately. Please visit the housing office to complete the transition process.

What the hell?

You stare at the screen, blinking rapidly. That—That can’t be right. You never requested a reassignment. You love your dorm. Sure, the past few weeks have been rough, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to move. Frantic, you click ‘Reply’ and type out a message, your fingers shaking over the keyboard.

“This must be a mistake. I never requested a reassignment. Can you confirm why this is happening? Did someone transfer out?”

You hit send, heart pounding in your chest. A response comes back almost immediately, making you flinch.

“The request was made by Paige Bueckers. Given the nature of the request, the housing office approved the change.”

Your breath catches. Your entire body goes cold.

Paige.

You read the words over and over again, but they don’t change. Paige requested this. Paige went out of her way to make sure you were removed from the dorm you shared.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

What the hell is going on?

You knew she had been distant. You knew she had been cold, cruel even. But this? This is something else. This isn’t just pushing you away—this is cutting you out completely. And you don’t even know why.

Tears burn in your eyes as the full weight of it crashes down on you. After everything—after all the nights spent in quiet, unspoken tension, after all the moments you thought maybe, just maybe, she felt something too—this is how it ends?

It’s like last night wasn’t enough. Like humiliating you in front of everyone wasn’t enough. Now she wants to erase you completely. And the worst part is, you have no idea why.

You don’t know what you did to make Paige Bueckers hate you so much.

And that’s what hurts the most.

That evening, Paige finally came home from practice, sweat still clinging to her skin, exhaustion in the way she carried herself. But when she saw you standing there, arms crossed, waiting for her, something shifted in her expression.

She knew what was coming.

“You really went out of your way to kick me out, huh?” you asked, voice sharp.

Paige barely reacted. She set her bag down and exhaled. “It’s for the best.”

“For the best?” you echoed, stepping closer. “For who, Paige? Because it sure as hell isn’t for me.”

Paige ran a hand through her damp hair, looking anywhere but at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ll move on. It’s better this way.”

“Better how?” Your voice cracked. “You won’t even explain anything! One second, we were—” You stopped yourself before you said something you couldn’t take back. “And then suddenly, you’re treating me like a complete stranger. Like I don’t exist.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “That’s exactly why you need to go.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. “Why?” you asked, softer this time. “What did I do to make you act like this?”

Paige sighed heavily, shaking her head. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the problem.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Paige finally looked at you, and for a fleeting second, there was something raw in her expression. Something vulnerable. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold, indifferent mask she’d been wearing for weeks.

“This conversation is over,” she muttered before turning toward her room.

You watched her disappear behind the door, the sound of it closing like the final nail in the coffin.

Something inside you snapped.

You stormed into your room and grabbed your suitcase, throwing your belongings inside with reckless urgency. You refused to cry. You refused to let her have that power over you. If Paige wanted you gone, then fine—you wouldn’t waste another second in a place where you weren’t wanted.

You just needed to get through one last night.

You left your packed bag by the door and walked to the kitchen for a bottle of water. As you twisted off the cap, a loud crash came from Paige’s room.

You froze.

Then another bang. A thud. Something heavy slamming against the wall. Like she's wreaking havoc inside her room.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you thought about checking on her. But then you hesitated. Maybe she was just rearranging things. Or maybe it was one of her late-night hookups. Maybe it was nothing.

You clenched your jaw and forced yourself to walk away.

Whatever it was, it didn’t concern you anymore.

Tomorrow morning, you would be gone. And this time, you wouldn’t look back.

You barely slept that night. Every time you drifted off, something pulled you back awake—the weight of knowing it was your last night here, the anger simmering in your chest, the hollow ache of something you couldn’t name.

And the shadow.

It would appear outside your door, a dark silhouette cast against the dim hallway light. You knew exactly who it was. You didn’t have to open the door to confirm it. Paige.

She never knocked. Never said a word. Just stood there for a few minutes before walking away, only to return an hour or two later. Like she was stuck in some endless loop, pacing outside your door, restless, conflicted, but never stepping inside.

You refused to acknowledge it. You were done with her games, done trying to figure out what the hell went on in that head of hers. If she had something to say, she should have said it. But no—Paige only knew how to push and pull, to keep you close enough to feel but far enough to never hold. And you were tired. Exhausted, really.

By morning, you didn’t even bother checking if she was there. You packed up the last of your things, took a final look around the dorm that had been more of a battlefield than a home, and left.

Paige wasn’t in sight. Maybe she was sleeping soundly, unconcerned, unaffected. Must be nice.

You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head as you stepped out into the cold morning air. No hesitation, no second-guessing. You weren’t looking back. You had a new dorm, a new start.

And this time, Paige Bueckers wouldn’t be a part of it.

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mariasont · 9 days ago

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fool's folklore

you invent a romantic myth purely to flirt with spencer. he easily calls you out on it.

pairing: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: fem!reader, fluffy, talk of fertility goddess, suggestive flirting prompt: here wc: 0.5k

“Did you know,” you begin, tilting into his space until the distance between you is little more than a polite suggestion. “The locals say this valley was cursed by some lovesick god or another. Apparently, anyone who sets foot here ends up doomed — like, inconveniently, irrevocably — to fall madly in love.”

Spencer’s silence is almost long enough for you to start convincing yourself you overplayed your hand. It’s not as if you’d exactly had a lot of prep time to craft that particular bit of folklore.

Honestly, you’d spun it out of thin air two seconds ago purely as an excuse to flirt. But seeing his eyes go slightly distant, those gorgeous gears turning in real-time, gives you enough confidence to believe you’ve successfully planted the seed of intrigue.

Watching him think is oddly riveting, like witnessing the workings of the world’s most attractive, perpetually tousled calculator.

Frankly, you should be better at this — your entire life has revolved around subtle manipulation and diplomatic half-truths — but Spencer’s intellect makes lying to him feel like playing chess against a grandmaster. Which, naturally, he just happens to be.

Sure enough, he pivots back to you, reaching out to lightly tug at your ponytail.

“Creative,” he whispers teasingly, effectively scattering goosebumps across your skin, “but completely made up.”

“Worth a shot, though, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Spencer agrees, smile breaking through his skepticism. “But for accuracy’s sake, this valley’s mythology actually revolves around a goddess associated with fertility. Lots of rituals, offerings, prayers — all aimed at encouraging prosperity and, well… reproduction.”

You flutter your lashes at him. “So hypothetically, if someone wanted to honor tradition right this very second, what they would do is —”

“Yes,” Spencer cuts in firmly, eyes narrowing sharply even as a faint blush rises along his cheeks. “Precisely the inappropriate thought currently running through your head, and exactly why I’m stopping it immediately.”

“Scared my next suggestion might scandalize your delicate sensibilities?”

“Terrified,” Spencer fires back instantly, deadpan and utterly believable. “But mostly because Hotch has explicitly warned me to stop you from getting us both fired.”

You suppress a giggle at the thought. Poor Spencer, saddled with the impossible task of curbing your innate impulse to provoke him into blushing silence. Frankly, Hotch should’ve known better than to trust him with the job.

“If we’re going down, we might as well go down spectacularly,” you say breezily, already imagining Hotch’s impressively eloquent reprimand.

Knowing him, your termination letter would include phrases like a remarkable lapse in judgment and conduct egregiously unbecoming of Bureau agents. You’d probably frame it.

“Cheeky,” Spencer mutters, shaking his head as he nudges you forward along the winding path. “But speaking of spectacular downfalls, did you read about the warrior who lost everything because she couldn’t resist pushing her luck?”

You sidestep closer, studying him with exaggerated seriousness before snorting softly. Your fingertips find a loose strand of his hair, returning his earlier gesture.

“Creative,” you mock sweetly, feeling particularly vindicated in throwing his words back in his face. “But completely made up.”

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 7 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

#mariasspringbreakgetaway #mariaversegetawaytrip #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x translator!reader #spencer reid x translator treader

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3rdgymbros · 2 months ago

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━ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐮 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 !

— pairing; jing yuan x reader (ft. jingliu)

— summary; in which jing yuan has a crush and jingliu tries to help

— notes; this is my very first honkai fic so please don't be mean or i will cry. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ Jingliu is not blind.

❋ As sharp as her sword, Jingliu immediately notices the way Jing Yuan looks at you — sickeningly sweet, like a love-struck puppy. How he straightens up when you walk into a room, his subtle efforts to impress you during training ... It’s painfully obvious that her young disciple is nursing a crush.

❋ And to her surprise, she doesn’t disapprove. You're a noble, which means you come from good stock. You may not be a warrior, but you have elegance, poise, and kindness — things that Jing Yuan, with his quick wit and charisma, would pair with beautifully.

❋ And unlike some of the other aristocrats Jingliu has dealt with, you're neither arrogant nor insufferable. You're quite pleasant to be around. She decides — fine. You meet her standards. She approves.

❋ The problem, therein, lies with her boy.

❋ Jing Yuan is utterly useless. For someone with boundless talent in swordsmanship and strategy, he’s completely inadequate regarding matters of the heart. He’s reduced to nothing but a dreamy, lovesick fool the moment you walk into a room. His relationship with you (if it can even be called that) consists of stolen glances, lingering stares, and tongue-tied silence.

❋ Pathetic.

❋ So, Jingliu — not a woman of romance but very much a woman of action — decides to take matters into her own hands.

❋ Whenever you visit, she makes sure to sing praises about Jing Yuan, with all the grace of a bull in a China shop.

“Jing Yuan, my beloved disciple! He is truly remarkable. Such skill, such intelligence — ah, and he’s only going to get stronger! The most promising of his generation!” “Truly, he is the beauty of the Xianzhou. Have you ever seen such radiant hair? Such impeccable form? Such effortless grace?” “He’s also intelligent, responsible, and — Aiya, Jing Yuan, don’t just stand there! Smile at them, you fool!”

❋ Jing Yuan wants to die.

❋ Every time Jingliu speaks, he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His face is redder than the finest Xianzhou wine, and he looks as though he’s in physical pain whenever she opens her mouth. He tries, desperately, to get her to stop. His dignity is at stake.

“Shifu, please.” “Aiya, please what? I’m doing you a favour! You think they'll talk to you if you stand there like a decorative vase?” “Shifu, I can handle this myself —” “Handle it how? By doing nothing? By gazing at them like a lovesick fool for the next five centuries?!” “This is embarrassing. For me. I trained you to be decisive, not to act like a bashful maiden in a romance play!”

❋ Jingliu is exasperated. If she had a slipper, she’d be brandishing it at him like a disappointed mother. She considers finding one just for this occasion.

❋ As for you . . .

❋ You know what’s happening. Jingliu is trying to “sell” her disciple off; if her lavish praises are anything to go by. You don’t tease Jing Yuan (he’s already suffering enough), but you start smiling at him more, trying to coax him into a conversation.

❋ Maybe . . . Just maybe . . . You’ll save him from any further humiliation and take the first step.

#jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan imagines #jing yuan headcanons #jing yuan reader insert #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail reader insert #honkai star rail headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr reader inserts #hsr headcanons

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luvvictoria · 2 months ago

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Flustered Confession

+ pairings. konig x f!reader

+ tags. romance, he's just shy bro ( he's not )

+ summary. he crushed on your for AGES and conffesed to you on valentine's day

König had been crushing on you for what felt like forever.

It was ridiculous, really. He was a soldier—a damn good one. He had faced the worst the world had to offer, survived things that would break lesser men, walked through fire and gunfire without so much as flinching. But now? Standing in front of your door on Valentine’s Day, gripping a bouquet of flowers like a lifeline, his palms sweating beneath his gloves?

Scheiße.

His pulse pounded in his ears, loud enough that he swore you could hear it through the door. The bouquet—roses, of course, because he had read somewhere that they were romantic—felt too small in his giant hands. The chocolates, wrapped neatly in red foil, suddenly seemed childish. Stupid. Why had he picked these? He had spent hours at the store, agonizing over every detail, wanting everything to be perfect, only to now feel like a fool standing outside your room like some lovesick schoolboy.

His mind raced.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should leave the gifts at your door and disappear before you saw him. Maybe—

The door creaked open before he could act on that thought.

His breath caught.

You stood there, hair slightly tousled, soft warmth in your eyes as you blinked up at him. The hallway light cast a gentle glow on your face, catching the curve of your lips as they parted in surprise. You weren’t dressed up, weren’t expecting anything, and yet König thought you were the most stunning thing he had ever seen.

"König?"

Your voice was laced with curiosity, the way you said his name making something in his chest ache.

Gott help him, he nearly dropped everything right then and there. His fingers curled tightly around the gifts, his knuckles going white as he fought the urge to bolt.

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the bouquet in one hand, the chocolates in the other.

His entire body locked up, muscles going rigid like a deer caught in headlights. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out all rational thought as his gloved hands shoved the small box toward you in a clumsy motion.

“I… I wanted to do something nice for you,” he stammered, his voice thick with nerves, deep but unsteady.

Your lips curled into a soft smile as you accepted the gifts, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The brief contact sent a shiver up his spine, and he had to fight the urge to curl his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

"This is so sweet, Colonel," you murmured, cradling the bouquet like something precious. "You didn’t have to—"

He let out a deep, shaky breath, eyes darting between your face and the ground. His thoughts were a whirlwind—chaotic, unfiltered. He was too much. Too large, too clumsy, too overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment.

He should have planned this better. Should have rehearsed what to say. Should have prepared himself for how devastatingly beautiful you looked bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, your expression tender, your lips parted just slightly as if waiting for him to speak.

But then—

Then you reached up, cupping his jaw with delicate fingers, your touch featherlight, yet it sent shockwaves through him.

Everything inside him melted.

König sucked in a sharp breath, his entire frame going rigid before his instincts took over, his hands snapping to your waist. You were so close now—closer than he had ever allowed himself to imagine. Your warmth seeped through the thick material of his gloves, anchoring him in place, making his already racing heartbeat skyrocket.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” you teased, your voice dipped in affection, in something dangerously soft.

Before he could react, you tilted your head, pressing a delicate kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a whimper. Gott. You had no idea what you were doing to him. His fingers twitched against your hips, his grip tightening just a fraction as heat coiled low in his stomach.

He should pull away. He should take a breath. He should—

No. Not this time.

Before he could talk himself out of it, before his nerves could creep back in and ruin everything, he finally gathered the courage to move.

One of his hands slid up, cupping the back of your neck with a mix of hesitation and urgency, his fingers splaying wide as if he were afraid you might disappear. His breaths came in ragged puffs against your skin, and for the briefest second, he hesitated, heart hammering in anticipation.

Then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate—months, years—of bottled-up longing finally spilling over, breaking free like a dam that had been straining under too much pressure. His lips molded against yours with fervent need, a collision of heat and hunger, claiming, pleading, worshiping.

His fingers flexed against the small of your back before sliding up, tracing the curve of your spine as if memorizing the shape of you. With a firm pull, he crushed you against his chest, a low, needy growl rumbling deep in his chest when you responded with just as much urgency. The sound vibrated against your skin, primal and raw, sending a shiver coursing through you.

Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his hood, grasping at the material as you tugged slightly—not enough to remove it, but enough to make him shudder. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened, as if grounding himself. Gott, he wanted more. Needed more. The feeling of you, the taste of you, the way your body fit against his—it was intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet, not nearly enough.

His lips parted from yours only to trail downward, ghosting along the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear. His breath was ragged, fevered, each exhale sending warmth across your skin.

“König,” you whispered, voice breathless, almost pleading.

He groaned softly at the sound, at the way his name rolled off your tongue like a prayer. His forehead pressed against yours as he tried to steady himself, to breathe, but it was impossible with you so close, your scent surrounding him, your warmth seeping into his very bones.

The world around you blurred into nothing, fading into insignificance. It was just you and him, caught in a moment that had been waiting to happen for far too long.

“I—” König started, only to stop himself, his voice faltering. His mind raced, emotions too thick, too tangled for him to put into words. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening as he forced himself to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ich liebe dich…" He exhaled shakily before translating, "I love you."

Silence stretched between you for a beat, thick with something unspoken, something heavy.

Then, your lips curved into a slow, radiant smile, so full of warmth it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Took you long enough,” you murmured, amusement flickering in your gaze, but there was nothing teasing in the way you looked at him—only affection, only understanding.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, and before you could say anything else, he scooped you into his arms with effortless strength. A surprised laugh escaped you, but you didn’t protest, instead wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you against him, as if you weighed nothing.

König buried his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, reveling in the scent of you, the way you clung to him like you belonged there.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with quiet possession—not a demand, not a question, but a promise. His lips brushed against your skin, leaving a lingering kiss just below your ear. “And I’ll spend forever making sure you know it.”

The words sent a delicious shiver through you, your fingers threading into his hair, gripping, grounding yourself against the sheer intensity of the moment.

And when he kissed you again, it was deeper this time—lingering, reverent. There was no urgency now, no rush. Only devotion, slow and inescapable, as if he were memorizing every second, as if he had all the time in the world.

Because now, with you in his arms, he finally did.

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