#tagging in a way i can find this later to comfort myself

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about Eddie being so eager to kiss you all the time and he just gets a little too excited sometimes a little too rough and you bump into something and he cradles you while you giggle cause he can't stop smiling into his kisses

And sure maybe it's a little awkward and teeth knock against each other and he catches your lip in his teeth a little too hard but it's okay cause you're deliriously happy

And it's not about getting to the sex (not all the time anyways) but he's just so happy to have found a safe place to land and he's enthusiastic that he found someone who wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you

And this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big and he doesn't need to tone it down cause you're his person and he's yours

Okay bye ily

mouse. mouse get the fuck back here. MOUSE DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

he's just so happy to have a safe place to land and this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big were daggers straight to my heart you come back here right now before i actually bleed out from needing this man so badly.

no but thats exactly it. eddie has spent so long jumping and toeing that line of either trying to cram himself into this bite-sized shape for the ones around him, and just exploding and pretending he doesn't give a fuck that he will never fit into anyone's cup of tea so he'll just make himself even larger, that when you enter his life he just doesnt know what to do about it.

because he starts with his regular tricks of being so over the top, so unbearable, and all you're doing is laughing and entertaining his antics. even playing along at times. and so he retracts a little, turning back into a quiet boy who will shrivel up until he's invisible or easy to love (whichever comes first). but then that doesn't work - and to be truthful, he doesn't even know what his mind's end goal is here because why is he trying to push you away so desperately? - and he's just at a loss. you want him on the thundering days, where he makes his grey clouds everyone's problem and all his lightning is blinding and sporadic. you want him on the quiet days, where the downpour is no longer a roar but a soft drizzle, a bit more silent and a bit more bearable but still there. and he can't tell if it's a joke - he can't decipher if your kisses amidst his rambles are sincere, if you're actually smiling at his jokes because you like him or you're too polite to break his heart. he can't see through those gentle hands you use to caress back his wild hair to be sure that the softest of touches are really just you, or some strange gloves of care that you're only simply wearing for now.

and then one morning, he wakes up, and you're still there, awake before he is and just watching him with so much love. feather-light fingers taking their time tracing over his tattoo on his chest and arms, not noticing he's awake yet as you smile so serenely at him. you're looking at him in a way that he's never really gotten to experience so vulnerably before - like he isn't a nuisance, isn't a mistake. like the universe has so intentionally dropped him into your palms, and you're so aware of how delicate he can be below the surface. and he just breaks.

"i love you"

he'd blurt it out, the first time he's ever said those words to you. it almost feels like the first time he's said those words, period.

he's said them to wayne, in their own way, both a bit stiff in expressing affection and skirting around those words whenever they can for a simply ruffle of hair or unexpected side hugs. he'd said them to his mom, a young boy with shining eyes despite it all, looking at her like she was the world because she was his world.

and... well. that's it. he can count the number of times he's said those words on one hand, and now he's said them to you, and all he can hope is you handle them with as much care as you've handled him.

he hopes you can feel the weight of his heart pressing down on them.

and he thinks you do, when you startle a little, looking up to his lips where those rough words had just fallen from in a cracking tone, and you take your time in awarding him with a smile that could save lives. cure cancer, cure sadness, cure the end of the world even. every cliche possible.

"yeah?" you'd whisper back, and his heart skips a beat, terrified that the next words you say won't be what he needs to hear so desperately. but they are. because of course they are. you wouldn't have been watching him sleep in that way if they hadn't been on the tip of your tongue, "i love you."

not a crash landing, but a soft-padded decent. a slow fall with a cushion to prevent broken bones and more invisible scars.

he kisses you then the way he was going to kiss you every day going forward: pushing forward recklessly, teeth and noses bumping a little, smiles making it nearly impossible. he kisses you like he's coming home after a long day, because he is.

he's home. no boxes in sight to fit into, no cups that'll overflow from all the fizzling feelings pouring out of his chest. you've got him, and he's got you.

[elegyofthemoon]

i kinda forgot how mochizuki does expressions so well that they speak more than texts in an image

esp for someone like oz who has identity crisis going on for him that he doesn't really care who he is as a person so long as it makes others happy (the way later he could care less if people see him as jack the hero rather than just oz)

but the shock in oz's expression as though he had been read so clearly by sharon's words.

also idk it never crossed my mind while i was rereading, but i love that this is just in chapter 2 -- that things would go bad if oz should ever lose sight of himself

bc that's the gist of oz's whole character arc, inching away from just being whatever people want him to be, shying away from his emotions, and accepting himself and what it means to be himself - emotions and past - alike.

[medicinemane]

The world is set on prescriptivism and... it doesn't jive with me

[evilmenenjoyer]

Gratitude

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

SEQUEL to City of Love. Probably not a good fic to read as a stand-alone; read City of Love first for context.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), dubious consent, rough sex after a fight, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, bruising, marking, pain play/sadomasochism, mirror sex, manhandling, hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt), lots of angst.

Tags: @apookalypse @thecutiepieishere / I do not have an official taglist yet, but I'd be willing to make one if people were interested. If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, or in any additions to this story, let me know somehow!

–––

It's three days later when you see him again, just when you were convinced he left Paris for good.

You knew it would take a lot longer for the reminders of him to leave your mind as well as your body. He's in the marks his hands left on your hips, in the scrapes and faint bruises along your back from when he tossed and squeezed you against the brick wall, in the ghost of his lips on your skin. You can still feel them every time you close your eyes, hear his voice whisper your name against your neck as he came.

It shouldn't surprise you, after everything, to have him knock on your door right as you’re getting ready to have a night out. It still nearly takes your breath away to see him, looking as impeccable as usual in his dark gray suit, smiling as if his mere presence doesn't rock your world upside down a third time.

“What part of ‘don’t ever contact me again’ did you not understand?” you ask, though right away you can tell you don't sound nearly as firm and assertive as you’d like. You wonder if he can tell you hoped, against every rational thought in your brain, that he would come back.

Judging by his smile, you’d bet he can.

“I couldn't help myself,” he responds, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Can I come in?”

That part of you that still clings to rationality, that can tell a good idea apart from a horrible one, lights up like a loud siren in your brain. There's nothing good that could possibly come out of this. Hasn't he toyed with you enough already? With his weird twisted games, tracking you down all the way to a foreign country, sending you off to those horrific games?

Still, you find yourself stepping aside, leaving a gap for him to come through. You’ve never been good at controlling your impulses, after all.

The apartment you’ve been renting for the time being stands in the heart of Paris. It looks exactly what you pictured a typical, glamorous Parisian apartment to look like – high walls, hardwood floors, large arched windows with a stunning view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. It's furnished with all the essentials, and nothing more. You didn't see the need to bring in new furniture or decorations when you didn't even know for how long you’d be staying in the city. At this point, you’re already considering moving on to somewhere else.

“Make yourself at home,” you say. “But I’m going out soon.”

“I see that.” His eyes run over you as he sits at the arm of the couch, shamelessly lingering on the black dress that hugs all your curves at the right spots. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You turn your back to him, looking for the earrings you had put down somewhere when you heard the knock on the door. You feel his body heat approach you from behind, his fingertips brushing against a red spot on your shoulder blade that the spaghetti straps of the dress fail to cover.

“Did I do this to you?”

His voice doesn't sound remorseful or apologetic at all. If only, there's a hint of pride to his tone, a small smile at the corner of his lip that you can tell is there without even looking at him. It should upset you, thinking of how roughly he pushed you against that wall, but it has goosebumps blooming all over your skin around the spot he touches.

“Who else would it be?” Your voice shakes ever so slightly against your will, and you clear your throat to get rid of it.

You expect him to pull back, but instead he inches even closer. He has to lean down to mold his chest to your back, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck when he speaks. “I can make it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” You turn your head just enough to chase after his lips. Screw the night out. He lets you capture them, indulging you in only a quick kiss before pulling away.

“I’m serious. I have something for you.”

“Oh.” You frown at the loss of contact, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Your frown deepens, and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Don't you trust me yet?” he asks.

No. Absolutely not. Still, what's the worst that can happen? What would he do while you have your eyes closed that he can't do right now; that he couldn't have done three nights ago at that bar, when you gave yourself to him so willingly?

You close your eyes, with a small sigh as if letting him know it's a nuisance. There's no real heat to it, and you both know it.

The Salesman’s hands find their way to your arms, guiding you further into the apartment. You follow his lead slowly, careful not to bump into any furniture or clutter you left around the place while picking an outfit and getting ready.

“You didn't have to give me a gift,” you say, still confused about what this is about. He stops walking the two of you, leaving you in an unknown part of the apartment. Your heart beats slightly faster than normal; distrustful, but excited. No man has ever bought you a gift before. Gifts are for girlfriends, for women they're trying to impress. Somehow, in all your years on this Earth, you’d missed out on being that woman to anyone.

“I was feeling romantic,” he explains. You feel something cold land over the exposed skin of your neck and chest, and he fiddles with a clasp at the nape of your neck. “Blame it on Paris. You can open your eyes.”

You do so, finding yourself standing in your bedroom, right in front of the large mirror resting against the wall. The necklace stands out against your skin – thin white gold chain and gemstones shining so bright you can immediately tell they're real, a ruby and a sapphire encrusted by tiny crystals. The color choice is an odd one for a necklace, prompting you to take a closer look. That's when any hints of a smile vanish from your face.

The gemstones are placed beside each other, the shapes and markings in them identical to those of the ddakji tiles you and the Salesman had played together in the subway station.

“I had it custom-made for you,” he says. Standing behind you, his reflection on the mirror takes up almost the entire background, but you don't pay him any mind. Your eyes are all but glued to the red and deep blue stones hanging from your neck, hoping against hope that you had seen it all wrong, that this was just a figment of your imagination and the real necklace will reveal itself if you just look hard enough.

It never does.

Reality hits you then. This isn’t some fun new fling, or the beginning of a Paris romance. This is the man who lured you into a horribly traumatic experience when you were at your most vulnerable, who came all the way from Seoul just to rub in your face that you didn't deserve to make it out of there alive. And now here he is. Prying his way into your apartment, your body, your mind. And you just let him.

Horror floods you, nearly pushing you to your knees right here. You touch the pendant with shaky fingers, and it takes everything in you not to grab the chain and yank it off your neck. Finally, your eyes meet the Salesman’s in the mirror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He blinks innocently. “You don't like it?”

“Why would you do this?” you ask, unsure of whether you want to burst into tears or slap him in the face.

His fingers join yours where they rest on the necklace, only grazing your skin on their way to touching the pendant. “I thought you'd like a reminder.”

That makes you spring into action, pulling away from him and pushing his hand away with a ferocity you didn't know you still had, not since the Squid Games.

“A reminder? What makes you think I want to remember that shit?” You raise your voice; something to make up for how small you feel, by the way you need to tilt your head to look him in the eye. “If I could erase that night from my memory for the rest of my life, I would.”

“I find that hard to believe. Would you erase our night together at the bar as well?” His eyes leave yours only to look back to the mirror behind you. “Look at you. Wearing those bruises so proudly.”

For a moment all you can do is stare at him, unable to believe the sheer audacity he has to stand in your house and say these things. The worst of it all is you can’t fully deny it – you picked the dress deliberately knowing it left the upper part of your back exposed, happy to catch glimpses of the bruises he left you with if you happened to stumble upon a mirror or reflective surface throughout the night.

“I would,” you insist. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to remember the night that ruined my life?”

A laugh comes out of him; a short, but cruel sound. “I ruined your life, is that what you're saying?”

You scoff. “Don't act like you don't know you did.”

He steps even closer to you. You refuse to step back, even when it feels like his chest is about to bump into your forehead. “Your life,” he says, “was already shit way before I came around. Debt, an awful job, an even worse home, no future prospects, no friends. What exactly was there about your life that was good enough to be ruined?”

Rage consumes you to hear him talk like that about your old life. Things were bad, yes, but there was a positivity about you that's been lost ever since you stepped foot in those games. You could barely make ends meet, and your shifts were long and exhausting, but you had hopes of going to school, of turning your life around. Your home was a tiny, shitty house in an even shittier neighborhood, but you still took the effort to decorate it and try to make it feel more like a home. Where did that go? Now, you have all the money you could ever wish for, and all you do is spend it on clothes and expensive trips you don't even have the motivation to enjoy, your only goal being getting far away from Seoul.

“At least I felt like a fucking person! Do you even know what that’s like? Feeling human?” you all but yell, grateful for the language barrier in case any neighbors happen to be listening. “I’d never killed anyone. I’d never wanted to kill anyone! I didn't have nightmares, and I didn't wake up every day wondering if I deserve to be alive after everything I did to survive!”

“You had nothing,” he reminds you, his voice cold as the winter outside. “Not even your dignity. Or did you forget how we met? How you asked me to play ddakji with you, willing to get hit in the face repeatedly not for money, but just to have my attention?”

You hold back a sob, shaking your head furiously, but it's of no use. The words sting hard enough to bring tears to your eyes; it stings even more to know they're true. 

“Get out of my apartment,” you demand. You wish you'd never let him in. You wish you'd never met him at all.

“Things are different now,” he says, ignoring your order completely. “You’re rich, and you’ve matured. You’ll never struggle again in your life, if you're smart.”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Finally at your breaking point, you push him, shoving at his chest as hard as you have the strength to. He barely budges. It's only then that you notice how cornered he’s got you, your back about to bump into the mirror.

He brings his hand towards your face, cupping your chin and forcing you to look higher up at him. You thrash and claw at his wrist, trying to push it away from you, but he only tightens his grip until it's almost painful. There’s a darkness in his eyes that’s unlike any expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I made you stronger. You're a millionaire now because of me,” he says. “How about a little gratitude?”

Even from your position, you still manage an incredulous scoff at him. “Gratitude?”

“Yes.” A grin stretches the corner of his lips, not a trace of warmth of friendliness behind it. “You should be thankful I pulled you out of your misery.”

He moves faster than you’re ready to, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you down. You brace yourself for the impact of your head hitting the floor, gasping in surprise when your back bounces over the soft mattress instead. He hovers above you, using his heavier body to pin yours down before you even have the chance to start struggling against his grip.

“Get off me!”

“Calm down.” He holds both your wrists together with one hand, while the other manages to somehow pull your panties off your body, using your kicking legs as leverage. Your eyes widen in shock. “I’m just giving you another reminder.”

“W-what?” Your voice wavers with fear. All that fury is slowly but surely being replaced with it, or with a mixture of both feelings that leaves you heaving for breath.

He doesn't have to pull your dress up – your own struggle does it by itself, leaving the fabric rumpled up at your hips and your bottom exposed. You stop kicking him in an attempt to cover yourself, and he takes advantage of that fraction of a second to stick his knee on the spot on the mattress between your legs, stopping you from shutting them. You gasp, the heavy pressure on your core cutting off all your thoughts for a moment. You can think of nothing to do other than to yell for help.

As if reading your thoughts, his free hand covers your mouth.

You voice your displeasure through a muffled grunt. You keep on struggling, trying to kick him off you, but each movement unintentionally rubs your bare clit over his thigh that pins you down. He applies even more pressure and you cry out, mortified to feel heat pooling between your legs.

“Christ, you're wet. I can feel it.”

You can feel it too, the fabric of his pants damp and hot where it connects with you. You're torn on whether to keep fighting and essentially humping his leg or giving up, if only to have a few instants of relief.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he warns in a hoarse whisper. “Do you understand?”

Out of options, you nod.

He releases your mouth, then your wrists. It occurs to you to scream anyway, but you force yourself to remember who you're dealing with. He wouldn’t give you empty threats. Anyone involved in bringing people into those games has no qualms about slitting your throat open and leaving you to bleed out on your silk sheets.

The Salesman makes his way down your body, now holding onto your legs with his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you manage to ask, the answer rather obvious but it had all happened so fast, leaving you dazed and confused.

“Giving you yet another reason to be thankful to me.”

The sudden, damp feel of his tongue on your entrance overcomes your senses, and you wouldn't be able to hold back a shout if you tried.

Fortunately, he forgives you for it. You squirm under the sensations, but he holds your hips down against the mattress in a firm grip, immobilizing them completely and prying you open all at once. You hoist yourself up over your elbows only to be met with your own reflection on the mirror across the room, your hair a mess already and your face contorted in fear and pleasure and indignation all at once. You can’t bear to watch yourself like this, mortification entrenched into every muscle of your body that reacts to his touch as he continues to penetrate you with his tongue. You fall back towards the mattress with a broken moan.

“God– Y-you can’t–” Whatever you were about to say dies out in your throat as his lips rise to your clit, enveloping you so expertly in the wet heat of his mouth. You clench your whole body, eyelids all the way down to your toes, and for a moment you’re grateful for the hands that hold your legs open just so you don’t have to face the shame of spreading them wider.

Your hands, perfectly capable of putting up a fight once they’d been released, twist into the sheets beneath you, holding on like your life depends on it. You curse yourself for not trying harder to push him off, for not really wanting to; for always being so unwilling to say no to him. Moans leave your lips like they’re being ripped out of you, growing in volume like you just can’t help it. It makes you wish one of the pillows were within reach so you could bury it against your face and muffle them, or simply to hide yourself from how incredibly good it feels to be at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long at all. Say whatever you want about the Salesman, but this is a man who knows what he’s doing with his tongue. In only a few minutes he reduces you to whimpers and pleading, your orgasm hitting you like a wave crashing full-force over the shore. Your back arches off the bed, mouth open in a long moan, and he continues to dine on you like a starving man until the moment you fall backwards, spent.

When you come back to yourself, you’re covering your face with your hands as he presses kisses to the line of your inner thigh. You feel him make his way up your body, feel his hands on your wrists, gently moving them out of the way and exposing your face, the deep flush that has colored your cheeks.

Looking into his eyes, you’re overcome with a rush of emotions you’re not sure how to name. How can a person make you feel so many things at once? How can you still want him – ardently, desperately, profoundly want him – after everything? How can he be so addictive, leaving you already hooked from the scraps of attention he’s given you? You tilt your head just a tiny bit towards him, a silent invitation, and he leans in the rest of the way to take your lips in his.

He kisses you deeply, hungrily, holding you through the shudders that run through your body from the aftershocks of your orgasm until they subside. Kisses you like you’re more than just a hookup, tempting you to believe there must be something about you that’s special. Kisses you for long enough to get you drunk in it, like he’s happy to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.

The next time he pulls back, he removes his suit jacket and tie. You somehow manage to help him unbutton his white shirt, motivated by the promise of feeling his bare skin on yours. You nearly forget his pants are still on, letting him work on that as you press kisses to down his neck. Of course his body is as perfect as his face. He makes an approving sound that you can feel on his throat, and you follow the vibrations of his vocal chords until his pulse point, pleased to find his heartbeats as fast as yours. You can’t resist taking the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, hands tightening on your hips and flipping you on the bed so you’re facing the other side, your back to him. You hold onto the bed frame to steady yourself, body half-bent forward.

You expect him to thrust into you without warning, just as he had the last time. Before that, he brings a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, your sight landing squarely on your joined reflection on the mirror.

“Keep your eyes right there.” Now he enters you, and you watch your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion. “Watch yourself get fucked on my cock.”

The sheer filth in his voice prompts you to obey, to look. Your knuckles turn white on the bedframe and your body rocks forward with each of his thrusts; slow at first, but steadily gaining power and speed. He reaches down to rub your clit in circles, and it makes your body jerk to feel it and see it at the same time, to watch your reactions in real time. The sight of the necklace still hanging from your neck prompts you to look away, a confirmation of what’s actually happening to you that you’re not prepared to stare in the face.

His hand leaves your clit to wrap itself into your hair, yanking it back. Your body arches to follow it, your reflection on the glass confronting you once again.

“I said look,” he says into your ear. “Don’t you wanna see what a pretty mess you are for me?”

You shake your head, although his death grip on your hair makes it difficult to move. That’s precisely the issue: seeing the mess that he made you into, seeing yourself so overwhelmed and dirty and ashamed, the sounds leaving you suggesting nothing other than aching, raw need. It’s too much. It doesn’t stop you from pushing your hips back to meet his, trying to match his rhythm. 

He angles his thrusts to hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Oh God,” you croak, feeling the heaviness of tears behind your eyes and another orgasm fast approaching.

Just when you’re close, impossibly close to your release, he stops. You watch him on the mirror, panting just for a moment before he pulls out of you and releases your hair. You’re about to protest, or maybe plead for mercy, but he pushes you to lay on your back on the bed again, back inside of you before you can even think of a sentence.

“How about that thank you now?” He pounds into you, somehow even deeper from this position.  “Say it.”

“Shut up,” you say instead. The pause, brief as it was, only served to make you more desperate to come, and the last thing you need right now is to hear this. “Please just shut up.”

The necklace gleams over your chest, catching his attention. The Salesman runs a thumb over the sapphire, as if contemplating something, before he presses down on the pendant hard, digging it into your skin.

You gasp, throwing your head back. He’s moving fast enough that the bed rocks underneath you, the headboard slamming into the wall, his fingers still on the necklace like he wants to imprint it into your chest. It fucking hurts, the sharp metal edges unrelenting, digging in hard enough to leave a bruise. It makes your body sing, awakes the deeply-hidden, fucked up parts of you that crave this kind of pain.

“Every time you wake up,” the Salesman says, slightly out of breath himself, but much more composed than you, “and you look out of the window and see Paris, or anywhere that’s not the gutter in Seoul, you thank me for saving you.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust. “Say it.”

You don’t want to say it. Saying it makes you feel like it’s true, like you should give in and believe what he’s saying. That you are a piece of trash who got lucky, after all, and you should thank him for anything close to success that you achieve from now on. But your orgasm is so close you can feel the force of it numb your ears, your wrists; and in this moment, you would say anything, do anything, so long as he keeps you feeling this good.

“Thank you,” the words are just barely above a whisper, like you wish you could keep them to yourself as a shameful secret.

“For what?”

He gives you another hard thrust, almost painful if only the lines between pain and pleasure hadn’t been blurred a long time ago. You push your chest into an arch, the pendant digging even deeper into you until it breaks skin and the pain turns into agony.

“F-for saving me.”

“Good girl.”

You come then, thinking about the mark that the necklace will leave on you, thinking about how you’re going to feel it for days, how you’re going to remember it every time you feel it or see it. That there will be evidence on your body that he touched you this passionately. It feels like you’re floating, rising to the sky as you clench and unclench around him, as sound after humiliating sound leaves you.

You collapse back against the mattress when your orgasm finally lets you go, boneless and spent. You didn’t see or hear him come – in another situation, it might’ve upset you to miss it, if you weren’t still riding the aftershocks of that incredible high –, but he’s still against you, breathing hard into your neck. His release leaks from between your legs. He stays like that for a long time, slowly softening inside of you, before he finally pulls out and away from you.

You stay right where you are, unmoving. Somewhere far away, you think you can hear him searching for his clothes and dressing himself. You don’t want it to upset you, but it does; because of course he would come here, humiliate you, give you the best fuck of your life and then immediately leave, without so much as a word to you. Your head falls to the side, and even that small movement feels incredibly difficult, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep. Your vision is blurry, far-away, until it finally focuses on the large window that overlooks the city. Tiny snowflakes flutter over the city lights and the dark night sky.

“It’s snowing.”

That pulls his attention to you. He’s got his pants and shirt on, the first few buttons undone, his once perfectly-styled hair a mess. He follows the line of your gaze to the window. “Were you looking forward to it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” It feels like forever ago since the last time you even thought about it. The Salesman was right; the city is beautiful at this time of the year.

You expect him to return to his clothes then head out the door. Instead, he reaches for the covers over the bed and wraps your naked body up in them like a baby. “Ow,” you hiss when he moves you, pain exploding on your chest where the necklace was pressed against you. A few drops of blood dry on your skin from when the skin had split. You feel the Salesman lift you bridal-style, much to your surprise, but you’re still too dazed to find it in you to question it.

He sits you both on the thick windowsill, him behind you and you leaning against his chest, framed by his legs. It’s gentle, somehow more intimate than you’ve ever been with him even after sleeping with him twice. You watch the snowfall outside, mesmerized, letting the steady rise-and-fall of his chest behind you soothe your aching muscles.

It’s the closest to safe you’ve felt in what feels like forever, and you’re crying before you even realize it.

Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop it. Your body trembles with the force of your sobs, tears flowing from your eyes like they haven’t since you were a little kid, at least not this openly. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against himself and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, keeping his lips right there against your scalp. He rocks you ever so slightly, shushing your cries, the sound as soothing as a soft lullaby. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you sob. You think about the snow in Seoul, about how the first snowfall always made you excited, even when it happened every year. You can feel your tears rolling down your cheeks and into your neck, your collarbones. “I want to go home.”

“Then go home,” he says, like it’s simple.

“I can’t.” How can you walk the same streets you always did, as if your life wasn’t completely changed? As if the price you paid for this change wasn’t much, much greater than you could deal with? “You’re right. I have nothing. No one.”

“You had nothing. You can have anything you want now.” You want to tell him there are things money can’t buy, but you’re so tired, so exhausted. You can’t muster the willpower for much other than wallowing in your own misery, weeping in his arms like a child. “And you have me.”

That only makes you cry harder, shaking your head. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Look at me.” He nudges you to turn to him, the angle awkward but it’s so worth it the second he cups your face in both hands, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “I mean it. Come back to Seoul.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your heavy eyelids. “You just need to see things from a different perspective. I can help you.”

He coaxes you to lay back against him, and you do so without protest, burying your face into his chest. For a moment you actually consider it. Dropping the plans you had for a next trip and following him to Seoul, letting him finish corrupting you with whatever twisted worldview he has. Maybe it would be blissful, you think, to see all that violence and bloodshed as a blessing, as something that saved you rather than ruined you. It has to be a trap, or another one of his games. But it doesn’t hurt to dream about it, just a little bit.

Little by little your crying subsides, your breaths returning to normal. He holds you through it all, stroking your hair in a way that’s so tender, so soft, like you’re fragile. Like he cares about you, or even loves you.

You silently wonder if he can love anyone at all, much less someone as broken as you.

With his fingers drawing circles on your scalp, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

–––

You wake up alone. You’re still naked but on the bed, tucked into your blankets. There’s no confusion over what happened last night, no delusions that your brain would come up with a dream like that. There’s only memories hitting you like a truck, one after the other, and it’s too fucking early for this.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, and you jump at the sight of yourself on the mirror. You barely notice the smudged makeup from last night, your eyes going straight to the star of the show: the angry red spot right on the center of your chest, already turning into a deep purple at the center. You flinch before you even touch it, your hand hanging in the air halfway through like you’ve changed your mind. The necklace finishes it off like the cherry on top of the cake, the pair of precious stones right next to each other like eyes watching you, mocking you.

You button your coat all the way up before you leave the house.

It’s still early enough that the sun has just begun rising, coloring the sky in a bright blue that bleeds into the buildings and streets. There’s probably nothing open right now, but you could really use some coffee. Or a drink. Probably a drink.

You find him at Pont Neuf, watching the river below. There’s no one else around, the city in a rare moment of quiet and peace. He hasn’t spotted you yet, seemingly lost in thought, and it occurs to you that you could sneak up behind him, push him over the edge and just keep on walking. Sever your ties to him forever, and simply keep going like nothing ever happened, bury it along with all the other memories you try so hard to forget.

You don’t do it, but knowing you could brings you a bit of comfort. You lower your head and keep walking in the opposite direction, not sparing him another glance.

[steviewashere]

I'd Like For You and I To Go Romancing

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None apply Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Self-Sacrificing Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confessions, Lover Boy Steve Harrington, Sad Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart For @steddieangstyaugust Day 21 Prompt: "Please." Title taken from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen.

💕——————💕 “Please.”

It’s said to him so quietly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. The same way he can’t really see, can’t make out the shapes in the room despite the one light through the window. Maybe it’s the panic in him, while he’s trying to fight his way through tears as he pulls his clothes back on. But the word whispered at his back makes him take pause.

A desperate little word. He wants it to mean something.

Eddie swallows. Quickly, he goes back to shimmying his jeans back on. Hits his rings on the belt buckle currently hanging loose from the loops of his pants. 

It’s not that he wants to go, but it’s that he should. He’ll give some lame excuse later. Something about Wayne needing him back home—despite it being late at night, despite the fact that everybody knows Wayne works the nightshifts. He’ll say it’s because he gets anxious sleeping in other people’s beds. That he even wets the bed sometimes, even if he stopped doing that more than a decade ago. Gets nightmares so violent and lurching, he’s afraid he’ll hurt somebody. He could say that he actually hates sleeping with another person in his bed.

Despite everything in him screaming that he needs it. Because he’s a lonely, lonely person. And always wanted somebody there, needed them so close they could almost climb inside his ribs.

But he fastens the buckle of his belt and continues on with finding his t-shirt.

“Please,” whispered again, so singular, yet so drawn out, and so heartbreaking. The word pierces through Eddie’s back, kills his heart on impact, and exits his chest in one clean pass. It makes him stop searching again. “Don’t go. You don’t have to go.”

Oh, but I do, Eddie thinks, because if I let this go on any longer than it already has, I’ll have to admit how much I love you. And if I admit it and you say nothing in response, I’ll implode right on the spot. I’m saving myself. I’m saving you.

He sniffs. Grabs a random t-shirt from the bedroom floor and begins to pull it over his heavy head of curls. It’s not his shirt, he comes to find, but isn’t surprised. It’s loose on his chest, but tight on his biceps. The shirt is lightly worn. Smells like amber, like cinnamon and vanilla. Not his cologne. Not like cigarettes or marijuana or citrus-bergamot from his Irish Spring. Eddie plucks at the fabric, pulls it farther away from the skin of his chest, where his heart—resuscitated—tries to kiss the shirt with every beat.

If he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll do something stupid like break down into tears. If he doesn’t get out of here, he won’t save face. And if he doesn’t get out of here, he can’t move on.

A pleading, “Eds, please,” hits him. “Please don’t go. Don’t do this to me, too. Please, baby, come on.” Then, the bed behind him shifts. And there’s warmth on his back. A gentle brush of lips to his neck.

Steve wasn’t as sleepy as Eddie thought. Go figure.

“I…I gotta go, Steve,” Eddie states quietly, “I checked my watch. Gotta be home for Wayne, y’know?” He remains as still as he possibly can. Because Steve can read him, he’s come to find. He’ll know that Eddie’s lying if he shifts from foot-to-foot even an inch.

“He’s not home right now,” Steve immediately points out, “it’s dark out. And it’s a weekday, he’s working.”

Eddie swallows again. “I just have to go, Steve.” He doesn’t face him, doesn’t think he could. Doesn’t move, also doesn’t think he could. Just hopes, beyond all else, that Steve will just accept that and go back to bed and forget this night ever happened. That he ever touched Eddie that way. That he ever let himself get involved with a person like Eddie—not because he’s a freak and not because he’s in a different tax bracket, not that he’s above Steve, not that he’s below Steve…because he’s just him.

He hears Steve heave a deep breath.

Then, soft and tiny, “I was going to make you breakfast,” Steve says, “but this doesn’t have to…we can forget this happened if that’s what you want to do.”

“I…Steve”—

“It’ll be hard for me to let go, but I can try.” That makes Eddie turn to Steve. To see him. His limp, sweaty hair and the fact he’s only wearing boxers. The downcast eyes and twisting, nervous hands in front of him. “You’re not the first, so I’ll be fine.”

Eddie’s stomach churns and his palms sweat and he swears that his heart is the loudest thing in this room—screeching and beating and crashing straight out of him. But he brings himself to meet Steve’s volume, to ask, “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to stay,” Steve immediately responds, “I want you to stay in bed with me. And…and I’ll wake up first and maybe I’ll find out that you drool in your sleep and then I’ll brush back a stray strand of your hair and I want to get up and make you breakfast and then you’ll be over the moon when I hand you a cup of coffee and it’s made the exact way you love it and then we can…we can…you can…”

He blinks. Blinks again. Harder the third time. “You can…?” Eddie prompts.

“You can find somebody worth loving out of me,” Steve timidly answers, “because I already love you.”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he takes the few steps forward to put him face to face with Steve. And, in a moment of bravery, holds Steve’s head between his hands and kisses him. Soft and exploratory. Then, passionate and disbelieving. And another, for good measure, that’s in the shape of all the words he wants to say.

“You want that with me,” Eddie states, though it sounds more like a question. Steve nods anyway. “With me. Wow. I…I wish I was better at this part, at saying the good shit. But I do love you, Steve. I’ve been in love with you since we started this whole thing between us but I…I’ve never had something like this and it terrifies me the way you’ve nestled your way into my brain.” He runs his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, catching tears he won’t acknowledge, because he’s sure he’d start crying, too.

“Do you still have to go?” Steve asks quietly, small in a way that’s unlike him. “I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to be”—

“I’ll stay, Steve. I’m sorry that I…I’ll stay, I promise. Let me just—let me get dressed down again and I’ll make all this up to you, swear it.” He’s jittering out of his skin; he wants to run laps through the whole house, wants to climb the walls, scream if he has to. But, in a way that’s unlike him, he continues to cradle Steve’s face in his palms and with languid, thoughtful movements, he kisses Steve between his eyebrows, under his eyes, the tip of his nose, and again on his mouth. “I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Eddie promises, “you won’t have to worry about somebody leaving ever again.”

Steve smiles sticky sweet and soft like a stack of pancakes. “Good,” he whispers, “because I never want to let you go.”

💕——————💕

[reidmania]

sharpest tool | s. reid

(chapter one, the only exception)

‘I've always lived like this ,keeping a comfortable distance and up until now I had sworn to myself, that I'm content with loneliness, because none of it was ever worth the risk, but you are the only exception. You are the only exception’

summary; you never thought you’d find yourself falling in love again, especially not this easily, especially not with the boy from the library.

warnings; fem reader, mentions of bad relationship history, reader is closed off, avoidant!reader, lowkey a friends w benefits situation but its so much more, reader is lowkey so real; fluff!!

taglist; @gghostwriter @iknwreid (it literally wont let me tag anyone else!! Im sorry!!)

1.8k words.

SERIES MASTERLIST

White bed sheets were tousled, there was faint music that could be heard from your radio in the living room, even with the door closed, the air was warm around you, lights turned off, yet the fairy lights twirled around your bed frame left a warm glow across the room that increased the delicacy of the moment.

You admired the boy laying beside you, on his back, eyes up to the ceiling as soft breaths left his parted lips. The warmth of the fairy lights making his skin glow, every small detail further defined, his eyes with a slight gleam, you were unsure if that was from the lights or the intimate moment shared.

“I can feel you staring.” He said, his voice was careful, quiet as if not to ruin the fragile peace in the air. Your eyes didn’t leave his face, despite his words, they remained memorising the details of his side profile, the curve of his nose and jaw, the plush of his lips, the fullness of his eyelashes; every detail committed to a special corner of your mind.

Then his head turned at your lack of response, his eyes meeting yours, then there was a small smile on his face, lips curved upwards, his eyes mirroring your own as he admired you in the gentle lighting. “What is it?” He asked, his voice still so quiet.

Your lips curved upwards as his had a few minutes ago as his eyes stopped their dancing over your features to meet your eyes. “Im just glad, y’know.” You admitted, the same gentleness in your voice. As if this moment would end if you spoke too loudly, to fast, too much.

He shuffled slightly to reposition so he was laying on his side, body turned towards your own. He propped himself up on his elbow, “Me too.” He said, you didn’t have to say what it was you were glad about, he knew. He always knew.

Then his smile widened before he spoke again, “Im glad I didn’t give up when you rejected me the first two times.” He mumbled gently. A breathy laugh left your lips at the memory.

When you met Spencer at the library a whole six months ago, the last thing you had expected was to end up falling for him. Sure, you were attracted to him but you had been attracted to people before. Sure, the way he had rambled about the book you were borrowing had you smiling and listening intently. Sure, when he had asked you if you wanted to get coffee, you had considered it for a moment.

Then you politely declined. You watched his face twitch in disappointment and embarrassment before you had explained it was nothing against him, you just weren’t interested in dating at the moment. You thought that was the end of it when he nodded and said he understood then left with a small smile, and quick sheepish wave.

Then you saw him at the library again two weeks later, you invited him to sit with you because you could feel his eyes on you from across the room. He sat with you in the library for two hours that day, the both of you laughing and rambling about different books you had read.

Spencer was respectful of your decision not to date. He didn’t pry or ask why which you were the most respectful for, but every time he saw you at the library he would sit with you, you two would talk sometimes, sometimes you would just sit together and read silently, he would finish an abundance of books in the time it took you to read one, and for a while you were convinced he didn’t actually read them.

Then he explained his ability and knowledge one day when he noticed you eyeing him weirdly. Then you were both impressed and interested. It felt like a push and pull game when he asked you out again two days later, and you were almost going to say yes. You were almost going to forget about the hurt you had endured in past relationships or how nothing seemed to work out for you. You were almost going to forget about the engraved belief that you just weren’t made to be loved.

Almost.

You rejected him again, but you told him you really enjoyed spending time with him and you would love to be friends. He had accepted and you felt guilty for the first time in a long time for rejecting someone, he was quick to notice that and reassure you he understood your decision and he would love to be your friend.

That friendship was a bliss. He would disappear sometimes, but when you learnt what he did for work it all made sense. You also didn’t really mind the disappearance of who seemed to be your only friend. You had gotten use to being alone, you enjoyed it. You relished in the space you had, the lack of expectation, the lack of chance of getting hurt.

The more time you spent with Spencer the more you realised how amazing he was. The way he spoke, the way his brain worked, the way he treated you and made you feel. You spent a long time in denial of these feelings for him you had grown, because it never ended well.

You didn’t date. You hadn’t for years and that was good, that was easy. You weren’t hurt or disappointed by meaningless flings or relationships ending badly, you didn’t spend your time trying to get over breakups or men who didn’t know the difference between their, there and they’re.

Not dating was easy. It was safe, and it was good. Until you met Spencer and all of those morals seemed to be thrown out the window every time he would smile, or open a door for you, buy you a collection of gifts when he learnt he had missed your birthday.

You had kissed him, one time when you were at his apartment. You hadn’t really even thought about what you were doing, you just knew he looked really good in the warm lighting of his kitchen, placing a tray of baked cupcakes on the stovetop to cool. You just knew that whatever fear you had of relationships didn’t seem so scary when Spencer was around.

He had kissed you back, almost instantly after a brief moment of surprise. His hands cupped your jaw and curled into your hair, his lips pressed desperately against yours as if he had spent his entire life waiting for this moment alone, he kissed you like his life depended on it. Never had you been kissed like that before.

The conversation after the kiss was a blur in your memories. He asked what that meant. You didn’t know how to answer. He took control of the situation, the conversation that seemed too difficult to have and he made it all seem so much easier, he said he liked you, a lot and that if you liked him back at all, then he wanted to explore that.

You had cried when you opened up to him about your fears of relationships. He had almost cried seeing you cry. The girl who seemed so strong, so independent all the time, crying. He felt guilty as if he had made you cry and from that moment on he had promised he would never be the reason for your tears again, unless happy.

He had promised you he wouldn’t hurt you, he rubbed his calloused thumb over the silk of your skin, pushing away the tears that tainted the skin he deemed so pretty. He had promised you could take it slow, that he wanted to take it slow. That this was all on your terms.

Thats how you ended up here, two months after that night, laying in your bed together after a moment so intimate. Not together, not offical. Not yet.

“Me too.” You mumbled back, he smiled at your words.

“Where’d you go? You disappeared on me” He mumbled as his hand reached out to wrap gently around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Like he needed to hold you. He did that a lot, you noticed. His hands were constantly on you in some way, as if he didn’t believe you were real unless he could physically feel you there.

You let out a breathy laugh, “I was thinking about how we met.” You said honestly. It was almost impossible not to be honest to him. His eyes held something that made the words pour out of you before you could help it. He was so sweet, so gentle, so safe. He was everything you thought you’d never have.

He hummed in acknowledgment as his arm wrapped further around your waist, then he shifted so he was burying his face in between your shoulder and neck, the space he spent so much time you wondered if it smelt more like him then you. His lips pressed against the soft skin there before he mumbled, “You were reading a horrible book.”

You let out an infectious string of laughter, you could feel his smile widen against the skin of your neck. “It really wasn’t that bad.” You defended half playfully — but it was, the book was so poorly written at the time you had been frustrated you wasted your time reading it. Now however, you were so glad because it was what insinuated your first conversation with Spencer when he muttered about it being a bad book.

He pressed another soft kiss against your neck, before pulling back and tilting his head up slightly to look at you, “It really was.” He argued, in the same tone. A warm playful smile on his lips. You felt an ache in your heart, the best kind of ache. The one that seemed to happen every-time he smiled at you.

You felt warm in the cheeks when he looked at you like that, like you were something worth looking at. That wasn’t something you had felt before. Nobody had even felt as safe as Spencer did.

You laughed, “It was pretty bad.” You gave in. He nodded enthusiastically in agreement as he leant down to steal a gentle kiss from your lips, before pulling back, he repositioned so he was hovering over you, on his knees in between your thighs, hands pressed into the pillows on either side of your head, caging you in.

You weren't sure if you had ever been in love before. You thought you had, with your ex all those years ago. You thought a hurt like that could only come from from a love so deep. However with the way Spencer was staring down at you, the way he brought one of his hands to brush gentle strays of hair away from your face and then moved his hand under you jaw to tilt your head upwards and kiss you so gently.

Well, if this was what love felt like than you had never been in love before. Not until now. You swore off dating, you swore off falling for someone, you swore off letting another person in, letting another person know you.

Well Spencer was the execption.

[richardsgraysons]

Heyyy…. May i request a wife reader x dick grayson… she is mad at him and is giving him a silent treatment, but he is so done with this that he starts annoying her by saying Mrs. Grayson after every sentense and closing tightly lids

anon this is so adorable. i am going feral. also i am so severely sorry for my IA-ness.

tags — just overall fluff. some light swearing

In hindsight, you should've known that this would entail not just dating, but also marrying a vigilante. How could someone blame you, anyways? You were sitting at home, about to go to bed, when Nightwing crashed into your apartment after being chucked across the city by some villain or the other.

He had a major concussion. You didn't know how to treat thrown vigilantes who definitely had a couple of broken ribs and a torn ACL.

What you did know was how to comfort a man who was clearly in pain, who was trying to stifle his screams, because let's face it, the vigilante life should clearly not be glamorized.

He felt bad for the wreckage in your apartment. Every week, there'd be thousands of dollars at your doorstep from him, ready to pay it off. He had to be rich. There was no way he was giving your entire salary in four months and a half.

Eventually, you figured out his secret identity. And instead of being angry about it, Dick Grayson felt awfully in love with a girl who was as intelligent as he hoped she'd be. Sure she wasn't a supermodel, but she made him laugh. She made him think. She wasn't easy to get along with at times, but she made him better.

Three years later, he put a ring on it.

"I told you," you snapped, "you just keep going in stupid situations, and normally, I wouldn't mind, but it's like you refuse my help or anyone else's."

Dick knew he had a really bad hero complex. He couldn't stand anyone else getting hurt because of his issues. "I can handle it," he responded. "And isn't it just annoying that you've been mad at me for the past two days? Can't you just give it a rest?"

"I'll give it a rest when you start accepting help from others," you responded, your brows furrowing. "God, you're so—you're so—ugh!"

Dick rolled his eyes and then smirked at you, that stupid boyish smirk that made your heart tingle and everything else disappear. "I'm so what, sweetheart? What am I, Mrs. Grayson?"

You glared at him. "Dick!" You huffed, both saying his name and the insult. "That's it. I want a cooling down period. Leave me and the kitchen alone!"

He grinned, looking back at you, a mischievous glance in his eye. "Oh, I will, Mrs. Grayson. I will."

* * *

Making dinner was one of your forms of therapy. Dick was starting to go out for patrol, much to your distaste, no doubt about to pick a fight with someone who would give him considerable damage.

You didn't want him to go, you wanted to keep him here and kiss him forever, but he would leave anyways. It's my moral duty to the people of Bludhaven to keep them safe, he had said to you one night. I could never bring it to myself to disappoint these people. To make them unsafe. I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure people are as safe as can be.

And though you really disliked it, you knew that was one of the core reasons why you were so undoubtedly in love with him.

You turned around to grab the jar of pickles, still steaming from the fight, only to find that it was incredibly hard to open.

"What. The. Hell?" You hissed. You had opened it up just a day ago, and put it easily back, making sure it wasn't that hard.

Your face turned red and you looked at it again before trying to open it up, straining and groaning, only for your muscles to give out. There was only one explanation for this.

Your stupid, lovable, husband.

And after a few minutes of recollecting your pride, you stomped over to your bedroom where he was dressing. He was in the midst of putting the top half of his suit on, and your mouth turned a little dry when you saw him shirtless.

You were pretty sure that when the first time you saw him shirtless, literal heart eyes came out of your eyes. You gawked for a couple of seconds, admiring the contour of his muscles, only for him to turn around and smirk at you.

He knew what you were doing. Dammit.

"Hi, Mrs. Grayson," he teased. "Enjoying the view?"

"Shut up," you snapped, and held out the jar. "Open this up right now and stop screwing with my jars."

He smirked at you. "What's the magic word?"

"The magic word is 'I will beat you up if you don't open the jar up right now'," you responded, glaring at him. "Now. Open."

He laughed, tossing his head back, his voice echoing off the room before taking the jar. You watched intently as his triceps flexed when he opened the jar up with ease and returned it back.

"Thank you," you said, your voice having an edge to it. You were about to turn around before he grabbed you by the arm.

"What, no good luck kiss?" Dick asked huskily in your ear. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Even if I give you one, you'll still end up badly injured."

"C'mon," he murmured, planting a light kiss on your neck, his hands dancing on your waist. He squeezed your sides slightly. "I always fight better when my girl kisses me."

You looked up at him and snorted. "In your dreams," you responded, but he took this moment to crash his lips against you. You felt dizzy and couldn't help but to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

When the both of you stopped, he laughed, looking at you breathless, his blue eyes twinkling in the night sky.

"Knew you couldn't be mad at me for that long, Mrs. Grayson."

"Shut up," you grumbled, punching his shoulder lightly. "Go save Bludhaven, Boy Wonder."

He stepped out the window and then turned back at him, smirking. "You know I am, sweetheart. And when I come back, I'm gonna finish what I started."

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Two

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

The winter air of New York brushed past me as I quickly entered the office, shaking off the cold and snow from my hair. The weekend had come to an end, a lonely and quiet weekend, so I was glad to be back at work. As I closed the distance between the front door and my desk, I was shocked when my eyes landed on the figure sitting in my chair. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were taking over my job today. I could have stayed home in my warm bed,” I joked. 

Bucky smiled. “My job is one thing but there’s no way I could do what you do.” 

I hung up my jacket and bags on the coat rack that was behind my desk. “Do you need me to do something?” 

“I had a few minutes before my first meeting so I wanted to check in with you, see how you’re doing.” 

“So far so good,” I nodded. “It’s easy work.” 

Bucky’s brow peaked while he leaned back in the chair. “Oh really?”

My one hand sprawled on the desk while I leaned into it, the other hand on my hip. 

“I thought that since I was working for a mob gang that I would be cleaning up blood or hiding bodies but all I’ve done is run coffee and make copies.” I shrugged, eyes locked with Bucky’s. “Maybe you’re a big softy, who knows.” 

The sarcasm was evident in my voice. 

A low chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest and he slowly stood, the height of him towered over me. His bright eyes shined as he slowly licked his lips, our faces so close but not close enough. I could feel my heart jump into my throat causing my breath to get caught. 

He smelled of cedarwood, like the outdoors, and it comforted me almost instantly. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be a smartass?” His voice was low, husky, and it caused my core to twitch. 

I cleared my throat. “Once or twice.” 

The air shifted around us as his hand began to slowly raise, ready to move the loose strand of hair that fell into my eyes. I sucked in a breath as I felt his soft touch tuck it behind my ear, his vibranium fingers lingering on the skin of my neck. 

My fingers spread over his wide chest and I marveled at the way it felt beneath. They began to graze down but the front door opened, her petite voice calling for Bucky. I hurriedly stepped away from him, creating enough distance between us. 

“I brought breakfast!” Natasha smiled while holding up a brown bag. 

Bucky’s gaze stayed on me for a few moments before looking towards his wife and plastered a smile on his face. “I didn’t know you were coming by.” 

They shared a kiss which caused me to look down at my feet, suddenly feeling very out of place. 

“You rushed out this morning and you didn’t eat so I thought I would surprise you.”

It was almost as if she was avoiding me, not bothering to look my way, which I didn’t find myself complaining about. As they shared yet another kiss, I did my best to leave them be but my feet haltered when Bucky’s voice sounded in my ears. 

“Can you cancel my first meeting?” 

I raised a brow. “Are you sure? It’s with Mr. Stark and he’s been trying to get a meeting with you for the last month.” 

Bucky cursed with his hands on his hips. 

“I’m sure he would understand, right? Breakfast with your wife should come first,” Natasha said. 

I couldn’t stop the way my eyes rolled. 

“I can see if he’s fine with meeting later? You’ve got an hour free for lunch. I don’t think it’ll take that long, right?” I suggested. 

The smile that pulled at Bucky’s lips made my heart flutter. 

“That should work. Thank you, Y/N.” 

I watched with sad eyes as the two of them walked into his office, his hand on her lower back. 

“Hi, Mr. Stark. This is Y/N calling from Mr. Barnes office again. Something came up and he won’t be able to make his ten o'clock meeting. I’m wondering if there was any way we could push it back to one this afternoon. Give me a call back at this number. Thank you.” 

I hung up the phone and rubbed my eyes with a sigh. I had spend the last hour trying to get a hold of Mr. Stark, only to be met with his voicemail. 

“Hopefully he gets the voicemail before it’s too late,” I grumbled to myself. 

Suddenly, there was a noise coming from the wall behind me and when the sound of a woman moaning grazed my ears, my stomach fell into the pits of my stomach. 

“Oh, Bucky. It's so good.” 

I cleared my throat and did my best to block out their moans, keeping my attention on my work.

You wish it was you, though. 

I mentally smacked the thought away and hummed a tune to myself. It worked for a bit, the moans started to sound farther away. 

“Is Bucky busy?” 

I looked away from my computer and gave Steve a warm smile. “Yeah, Natasha is-.” 

We both heard a very loud crash followed by Bucky’s deep moans. It caused my insides to burn and I discreetly adjusted myself, hoping the itch would subside. 

“How long has that been going on?” Steve nodded behind me. 

“Way too fucking long,” I grumbled.

He noticed that I had been bothered by the sounds coming from Bucky’s office so Steve sat on the edge of my desk next to me and looked down towards me.

“I need your honest opinion about something,” he said, stretching out his long legs. 

I leaned back in my chair while looking up at him. “About?” 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair in an attempt to get it out of his face. “I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair back to how it used to be; short.” 

My eyes doubled in size. “No way. You can't. I can’t even imagine you with short hair and clean shaven.” 

Steve chuckled and scratched at his beard. “It used to be my look back in the day.” 

I snorted. “Back in the day? How old are you?” 

“Way too old, I feel,” he laughed with me. 

“But honestly, don’t cut your hair,” I said while raising to my feet. My fingers messed with his long locks. “I like it this way.” 

His chest rumbled in bliss as I gently scratched his head and his fingers ghosted over my thigh. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Steve asked. 

My fingers were now twirling in the ends of his hair. “Are you asking me out, Rogers?” 

He shrugged. “One drink?” 

I gnawed on my bottom lip, weighing the decision in my mind. There was chemistry between us, it would be wrong to deny myself that especially since the one my heart had yearned for was unavailable. 

The door clicked open behind me, Natasha and Bucky walking out. She was busy fixing her blouse that she didn’t notice Steve and I; Bucky, however, did. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of us, Steve’s hand on my hip while I continued to mess with the hairs at the back of his neck. 

“What’s going on here?” He questioned. 

Steve sighed. “Impeccable timing as always, Buck.” 

I stood frozen in Steve’s grasp, unable to move because of the look Bucky was giving me. I went to explain but the front door now opened and I groaned when I saw who walked in. 

“Mr. Stark, did Y/N not call you?” Bucky questioned the man while extending his vibranium hand. 

He shook Bucky’s hand while shaking his head. “Tony, please. And I never got a phone call. Is everything alright?” 

“I called you a few times and left you a voicemail about rescheduling your meeting today,” I informed him. 

The anger radiated off of Bucky as he turned his attention towards Natasha, laying a kiss on her lips. “I’ll call you later, alright?” 

She nodded and bid all of us a quick goodbye, leaving through the door Tony arrived in. 

“Well it’s a good thing I’m free now,” Bucky extended his arm towards his office. “Shall we?” 

Tony nodded and walked into the office. 

Bucky’s eyes landed back on me and Steve. “Are you going to join us, Steve or are you too preoccupied with Y/N?” 

My shoulders fell at the tone of his voice. He was clearly upset that I had decided to flirt with Steve and not continue my work. 

Steve sighed. “Of course not. Punk.” 

He punched Bucky’s shoulder before he disappeared into the office. 

“I swear I left Mr. Stark a voicemail asking to reschedule,” I explained. 

Bucky took a step towards me and I felt the heat from him engulf around me. His breathing was slow but erratic. 

“I’d suggest you keep your mind on your work and not flirt with the men that work here,” his voice was low. 

I scoffed. “Excuse me?” 

Bucky went to speak but Tony appeared in the doorway and pointed between us. 

“Should I come back? This seems like it needs to be discussed.” 

“No,” Bucky kept his eyes trained on me. “We will finish this later.” 

All I did was nod as I watched Bucky walk into the office now with Tony and let the door slam behind him. 

[uwuwha]

And oh, I wish I could hold you in my arms || but lately my body has been so afraid

A comic for @cometquest's blocktales apocalypse au! Can be interpreted either romantic or platonic. I kind of made my own story here, but you should definitely go check the au out!! His character designs are sick as hell and I've been a bit insane about them lately 🙏🙏!

Text reads: And if I knew you a little less, and my soul held a little less pride, I'd ask for you to stay safe by my side. But in my heart, I have long known what your answer would be.

Some extras below the readmore! Fair warning it's quite long

The comic without leetspeak!

In honour of the most recent lore post

Banner says: and me I feel also not so good Griefer's saying: Dude this yogurt fucking sucks

And my original tags condensed into incomprehensible paragraphs because there was not enough space to fit all of them underneath. Dear lord.

Genuinely I keep thinking about them oh my lord. The way in a normal world they would have never met. Wouldn't have even known eachother existed except in passing and rumors. Yet in this world where everything is falling apart Griefer and Jim are the only lifelines in their towns, do they meet even if its in voicechat. The only way Roadtown can talk to Turitopulis. And if Red lives in somewhere other than Roadtown or Blackrock, then Jim is quite literally the only way Brad can get updates on his father.

So they start talking and planning and communicating. And they communicate and they learn about eachother and they start talking more than strictly necessary and days or months or maybe years later, Griefer suddenly realizes that he's looking forward to his next conversation with Jim. He likes talking to him. He finds comfort with him. He cares a lot for Jim. A lot. Like a bird trying to rip out of his chest. Over the voice on his headphones who hes never seen before.

And if he knew Jim a little less well. If he maybe he were willing to beg a little more. He might've asked Jim to go and live in blackrock like his dad, or even go to Turitopulis to stay with him. But he knows who Jim is, and he knows who he is, and if someone had ever asked him to leave Turitopulis he would've socked them in the face. And even though he's calmer and more mellower than him, Griefer knows Jim would never think about leaving Roadtown for it to defend itself. And nobodys really manning the planes except for Jerry nowdays. So he never bothers asking.

But like a riving pounding against stone, the voices know they can't last forever and one day, maybe the voices finally got to him or maybe it was an act of self sacrifice, but Jim blows himself up. And all of the sudden Brad is left with headphones that emit static, no contact to Roadtown, and a sinking pit in his stomach. Do you see my vision here. Gripping myself.

[thelargefrye]

STARSEED : PERFECT LOVE … mature one - shot

pairing : king!hongjoong x concubine!m!reader (ft. concubine!seonghwa and guard!yunho)

genre : fantasy au, slight historical au, royal au, smut, romance, sprinkle angst (i'm sorry i just can't help myself)

word count : 3.7k

warnings : language, slight jealousy (mainly yn), mentions of working in a brothel

smut warnings : unprotected sex, anal sex, oral, slight cumplay / eating

note : for my secret santa @yourfatherlucifer! i hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!! no tag list for this since its a present!

as the king’s favorite, you had many advantages and most of those included being with king in a way no one else could.

something felt uneasy in your stomach. like a swarm of moths flocking around inside of you. it was a feeling you didn't like, but you couldn't figure out how to get rid of it.

"what's wrong, moonflower?" you look up at the voice that snaps you out of your dazed thoughts. your eyes easily lock with seonghwa's figure who is standing behind you. his features are so soft and comforting as he smiles down at you.

his hands come to rest on your shoulders, gently massaging them and you feel the uneasy go down. but not disappear. "hmm?" he cocks his head to the side and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i don't know... i'm just nervous i guess."

"nervous? about what?"

"hongjoong hasn't requested to see me in a while," you say with a sigh as you feel seonghwa's fingers press into your shoulders and you slowly feel the knots go away. seonghwa always was good a massages.

"i'm sure he's just busy, y/n. he is our king after all," seonghwa tries to reassure you and you appreciate his attempt, but it still doesn't settle the uneasiness. you hate it.

it's been several days since hongjoong last came to see you or even requested for you to spend the night with him. basically almost a week, and he's never went longer than a day without coming to see you. you couldn't help the thoughts running through your mind. was he still interested in you? did he still love you like he claimed?

you know he hasn't been by himself. having heard that he's been requesting for seonghwa as of late. your eyes flicker back up to the male standing behind you. seonghwa... he was so beautiful and kind. you don't blame hongjoong for taking him as a concubine, because you too fell in love with him. it wasn't hard.

perhaps hongjoong has just fallen for seonghwa harder and enjoys his company more than yours. the uneasiness returns tenfold the longer you think about these questions.

"moonflower?" seonghwa's voice once again brings you back to the present, his hand coming to rest on your jaw as he turns it to look at you. his eyes filled with worry as he looks at you.

you don't want to admit it, but you're completely jealous of seonghwa. how could you not be jealous of your lover? even when you both were growing up, he was the star of the village that everyone either wanted to marry or be. even when your village was raided and you were both sold off to the brothel, seonghwa was seen as the favorite "jewel" that everyone wanted. you were always second place to him, your own lover.

hongjoong probably only kept you as a concubine because of seonghwa.

"y/n, what's wrong?"

you open your mouth to speak; however, a knock at your chamber doors stops you. it opens to reveal yunho stepping inside, his armor hugging him nicely as he stands tall and proud.

"excuse me for interrupting, but his highness as requested to see you, y/n," you feel your heart jump into your throat as you stand up. you feel your palms sweat at the negative thoughts that fill your head.

this is it, he's going to tell you that he doesn't want you anymore. he's going to dismiss you and you'll never see him or seonghwa or any of the others again.

"hey, y/n," seonghwa grasps your wrist and you turn to look at him. "come find me later. so we can talk, okay?"

"okay, hwa," he smiles at your words before he's quickly leaning over to kiss you. his lips feel soft against your skin and you have to will yourself to not melt into his touch. thankfully before you can he's pulling away, his touch lingering on your skin even when you walk out of your chambers and down the grand hall.

yunho trails behind you, not saying anything as he escorts you to hongjoong's personal chambers.

"thank you for escorting me, yunho," you say looking at the guard with a smile. yunho returns your smile, bowing his head a little bit and you can't help but think he might have gotten taller since you last saw him. he's definitely gotten buffer, probably training with san and yeosang instead of resting. his brown hair is soft looking and he looks much happier now than when he did years ago when you first met him.

"of course, y/n," he says before his eyes are darting down each end of the hallway. there's no one else but the two of you and yunho takes the chance to lift your hand up and kiss the back it. he lets go of your hand before he's standing tall and adjusting his armor before he's turning and making his way back down the hallway.

and then you're left alone in front of hongjoong's chamber doors. you feel an ugly twist in your stomach as you knock on the oak doors and wait for his voice to let you in.

"come in," god, how long has it been since you've heard his voice. even just hearing him speak is enough to make you weak.

opening the door, you are immediately greeted to the sight of hongjoong lounging at his table, sitting in one of his plush, velvet chairs. his royal garments have been discarded, leaving him in only his thin, silk blouse and black trousers. his brown hair framing his face perfectly and you feel a wave of butterflies fill your stomach as your heart beat picks up.

hongjoong turns to see who has arrived and upon seeing you, his stoic face quickly turns into one of happiness. he stands up and makes his way over to you as you close the door behind you.

"my moonflower," he says, arms open as he brings you into a hug. his strong scent fills your nostrils as his arms wrap around your form and you can't help but to return the hug as you bury your face into his neck. you hear hongjoong let out a small laugh as his hand comes up to run over your head. "i've missed you so much."

you can't help but doubt his words. the knowledge that he's been seeing seonghwa again and again comes crashing in. if he truly missed you then why did he wait till now to request you?

"i've missed you too, your highness," you tell him, you can't help the mix of emotions that swim through you. you want to question him, but you know it will do no good. it will only make you look jealous.

"come on now, y/n," he says with a grin as he pulls away just enough to look at you, "we're alone, there's no need to call me that."

you can't help but feel flushed at his words, "sorry, just a habit," you say a little embarrassed, but hongjoong brushes it off with a laugh. "so... did you call on me solely because you missed me?"

"ah, yes, i actually have something i want to talk to you about?" he says before he's taking you by the hand and guiding you to his lavish and overly large bed. you sit down when the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

"talk about?" you feel your nerves bubble up when you watch hongjoong walk away from you and over to his desk that is filled with an assortment of stuff, but mainly parchment papers with writing all over them. however, its none of the papers that he picks up, but a small ornament box instead.

hongjoong holds the box as if it will break any second before he's gently sitting down next to you on his bed. you look at the box with confusion before you're are looking back up at hongjoong.

"this box is very important to the royal family," he begins to say as he runs his hand over it. you take notice of the white moonflower – the lunar tear – craving on the top of it. "my mother gave this to me when i became king," he adds on and you can't help but feel your palms start to sweat. "when she gave it to me, she told me about the duty my family had to the goddess and to protect this box."

"what's inside it?" you couldn't help but ask as you reached your own hand out. not to touch the box, but to touch hongjoong's hand.

"my mother told me its the spirit of a great evil. that centuries and centuries ago, pandora's soul was trapped in this very box by the goddess," he explains and for a second you want to laugh at his words. you think he's messing with you, but when you look at his face you can tell he's serious.

however, despite this information he is sharing with you, you can't help but want to ask him the one question that stands in your brain. "why are you showing me something this valuable, hongjoong?"

"because, my moonflower," he says with a smile as his hand comes up to cup your face. "i want to give it to you, to protect for me."

"me? h-hongjoong have you gone crazy or something?" you are completely caught off guard by his words. he wants to give you the box that supposedly has the soul of the most evil spirit the world has seen.

pandora is a person of myth; however, its been proven throughout the history of the world that she was just as real as you and hongjoong are. her goal was to bring about the end of the world. how she attempted to bring about the end of the world tended to change slightly, but her goal was still the same. kill any and everything.

and here, hongjoong was giving you this box to trust and hold. "hongjoong..."

"i'm giving entrusting this box because i know i can trust you," he says, leaning over as his lips ghost over your cheek. you feel a chill run down your spine as you look towards your lover right as he rests his forehead against yours. "my favorite flower, the one i love the most," he adds softly as he places the box into your hands.

his words make your heart skip a beat as his hands come up to cup your face. his breath fans against your lips as his hovers closely to yours. just centimeters from touching yours.

"but that's only if you accept the box, my love, i won't force you to take it," he says and that's when you're reminded of the weight in your hands from the small metal box.

you take a deep breath before answering, "of course, i’ll guard it with my heart, joongie." the king's smile is enough to make your heart do a flip.

“that’s not the only reason why i summoned you here though,” hongjoong said, his usual grin on his face as he gently takes the box and sets it on his bedside table.

you feel hongjoong tug on your sleeve and you turn to see his eyes filled with lust and longing and you can't help the smile that tugs at your own lips. "its been way too long since we have been one, don't you think?"

"yes it has, my king."

hongjoong's chamber was filled with a mixture of your moans and the sound of skin slapping skin. your legs were spread wide and you were practically bent in half as hongjoong pounded away at your hole. you couldn't help but arch your back as how hongjoong's cock filled you up.

"you take me so well, moonflower," hongjoong says a grin painting his lips as one of his hands wrap around your own cock, he gives it a firm squeeze that makes you cry out. your lover can't help but let out a laugh as he watches you wither underneath him.

"n-ngh! joongie! p-please!" you cry out as you feel hongjoong hit your sweet spot as he continues to stroke your cock. his thumb runs over your slit and it slowly begins to leak pre-cum that hongjoong uses as lube to stroke you off quicker.

"please what, love? use your words," he's clearly mocking you as he leans down to kiss you before he's pulling out of you and turning you onto your stomach. you can't help but moan at how hongjoong handles you like you were nothing.

"h-hongjoong," you can't help but moan as you feel hongjoong lick at your puckered hole as his hand grabs at your cock again and begins to jerk you off once more. "a-ah fuck! fuckfuckfuck!"

hongjoong laughs as he licks at your hole before he's pulling away. "does it feel good, moonflower?"

"y-yes s-so-so good, joongie!"

you let out another moan when you feel hongjoong enter you once again. you can't help but let out a sigh at hongjoong not only filling you up once again, but also at him finally leaving your poor cock alone. both his hands grip your hips tightly and he begins thrusting into you once again.

you grip the sheets below you tightly as you can't help but feel your eyes roll back as hongjoong's cock massages your prostate. you clench around him tightly as you feel your orgasm build up the longer he fucks you.

"you're so perfect, my flower," hongjoong says as he presses his chest against your back. his hands wandering over your body before they stop of play with your nipples and pinching them harshly which causes you to let out loud cry. "you take my cock so well and your body was made for me."

"n-ngh, yes joongie, only yours," you say in your fucked out daze as you felt hongjoong trail his lips down your back. you felt a pleasurable chill run over your body when hongjoong licks up your spin before his arms are wrapping underneath your armpits in order to pull you up off the bed.

you're pressed flush against hongjoong as he continues to abuse your hole, pounding away as he uses you for his pleasure. not that you mind, you would happily allow hongjoong to use your body to his heart's content in order to pleasure himself and make himself happy.

"you're so beautiful," he says before kissing your cheek. "i love you so much, moonflower," he says and the nickname that him and seonghwa and others always use for you makes your heart skip a beat. you remember when hongjoong had overheard seonghwa call you that nickname and how he had asked if he could call you that ask well.

"if i could marry you, i would in a heartbeat, but t-those bastard ad-visors of mine– fuck!" hongjoong cuts himself off as he does a particularly hard thrust before he's stilling himself inside of you for a moment.

he slowly lets you go as you rest back on his sheets, the cold material feels good against your hot skin. hongjoong moves once more to hover above you as he leans down to kiss you again.

"i wanted to ask..." he begins as he moves at a slower pace this time. "if you would come with me on my next campaign. i can't bare being without you and so i want you to be with me."

"r-really?" his question catches you off guard as you turn to look at him with just as much shock as you feel.

"yes," he says with a little laugh. "i've been trying to find a way to ask you since i got back from my last one and i even asked seonghwa if i should ask you. he scolded me for trying to hog you too much, but he eventually told me to just ask and so... yeah, here i am."

"fuck– hongjoong, of course!" you say when you feel his tip rub against your sweet spot. hongjoong gives you a teasing smile.

hongjoong doesn't say anything as he kisses you one last time before he's focusing back on making the two of you come. and when you finally do, you moan at how you feel hongjoong pumping you full of his cum. you know that when he pulls out, it will leak out of you knowing how much cum the king has.

you are left a panting mess as you feel your own cum panting your stomach. hongjoong pulls out slowly and you whine at how empty you feel as your lover turns you onto your back to look at the mess he had cause.

you watch as hongjoong bends down before licking up most of your cum that painted your skin. he then moves to lean over you before kissing you and you cringe at how you taste yourself on his lips and you can tell hongjoong is enjoying himself.

when he pulls away from your lips, you can't help but pout as he smiles at you softly before he's rolling over to lay next you. he brings his hand up to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer to you.

"i love you, my king," you said and hongjoong looks at you fondly as you brush some hair out of his face.

"i love you too, my moonflower."

its a few hours later when you are finally leaving hongjoong's chambers. your lover of course begged you to stay with him longer, pleading to spend the entire night with him, but you turned him down. not because you didn't want to spend the rest of the night in his embrace, but because you needed to find seonghwa.

you wanted to talk to him as a way to clear your conscious from those jealous thoughts you had earlier.

you kissed hongjoong's pouty lips, "next time we can spend the entire night together, my king."

"yeah, yeah, just go before i change my mind in letting you leave," his tone is full of tease as he rests on his side, his silk blankets the only thing covering his nude body.

you let out a laugh as you reach for the box before making your way out of his chambers and down the hall before you are arriving at the wing that has both yours and seonghwa's private chambers.

standing outside of seonghwa's chambers, you feel a sense of nervousness settle on you as you try to build up the fleeting courage to knock on his door.

then without a second thought, you knocked on his door. you bit your lip as you waited for your lover to open the door, and it felt like ages before you heard the door opening.

your eyes immediately met seonghwa's bright and shining ones. and then he beamed a bright smile at you when he realized who was at your door.

"ah, y/n!" he says your name and you can't help want to hear him say again and again, over and over. "did you go see hongjoong?"

"yeah, i just got back," you tell him and the box he gifted you feels heavy in your hands as you look at seonghwa. "b-but i wanted to talk to you, can i... can i come in?"

"of course, moonflower," seonghwa says before letting you, "how did your visit with hongjoong go?" he asks once the two of you are in his room and away from any prying eyes.

seonghwa had stripped you of your clothes, a wet rag in his hands as he wipes down your body. you felt a warmth spread over you as you felt seonghwa's hands roam around your body. you had to stop yourself from moaning when his hand wrapped around your cock.

"so..." seonghwa begins after he finished wiping you off, "what did you want to talk about?" his head tilts to the side as he watches you redress yourself.

"i wanted to apologize for earlier," you say, feeling embarrassed now that you say it out loud.

"what for, y/n?" seonghwa asks as he comes to sit down next to you on his bed. he takes your hands into his warm ones and sweet scent makes you want to melt into his embrace.

"i thought hongjoong was going to dismiss me from being his concubine because he had been seeing you more than me recently. i was... scared that i would never be able to see you again."

"oh, y/n, i would never let that happen," he says pulling you into his embrace. your head rests against his chest, your cheek pressing into the soft material of his blouse. "i love you so much."

you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his confession, tears brimming at your waterline as you wrapped your arms around him. "i'm sorry for being jealous, i'm sorry for not being good enough like you."

"you hush now, don't think like that, my love. you are more than enough for me, that's why i love you." you peer up at seonghwa to see him smiling down at you. his hand runs through your hair before he's cupping your face and kissing you.

you immediately melt into the kiss as your hands pull him closer to you. seonghwa moves in order to lay you down onto his bed with him hovering overtop of you. both his and your own hands roam over each other's body, pulling away your clothes so that you are both bare and pressed up again each other like you have been so many times before in the past.

seonghwa kisses down your body, his hands squeezing your flesh as he leaves his own trail of lovebites next to and around the ones hongjoong had left.

and then seonghwa is entering you, your warm hole welcoming his cock as he milks your prostate. your moans fill his chamber as his hips meet your ass and you can't help but feel loved by seonghwa.

eventually, you reach your climax with seonghwa before you're laying together in his bed. the two of you lay so close to each other that your noses graze each other whenever one of you moves.

"seonghwa?"

"yes, y/n?"

"we'll be together forever, right? nothing's going to tear us apart?"

"no, never. together forever." you two share a brief kiss before seonghwa is pulling you to rest your head against his chest. seonghwa smiles down at you before his eyes flicker up at pandora's box that sits idly on the bedside table behind you.

network : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter five || departure

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 8.6k.

edited but not beta-read.

a/n || just want to give fair warning for this chapter that the warnings above apply quite heavily.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“Good morning, darling.”

Gentle words whispered softly against your skin had become your mantra. A reminder of not only what you had longed for for so long, but also that you no longer felt the need to face the world alone.

Of course, you weren’t exactly alone, but it often felt that way.

“Morning, Ken,” your voice is hoarse as you wake to strong arms enveloping you, kisses being peppered down your jaw and along your neck. You hum contentedly, tilting your head to allow Nanami access before his lips part from your collar bone. His deep mahogany gaze lifts to take in your smile, a sight mirrored on his own features. Propping himself up on his elbow, he leans down to kiss you, his lips softly moving against yours.

Waking up with your boyfriend was a treasure you never truly knew you were missing out on. The way he would wrap you up tightly in his embrace, his length pressing into your ass as he passionately nipped and licked the sensitive skin at the nape where your neck met your collar bone was a feeling you could never grow sick of.

Before you can indulge in such a feeling, Kento interrupts the sounds of shuffling and gentle moans that fill the room.

“Are you teaching today?” His voice is low and groggy, a timbre you’d grown accustomed to hearing over the past few weeks as Kento’s visits had become more and more frequent now that you were dating. Your calls and texts had grown so constant that it made more sense for him to come home to you every night. You had never imagined the cabin you had so begrudgingly agreed to live in could possibly become your home, but now it held such fond memories you couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“Mhm,” you hum in response to your boyfriend, who kisses your nose.

“Shame,” he says, “I was hoping to have you to myself.” His hands find your waist, brushing the bare skin of your stomach. You jump at the feeling of his thumbs tickling the sensitive skin, giggling at the sudden feeling of being awake. Kento’s chest rumbles as he appreciates your reaction, leaving a gentle kiss along the top of your spine.

“I wish,” you groan, turning your head to check the time. Slowly, you push yourself out of bed to get ready for the day. Kento isn’t far behind as he makes his way down the stairs to make coffee. It had become somewhat of a tradition to share coffee together before going separate ways and you treasured that moment each morning, ensuring you always had enough time to bask in one another’s company.

When you emerge from the bedroom dressed in a floral tank top and black skirt, Nanami’s gaze travels the length of your figure. A blush finds your cheeks as you smile sheepishly at him. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt, though it isn’t fully buttoned up or tucked in as it usually is, and a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but adore the more disheveled look on him, something about it so painfully screamed “boyfriend” and it screamed of the adoration you two shared.

“You look beautiful,” he hums, clearing his throat of the obvious lust in his voice.

Grinning, you giggle as you take the coffee cup he’d prepared for you from his hands. “You look as handsome as ever.” Your cheeriness earns a warm smile from him. Taking your usual spot leaning against the counter beside him, you cozy up to the warmth of his side. Even in the warm summer heat, it was hard to tear either of you from the other.

Domestic moments like these, your heart soared at just how grateful you truly were. Never could you possibly have imagined a world where you would get to enjoy such slow and soft mornings filled with adoration.

A knock at your door earns a sigh from you and a knowing chuckle from Nanami, who sets his coffee down on the kitchen counter and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, answering the door.

As you finish up your coffee and throw on a petite red leather jacket, you can hear Nanami and Gojo sharing mild pleasantries, though Gojo’s version of pleasantries seemed to be aimed towards annoying your partner. Sliding up behind Nanami, you pull his attention back towards you and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” you tell him. He nods, wrapping a muscular arm around you to pull you in for one more chaste kiss before letting you go. You both choose to ignore Gojo’s noises of complaints as you kiss. When you part, you spot a frown pulling at Gojo’s lips, but had you blinked you would have missed it. He turns his attention back to you, hands in his pockets, as he turns to lead the way towards the clearing.

Bounding down the stairs after the sorcerer, you follow his pace as the sun warms your skin from between clouds. It’s the first overcast day in a while and although the sun peeks through the clouds on occasion, it’s a nice break from the blaring summer heat.

“I’m having one of the second-years join today,” Gojo comments, smirking your way.

“Okkotsu?” You recall your conversation with Yaga from over a month ago. Rolling his shoulders back, Gojo nods.

“He’s strong, I think it’d be valuable for him to learn a thing or two from you.”

Your steps almost falter as you tilt your head to look up at him. His head is tilted upwards with a smile, seemingly enjoying the break from the heat as he paid you no mind. In his own way, that was a compliment. Though you had grown more accustomed to Gojo, it didn’t mean either of you got along any better.

You had taken Yuji and Megumi out for lunch a couple of weeks back to discuss what Sukuna could want, insisting that they would be fine together while you were there though the conversation had ended up skewing more towards why Gojo acted the way he did towards you.

You weren’t sure of Megumi's relation to Gojo, though to your surprise he seemed to know him quite well and had chalked it up to him feeling some sort of disdain towards you. You had suggested that maybe he felt threatened but both Yuji and Megumi had insisted such a thing was impossible.

After all, Gojo was the strongest. Sure, you’d heard it from Gojo on more than one occasion and Miriko had her reservations on him as the user of the Six Eyes and Limitless techniques so you knew he was strong, but to hear both kids insist that he was the strongest and couldn’t possibly be threatened was strange, albeit a bit insulting with you sitting right in front of them.

Approaching the clearing, you shake your head of the memory. You notice Yuji sitting alongside a boy with jet black hair and sunken eyes, the poor boy looked rather tired. He was smiling and laughing while talking to Yuji, waving to Gojo as you approached. Gojo takes a seat beside Yuji and opposite you while Okkotsu stands to bow politely, although you insist it isn’t necessary as he introduces himself.

The lesson goes smoothly as it always does, both students are quick learners and eager to take in any information they can. You’re surprised to find that Yuta is another special grade sorcerer like you, one of very few.

“I need to get stronger,” Yuji hums, staring at a clenched fist. You’re pretty sure he’s talking to himself as the group was all getting ready to grab lunch, but you blink at him in surprise. He was always determined, but the way his brow was furrowed made you wonder where this was coming from. He seemed nervous.

“You are,” you insist to him quietly, watching his eyes rise to meet yours. Yuta and Gojo, noticing the conversation, both pause to listen.

“I know,” he sighs, shaking his head. “But I need to make sure that whatever Sukuna’s got planned, I’m strong enough to stop it. I need to get as strong as you and Gojo. You too, Yuta.”

You tilt your head sympathetically, a bittersweet smile pulling at the corners of your lips. Leaning forward over the table, your voice is quiet as you speak. Gentle, even. “I know you want to protect your friends but that’s a tall order,” you tell him, running a hand through your hair as the breeze blows a few strands into your vision. “Not because I don’t think you can do it,” you insist with a confident smile, “but because I don’t think you should aim for that.”

“Why not?”

You pause, quietly examining the grain of the wood beneath your hands. “It’s lonely,” you say quietly as an admittance of the error of your own ways, if you could even call it such a thing. “Being at the top with no one able to touch you.” 

You glance between Yuta and Yuji, who are deep in thought, before locking eyes with Gojo. His lips part and though you can’t read his expression from behind the black fabric that covers most of his face, his contemplation is evident. You’re not sure what it is about your words that has him staring at you in such a way, but before you can question him, your thoughts are interrupted.

BAM.

You jump, twisting to stare behind you. You don’t see anything from where you’re sitting, but when the sound is followed by an ear-splitting crack, all four of you are on your feet in an instant. Birds fly out from the nearby trees in a panic at the sudden noises, their squawking filling the air around you.

Gojo teleports away as Yuta zips after him through the trees to see what was causing the disturbance. Yuji stays nearby to protect you but your mind is elsewhere as you take off through the trees without a second thought.

Kento.

Making your way through the forest, you take in the scene before you. There’s a fire raging in the trees near the front entrance and several grade two curses were attacking anything that dared to move.

“How is this possible?” You exchange an incredulous glance with Yuji, knowing there was a barrier protecting the school. Yuji doesn’t seem to have an answer either, though you had heard this wasn’t the first event of this happening.

“y/n, Yuji!” Kento’s voice is relieved as he sets a strong hand on either of your arms, his gaze taking in your appearance as he searches for injuries. He then repeats the process with Yuji, before turning to face the chaos before you, satisfied to find neither of you are injured.

Now that you know Kento is safe, you turn your attention to the curses moving wildly over the training grounds. They’re-

“They’re the same.” Yuji’s voice is equally as confused as you felt.

Each curse was a familiar green, decorated in the same strange red markings as the curses you had been ambushed by so long ago. Though, this time there seemed to be hundreds of them. It was a strange attack to launch, given that nothing seemed to be above grade one, and even then there were far too few of them for it to make sense.

Regardless, Nanami instructs you to stick by Yuji and keep one another safe as he makes easy work of the small and mid-size curses. You know you have no reason to be concerned for him, but regardless it’s hard not to worry, your eyes following his every movement.

He’s swift and elegant as he takes out smaller curses with one strike of his blunt blade, slicing off the appendages of any curse large enough to survive an attack before maiming them mercilessly. The way he dances across the landscape in a display of almost elegance makes your heart flip, but now isn’t the time for that.

“Something isn’t right,” Miriko’s voice sounds and both you and Yuji stare down at the toothed mouth on your hand. “If this same curse has returned, then the one we killed was not the main body.”

You nod in agreement. Was there a special grade curse lurking somewhere?

Nanami glances in your direction, panting heavily. A good portion of the training grounds were clear of curses and you could see a couple of the second years taking a moment’s break behind your boyfriend as well.

You motion for Yuji to follow you to where Nanami was standing at the treeline, bringing a hand up to check for any injuries, though the blonde seemed unharmed. Yuji dashes off to his friends, checking on them as you tell Nanami what Miriko had said.

Nodding in agreement, he grimaces. “There are too many spirits to pinpoint the location of the main body,” he hums. “It’s some sort of distraction.” But of course, without knowing who they were after, you couldn’t be sure where they would-

A strangled gasp leaves your lips. You stare down at the sharp appendage that shoots straight through your chest, blood spurting from your lips as your hands shake. Shock was keeping you from keeling over in pain, though it was also keeping you from making a movement. Your confused expression reaches Nanami, whose jaw is clenched as he lifts a hand in an attempt to- oh god. His chest had been pierced through by the same appendage, but there was a stark contrast between you and your boyfriend that was a grave reminder of the dire situation you were now in.

Nanami can’t use the reverse cursed technique.

A strangled cry of his name leaves your lips as you’re both yanked back painfully and enveloped in liquid. It stings and burns as it eats at your skin, your throat, your eyes, blinding you. Flailing around helplessly, you retreat to allow Miriko to take over. She’s calm as she works to heal you while what she can only assume is a strong curse’s stomach acid eats away at your form. Taking a moment to evaluate the situation, she finally grabs a hold of whatever appendage is pierced through you, sending death and decay through it without mercy. A shrieking noise meets the action as Miriko’s hands crack with the same decay.

The curse dissolves, dropping Miriko on the grass with a soft thud. She coughs the liquid up, working to heal your hands and eyes as the grass and earth below you crack and crumble. Her glowing gaze blinks once, twice, as she adjusts to the light, staring down at the hole in your chest as she focuses on healing it before turning her attention to Yuji.

“y/n- Miriko?”

“I’m okay,” she sputters, rolling her shoulders as she pushes herself up and brushes grass from her palms.

“Where’s-?” Yuji’s voice comes as a reminder of what had just happened as you physically rip control of your body back from Miriko, leaving you momentarily dazed. The moment the fog over your brain lifts, you frantically whip your head around.

“Kento? Kento?” Your heart is pounding as you search desperately for him. Whatever ate you was big, surely he was just in the treeline. He had to be.

“y/n,” Yuji’s voice breaks through to you. It’s broken, angry. It’s not the tone you want to hear. Not when you knew the bond he shared with Nanamin. 

On the ground sits Nanami’s blunt blade. It looks rusted and the material usually wrapped around it is nearly fully dissolved. There’s no sign of your beloved sorcerer, but there doesn’t need to be to understand the scene laid out before you.

“No.” You can barely muster the word as you jog over to Yuji, who's doing everything in his power to keep his tears in. You, however, aren’t that strong. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes before falling freely down your cheeks. Your knees buckle beneath you, burning slightly from the acid that slowly dissipates on the grass. “No,” you choke out again.

Reaching out a shaky hand, you grip the handle of the blade as a sob wracks your body. Yuji’s hand is on your back, but his touch feels distant, everything feels distant. It’s as though you exist in a universe separate from your own, where this is all some sort of sick nightmare. But that’s never the case, is it? The world couldn’t let you have peace, not when you housed the symbol of death itself.

“Miriko,” you beg desperately, although you already know the answer to your pending question. “Please, bring him back.” Your voice is broken, your words hanging in the air unanswered. She has no reason to respond since you know she’s unable, but still you plead with her again. “Please,” you cry out, your knuckles white as you cling to the blade.

She answers from the back of your hand. “I cannot, y/n. There is nothing to bring back.”

He’s gone.

“His soul,” you sputter out. “Can- Can you- find it?” Your desperation claws at your throat, threatening to drown you in your pain. Miriko falls silent, her face disappearing. She knows there’s no arguing with you about being left defenseless, knowing that if she doesn’t comply you’ll use her abilities whether she likes it or not. Regardless, Yuji was still with you. You were safe.

After a moment of waiting, you feel a familiar pull. Low moans fill the air as your body sways with the movement of the ship below you.

You blink away your disorientation as the blade you were holding is no longer in your hands. You lift your head shakily, locking eyes with the serpentine curse that stares back at you. Your lips part as your eyes land on him.

He blinks once, twice, three times. Brown eyes take in the dragon, the slowly rocking ship, the echoes of spirits heaving the ship from side to side. Then, slowly, they land on you.

He’s wearing your favorite outfit on him, a gray jumper over beige slacks, green glasses you don’t recognize over his eyes. Both of them. Burn scars no longer cover his side, and he no longer has a need for the eyepatch he normally wore. His hair is combed back neatly and in spite of the situation, he seems calm.

He glances at Miriko as though he needs permission to approach you. When she nods, he takes a couple of steps towards you, kneeling before your hunched over figure. He reaches out softly, his hand ghosting over your cheek but the warmth of the touch never reaches you. Your lip trembles at the realization that never again would you feel his love against your skin, so warm and so real.

He bites down hard on his lip. You know that expression. He’s trying hard to be the strong one. Even in death, he was doing everything he could for you. You gasp for air as a sob wracks your body when you reach out and can’t feel him, shutting your eyes to try to stop the tears that stream endlessly down your cheeks.

When you open them again, your boyfriend’s soul is wrapped tightly around you. Physically you can’t hold him, but you can feel the moment burning itself into your soul like a photo. You tremble in his embrace, bringing a hand up to wipe your tears and take in the sight of two mahogany eyes observing you with all the care and adoration in the world.

You can see it in his eyes, the desperation and desolation that eat away at him in his final moments. Emotions he’s trying so hard to hide to stop you from crumbling in his arms. So many dates left undone, actions unfinished and things left unsaid.

Yuji��s words ring in your head. No sorcerer dies without regrets. Words imparted to him by Yaga.

Kento’s eyes hold his regrets, as well as his heart, as you stare up at your own reflection within the deep pools of sienna. A gaze that normally imparted comfort and happiness, now replaced with the claws of heartbreak that were beginning to tear through your walls.

Miriko shifts suddenly, her tail swaying in Nanami’s direction. You recognize this as a sign that she’s unable to keep his soul in place for much longer, your eyes wide with terror.

“Please no,” you beg, your voice strained. Kento’s lip trembles, his chest rising and falling as he takes a breath.

Though he can’t speak, you see his lips form the words be strong, but it has the opposite effect on you as your arms reach for a warmth that isn’t there. He stands tall above you, facing the terrifying reality of parting from his body, parting from the world, yet not once does he allow the facade of a tough exterior to break. You know he’s only doing it in hopes you’ll be able to hold yourself together, but the ease he hopes to leave with you never comes.

“It is time,” Miriko warns.

Your sobs choke you as you fall forward, your fingers splayed on the wood before you. Every breath is a struggle, as though your chest is being crushed by the loss. You drag your fingers over the chipped wood lining the ship, but the physical pain you’re hoping to focus on to ease your agony never comes. You can’t be hurt in Miriko’s domain.

You gasp as you manage to catch your breath for a moment, wide teary eyes locking on Kento one last time. The ship halts under a familiar light, one you’ve seen only once before. Your boyfriend turns to face you before allowing Miriko to usher him to the afterlife. His shoulders shift as he puts on a brave face, a sad smile forced to his lips as his mouth forms the words you never got to say.

I love you.

–

There’s no reason for Satoru Gojo to get involved in a fight against low level curses. He trusts his students to handle them. He had taken note of Nanami joining the fight as well, who was always one to hang on until the end. He had no reason to be concerned about the outcome of the fight, only the reasoning behind the attack.

Hanging silently in the air in search of the main body of whatever curse was toying with them, Gojo’s attention is pulled to Yuji as he cries out for help. Huh. Yuji isn’t one to ask for help. At least, not like this.

He drops down to where Yuji’s hand is flailing, flashing his student his reassuring smirk.

“It’s y/n.” He’s breathless, his eyes wide. Gojo grimaces. He’d prepared for the moment that Miriko would turn on him, turn on them all. He’d been sure to keep you and her at arms’ length for this moment. He’d known all along you couldn’t be trusted, but he had hoped to get more use out of you.

It was the cold reality of Gojo’s life, and he accepted it. There was no world where he could allow himself to get close to someone like you, so he would use you. After all, from the day he was born he was little more than a weapon. The strongest. So a weapon he shall be.

Still, it didn’t stop him from selfishly wishing for a different end when your words and actions would tug at him. It didn’t stop the guilt from seeping through the cracks as he angered and pushed you away when you showed him cordiality in spite of his actions. 

Yuji leads Gojo to your side, but when you come into view, it isn’t Miriko at all. He takes a step forward to take in the sight of your shaking figure, hunched over Nanami’s blunt blade. His eyes widen in realization.

Loss is like an old friend to Gojo. He’s familiar with the way it crushes you, gripping at your throat and leaving you sputtering for air. He’s familiar with the feeling of drowning in agony. He knows what it means to lose the only person who understands you. The only person who grounds you.

He rounds your figure, realizing suddenly that much like the second time you two had met, you’re not conscious. You’re with Miriko, likely with Nanami.

It’s not the place of the snowy-haired sorcerer to interrupt. He frowns, a muscle in his jaw rolling as he exchanges a glance with his student. His eyes are wide with worry, so Gojo assures him you’re okay.

As if on queue, a sob wracks your body. Gojo waits patiently with crossed arms, prepared to take you off-site, somewhere safe, but that moment never comes as a strangled gasp escapes your lips, followed by a mumble about things not being fair.

The strongest can’t allow himself to react, not in front of his student, but guilt pools in his stomach at the realization that after all the arguments, all the frustration of working alongside one another, he had caused the exact pain you had been trying to avoid this whole time. Not only that, but the loss of Nanami hangs heavy in the air over him too.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru feels a weight tug deep within him at his heartstrings. He could admit he was at fault for much of your discontentment without much of a second thought, but this was a guilt so genuine that he found himself unable to watch as you gripped at Nanami’s blunt blade until blood began seeping from your palms where your nails dug into them. Not an easy sight to watch.

Gojo prepares to lean down and do what he can to console you before removing you from danger, when suddenly your body moves in an unsettling way. From behind his blindfold, his blue eyes widen, taking in the way you claw at the ground. A whimper escapes you as your hand turns gray and contorts suddenly.

His lips part in disbelief as the gray cracks spread up your body.

Were you dying?

The answer to his question comes in the form of a guttural growl. He grits his teeth, taking in a breath as he watches with disdain as your graying arm crumbles, giving way for a clawed arm to take its place.

Gojo raises a hand, launching Itadori away from you as your form crumbles, leaving in its wake a draconic figure that the sorcerer can only assume is Miriko. Guilt gnaws at his form as he realizes he likely drove Miriko to do this, but he has no choice. He prepared for this. He knew this day would come and he knew it would be his job to kill you both, even if the cost was another piece of his sanity.

Funny, the way you would bear witness to the way the strongest sorcerer would crumble on more than one occasion, but you would never know it.

Miriko towers over him, her massive form giving pause to the entire battle. She was unlike any other curse. She was somehow majestic, her pearlescent scales shining in the sun while her silver mane was ruffled gently by the breeze. Her tail flicks as she cries out and even in this form, Gojo recognizes the tone of her cry. Agony.

Gojo teleports a small distance away, pulling his blindfold down to rest on his shoulders as he watches Miriko’s movements. In any other situation, he would have, should have, killed you without a second thought, but as he brings his hand down from his blindfold to rest over his heart, he presses his lips into a thin line.

Why was his heart beating so fast?

Miriko takes a step forward, oddly unsteady as though she wasn’t used to the body, followed by another, and another. Gojo trails steadily after her, unable to raise a hand as he watches what she does. When she finally stops, her long neck lowers to face someone, something. Standing proud before her are two special grade humanoid curses, each one with a sinister grin. Their skin matches that of the lower level curses and clearly Miriko recognizes this. This is her revenge.

Gojo can only watch as the two parties stare at one another, before Miriko lets out a shrill cry and her chest seems to light up. Gojo’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s taken too long, hesitated too much.

Miriko bellows strange gray flames from deep within her, shocking the two special grades as they effortlessly crumble beneath her power. The flames lick and lap at the trees and woods, disappearing as fast as they appear. They were unlike real flames, leaving no heat in their wake, only an eerie graying decay that cracks and crushes everything it touches.

Yuta calls Gojo’s name, snapping him out of his trance. He shoots Yuta the familiar reassuring smirk he always bears, teleporting before Miriko’s form that had begun flailing around and billowing flames in every direction, crying out in pain and… fear? No matter, Gojo couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

He raises a hand as he faces Miriko, a hand sign familiar to anyone that knows him. This time, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Miriko’s head raises to meet her new assailant, locking eyes with the Six Eyes sorcerer.

He told himself he wouldn’t hesitate. He prepared himself for this moment. He kept you at arms’ length and angered you at every turn to keep himself from this exact moment, but as your crimson eyes lock with his, his smirk falters. His breathing quickens, eyes widening as he realizes that the eyes looking back at him aren’t glowing. They aren’t Miriko’s eyes, they’re yours. It’s your eyes looking back at him in unbearable distress. A silent plea for help.

Miriko hadn’t turned on them.

Gojo’s hand falls to his side and he can only watch as you snap your head forward, sharp teeth bared as you went for the kill. He should move, he should teleport away. He should defend himself.

But he can’t. He can’t even manage to protect himself with his Infinity.

Mere seconds from snapping around his body and devouring him, your form stops abruptly. You let out a wounded cry before beginning to collapse. Yuta pulls his katana from your head and Gojo feels something twist within him at the sight. He locks eyes with his student, whose sunken expression holds an understanding deeper than Gojo could ever know as Yuta hops to the ground beside your slumped body. Miriko’s form begins to decay and in its wake, your form collapses to the ground with blood pouring from your wound.

Whatever it was that twisted within Gojo digs further into him and he takes a deep breath, staring at the pooling blood from your wound. Had both you and Miriko passed out? Or were you dead? He’s not sure he can bear the weight of the answer.

Yuta stares at his superior again, pulling your form into his arms. The everlasting tired expression on his face doesn’t leave as he pauses to stare at Gojo, frozen in place. No words are exchanged as Yuta dashes off towards Shoko, leaving the strongest standing alone in the midst of the decay around him.

Blue eyes follow your limp form in Yuta’s arms as you’re carried off. The way your arm dangles from Yuta’s grip strikes him like a wound and he worries his lip between his teeth. He isn’t sure how long he stands staring after your body even once Yuta has disappeared into the building, but the taste of iron on his tongue pulls him from the trance.

When movement catches his eye, Gojo locks eyes with the real assailant behind this attack. His figure is an endless stain on Satoru’s own life. He carries a different face, but the stitches staring back at him haunt him while he wakes and sleeps. It was like the curse wanted nothing more than to taunt him. But the sorcerer had no interest in a chase, a grisly feeling of emptiness ripping at his ribs and threatening to burst at the seams.

He does nothing but watch as the man zips away, carrying in his arms a limp figure Gojo doesn't recognize. One of the special grades you had torched maybe? Whatever it is, it's disfigured beyond perception.

Gojo swallows hard as he takes in the scene before him. Blood stains and soaks the grass beneath his feet, a bitter scent of iron coating his every breath. Decay litters the horizon, fissures splitting the earth and splintering trees around him, spreading as far as the eye could see. All caused by your pain. All caused by Gojo’s ignorance.

He was meant to be the strongest. He knew his role and he could play it well. But today he tasted the bitter feeling of guilt he had longed to rid himself of. The taste of an old friend he loathed.

Satoru Gojo has only ever hesitated twice in his life before and he vowed he would never let it happen again.

Today, Satoru Gojo hesitated once more.

–

The first thing you became conscious of as you awoke was what felt like a weight on your chest, threatening to crush you. Then came blinding white lights, an incessant beeping, and steady exhales.

Your lashes flutter as your eyes adjust to the harsh light, your head pulsing with each blink. You groan, bringing a heavy and weak arm up to your head in an attempt to ease the horrible pulsing of the pain.

“Shit,” a feminine voice breathes, followed by the tapping of heels across the floor.

“Hm?” This time, a masculine voice.

Your arm falls to your side as you meekly begin to make sense of your surroundings. White walls cascade around where you’re laying, a hospital bed in the center of the room. You recognize the room, you’d chatted with Shoko here one or twice before.

“Hey, y/n,” her voice is soft as you squint up at her.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, as though you haven't spoken in a long time. It’s almost as though your body was forgetting how to function. You try to clear your throat, letting out a breath at how oddly sore you feel.

“Take your time, Hun.”

You take a few breaths before managing a weak sentence as Shoko listens to your breathing through a stethoscope, cold against the skin of your chest.

“Where’s Ken?” Your voice is barely a whisper. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. Shoko swallows hard and glances to the side. You follow her gaze, expecting your boyfriend but the black shades that you find at the end of her gaze don’t instill comfort in you. “Gojo?” Your mind is hazy as you question him, hoping he’ll answer.

“y/n…” Gojo’s voice is eerily gentle, as though you would break should he speak up.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Shoko interrupts with an uncertain smile, lifting her stethoscope and laying it over her shoulders. She exhales quietly, writing something down before taking a flashlight and shining it at your eyes. “What do you remember?”

You hum in thought, struggling to keep your eyes open as Shoko continues her examination. “I don’t know, I had a lesson and…” You trail off, narrowing your eyes in thought. Shoko sits down as she turns the light off, nodding. She checks your blood pressure as you stare down at your hands, trying to recall the last memory you had.

“Take your time,” she smiles, finally sitting to give you her full attention.

“Do you remember meeting Yuta?” Your head rolls to the side slowly, vision focusing on Gojo. He wasn’t wearing his usual teaching uniform, but rather a white t-shirt and black joggers. Though his eyes were covered by his black shades, you recognize the gaunt look he wore. He was exhausted.

Your head feels heavy as you lift it up to look between Gojo and Shoko.

“Okkotsu?” You ask, bringing a hand up to rub your eyes.

“Good,” Shoko smiles, writing something down again.

“Where’s Ken?” You ask again meekly.

Shoko and Gojo exchange a look. “We can talk about him lat-”

“Where is he?” Weariness drips from your words as you turn from Shoko to Gojo. Gojo being the more blunt of the two, you could only hope you had a better shot of squeezing the truth out of him.

“y/n…” It’s still the only thing he’s said since you’ve woken up, but this time his voice is cautionary. Like you were pushing for answers you wouldn’t want. A warning.

“Gojo.”

“He’s gone, y/n.”

Air leaves your lungs as though it’s physically stolen from you, pain searing through your chest. The feeling is familiar as suddenly a painful memory plays itself out in your mind.

I love you.

You never got to tell him you love him too. That you still do.

“I didn’t-” your words die on your tongue, choking on a sob. Clutching your chest, you weakly pull your knees to your chest, something that takes a surprising amount of effort in your weakened state.

The silence surrounding you feels loud as your sobs cut through the sterile air with the grace of a jagged knife. Shoko’s hand reaches out to squeeze your arm but it offers no comfort. You never allowed her the chance to get close to you and now you never would. You couldn’t. Not when the risks were so great.

You aren’t sure how long you sit and sob to yourself, embarrassed to be seen in such a manner, especially by Gojo who now stood at the side of your bed. Your breathing begins to regulate finally although all your senses feel dull, as though you can’t feed them the oxygen they need to function. Tired eyes lift quietly to glance at Shoko. She’s rubbing small circles into your arm, though she can’t seem to bear to meet your eyes.

When your sunken expression meets Gojo’s, you barely notice the way his arm falls to his side. He’s frowning and you almost wonder if for once he feels guilt, anger bubbling in your chest. You could only hope he did, hope he understood exactly what his cocky and overconfidence caused.

“I took care of your dog,” he sputters as though the silence was unbearable. Your eyes widen suddenly, mustering the strength to wipe your tears. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“He shouldn’t,” you tell him with the faintest hint of a smirk. “He’s trained to tell me when you’re near.”

Gojo’s expression is somewhere between snide and disgruntled. “Right,” he avoids your crimson eyes, lips pressed into a line. “That explains a lot.”

“I want to go home,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You didn’t mean your cabin but it would have to do for now. You shudder at the realization of how empty it would feel. How Kento’s toothbrush would never again move, his phone charger laying under a sheen of dust for eternity. His coffee cup that you had so carefully chosen for him never to house his favorite blend with milk and sugar again.

“I’d like to keep you for monitoring at least until-” Shoko tries to stop you as you slowly move your feet off the bed, but you had no intention of letting her do so.

Your knees, on the other hand, they might stop you.

Legs shaky beneath you, your chest rises and falls with urgency as you try to hold yourself up. Why in the hell did you feel so weak? How long had you been out?

Gojo hesitantly reaches out to attempt to allow you to steady yourself on him, but you swat him away with a blazing hot fury. “Do not touch me,” you hiss vehemently with an anger that has even him recoiling. Your vexation bled through your every action and word at him, fading to a more mild neutrality with Shoko.

“y/n, just let me help,” he insists, reaching out again.

“No, you’ve helped enough, Satoru Gojo.”

Had you blinked, you might have missed the way he flinched. He rolls his shoulders, stepping back with his lower lip worried between his teeth. You observe him carefully before addressing Miriko. Surely she wouldn’t have let you get this weak.

Miriko, can you heal me?

…

Miriko?

Reaching out, you realize her presence feels oddly shallow. Your grip on the edge of the hospital bed tightens as you suddenly feel like you’re about to collapse. Had your whole world fallen apart? Your chest constricts against you, the lights flashing as the edges of your vision begin to darken.

“Gojo-!” Shoko warns, recognizing the telltale signs of your desperate gasps for air, shaking figure and blank expression.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against a warm chest. It’s not the familiar warmth of your boyfriend, it’s foreign with a woodsy scent you don’t recognize. Your head begins pounding as you gasp for air.

“Bed, now.”

The warm chest parts from you as you’re moved in a blur. A light is shone in your eyes before Shoko comes into view, talking you down from your panic attack.

There’s no comfort in the way she talks you down, through a medical step-by-step list. Say what you can feel, what you can see, what you can smell, hear. The grip of panic releases slowly as she walks you coldly through the steps of your anxiety.

Your heart is pounding fast, beating against your chest as you dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to distract yourself from the pain that’s too much. It’s all too much.

“Miriko?” Barely audible, your voice doesn’t reach Shoko. But Gojo, who you hadn’t realized was gently brushing your arm in an attempt at comfort, answers quietly.

“She’s okay. You drained her cursed energy. She’s recovering.”

“I did?” You question.

His lips press into a thin line as he contemplates his next words carefully. To your surprise, he turns away, grabbing a chair to sit next to the hospital bed as he walks you through the destruction you caused, making sure to detail that no students, faculty, or bystanders were injured. It’s uncharacteristically gentle of him and you find your anger towards him quelling, if only for a moment.

“Did you talk to her?”

“I did,” he tells you, leaning forward on his knees as he links his hands in his lap. “She healed you but you’re on your own to recover until she can too.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster, as much to Shoko’s dismay, you swing your legs over the side of the hospital bed again.

She mutters something to herself before trying to insist that you stay for her to keep an eye on you, but your mind was made up.

“If um- Miriko- can’t heal you, then I need to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m fine, Shoko.” You insist, standing on shaky legs. Gojo remains seated, watching your movements. It isn’t until your legs begin to buckle that he finally stands up and ducks under your arm, holding you up. Begrudgingly, you realize you’re in no place to deny his help.

“You can stay with me.”

Shooting him a bewildered sneer, you shake your head. “No, absolutely not.”

He sighs. “Look, your dog is already at my place and our cabins are the same.”

“The cabin isn’t the problem, Gojo.”

“Can you cooperate for one second? I’m trying to help-”

“Like all the other times you helped me?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Guys!” Shoko closes her eyes, patience tested. Her hand drops from the bridge of her nose as she stares between the two of you. “y/n, I’m sorry but someone needs to keep an eye on you. You either stay here with me, or you can go with Gojo back to his cabin.”

Your head pulses in pain at the thought of either option, but the bright lights of the sterile room threaten to drive you mad even before Gojo could, as infuriating as he could be.

“Fine,” you give in, still hanging off of Gojo’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” you mutter almost incomprehensibly, shifting on your feet to try to relieve some of your weight from hanging off of the white-haired sorcerer, though it didn’t seem to bother him.

“At least I’m better than the hospital,” Gojo’s grunt has you nearly changing your mind as you shoot him a warning glance.

“Just take it easy for a few days, y/n,” Shoko insists, turning to her clipboard. “We’ll do rehab once you’re feeling better.” You nod at the school’s resident doctor. “I’ll report that she’s awake.”

“No,” Gojo pauses midway through a step. “Let her recover first.”

Shoko hums as she eyes Gojo, recognizing that in doing so, they were keeping information from the higher-ups. Regardless, she turns away as Gojo leads you out the door.

You hate the feeling of being weak. The feeling of needing to rely on someone. More so now than ever before. Each step feels like a walk of shame hanging onto Gojo in order to stay upright. The idea of being seen in such a way is humiliating.

“How long was I out?”

“Uh, two weeks I think.”

You stare at the ground, each step is an effort as you slowly make your way down the long hall. When you reach the door, your steps stop. You find yourself needing to grip Gojo’s shoulder hard in order to hold yourself up at the sight before you. He doesn’t complain, adjusting his grip on your waist in order to keep you upright.

You would recognize the sight anywhere. Gray fissures splinter in every direction towards the entrance, the telltale sign of Miriko’s ability, only on a scale of grandeur you had never seen before. The entire left side of the campus looked like a different world, ravaged by a monster.

Yuji had mentioned that the campus had been destroyed once not too long ago by Gojo and that it had been fixed relatively quickly all things considered, but this… there was nothing to fix. At the end of the day, the buildings were intact and there was simply no time to worry about the plants.

“I did this?”

Gojo’s fingers curl slightly against your waist before he takes a step towards his cabin, urging you forward. He knows you don’t need an answer.

Rustling through his pocket, he pulls out a key and unlocks the door to his cabin. When you make your way inside, you’re immediately met with warning barks.

“See, this is what I’ve been dealing with,” he sighs.

“Taro!” You let out a relieved sigh, slipping out of Gojo’s grasp down to the floor with arms outstretched. Taro’s barks cease and turn to happy whines as he throws himself at you, his entire body wagging with the motion of his tail. “I’m so sorry, baby boy.” You hug him as tightly as you can muster, tears rolling quietly down your cheeks. He really was all you had left now.

When Taro finally relaxes a bit, his tongue lolling out happily with his belly up before you, your eyes search the cabin.

Its layout was the exact same as yours, though his was slightly bigger with a guest room tucked into a nook behind the living room. Thank god. Apart from that difference, you can’t help but notice how oddly barren it is. Almost as though he doesn’t live in it. No curtains or decorations, no blankets or flowers. The only noticeable item that showed any sign of use was Taro’s bed, which he must have grabbed when he took Taro in.

As you look slowly around the room, your eyes eventually find their way to Gojo, who’s bent over searching for something in the fridge. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair before turning to face you with a can of soda in his hands. It looks sugary.

His sunglasses are laid on the counter, the gaunt and pale appearance you had noticed before now more apparent than ever. His eyes were sunken and he didn’t have the usual attitude you had come to expect from him.

“Thank you, Gojo.”

He raises an eyebrow questioningly, hand on his hip.

“For- watching Taro,” you start, eyes flickering uncomfortably down to your dog as you busy yourself with petting him. “And for stopping me.”

He hums, turning to his table to sit down as he pulls out a chair. “Wasn’t me.”

“Who-?”

“Okkotsu,” it comes out strained as he refuses to look at you, his normally bright blue eyes dull and glued to his phone as he types out a message. Seeing Gojo so somber was oddly off putting. Between the sunken look he’d carried since you woke up and the way he was being agreeable, his behavior was already throwing you off. The way he was refusing to look at you now, though? Was it shame, embarrassment? Anger? You had no way of knowing.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage as a response. You aren’t sure how to act around this version of Gojo, it’s like he’s a different person. When he leans forward and rubs his face, you can only stare. You want to ask him to help you to your room, but the words feel foreign around this person.

After an extended silence, you clear your throat. Gojo’s head spins to stare at you, his hair falling into his sight from where he’s leaning on the ball of his palm.

“Do you have a shower I can use?”

He nods, pushing himself up from the table as his chair scrapes the wooden floor. He throws his sunglasses back on before leaning down towards you. He offers his shoulder and hauls you upright, leading you to the guest bathroom beneath the stairs. You let go when you’re holding yourself up against the doorframe.

“Do you, uhhhh, need help?”

Your face contorts. “Don’t even suggest that.”

To your surprise, Gojo cracks the smallest of smirks at your retort.

“I’ll grab some stuff from your place and leave it outside the door?” It’s a statement phrased more as a question and you nod. “I need to steal some mugs ‘n things from your place anyway,” he says as he glances back at the kitchen, scratching the back of his head. “Shoko took all of mine to stock yours.”

“Oh, sorry.”

He shakes his head, putting on a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

As you sit in the shower, you thank the gods that Gojo left as the tears finally overflow. Pain wracks your body, wrenching through your gut with each sob that parts your lips. Not even the sounds of the shower could have masked your grief.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take Gojo nearly as long as you had hoped to gather what he figured you would need as he sets the clothing outside your door.

He stands unmoving for a moment at the door, the familiar jaws of guilt entrenching him within them as he hears your sobs.

There was nothing he could do to subdue your pain, and so he would force his usual smile onto his lips and play the role he was meant to play.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || i'm so sorry, please don't hate me 😭 Believe me when I say this hurt to write, I adore Nanami with my whole heart and he deserves the best in every universe.

[hydrobunny]

 jump then fall (into me)

tags: fluff, established relationship, insecure reader, comfort, reo reo reo reo reo reo, lots of dialogue actually, they're drinking age, listen to jump then fall !! word count: 1.2k

“do you ever regret us?”

reo mikage jolts from his seat at his computer. the expression he fixes you with as he turns around is almost comical, all wide eyes and horror.

you can’t find it in yourself to laugh.

“what?”

you shift nervously. the satin sheets underneath you bunch awkwardly. “you know. getting together- staying together.”

he rises immediately, emails left for a later time. “what happened.” the words themselves should be a question, but his stiff tone doesn’t make it one.

you sigh, falling back on to the bed. although it’s only been two nights since the two of you checked in to this particular hotel, the bed already smells of reo’s expensive shampoo. “i dont know. sometimes i feel like i’m holding you back.”

his weight sinks into the mattress. “how the hell would you hold me back?”

you drag your hands over your face. “you’re just- you’re so you. heir to billions of yen, future ceo, hotshot football player, and you’re just barely in your twenties. shouldn’t you be out there in the wild getting into scandals every week? but you’re always just... here.”

“y/n.” even through tightly shut eyes, you can feel reo’s intense gaze on you. “is this really because you think i want to be out there making a fool of myself?” his hand gently brushes over your hair. “also, why would i get into scandals when i have you?”

you roll away with a groan. “it's not that. just- shouldn't you have had more relationships than just me? you know, all the first meetings and awkward flirting and shit.  you were popular as all hell in high school, but somehow you’re still with me? isn’t it boring?”

his hand freezes, and you feel a small inkling of guilt bleed through your heart.

after a long moment, reo rises from the bed without another word. He grabs his jacket from the chair as he pads out of the room, away from you.

you shove a pillow over your face and fight the urge to scream, sigh in relief, suffocate yourself, anything.

twenty minutes later, when you’ve reached a point of contemplating if those roses in the hotel vase are fake- (they’re in water, but you swear they smell exactly like those essential oils in scented candles)- your phone vibrates from its place on the desk.

you reluctantly lift yourself up, sliding your feet into your waiting fluffy slippers. reo’s computer is still turned on from before he left, some fancy computer program steadily running. you spot a hint of a message thread with nagi before you tear your eyes away.

the notification is from your messages, from none other than reo 🦎💜 himself.

the message itself is pretty short, unlike the usually wordy messages reo sends you consistently throughout the day.

come down to hotel bar. look nice

it takes you some time to actually comprehend the message, more than a few seconds spent blinking at it blankly.

and then you’re immediately digging into your suitcase for anything considered “nice.” honestly, did reo expect you to be able to procure outfits without any hint of the dress code? was he expecting family dinner or clubbing?

and what the hell was even with this request anyway? you were pretty sure your boyfriend had a business meeting in barely forty minutes, and it’s not like you two had ended your conversation on good terms.

either way, you settle on something in between wholesome and provocative, a pretty flattering cocktail dress you hadn’t really even planned on bringing. after a moment of contemplation, you leave your hair down, sliding in a pair of glittering earrings.

honestly, you weren’t even sure why you were trying so hard.

but when you arrive at the bar some minutes later, reo isn’t there. in fact, there’s no one there except for a stiff bartender slowly wiping down a glass. you hesitate from your place by the doorway, shooting off a here. dont see you? message.

he leaves you on read.

it takes you another six minutes of disbelief before you finally walk into the bar, and then it’s a short two minutes of fuming before you call for your first drink.

throughout it all, you see no hint of anyone; no reo, no drunk couples, no rich guests, no one. it would actually be kind of creepy if you had it in yourself to look around or care, but you really don’t.

ten minutes later, it’s when you’re nursing your second drink of the night ( a daiquiri that honestly is not getting you drunk fast enough ) that you hear another human voice.

“haven’t seen you before, pretty. can i pay for that drink?”

your mood immediately plummets as you turn with a scowl, ready to tell whoever it is enough curses to- oh.

reo smirks at you, flashing his card towards the bartender. you stare at him in disbelief. he’s in a completely new outfit from when you saw him last, something that is definitely not appropriate for his upcoming meeting. he has a leather jacket on, for gods’ sake!

“what the fuck are you doing?” you manage to say, realizing that you’re supposed to be mad at him. “do you realize how long i’ve been waiting?”

he pointedly doesn’t respond. “another round please, for me and the lonely lady!” he says before turning back to you. “so. what brings a girl like you here?”

you literally have no idea what he’s doing. you open your mouth to respond - with what, you couldn’t say- but then reo winks at you, quick enough that you barely notice.

the words fall out of your mouth without you even realizing. “what’s it to you?”

he hums, looking you up and down. “is it wrong to want to comfort a clearly sad stranger? come on, spill out all your secrets.”

you fight the urge to smile. “well, if you say it like that…i guess i’m trying to heal my broken heart.”

he responds a beat too late. “really? what idiot broke your heart?”

“no, i was the idiot,” you sigh, looking back towards your glass. “i was a bitch for no reason. got too caught up in my head, you know?”

his hands fly to yours. “i do know. and i’m sure your idiot knows as well. in fact, if i was the guy in question, i would have told you that nothing you can do would hurt me. that any time spent with you is infinitely better than time spent with any other women.”

you meet his eyes and smile. “and if you happened to be that guy, i would probably kiss you right then and there.”

reo swallows, hard. “yeah?”

you lean toward him. “too bad you’re not him.” you stand from your seat, grinning at how your boyfriend sputters instantly, almost knocking over his cup.

your shoes click clack a rhythmic beat onto the hotel floor as you head back toward the elevator.

seconds later, reo’s familiar form bumps into you, arm linking around your waist.

“i think that was first date was awkward enough, yeah?” he says breathlessly.

you lean further into him. “it was perfect. but i think i prefer my boyfriend.”

“good thing you’re looking at him. which means..”

you laugh, stopping. “which means this.”

you tiptoe upward and finally kiss reo. he tastes like watermelon chapstick and expensive rum.

// bonus//

“hey, reo?”

“yes?”

“did you rent out that entire bar so we would be alone?”

his silence is response enough.

I loveee reblogs and comments !! <33

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 10 ☆Moment 4 Life☆

Sorry this took so long I just kept hitting a roadblock while writing it but I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy as always feedback is appreciated ;) Word count: 2.17k Warnings: Lots of sports talk, Mentions of alcohol consumption, and tension😏

24 Hours before The World Series 

The stage was set: Atlanta Braves vs. Houston Astros. And believe me, I was ready.

I let out a deep breath as I racked the bar on the squat rack. Working out always seemed to calm my nerves before a big game, especially this one.

I sat down on the beach and took a sip from my water bottle. Part of my brain hadn’t fully processed the fact that tomorrow was the biggest game of my career, while the other part was trying to focus and get into the zone.

“Hercules! Hercules! Hercules!” my mom called out, quoting The Nutty Professor while clapping her hands.

Looking over my shoulder, I shook my head and laughed. “Morning, Ma.”

“Good morning, sweetheart! Breakfast is ready,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

“You didn't have to; I was going to grab something before—” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“You know how I am,” she waved her hand. “Come on upstairs and eat before the pancakes get cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a fantastic breakfast made by Mom—something I'm sure my trainer will have a few words about later—I walked onto the field for practice. The familiar scents of fresh paint and damp dirt filled the air.

Practice felt different today and in a good way. Everyone was pushing themselves just a little harder, and smiles were on everyone's faces; rightfully so, considering tomorrow is the World Series—who wouldn't be excited?

Walking into the media room for what could possibly be my final time, I took a seat and quickly greeted everyone in the room.

“Sierra, how are the nerves less than 24 hours away from the World Series?” the first reporter asked.

I took a breath before answering. “Pretty good! I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous, because that would be a lie. But the right kind of nerves are good.”

“The last time you all played against the Astros, you lost a three-game series. Are you confident that you can beat them?” another reporter inquired.

Confident? Man, please.

“We don’t have any other choice but to beat them. I am confident that we’ve learned from our mistakes, and we will win,” I replied with conviction. 

Once again, Mom commandeered my kitchen for dinner, but honestly, I can't complain. There's something comforting about her culinary prowess that makes the house feel warm and inviting.

Later that evening, as I settled down to unwind, I scrolled through Instagram when a notification caught my eye. I had been tagged in a video posted by the Bengals, and my curiosity piqued. Tapping on the notification, Joe's familiar face filled my screen, a snippet from his press conference earlier that day.

“The World Series starts tomorrow. Do you plan on watching?” a reporter asked, his voice steady with anticipation.

“Yeah, I do. Got to watch my girl get the win,” Joe replied, a wide grin lighting up his face.

Wait a minute—did he just say “my girl”? 

It struck me like a bolt of lightning. We hadn't even been on a date yet, let alone discussed any labels or commitments, yet here he was, claiming me in front of the world.

Possessive? Yes. But I have to admit, I liked it.

World Series Game 1

Today is the day: Game 1 of the World Series.

Waking up felt different today. Getting dressed felt different. Even having my hair and makeup done felt different. Everything feels different, but not in a bad way—more like, this is my moment.

As I walk into the ballpark, I find myself not really paying attention to the cameras. My focus is on the game ahead of me, and I’m also trying not to trip in these heels. I see why I don’t wear them often—they hurt!

But that pain quickly faded away when the first pitch of the game was thrown.

Two teams will play between 4 to 7 games, all for one prize: the Commissioner’s Trophy. This is the World Series.

Game 1 is in the books. Unfortunately, we didn't secure a win, but that's okay; you win some, you lose some. The score was 4-8.

In Game 2, we bounced back with a blowout victory of 7-0.

Game 3 saw us lose home-field advantage, but we still managed to win in Houston, finishing with a score of 4-1.

In Game 4, Houston gained some momentum and narrowly won by one run, with a final score of 6-5.

Game 5 went into extra innings, but we pulled through and got the job done, ending with a score of 10-9.

In Game 6, the Astros clinched a victory with a grand slam, keeping their World Series hopes alive. The final score was 8-7.

Now, we find ourselves back in Atlanta for the last game of the series. As of right now, my nerves are on edge because, in this game, every hit counts, every out matters, and most importantly, every score matters.

It all comes down to this pivotal moment. The stadium is electric as I stand at the bottom of the 9th inning, two outs secured, with a runner perched on second base. With the score hanging in the balance at 8-7 against us, the weight of the situation bears down heavily on my shoulders.

I know exactly what I need to do: connect solidly with the ball and drive it deep into the outfield, giving the runner a chance to dash home. Easy, right? Just a casual swing in front of 31,000 fervent fans who are all hoping for a miracle.

Stepping into the batter's box, I adjust my helmet and take a deep breath, trying to drown out the cacophony of cheering and chanting that envelops Truist Park. The familiar strains of "It's A Man's World" echo in my ears, heightening my focus as I mentally prepare for what lies ahead.

I set my stance, feeling the cool air against my skin, and lock eyes with the pitcher on the mound. He’s a seasoned player, his demeanor calm, yet I can sense the tension rippling through him as he glances briefly at the runner on second before facing me again. With a swift motion, he winds up and launches his pitch toward me.

I tighten my grip on the bat and, as the ball approaches, I make the decision to check my swing. I hold back just in time, watching the ball sail past me — it’s a ball, one count, no strikes. I exhale slowly, mentally recalibrating for the next pitch.

Gathering my concentration again, I position myself for what could be my final chance. The pitcher goes through his routine again, taking a moment to check the runner’s position before propelling the ball towards me once more.

This time, I hold my breath as I watch the projectile race toward the plate. I swing my bat with everything I’ve got, the wood making solid contact with the ball. The sound is explosive, resonating like a whip crack through the air, sending a thrill through my veins.

As I adjust my stance, I see the ball soaring into the sky, arcing beautifully as it heads toward the outfield. It continues its ascent, disappearing over the stadium's walls and splashing into the waterfall display that adds to the ambiance of this incredible venue.

In that exhilarating moment, it hits me: we just won the World Series.

Holy shit… WE JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES!

In an adrenaline-fueled rush, I slam my bat to the ground, the echo of victory reverberating in my ears as I begin my journey around the bases. The stadium erupts in a deafening roar — fireworks burst overhead, illuminating the night sky, while the crowd erupts with cheers and shouts, a collective celebration of triumph.

Tossing my helmet aside, I approach home plate, my heart racing as my teammates swarm me the instant I touch it. They envelop me in a chaotic celebration, screaming and jumping in unison, pure joy radiating from every face.

This is the pinnacle of my dreams, a moment I’ve envisioned since I was just a nine-year-old girl playing wiffle ball in my backyard with my uncle. From being the only girl on the high school baseball team to earning a full-ride scholarship at LSU, and culminating in winning the state championship, this moment eclipses them all: winning the World Series.

God. 

is. 

good. 

Every ounce of hard work, every sacrifice, every moment of doubt pales in comparison to the realization of this dream. I stand amidst the celebration, grateful, overwhelmed, and utterly elated. This is why I play.

After a whirlwind of interviews followed by a bear bath celebration, a refreshing shower, and an energetic afterparty, I finally stepped back into the comforting embrace of my home. 

“Thanks again, Kyle,” I called out, watching as he made his way back toward the elevator, his figure illuminated by the soft hallway lights. 

“No problem, sleep well,” he replied, flashing a warm smile before disappearing behind the elevator doors. The best driver in the world, hands down.

With a sigh of relief, I unlocked my front door and crossed the threshold, the familiar scent of home washing over me. I locked the door behind me and, with a gentle thud, dropped my duffle bag right at the entrance, mentally promising myself I’d unpack it tomorrow—or, more likely, later today. All I craved was the soft cocoon of my bed, a well-deserved sanctuary after such a long day.

As I rounded the corner toward my room, I noticed a sliver of light cutting through the darkness—the kitchen light glowed unexpectedly. I furrowed my brow, certain I hadn’t left it on. Perhaps my mom had flicked it on before heading out to the airport. 

Curiosity piqued, I padded softly toward the kitchen, only to be met with an utterly unexpected sight: a strikingly handsome quarterback, standing 6’3” with tousled hair and piercing blue eyes, casually leaning against my counter like he owned the place.

“Surprise,” he said, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

A smile broke across my face as I shook my head in disbelief. “Surprise indeed,” I replied, the warmth of his presence igniting a flutter of happiness in my chest.

“C'mere,” Joe beckoned, his arms outstretched, inviting me into a hug that felt both familiar and incredibly grounding. 

I stepped into his embrace, surrendering to the moment as he nestled a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Proud of you,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair.

Emotions swelled within me, and I simply nodded, overwhelmed by his kindness. 

Joe pulled back slightly, his gaze searching mine, an edge of concern etching his features. “You okay?”

Looking up at him, I nodded, a smile slipping out as I exhaled. “Yeah,” I breathed, “Just really, really happy—and maybe a little drunk,” I chuckled, the effects of the evening buzzing in my system. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago,” Joe replied, his tone laced with both excitement and regret. “Today starts my bye week, and I figured, why not surprise you? Just wish I could have been here to see you win,” he added a bittersweet note in his voice.

“It’s okay, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me,” I reassured him, my eyes drifting from the depth of his gaze to the inviting curve of his lips, only to return to his eyes—intensely captivating.

Ugh, why did he have to look so kissable? Damn you, vodka!

A comfortable silence enveloped us, a fragile moment stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and electric tension. 

Clearing his throat, Joe broke the stillness, “Come on, you look like you might pass out,” he teased gently, nodding toward my bedroom. It was true; the exhaustion was pulling at me, whispering sweet nothings of sleep. So, without resisting, I unwound myself from his embrace and began the trek to my room, Joe following closely behind.

I couldn’t tell if it was the lingering alcohol buzzing through my veins or the undeniable desires I felt, but the need to be close to him was intoxicating. In his arms, everything felt perfectly right.

Groaning as I woke up to the bright Atlanta sun shining in my eyes, I pulled the blanket over my head to block out some of the light. I really need to invest in blackout curtains.

Eventually, I decided it was time to get up and start my day.

But as I opened the door, I heard a noise coming from the living room. Is that the TV?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked into the living room.

“Morning, sweetheart,” 

@enretrogue @hoodharlow

[knife-dad]

Thrifted fashion tips from me, a peer reviewed fashion girlie, and 3rd generation thrift shopper:

Take a look at the tags on your favorite clothes and look for items with a similar fabric blend (I love rayon and linen myself) and don't forget to look at the care instructions! It's good to know what kind of effort you'll have to make to care for vintage clothing before you buy it. I tend to pass on things I know I won't be able to clean properly.

Take a look at the brands as you shop! In this case, it's not about looking for high-end brands, even though those do end up at the thrift on occasion. This is about finding brands you consistently enjoy wearing. For example: I know I tend to like Sag Harbor skirts. They aren't highly sought after by resellers, but they're sought after by me! If I find one, I know it will probably be a regularly used part of my wardrobe and is therefore a good investment.

Don't worry about trends or seeking out high value items. The thrift store is NOT a good place to try and stay on top of microtrends- none of that stuff will hit the thrift until the trend is over anyway. It's also almost never worth it to compete with resellers for the "good" stuff. In my experience, the items that are meant for you will be there if you are patient.

The thrift store is a great place to start when you want to experiment with new styles! You can find something relatively cheap that's outside of your comfort zone without feeling guilty if you have to donate it later. And if you end up really loving a certain style, you'll know what to look for when you shop for new clothes at regular stores. It's also a great way to get familiar with brands from big box stores without paying full price. If you know what you like from the thrift, it makes regular shopping easier.

Basically, shopping at the thrift store is all about looking for hidden potential. Just about anything can be styled in a fun way, if you think outside the box. If you want fun clothes for thrift prices, you're going to have to be willing to spend time on sifting through many things that are not your style in search of what's right for you. You'll need to get creative- it helps to have basic mending and jewelry making skills, so you can confidently adjust things to suit you.

That said, it's important to be considerate of other shoppers: I know thrifting is kind of a trend right now, but there are a lot of families for whom it isn't a trend but a necessity. While you're shopping, try not to shop too far outside your size range. Resizing a fun piece here and there isn't bad, but it's good to make sure you're not taking useful children's and plus sized clothing from the reach of people who need it.

And most important of all, have fun!

[rorywritesjunk]

All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me

It was Buggy's turn to do your makeup.

Rating: R because the girlfriend can't keep her hands to herself or keep her dirty mind from wandering.

Warning: None really, just suggestive themes. Buggy has a bun because I can't help myself, and chest hair. Mentions of nipple piercings on Buggy because why not? And Buggy is a damn tease as well.

A/N: Sequel to the makeup fic. I wrote two versions of this before deciding the second one was more on track with how the original went. It's inspired by a tag from @sporadicthingcollection from the first fic. Title comes from "Closer" by Tegan & Sara.

Part One is here!

The bath had been comforting, warm, and much needed. This time it wasn't Buggy having a bad day and needing some pampering, it was you. Between losing half your groceries from ripped bags to a pot of water boiling over on the stove and making a huge mess, your foot had also been run-over by Cabaji on his unicycle while you were trying to help some of the performers literally find their marks. It wasn't the first time your foot was a victim to the unicycle, but in the chaos of the day, you didn't think to wear shoes and well, the tread-mark shaped cuts on your foot was a reminder to do so next time.

You toweled off and pulled your robe on, wincing as you limped over to the bed to sit. Buggy was sitting at his vanity, only in his underwear as he unwinded from the day as well. His hair was up in a messy bun, his back to you as he wiped away the day's makeup. It was always a fascinating sight to you, and you knew you were lucky to see him in a near vulnerable state like this.

He rummaged through the drawers of the vanity for something before looking up at the mirror and seeing you reflected back at him on the bed. He smirked, the red around his mouth still prominent, making the smirk appear larger than it was.

"See something you like?" He teased. You flushed at being caught staring. 

"Always." You shot back as you continued watching him, a thought coming to your mind. It was dumb to ask. You both were going to bed in the next few hours, but you didn't know when a better time to ask would be. "Buggy, can I ask you something?"

"Depends." He replied as he looked back at himself in the mirror. "What is it?"

"Um… could you do my makeup?" You asked. "It's just… I like seeing how you do yours and… thought maybe you'd be able to do mine? But I get it if you don't want to, you know, I don't think I really have the face for it."

He pushed his chair away from the vanity and stood up. He didn't say anything as he turned to face you and crossed the room in just a few steps. You wondered if you offended him somehow by the way he grabbed your face when he approached you, staring down at you before smashing his lips against yours in a surprising kiss. You gasped when he pulled away, head spinning as you wondered what the fuck brought that on.

"Thought you'd never ask." He grinned. "Let's get started."

He went back to the vanity and started rummaging through drawers, piling whatever his findings were on the top. You wondered if you should even bother to change into clothes since you would likely end up naked by the end anyway, it would be less of a hassle to stay in your robe.

He came back over a few minutes later and gestured for you to scoot into the middle of the bed. Oh, he was going to do it on the bed, like how you did for him. You scooted to the middle of the bed and grabbed a pillow to stick under your head before making sure your robe stayed closed. He crawled on top of you, knees on either side of your body as you moved your hands to rest over your chest. He didn't need to pin your hands down because you weren't going to grope him like he did to you every time you did his makeup.

Once he settled on top of you and you realized the view you would have, you suddenly realized that oh, you can see why he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

Sure, you had been under him plenty of times, but not like this. For one thing, his thighs were right there. Of course you've been between them, looking up at him from the ground as you sometimes knelt down in front of him while he sat in his captain's chair, his pants undone as your mouth su-

"Babe." He snapped you back to reality. Your face was red. "You good?"

"Y-Yes." You replied as your fingers twitched, needing to be touching something to keep you focused. He seemed to notice and grabbed them, placing them both on top of his thighs, the last place you wanted to be touching right then because you knew them so well. You knew how they felt under you whenever you were straddling his lap, whether it was in bed or his chair, naked, riding him until-

He cleared his throat and you up at him again, turning redder in the face.

"Behave." He teased as he held up two eyeliner pencils near your eyes. He studied them for a moment before tossing one aside and uncapping the other. He then leaned down, face close to your own as he carefully moved the pencil along your bottom eyelid, looking at you but not really. The urge to pull him down for a kiss was there, and you thought the possibility of losing an eye would be worth it if you got to kiss him right then.

He was finished quicker than you thought and kissed your forehead. You realize you didn't specify how to do your makeup. Was he going to do something elaborate or simple? Your fingers tapped nervously against his thighs as you started to wonder if this was a good idea. You had worn makeup a few times in your younger years but it never looked right, so you gave up trying to learn how to do it on yourself.

But damn were you glad to have asked him to do it. It was a different kind of intimacy having him leaning over you, an eyeshadow palette in one hand and a brush in the other as he whispered for you to close your eyes, which you did without hesitation. Your hands stayed on his thighs, moving up and down his thighs slowly, fingers crooking to drag your nails over his skin. You didn't really pay attention to how much you were moving your hands until you felt the fabric of his boxers against your knuckles. You decided to push your luck as you flattened your hands back down and began to slide them up his boxers slowly.

"Babe!" He yelped as he swatted at your hand. "Hey!"

You cracked one eye open and grinned. "Sorry, didn't realize what I was doing."

"Liar." He scolded, looking scandalized by your actions. "I'll sit on you like you do me if you don't watch it."

"Aw, but Buggy!" You whined. "I can't help it!"

"Watch it." He warned as he held the brush threateningly. "Everything else is fair game right now but that. Just wait."

You pouted up at him as you let your hands move to his waist instead, your thumbs running along the waistband of his boxers. He seemed fine with that and you closed your eyes again as he began brushing the eyeshadow over your lids.

It was just hard not to touch him. Before you knew it, you were sliding your hands up his sides, to his chest, your thumbs brushing over his nipples, resisting the urge to tug on the piercings he had there. You felt him flinch when you touched him, so of course you did it again before running your fingers through his chest hair, hands moving up to his neck so your arms could wrap around him. He cleared his throat and you opened your eyes. 

"Okay, I gotta keep you still." He said. "You're getting too handsy."

"But Buggyyyyyy!" You pouted up at him. "I can't help it, really. Just… fuck, you should see what I'm seeing right now. You look so damn beautiful like this."

He blushed but said nothing as he set the eyeshadow aside. He reached back to unhook your arms from around his neck, pushing them above your head suddenly and holding them against the mattress. He held them down with one hand while the other moved to your cheek, stroking your flushed skin softly.

"And if you could see how you looked right now, babe, underneath me like this…” He trailed off as he tightened his grip on your wrists, his other hand now sliding down your body, untying your robe, touching your stomach as it moved between your legs. You inhaled sharply, trying to move your legs apart for him, biting back a moan.

And then he pulled his hand back without even touching you.

“Buggy!” You whined. “Why?!”

“We’re not finished yet, babe.” He smirked. “I still have to do your lipstick.”

[lxnarphase]

do you have any advice for new writers who want to start posting on tumblr?

Oh man, I'm gonna give you a list of things I wish I could've told myself when I first started posting.

Some Basic Tips:

Don't be scared to post! You'll never see growth in your followers, mutuals, and even your writing if you don't post!

Be open to asking others for help or advice if you struggle with writing. I sometimes ask some of my mutuals for help or read fanfiction to see how others write a scene. Then, I take the knowledge and write it in my own way. For example, I do well with writing dialogue but find myself always struggling with how to start the story.

Don't be afraid to post about non-writing things, too! Remember, you deserve to have fun on your account, so post what you want. You aren't a machine. You are a person!

The number of notes you get doesn't determine your worth or skill in writing. In my opinion, Tumblr has shifted a bit, making it harder for smaller writers to get likes, reblogs, or comments on their works.

But at the end of the day, in order to enjoy being a writing blog on Tumblr, you have to enjoy what you are writing and posting. Do not feel like you have to force yourself to write just for the numbers, let it happen naturally. Things will start out slow at first, as all things do, but you'll get to a point where you can barely keep up with things.

Post and Blog Formatting + Style:

Formatting is really important! Break up paragraphs, ask a friend to be a beta reader, and for longer works, go back and proofread if you have the time! It's okay if you have minor mistakes, though. I tend to miss things in my writing, and when I return a week later, I just fix them. No big deal!

Nowadays, aesthetics is HUGE for fanfiction posts and your account. Channel your creativity and style! Make your blog super pretty in your own way! It can be pink and cutesy, black and edgy, simple and clean, or colorful and cluttered! Don't have a blank blog!

PUT YOUR AGE CLEARLY SOMEWHERE! In your bio, pinned post, SOMEWHERE IT IS EASY TO SEE. I have had writing accounts follow me but no age, so I don't feel comfortable engaging with them.

You can take inspiration from other accounts (don't outright copy, though) on how they format their fanfictions. You will probably notice a lot of accounts have headers, dividers, or colored text. You can do that too, as it can catch the readers attention.

I get headers from doujins and mangas I read, websites such as Pinterest are good for cute ones, and Twitter is your go-to for more NSFW headers.

Create a tagging system to make navigating your blog easier, and have a pinned post with links to your rules/byf/masterlist/etc.

Try to put warnings in your writing. A lot of people have filters on to avoid the types of content they don't want to see, but there are the occasional people who don't put warnings in the writing post itself. It could be a simple tag or a list of themes at the beginning of the post.

An example would be a post with the tag #dubcon #tw dubcon OR putting "cw: dubcon" in the post itself before the writing itself.

This is a tag vs. in the actual post

Tagging and Reblogs

Speaking of tags, USE THE TAGGING SYSTEM! If you don't tag your post with popular fanfiction tags, it will be hard for people to find you.

Only the first twenty tags will show up in Tumblr search, including your own blog. Reblogs will not show up in tracked tags or searches.

However, don't feel bad for reblogging your own works again. Do it as many times as you want. You created something and should feel proud of it! I still reblog things from January just because.

Making Mutuals

Don't be afraid to engage with other accounts. That's how you make friends on here! But here's something important:

Be genuine. Make mutuals because you enjoy each other's work, AND both have fun talking with each other! If someone doesn't add you back as a mutual, that is okay; don't feel like they have something against you! Making mutuals shouldn't be your only goal when posting on Tumblr. Otherwise, you might tire yourself out mentally. It took me a while to make mutuals on here, but I'm glad it did it naturally instead of trying to force it.

Asks and Anons

Once you build a following, you will get the most wonderful, loving, and supportive anons in your inbox! Cherish them, respond to them, and have fun with them! Because there is a very high chance, you will also get assholes in your inbox.

I say this from the bottom of my heart but do NOT give hateful people your attention because that is what they thrive on. I still get them, but when I tell you I am at so much peace, I block and delete the messages and carry on.

If a certain message bothers me for a bit, then I just take a little break, talk to some friends about what happened, and do what helps me calm down so I don't act rashly. Don't be afraid to turn off anonymous messages for a while. This is YOUR blog, not theirs.

Don't feel pressured to answer every ask or fulfill every request. Take your time because that can burn you out! I love socializing so much, but sometimes I just pull a blank on how to respond to my asks. I always ensure my mutuals and followers know that I'm not ignoring them and just tend to go blank-brained with some asks, OR I save some of them to look at when I'm sad!

Overall, just start and DO IT FOR YOURSELF.

That's the best advice for when you want to make anything. You just have to start posting and learning and improving as you go on. Hopefully, this will sort of help. I know it's not the best list of advice, but it's just some things I would tell myself back when I first started.

If you have any other questions, I can try my best to answer them!