#thank you for your interest!! i enjoyed doing this! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilactwilights · 2 days ago

Text

a heathen clung to piety (a priest!gojo x reader fic)

series masterlist

summary: everything about satoru gojo is pristine. from his charming looks, to his unblemished family name and his exemplary priesthood. because of that, attraction is nothing more than fuel for what you assume is a one-sided fantasy, a carefully kept secret you are content to keep deep within. but when you end up in his bed, the vows he broke end up cracking the surface of his immaculate facade and bringing forward the painful memories and the cruel truth of a tragedy all too familiar.

or, you find out the angel named Satoru Gojo may have fallen a long time ago, and that you might end up falling with him too.

chapter summary: with satoru’s return, a new arrival at the city and winter prevailing, you are forced to confront all you have been trying to run away from.

word count: 10k

Hello there! ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼Thank you for your interest in reading! This was in my drafts for some time and in my mind for considerably longer. I have thought about Gojo a lot. And Priest Satoru Gojo spawned after playing with his canon counterpart like a Barbie, witnessing the talent of fandom creators and exploring a bit of my catholic memories. Let it be known that, funny enough, I have never experienced attraction towards a real-life priest and I don't think that day will come. Nonetheless, there's something about Gojo that has made his lil priest self my favorite plaything and that´s why I promised myself that, if I ever posted a fic again, I wanted him to do the honors. Excited to say that the day has finally come.I won't say much more here other than be mindful of the tags here, I will be updating them accordingly and letting you know if there is any specific thing you should keep an eye out for in the upcoming chapters.English is not my first language and I'm more than a bit rusty so it's a bit nerve-wrecking to put this out there /ᐠ ╥ ˕ ╥マ. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡ (Might edit this chapter a bit in the near future)I'm new to tumblr so I apologize if the formatting looks a bit wonky, I´m still working on it, this is a reupload so if you have seen this before, yeah it was me :p

You don’t like winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the best part of it are the droplets of melting ice announcing its imminent departure and the first sightings of green peeking through the remnants of snow. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall but, between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays.

As you stand on the platform, you claim the only spot touched by the sun, though it does little to alleviate the stubborn reminder of a winter you would chase away if you could. The wind remains almost freezing cold, it makes you shiver and shut your eyes tight every time it slaps you in the face, every hit of air chafing your skin.

You mourn the scarf you left hanging at the rack back home. You were already two streets away when you realized you had forgotten it and you were quick to dismiss it in favor of catching the train on time.

Now you are here, with no scarf, a freezing frame and a train running late, because, of course, only Satoru Gojo would manage to be late even by train.

In fact, if a person could be blamed for making a train run late, it would probably be Gojo, somehow. Last time you took a train together, a few months back, you almost missed it because of him. He doesn’t have anyone to nag at him this time, so you can only hope he boarded on time, like he always seems to barely do.

This town needs an actual train station, you think, as you nuzzle further into your winter coat. There’s a little lobby next to the platform that is “closed for remodeling” because the administration had to choose the worst time of the year to modernize the cozy little lounge. The platform you are currently shivering on was renewed by the Gojo Family almost two years ago, upon the arrival of their heir. The outline and build of the little ticket booth attached to the side of the station is reminiscent of the village props you saw at The Nutcracker the winter before. It’s too fancy for such a little spot outside of a small town like yours, too opulent for a place that’s not used as much anymore, but it’s a nice view you appreciate. However, all the cutesy and intricate carving does next to nothing to shield you from the cold. You heard the Mayor refused the Gojos’ offer to donate a proper train station and you can’t help but resent him too. After all, his pride is costing you your body temperature.

You nuzzle further into your clothes, pressing yourself against the column at another hit of wind. When you first arrived, the nice lady at the booth had offered you a place inside while you waited, but the space was already cramped enough with just one person in it, so you had to politely decline. It might have been a good decision considering she is currently nursing a cigar and likely emitting more fumes than the train you are waiting for. Right now, you can barely see her silhouette through the window with all the smoke condensed into the little booth. You have the itch to tap on the glass to see if she hasn’t passed out. Maybe if she is still conscious you can walk back your decision and ask for a little place in there with only your nice perfume and healthy lungs to pay the price.

As you take a hesitant step towards the impromptu smokehouse, your attention is caught by a distant whistle, the telltale sound of a locomotive approaching. You perk up, waddling further into the platform to take a look as the sound of the machine gets louder. Indeed, the outline of the wine red train greets you between smog and frosty wind and you sigh, retreating once more to your waiting place.

“About time,” you huff.

Satoru left two weeks ago for a series of meetings with some higher ups from the Church. He called you every other day, mostly to nag or entertain himself.

You don’t ask too much about what goes in there nor does he go into detail, he only ever talks about them to complain. Sometimes you think he has caught on to how much you truly dislike most of them and you are the only person he can sincerely unload his grievances with.

As expected, only Satoru is getting off in this station. Your eyes meet through the window as he stands in the door waiting for it to open. His eyes widen for a second but crinkle immediately after as he smiles, all perfect teeth, mouthing something you can’t quite understand. You wave at him with a smile, cheeks feeling suddenly warm despite the cold.

You point at your wrist while you lift a brow but it’s hard to keep the stern expression when the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach makes you nauseous.

You step back as the doors open and stand there, changing your weight from one foot to the other as he gets off, sturdy suitcase in hand. He doesn’t even take two steps into the platform before he leaves his luggage on the floor, gaze fixed on you. Someone that appears to be a young train worker, judging by the uniform, is trailing behind him with a bunch of boxes that Satoru ends up maneuvering in one hand after he places the suitcase on the floor.

Before the young boy can say something else, Satoru shoves one of the little boxes in his hands with a loud thank you. The boy blinks and bows his head awkwardly, a low expression of confused gratefulness escaping his lips as he retreats. You lift a brow at the display, your own confusion tampering with your smile but Satoru, as always, just returns it wholeheartedly, balancing the boxes on top of his luggage.

“I asked if you missed me,” he says in lieu of a greeting as he straightens up, bright blue eyes regarding you from above.

The color in his gaze somewhat softens thanks to all the white and the gray around. That’s probably how the blue of the seas in the frozen lands far away look like. He is all pale colors, a striking contrast to his black jacket and dark blue scarf and his pink lips. He rarely flushes, but there’s a pleasant blush in his chiseled cheeks from the warmth that hasn’t died down under the harsh wind. He speaks again. And you see the way his lips curl. They look soft and plump as they dance and mold to the words that your cottoned ears can’t quite catch: “…missed”

“I asked if you missed me”

“Huh?” is your elaborate reply.

Satoru’s grin evolves into a chuckle. It’s a pleasant sound that you indeed have missed . Other days, when he directs that sound towards you, you find the sound irritating enough to pretend it doesn’t cave a pit in your stomach. Not today.

Today he extends his arms, his wide form taking up the space with his broad back and his long limbs. You don’t think twice before sinking into him. You have missed him too much for your own good, you resolve, as he squeezes you so tight it steals a breathless huff of a laugh from you.

“Get off…”

Satoru chuckles too, a rumbling sound vibrating against your smothered cheek. His hands don’t go lower than your back, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you through your clothes projects all over your body.

“Not before you answer,” he adds, against your temple.

“What?”

“If you miss me”

You gulp. It’s only the two of you between the cold and the fog on the platform. “I didn’t hear you say that at all.”

“But I did,” he retorts, leaning back just enough so your eyes meet, “And you still haven’t answered.”

He smells like warmth and caramel. He probably ate sweets onboard and the smell of it swirls along his fresh cologne. Not unpleasant, but sure overwhelming when it’s paired with those intense eyes looking at you.

“So?”

“I didn’t,” you answer. Way too quickly, way before your heart and your brain realize you are lying and make you stutter as punishment.

Satoru smiles lazily, letting you go with a languid movement that has his fingertips sliding off your waist. He tugs at one of the strands of hair hanging at the side of your face instead.

“That’s a shame,” he laments, sighing, puncturing each word with a twirl of his fingers, the start of a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Because I did”

“It’s been two weeks,” you huff, gently pushing his hand away in a lighthearted gesture. You don’t mind his touch at all. Or, you didn't mind it. You are now bothered by the appalling urges born in your core and traveling to your every limp.

“And? That’s more than enough to me,” he switches the grip of his hand to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. “Believe it or not, I prefer your pretty face over the nagging of our dear church authorities”

“I’m touched,” you deadpan, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

Satoru hums. “I am too, considering I wasn’t expecting a welcome back committee”

Your lips part, brows furrowing. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to come!?”

“That was before I realized our lovely weather could turn you into an icicle,” he says, eyes scanning you intently. He takes a few steps forward and places both his hands in your cheeks. You feel yourself stiff. “Although the flush of your face is rather pleasant to look at, there’s no reason for you to stand here and freeze for little ole’ me”

Your frozen hands try to peel away his wrists on instinct. Satoru is touchy, probably more touchy than a priest should be, but he is also more nonchalant than the average gentleman is so you can’t say you aren’t used to it.

It’s the mortifying somersault your stomach does and the warmth that bleeds from your chest to your lower belly like molten what you are not used to. He is not even touching you directly, the fabric of his gloves is less soft than his hands, but it’s warm and kind in comparison to the wind. Nonetheless, the sole implication of him touching you so casually is enough to make you short of breath.

For a few seconds that stretch incredibly long, Satoru rubs your cheeks intently, as if trying to coax the warmth of your blood to bleed into your skin. There’s something in his eyes as a slow, cheeky curve takes place on his lips. You forget the flustered feeling for a moment, but your body stays locked on it, a prickling sensation climbing up your neck as you frown up at him, tugging at his wrists.

“Father?”

Satoru’s well trained to react the exact opposite way to your flustered, hurried flurry. As you jump, he waltzes back in calculated steps, casually sliding his hands down to your shoulders, squeezing them only slightly before taking his hands off you for good. By the time his hands are by his sides, yours are still fidgeting about, tugging at your winter coat.

You turn your face towards the familiar voice and force down the lingering feeling of self-consciousness, sketching a smile that lacks the blinding brightness of the dishonest one Satoru offers to the clueless newcomer.

“Ah, Ijichi, you are finally here!” he announces, eyes crinkling. The cherry on top is, of course, the thunderous clap that accompanies his words. “I started to think you had forgotten about me”

You have known him for almost two years, so you can catch it. The way his smile curves and hardens before it stretches all the way. He seems slightly bothered about something you can only theorize about.

“N-not at all!” Kyotaka bows his head, face a bit flushed because of the cold or because his eyes are also trained in Satoru’s micro-expressions. “Welcome back, Father”

You think you have imagined it, though, because Satoru’s expression is back to his relaxed, jovial façade. Or maybe it never really changed. You try not to stare too long or think about his face too hard lately.

“C’mon Ijichi!” he protests, “I’m not wearing the habit right now! We can be a bit flexible”

Ijichi is not deterred, sharing a look with you as a resigned, little smile grazes his lips. He is one of the very few people that has fallen victim to Satoru’s overly familiarity and, just like most, he is not playing along. That always makes you consider if you should also be more mindful of the difference in your positions, but Satoru’s arm casually slinging around your shoulders chases any further reflection away.

Ijichi is abruptly intercepted by one of Satoru’s arms as well when he steps closer to retrieve some of the boxes laying over Gojo’s luggage and you can see the way his shoulders fall in a reluctant acceptance. His glasses are crooked now by the unexpected motion but he makes no effort in shrugging Gojo as the latter pats his back energetically. You share a look once more.

“I-ji-chi! Guess who was freezing on this platform, waiting for me?” Satoru asks, squeezing his hold on you as he rhythmically pats Ijichi’s frame. “Certainly not you!”

At that, Ijichi’s resigned face tenses back to his default expression, a mix of mortification and surprise in his widened eyes.

“I a-apologize, I wasn’t aware you were coming here as well! I would have offered you a lift!”

“Oh, see? You are so formal with me but you call her by her name!”

You both ignore Satoru as you shrug his arm off your shoulders, offering Ijichi an appeasing smile, lifting a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t know you were picking him up either,” you reply earnestly, brushing your hair out of your face as you start to walk, “I think it’s his fault”

As Kyotaka takes the boxes Satoru brought with him, he regards you with a look that seems suspiciously close to a silent agreement. Once again, both of you ignore Gojo’s whines, moving along the platform until he desists on his protests and easily falls into step with you, suitcase in tow.

“I’m glad Ijichi and you have found friendship, but I don’t appreciate you bonding over disregarding me” is what he says, with a suffering sigh that evolves into a little smile when you eye him up.

“I’m sure making everything about you is a sin” you comment lightheartedly and Satoru rolls his eyes. “For your information, Kyotaka and I have been friends for a while and agreeing on your obnoxiousness is not the reason our friendship begun”

“But your blatant animosity is what makes it thrive,” Satoru points out, with an accusing finger. “It’s the same thing with Sister Uta–”

“Is your nagging my reward for picking you up at the train station?” you inquire. “I should have stayed warm and cozy at home”

“You waited for me. If we want to get technical, my dear sister, Ijichi is the one picking me up.”

He watches the beginning of an indignant protest in your face, to which he walks back his teasing statement and raises a calming hand. “Both of which I deeply appreciate,” he adds, and there’s a softness in his honest smile that mellows you down enough, until he pokes at you once more. “A good Christian doesn’t expect anything in return for a good deed, anyway” he chirps. “God shall provide”

“Good thing I’m not a Christian then,” you retort and Satoru huffs a laugh, shutting it too quickly in favor of shaking his head in disapproval. “So you shall provide”

“I’m not but God’s humble messenger,” Satoru bows his head, eyes glinting as he regards you “So consider the souvenir I brought God’s way of acknowledging your selfless act”

He is serious, but there’s an amused tilt to his gentle smile that warms and softens you up enough to forget about the banter and grin earnestly.

After a silent look that lingers enough for the prickling feeling in your face to make a comeback, you simply turn your face to the front. By your peripheral vision, you notice Satoru’s gaze linger just a few seconds more before he follows your lead. You both keep walking side by side, arms brushing at every swing. Your throat closes up and you focus on ahead.

Ijichi is a fast-walker by nature, you have learned, and you saw him hurry his step as Satoru reached your side with long strides a few moments ago. If Satoru wanted, he could outpace you and Ijichi with ease, but he has decided to linger beside you and you soon realize there’s a reason beyond any friendly banter or the announcement of any souvenir.

You step over a branch peeking through the melting snow on the ground and that’s when he speaks.

“The snow is finally melting” he whispers, “I’m relieved”

There’s a sympathetic inflexion on his voice that’s not lost to you. The same off-handed tone present on his words these last two weeks through calls and letters. You lean against him almost on instinct, shoulder surprisingly at ease as it bumps against his arm. “Me too”

On a personal level, being friends with Satoru means a lot of things and has plenty of implications you don’t want to get at most of the time. You were both relieved and saddened by his absence during the last snow storms of this winter which tells you enough about the dichotomy that persists in your relationship. It’s easier to dwell on it during this season, which is why you occupy yourself like a maniac during it, which is why you cling to any semblance of sun or warmth amidst the cold.

The car ride is silent enough, the soft sound of the wheels scraping against the road lulling you as you lean against the window, eyes chasing any rays peeking through the clouds, even if you have to narrow your eyes at the unexpected force of a sun recovering its strength.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice is soft, a callback to the time and space you are in right now, tugging you away from cruel memories.

He offers you his hand, without a glove. Long and pretty and pale. Warm as you press your hand over it. “The other one too”

That’s when you notice he took both his gloves off and, as he envelops your hands with his, your thoughts linger on how warm and soft and soothing his skin is.

When he rubs his palms over your cold, trembling fingers, he triggers a scorching heat in your hands and your arms and your whole being. “Your hands are freezing,” he says, none the wiser to your melting insides. “I noticed earlier, you weren’t wearing gloves, or a scarf”

There’s more than a hint of disapproval in his tone. For real this time. Not like the one he uses to half-heartedly scold your thinly-veiled anti-church sentiments.

“I-I forgot”

Does he know your mouth feels dry and cottoned? Can he notice the way your breath catches in his throat at his proximity, or the way your heart skips at every motion of his thumbs over the back of your hands?

“You shouldn’t have walked there with this weather” Satoru whispers, and there’s something in his eyes that goes beyond the earnest care you have grown acquainted with. “You are not even properly clothed for it,” he hums, there’s a bit of the teasing back that gets lost on the deep look in his eyes.

You don’t even know what to make of it.

It’s like that one time, over a year ago.

Just like his voice grabbed you away from the claws of the cruel, painful past, his eyes push you back into that void, except in a kinder, warmer part of it.

The train ride to the next city and the memory of the gorgeous display on stage.

It’s a nice memory.

Nevermind the mortifying discoveries about yourself that trip uncovered.

Absolutely not. Because it is the beautiful memory of your first ever trip to a professional ballet production, a long-time dream, the one guilty of the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

Not the memory of the seating booth in the train back home feeling strangely suffocating, or his hands over your skin, trying to cool away a fever you couldn’t get rid of. A fever and itch that has been chasing you ever since you sat way too close in the same room, the same bed.

That’s not it.

It’s the pretty parts, the softer parts you should focus on because it is a nice memory, one that is not tainted by the origins of the crude ruminations that keep you awake at night to this day. Not at all.

“I wanted to,” you say with a shrug. “To go there, I mean.”

To wait for you. To see you again.

Satoru hums, blowing hot air into your fingertips. Your whole being rattles.

“You should have waited for me at the church, then” he whispers. His lips are inches away from your hands, you almost want to stretch your fingers, just to try–

“I don’t like to go there when it’s empty,” you respond, voice steadier than your beating heart.

“It’s never empty,” he replies, thumbs massaging up to your fingertips, squeezing them for barely a second. “It’s the house of God, he is always there”

He isn’t. And you aren’t either. What’s the point? But you don’t say that, you don’t say anything more. You almost feel like you don’t need to, because Satoru smiles at you then, and it’s almost sad.

You feel you might be privy to what most people in town are not. Your friendship with Satoru didn’t blossom out of shared faith or thrived because of your trust in him as a recipient of God. Quite the contrary. It was born despite your reservations and your disagreements. As such, you are allowed to see beyond the charming, quick-witted, perfect priest image he projects for all believers to see. For you, he is equally if not more charming and wiser when he is “just Satoru” but you won’t ever tell him that out loud.

Instead, you let your shared secrets and time together speak for you. He knows a lot about you. You know a lot about him. Or so you think.

Satoru has always given you the impression of false openness. He makes people, you included, feel as if he is sharing a lot, but most of the time, it’s just superficial lore or inconsequential sentiments.

You don't usually pressure him to share anything beyond what he usually does, but there’s a trust that has been nurtured during your time together that has given you both a space to share what you both know is no common knowledge. He doesn’t need to tell you “I have never told this to anyone” but you have learned to recognize when it’s the case. You know when it’s something he wouldn’t share with the world.

It is often, though, that you get the impression that these secret things have been shared before with someone else out there. There’s something about his speech, the careful distant expression on his face that betrays a sense of dejavu or melancholy that disappears as soon as it appears, between a blink and another. He has travelled the world and he has confessed his sins often. It could be any person out there, a priest or God himself.

Who knows? You don’t push. You never do. After all, there is a whole story you haven’t shared with him. And you don’t think you will soon. He has the right to have his secrets too, and despite the big chunk of your life that remains hidden close to your chest, you bet he has way more secrets than you do.

You wear your heart in your sleeve, he doesn’t. You could be fooled by his easy smile and his running mouth, though, like everyone else.

And you are.

It seems rather meaningless, but in retrospect, this little thing that Satoru willingly withholds from you unravels the whole mess and tells you more about all the things he doesn’t tell you.

At some point, it becomes public knowledge that a newly ordained priest will come to your little town. The people are concerned their angel darling of a Father is being moved away. But it doesn’t seem to be the case, as one particular Sunday, Satoru addresses the whispers and concerns from the altar with good humor.

That’s how you find out, like everyone else.

Kento Nanami, a priest from the same college as Satoru, will become part of the little community.

When you question Satoru about it later, ignoring his who-know-what attempt at explaining checkers to you, he sighs, shoulders falling. It is so different from the usual flair he would answer you with, he seems almost defeated for a second, the flames of the chimney of his office flickering all over his face, raising his high cheekbones further.

“We used to be together in the seminary,” he finally says.

Satoru doesn’t talk much about the seminary. It’s one of the things he pretends he enjoys being open about except all he has ever told you has to do with the multiple headaches he induced on everyone around him.

“But,” you say, leaning forward in your seat. You try to ignore the way Satoru’s foot brushes against yours as he shifts and stretches his legs under the table. “The people say he is newly ordained”

“Ah, our lovely town is as adept in gossiping as it is in their daily praying,” Satoru comments, propping his chin over his hand with a lazy tilt of the head, a shaper one on his lips . “He is.”

You don’t need to do the math for that one. It doesn’t add up.

“But if he was with you–”

“He left,” Gojo cuts you off with a bit of a bored, resigned expression. “Then he came back.”

He is not even hiding his unwillingness to share any details. The tense smile is the same he uses when he wants to cut a conversation short. It’s the first time he has used it with you.

And it’s the first time you decide to press, as well.

“Why did he leave?”

Satoru takes a few seconds to respond, eyes focusing on the dancing flames in the chimney, gaze concerningly distant. For a moment, you think he might tell you it’s none of your business. Strictly speaking, he would be right.

“Some people aren’t made for it,” he whispers, in the most monotone voice you have ever heard from him. It brings a chill down your spine, suddenly feeling an infinite wall rise between you. You feel you might reach out to touch him and you won’t be able to snatch him away from whatever place he is sinking into now.

But, as it always happens, the wall crumbles as soon as it builds. And Satoru, seemingly sensing your unease, seems to snap out of whatever haze the flames have induced on him.

He smiles, again, eyes flickering towards you.

“But don’t worry,” he says, even if you are less worried about priest Nanami’s abilities than you are about the all-seeing eyes that look right through you. “Nanamin is. That’s why he came back.”

Kento Nanami sure seems like the kind of guy made to be a priest. He is sober, proper, humble. Kind and polite at the welcoming party your good-spirited town throws for him. He seems genuinely taken aback by the warm reception, but earnest in his shy appreciation. You study every interaction from afar, just like you did back when Satoru first came to town.

Satoru had been charming, talkative, and full of initiative in every interaction. He had had the hard task of living up to the expectation the priest before him, a beloved local, had risen in forty years of service. Satoru was young. Maybe a bit too young, people had first observed with wariness. But it was that, along with his good-natured humor, his refreshing speech and his impeccable looks, that ended up making him the darling of the town in no time.

Nanami’s regal presence is impeccable as well, in a different way. There’s nothing out of place, not a hair, not a button, not even a blink, as if everything is carefully crafted with little to no effort. And while he doesn’t seem to have the social energy Satoru has delighted everyone with these past years, he appeals to the community all the same with that mix of youth and firmness reminiscent of a soldier. He looks older than Satoru. There’s something in their interactions that suggests something you can’t quite put your finger on. Satoru is cheery, as always. Friendly and familiar with his arm thrown over the other priest’s shoulders, with his animated voice raising over the bustle of the party but something in Nanami’s shoulders remains tense in a way they weren’t in any other interaction.

It’s so weird once you see it.

It could be simple shyness at Satoru’s familiarity, but he doesn’t seem shy or flustered. You don’t even know if, judging by his stern expression, he is even capable of it.

It’s seems there’s a world they are part of you are not privy to. That’s probably the case. Priesthood and seminary life it’s not something you ever can or want to fully comprehend.

But, despite whatever weird energy surrounding them, they make for a nice picture, standing side by side, overlooking the party and the towners from the first landing of the stairs leading up to the church. The single photographer from the local paper thinks the exact same, snapping a shot with little warning. It captures Satoru leaning towards Nanami, a smile frozen midway as the flash explodes in their faces.

Nanami is tall, but looking at them like this, you can truly put into perspective how tall Satoru truly is, his shoulder some inches above the other man’s.

No matter, you have to lean your head back to look at the two of them properly.

Kento or “Nanamin” is polite enough to stay quiet through Satoru’s enthusiastic introduction but it’s soon clear to you that he is barely tolerating the other’s incessant, loud chatter right into his ear. He still smiles, bows his head at you, as he introduces himself as if Satoru hadn’t done it for him over three times already. There’s a distant echo in your head that bothers you and there’s a weird feeling in your chest as you catch Nanami’s eyes looking at you as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle himself.

“Sorry if I overstep but, have we met?” he finally asks.

Satoru finally pauses beside you, only then paying attention to the fact that Nanami is not listening to his vibrant spiel, but he doesn’t seem baffled, face dropping to a rather curious, questioning glance more for Nanami than for yourself. Your smile doesn’t waver, tensing just the slightest bit as the echo in your head raises its volume.

“I don’t think so, no” you say.

Just like you did almost two years ago, when Satoru first came to the church, you leave the party early and find yourself pulled towards the limit of the woods at the outskirts. Once you step onto the only proper road leading to the next town, your eyes focus on the giant oak tree that stands at the top of the one little hill overseeing your step. The path is painful yet soothing in its familiarity, your heels digging in the dirt and light layer of snow enveloping the steep as you balance your weight and propel forward.

As you make your way to the top, the big, old oak greets you with a rustle of leaves. The leaves persevere during winter, for a reason you would like to think you know.

You feel your face warm with the effort and you can see your breath escape in little puffs of hot air that evaporate into the frosted wind as you walk towards the wide, rough trunk, and press your cheek against it.

You lean on the trunk and focus on the sounds coming from within, the endless shifting of it akin to breathing. Even if you wanted to hug it, you wouldn’t be able to. The immensity of it makes it impossible. It’s ironically cruel. You can’t hug him again and you can’t hug the one breathing thing that reminds you of him either.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited,” you say, closing your eyes. You can almost pulsing with life against your face. One of your hands curls over the trunk. “I missed you today.”

At this time of the year, you are forced to confront plenty of things. You thought you had survived this winter without having to think, but there’s a sweet and painful song of melancholy in the air that follows you through these events.

It makes you think again about how you would have forgiven him, if he came to town like Satoru did. Like Nanami did. You would have forgiven him. Even if he was clad in priest robes and stood over the altar with the pride of a soldier of God. You would have forgiven him even with the sting of all the broken childish promises.

“It would have been okay, at the end,” it's the only other thing you say out loud.

It’s a sad and embarrassing thought, that you don’t have to say much. Wherever he is now, he knows what he didn’t know before. And everyone knows too. Everyone that loves you and loves him knows. That the pain has subsided and dulled but lingers like a chronic nightmare that sharpens every so often.

That you spent years mad at him and now you can only be mad at yourself. You have matured and you see things in a different light now, left to wonder if you , rather than him, could have done anything in another way.

It’s sad and embarrassing when Satoru meets you at the entrance road to the main street, concern or pity barely veiled as he heaves, cheeks rosy, his rebellious white hair slightly dancing at the tune of the frosty wind, all that betraying the hurried steps he took upon realizing your absence.

You offer him a little smile, finally having cried what you had to cry these past days, your head doesn’t feel as heavy with dark thoughts anymore. You can leave your penances with the oak tree.

“Did my mother ask you to come look for me?” you ask, not thinking twice before hooking your arm with the one he is offering you.

Satoru stares at you intently, head tilted as you both turn back towards the main square in a dance you don’t have to rehearse anymore. It feels natural, walking with him like this.

“More like I offered,” he replies, eyes finally focusing ahead. “Watching her pace around pale with worry, I had to ask what was her cause of concern”

You feel a pinch of guilt.

“She—”

Satoru spares you from having to offer an excuse or apology.

“She knew where you were, but she was worried you would stay there until dark so I told her it would be better for me to bring you back.”

You sigh, head leaning against his arm, gaze focused on the thin mantle of snowflakes in the ground.

“I didn’t need to stay for long.”

“That’s a good thing.” You don’t know if you imagine it, but you can feel Satoru speak against the crown of your head. “It’s still pretty cold out here.”

You answer with a hum, hiding your face into his arm, even his jacket is impregnated with his cologne. Moments like this are met with such intense yearning everything else you feel along with it melts into a pool of sweet resignation.

“You know you can talk to me,” he says, stopping on his tracks. You inhale a bit more of his perfume and the winter air before looking up at him.

You know he can probably see the red trails and rims that expose your silent, lonely tears from earlier but you don’t mind. He looks into your eyes, brows furrowing just a bit, before he shifts his body to face you as well. The snow crunches slightly under his boots.

“What?” you ask.

He raises his hand and reaches for your face. Your eyes flutter in anticipation of his touch and that’s when you feel the phantom pressure of his fingertips against your heavy eyelashes. There’s a sole huff of air that resembles a laugh escaping from his lips, in tandem with the sigh that escapes yours and his soft smile and sad gaze is all you see as you open your eyes.

“There’s frost in your eyelashes,” he whispers, his thumb barely grazing the apple of your cheek, probably following the abandoned path a tear left behind.

Your breath hitches and a surge of adrenaline makes you turn your face to the side, just in time for Satoru to caress your cupid bow and the curve of your upper lip. Your eyes flutter close. It’s only for half a millisecond and his hand retreats as if you were burning him, curling on itself in the air, hovering over your face. Not a sound comes from him.

“I know,” you breathe out.

“Hm?”

“I know I can talk to you,” you clarify, blinking up at him with a soft tilt of your head and in your lips.

He doesn’t escape your gaze, and you can see yourself reflected on his darkened, tempestuous blue eyes.

“But you won’t,” he says.

“Not about this,” you reply honestly.

“But we are–”

You cut him off, before you can hope, protest or rejoice on whatever epithet escapes his lips.

“I know,” you unhook your arm from his, pressing a hand over his forearm. “But you don’t tell me every single thing about you either,” you squeeze slightly and you can feel his muscles clench under the pressure. “Do you?”

After seconds that feel like minutes stretching, he presses his hand over yours and squeezes in a thousand unspoken words.

“No.”

“And that’s okay.”

After all, there are things you don’t want him to know about, even if a part of you thinks he does already.

A part of you wants to believe he understands.

But how could he?

Someone like him can’t never lose, not anything nor anyone.

Your mother forgives your brief disappearance and requires you to run a few errands to pay back any concern you may have caused, mostly to soothe any lingering guilt from your part. It’s always like this between you both, the silent agreements and the subtle conversations.

You can talk about pain freely but you are candid enough about it for her not to worry about you letting it eat away at you in silence.

“Did the visit help?” she asks, hands busy and eyes fixed on you, as you wait patiently, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Hm,” you nod, a faint smile. “It had been a while, I think that’s what I needed”

“I know you usually like to go up there alone,” she starts, “but please try not to linger too close to sunset, the air gets colder and the path is too dark for my peace of mind”

“You know I don’t like to walk in the snow at night.”

Your mother’s eyes trail away from you. “Right.”

“I’m okay,” you say, voice not wavering.

“I know you are,” she replies, looking back at you with love and concern mingling in her pupils. Your throat would close up at the sight on worse days.

Today, though, you smile at her with veiled gratitude and a hint of apology as she hands you a knitted bag, heavy with homemade goods.

“You know,” you point out, weighing it in your hands with a pensive pout in your lips. “I think you spoil that man way too much.”

“Those are for Father Nanami as well,” your mother protests, lifting her brow at you, affronted. “And ‘that man’ is our priest”

“It’s just Satoru,” you said. A slip up that you paid mind to a little too late.

“Precisely because it’s Father Satoru,” your mother replies, casual, as swift as her hands rearranging the last few envelopes. Her brief yet disapproving sideways glance is the only other indication that she has taken note of your disrespectful nonchalance. “He is a friend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” was the answer that made its way to your tongue. It didn’t come out of your lips though, it was too much of a lie.

“He should be thankful we prepared him anything at all.”

The piercing glare your mother throws your way is enough to seal your lips shut and make you swallow your complaint. You smile innocently, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Last time that look worked on me was when you were nine years old”

You don’t receive yet another earful regarding your lack of respect towards the so-called angel of the town, though, so you are thankful. Your mother is aware of the particular familiarity between Satoru and you and while you both have talked about the level of casualness you are okay with, she insists you follow the proper etiquette with a man of God.

“Smile when you deliver this,” she reminds you, planting an obnoxious kiss on your cheek. “We made such an effort putting this together,” your mother comments, eyes much softer than her admonishing voice. The ghost of a smile in her lips suggests a tease that you decide to ignore pointedly, your cheeks flaring. “Presentation is everything.”

You roll your eyes, making your way to the door, “Right...” you drawl.

“Don’t forget your scarf”

You hum in response, stopping at the foyer and grabbing it from the rack next to the door. As you tie it around your neck, a thought makes you pause.

“Mom?”

She peeks into the foyer. “Yes?”

You grab the door handle, eyeing her just briefly before twisting the knob.

“Did you tell Satoru?”

As you open the door, the cold wind blows into the warmth of the house. Your hair waves with it.

“About the tree?”

It’s always like this between you both, the silent connection and the subtle communication.

“About why I go there,” you say.

Your mother is quick to answer both with words and with a firm shake of her head.

You almost regret asking when you see the sorrowful lines that map her face.

“Of course not, it’s not my place to tell.”

You nod, smiling a bit. “Okay.”

As you step out, her voice reaches your ears. “But–“

You look over your shoulder. She looks sheepish, hands dancing on her lap. “Don’t you think it would help? Talking about it with him ? He is your friend and he is closer to God.”

You let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “I think it would be the most awkward conversation to have.”

Whenever you walk towards the parish, you think of Satoru. At the beginning, it was out of curiosity and wariness, as you imagined and played around with the endless possibilities of the mystery of his personality. Now, it is unbearable. The sense of anticipation that used to precede your meetings has mixed in with a yearning, an itch that you can barely scratch and which nature makes your stomach twist.

You are aware there’s an inherent wickedness permeating your feelings now, that most of your thoughts linger close to the line of impropriety and don’t reciprocate Satoru’s unconditional respect for you.

Because, even if he is unconventional in more ways than one, especially in comparison to the strict mold a catholic priest is expected to fit in, there’s nothing about him that suggests a questionable morality. Even with the way he is always getting close, shimming in your head and personal space, talking your ear off about everything and nothing and making jokes that walk and tether the line of strict propriety. And even with your proximity and the familiarity that allows him to touch you freely, there’s a delicate balance and respectful boundaries in your relationship.

His hands never wander or linger beyond the socially acceptable, invisible limits society has mapped a woman’s body with. The looks he gives you, while filled with open interest and regard, are void of a dark, twisted intention you have seen other men possess.

You are the one that avoids looking at him too much or staring at his eyes for too long, fearing the kind of expression you will see reflected on his all-seeing eyes. You are the one terrified about the possibility of him reading the hidden thoughts swirling in the depths of your brain.

The innocence of your friendship has mixed in with a dark pull that makes you crave Satoru’s proximity in a way you shouldn’t dare to entertain. It’s a cruel irony. Even beyond all the key reasons why your fascination should remain concealed behind platonic affections.

It’s wrong.

For the first time in the entire winter, you feel grateful when a whip of harsh, cold air hits your body. It’s heaven’s warning. A way to tell you to focus on the goosebumps instead of whatever black holes your mind is spiraling into.

You walk up the last steps leading to the entrance of the parish feeling nauseous, fighting and locking away the last thoughts. You inhale deeply before walking through the open doors, your nose filled instantly with the sweet smell of incense as the muscle memory takes over and you sign the cross over your upper body. It’s true when they say the church is truly never empty, and not because of the hypothetical presence of a higher being, but because it’s always open. During the day hours, there are always a few believers praying or waiting for a confession, head down, silently holding a conversation with either God or themselves.

Your eyes scan the few people scattered in the pews and you are not surprised to realize you are familiar with the back of the heads of half your neighbors. You walk to one side, moving along the rows of pews and nodding politely to those that are alerted by the movement in their peripheral. Nonetheless, as you get closer to the partly hidden hallway that leads to Satoru’s office and the sacristy, a smaller frame catches your attention. He is sitting right at the edge of the pew closest to the hallway leading to the offices. You walk closer and look over the scrawny shoulder, making sure he is not praying.

“Yuuji?” you whisper.

The boy raises his head, turning his gaze away from the missal on his lap. You smile down at the way his slightly bewildered expression morphs into a wide grin.

“Miss—!” he whispers back.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ruffling his hair.

He gestures for you to get closer. When you do, he leans forward.

“I’m here to tell Father Gojo something”

You raise a brow, leaning back just enough to admire the anticipation in his expression.

“Father Gojo said I could be an altar boy next Sunday if Grandpa agreed,” he chirps.

You resist the urge to raise both eyebrows. You would think Yuuji is too young to be an altar boy, and you know Satoru does too, having denied his multiple, enthusiastic and incessant requests. Nonetheless, you also know Wasuke is spending more time at the hospital lately and that might be enough reason for him and Satoru to reconsider. Yuuji seems excited enough though. He thinks Satoru is the coolest guy around and has been trailing after him like a baby duck for a while.

“Let me guess,” you lean down with a conspiratorial whisper. “He said yes”

“Yes!”

Yuuji’s outburst bounces off the old rock walls but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You notice some people looking in your direction, raising their heads from their silent prayer with varying degrees of bewilderment. You shrug at them, an apologetic grimace, before turning back to Yuuji.

“Oh my” you huff out a laugh, keeping your voice at whisper-level. “Congrats on the promotion!”

Yuuji almost bounces off the pew but his voice is lower this time. “Thank you.”

“What’s your salary?”

“I-I don’t think I have one,” he perks up, intrigued.

“You should ask for one”

“Oh,” the boy doesn’t even question you, but furrows his brows a bit after a moment. “It shouldn’t be money, though”

You nod, mimicking his serious expression. “Of course.”

Yuuji’s legs swing over the edge of the pew as he looks at the bright colored windows.

“Movies” he suggests, doe eyes looking for your approval.

You bite back a smile but click your tongue and reign in your expression for the sake of the serious aura around him.

“He already lends them to you,” you tap your chin before your expression brightens. “I will help you negotiate weekly cinema tickets and all-you-can-eat ice cream”

Yuuji’s eyes are bright and wide as a gasp escapes his lips. “You would?”

“Uh-huh,” you wink, straightening back to your height. “I’m sure Father Satoru will honor this deal”

Yuuji beams up at you, body almost bouncing off the pew. You giggle, ruffling his hair before fishing some baked goods from your knitted bag.

“For you and Gramps”

“Thank you!” He promptly opens the envelope with enthusiasm and eyes at them. He sniffs unapologetically, “They smell so good! Did you make them?”

“My mom and I did,” you confirm, gently pressing your hand over his so he closes the paper. “They are better hot, so don’t open until you eat them”

“I will go eat them now!” he declares, clutching into them as if you would change your mind and snatch them away. “Outside,” he adds.

You laugh, propping a hand over your hip. “Wait, don’t you want to come to see Father Satoru?"

Yuuji is already sliding off the bench. “He told me to wait a few minutes, he is busy having a grown up talk with Father Nanamin!”

“Nana—“ you trail off. “Isn’t it Nanami?”

The young boy shrugs, already munching on a cookie despite his earlier promise. “Father Gojo calls him Nanamin and Father Nanamin says it was okay if I called him that. He doesn’t seem to like when Father Gojo does, though”

“I see.”

“You are a grown-up, so you can talk to them now,” Yuuji instructs sagely, pointing towards the hallway.

You salute, “Understood, boss”

Yuuji waves at you before skipping out the church. You observe his bouncing frame until it disappears beyond the entrance and you shake your head fondly, before turning around. As you pass the side of the altar, your gaze lingers in the Virgin Mary figure, the flickering flames of the candles at her feet dancing along her body. The candle you lit up many years ago should be right there.

With that last thought, you look forward and slide into the hallway.

At this point, you are familiar with every single corner of this place. Satoru gave you a personalized tour last year, almost scandalized at the thought of you not being familiar with the parish you had grown up in. So, w ith time, you found yourself feeling comfortable enough to explore around on your own, mostly to pass the time while Satoru is attending his priestly duties.

You have grown familiar with every nook and cranny of Satoru’s office as well and you know you can waltz right into it when the door is left ajar. Which is always.

Well, almost.

Strangely enough, you are greeted with the side of a closed door. You frown a bit, eyes fixed on the engraved name at the door. Satoru Gojo. You raise your hand to knock, fearing to walk into a serious conversation you shouldn’t overheard. Something makes you hesitate, though. Probably the hushed whispers traveling through the door.

You stand there, even if you know you shouldn’t.

“…it’s been almost seven years.”

“Didn’t know there’s a rule that says I should stop caring after–”

It takes you a few seconds to realize but what you assumed was a casual conversation sounds way more heated than that. You can’t always quite tell what’s being said, but there are moments the whispers evolve into louder

“….I’m just saying, a long time has passed, maybe you should let it go.”

“You want me to forget it!?”

“I’m not saying you should forget it, but God knows moving on is the best thing we can do. I did–”

“Jesus Christ,” Satoru huffs, “don’t you dare lecture me about moving on, you are here .”

You are so baffled by the fact that Satoru’s voice has the capacity to reach that level of defensive hostility that you don’t quite register how long the silence stretches after his last retort.

“I thought you had matured,” Nanami finally says and the casual coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “But you are the same impulsive, hot-headed, imprudent kid from all those years ago. Be mindful of your role.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell do you think I have been doing?” Satoru’s voice raises further, a sardonic tone permeating every word. “I’m so close to–”

“You have plenty of people depending on you,” Nanami cuts you off. “If you care about them, you will move cautiously.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence after that. You shift the weight from one foot to another, raising your hand to knock.

“And [Name]–“ Nanami starts.

And you startle.

Nonetheless, Satoru clicks his tongue. You can hear him pacing around in the room. Or it might be Nanami.

“Don’t even bring her up,” the former hisses, in a fiery protest. “Don’t even start. We are friends”

“It’s not that, Satoru, she’s—”

“I’m done with—”

You can barely register the sudden movement, a surge of warmth and a woody, earthy aroma hitting you right in the face. Your eyes focus on the wall of Satoru’s office. Opposite of you, there’s an ample bookshelf of the same expensive yet old wood of the desk. There are no windows and the lights are out which makes the flames cast shadows and dancing figures all over the room and on Nanami’s surprised face as he leans against the desk. “—this.”

You take a stumbling step back when your eyes meet as if the force of it was enough to make you lose balance. Only then, when your eyes run away from his, you find yourself face to face with Satoru Gojo, still with his hand on the knob, the most baffled expression you have ever seen on him. “You—”

“I–” your mouth feels dry, your heartbeats ringing in your ears. “I was just…”

“Not now.”

Whatever fluster, shame or guilt you might have begun to feel instantly evaporates into a cloud of pure befuddlement. Satoru’s face is not a display of perplexity anymore but rather an inexpressive, almost dismissive mask. It’s so foreign it makes you take a step back.

“H–huh?” you let out. “I was just—”

“[Name], I apologize,” he mutters in a tone that doesn’t suggest a hint of regret, “but the confessional opens at ten, so not now.”

“I just wanted—”

“[Name]…” there’s a hint of a plea this time, as he tilts his head to the side and avoids your gaze, as if he is trying to repel you.

Nanami frowns, stepping closer. “Gojo—”

The cloud of bafflement dissipates to expose a mix of indignation and humiliation. It’s the fact that he has never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not until today. You feel yourself ruffle and warm up under his gaze, a glare settling on your eyes.

He opens his mouth again and you clutch the strap of your knitted bag, feeling defensive.

“Gojo,” Nanami speaks, pressing a hand over his shoulder.

Satoru bites his inner cheek but doesn’t say anything else. He shrugs Nanami off after a few seconds, though. You can only observe, trying to wrap your head around what you are seeing and hearing and what you thought you would see and hear and how you imagined your day would go.

You retrace every step in your head as you physically walk back, affronted. Before you can even say anything, though. Before you can defend yourself or protest, something catches your eye.

You wish you had never seen it.

Nanami is wearing a black cassock, just like Satoru is. The clerical collar is pristine and there’s a cross hanging off his neck. It catches the light of the flames in the chimney.

At the left, an ornate badge is proudly fixed against his chest. It’s a beautiful one, the fanciest kind of needlework. And a very familiar one. You have spent hours staring at the embroidery, the design, at the way the crimson and the plum and the gold thread harmonize in an intricate embrace.

All of a sudden, you feel bile rise up your throat.

“[Name]–”

You don’t care if Satoru's tone is kinder this time. The sight surely isn’t.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

The words ring in your ears, the voice all too clear after all these years, hands without a body handing you a box too light.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

Your hand tugs at the fine chain around your neck, your hand molding around the little case in an anxious grip. Your hand is sweaty and your thumb traces over the curves and lines of the initials engraved on the locket in a silent callback.

“H–hey…”

You turn around without looking back. Your steps are swift, desperate. The hallway seems to stretch on and on and the rest of the church closes in on you as you focus on the light of the outside world ahead. Your hurried steps echo off the walls, the beginning of a sob held back by your tight-sealed lips. You might have heard your name but you don’t mind, you want to keep running until you can finally breathe. Until the light outside erases every memory of the cold winter.

In reality, you run until you physically tire out. Until you are heaving, leaning on your knees, droplets falling from your face and into the snow. They could be tears or sweat, you don’t know.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

You might want to retch out of the sickening voice replaying in your head over and over again or because you have moved forward like a mad-woman. Either way, you inhale and exhale as frantically as you have run until the need for oxygen subsides and you don’t have a choice but to kneel down. Your hands and knees are partly buried in the snow.

You hate winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the worst part of it is the phantom hold that clings and suffocates you like a constricting vine. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall.

All but one.

Your head rises. It’s easy to see it from the bottom of the hill.

Between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays and, right at the top, the giant oak tree stands proud and imposing. Its monstrous shadow seems to stretch impossibly long, all the way down the hill where it reaches you and envelopes you like a mantle.

“You have finally come back to haunt me”

hi again ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ i want to thank you for reading all the way to here. You absolutely rock and I'm profoundly flattered. this post is crazy to me because despite my long time in fandom trenches, this is the first time I post a self insert / OC fic aaaaand a fic on tumblr. Kudos to Satoru Gojo and my catholic upbringing for mingling in my brain! Anyway, you probably have more questions than answers and for that I apologize. I feel this introduction is a bit more confusing than anything but that's exactly what I wanted to go after. Hopefully it gives you an idea of the messy state of things. There’s a whole menu of mildly fucked up stuff here and I'm so excited for you to browse it in the upcoming chapters.Anyways! Any doubts you have feel free to drop in the comments or in an ask, I will be more than happy to answer if it's nothing to spoilery :v If you don’t have any questions yet, don’t worry i'm looking forward to read your thoughts and comments or constructive criticism about the chapter as well! Thank you so much for taking the time to give this lil work a chance! Til next time my beloveds ♡ Have a good day/night!

©️ lilactwilights | no repost allowed | likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

©️ divider by strangergraphics

#a heathen clung to piety #ahctp #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x yn #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #priestgojo #fanfiction #fem reader #reader insert #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo smut #lilactwilights #writing

85 notes · View notes

sapphicautumn · 1 day ago

Note

what abt a fix where bella ramsey ellie and reader are best friends and reader is insecure abt her body (a stomach, big thighs etc) and ellie says smthn along the lines of “do you trust me?” and ellie shows her how pretty she is :)) (and also maybe add in like some stomach grabbing it’s my weakness) (i’m so not self projecting rn 🙄)

Awe! Thank you so much for this suggestion, it’s so fluffy and soft and ahhhh! :(

Lotus Flower. E.W

Plot: your friend notices somethings up with you, and tries to cheer you up in the most Ellie way possible.

Pair: Best!friend ellie x afab reader. WLW!

Fluffy fluff fluff and corny FLUFF!

Men && minors, stay away!

“Did y’know that the Lotus flower can be used as herbal medicine in parts of Asia?” You spoke, your back pressed against the bed in your small little cottage.

Your friend, Ellie, sat across the room as her hands worked to fix a guitar she managed to find along yesterdays patrol with Tommy. Her fingers plucked at the strings, waiting to hear a tune that correlated to the note it was supposed to be. “Oh yeah…?” Her voice was distant, listening but not too involved.

“Yup” your voice popped the “p”, hands closing the garden book. Flowers have always interested you, it was evident for anyone. All they had to do was step foot in your room to see the decor on the wall, even the bedsheets, which you still can’t believe were in tact. Your tired body sat up, glancing down at your legs as you spoke once more. “What time are we heading over to Joel’s?”

Ellie glanced up, smiling gently. “He said dinner would be ready ‘round 6….that work for you?”

“I just need time to get ready and shit”

She scoffs, a laugh as she continued to pluck at the acoustic guitar. “You look fine, you don’t smell….like you usually do” her voice carried a tone that resonated with teasing.

“I’m serious….” You somewhat whined, feet helping you stand as you walked over to your closet and tried to find something that would work. Clothing hangers clashed together as your hand slid them across, scanning each jacket, flannel, shirt, jeans, or dresses. You had a lot of clothes for someone living in the world we live in, yet you hard such a hard time enjoying them.

It wasn’t anything new, sometimes you’d feel amazing, confident even. Other times, it would be like someone knocked the wind out of every ounce of admiration you had for yourself. It was difficult to convince yourself otherwise.

“So am I, you look fine. It’s just Joel, who cares? He’s not gonna be…inspecting the type of flannel you wear or some shit” the words mumbled out, eyes still focused on the instrument.

“Well you don’t have to worry about these things so I don’t really wanna hear it” your arms crossed over, holding your shoulders as eyes continued to scan the selection of wardrobe.

This made Ellie put the guitar down for a moment, eyebrows scrunched, “what’s that mean? What don’t I have to worry about?”

“Like, you don’t have to worry about how clothes look on you, is all I mean. Like you can wear anything and look normal and I just look-"

Ellie’s face showed major confusion. She thought you were beautiful, genuinely. She didn’t understand how you could even think against it. “Dude…trust me, you’re good”

Your feet carried you over to your bed, where you very …very, dramatically fell face forward.

“Oh my god, really?” She laughed dryly, making her way over.

You looked at the sheets, fidgeting with them as Ellie made her presence more visible. “Yeah really….I just don’t feel as pretty as I used to”

“And why’s that?” Her tone was careful, concerned. She laid on her stomach beside you, her hands fidgeting with her own rings so she isn’t looking at your sad expression.

“Ellie”

“What?”

“Don’t act oblivious, I’ve gained weight. Stop pretending you can’t see that”

She scoffed, “ok? As if this is some life changing news that’s gonna change the projection of my life or something.” Her voice ended with a laugh. “I don’t care, in the nicest way.”

You mumbled something before Ellie spoke again.

“How you look is no one’s business, the only person who should care is you, but besides that….thinking you’re not attractive isn’t an option by the way” she smirked, turning to you.

You laid on your back and huffed, rubbing your hands down on your legs. “But my thighs…”

“Are cute…they’re cute.”

“You’re such a shit eating liar” your voice laughed, in denial.

“Why’s it hard to believe I think it’s cute, huh?” She poked your shoulder with a stuffed animal that laid upon your bed beside them. “Is that such a bad thing? End of the world?”

“No, I just don’t think you’re being truthful…”

Ellie watched you for a moment. She inhaled softly before testing the waters. “You trust me..?”

“Not always” you smirked, rolling your eyes at her expression. “Kidding, dumbass….yeah I trust you…”

She nodded, satisfied with the answer as she moved to lay beside you again, almost spooning you from behind. You two usually cuddled here and there, so it wasn’t totallyyyy bizarre- but Ellie’s touch felt softer this time around.

She rubbed your love handle, “honestly, I don’t get how you could be insecure, this is probably the best thing ever right here.” She squeezed the skin around your abdomen, giggling.

You were taken aback before a soft smile spreads across your face, somewhat enjoying the softer affection from your friend. “What’re you doing?”

“I told you…think you’re cute….sue me” her hand messed around with your jeans thigh, squeezing a bit. She couldn’t lie, it turned Ellie on a little- but she wouldn’t tell you that. Not yet anyways ;)

You just laid there and let her cuddle you, enjoying the moment before she had to go and ruin it by tickling you.

“H-hey! Fuck you!” Your hands pushed her off, panting to catch your breath from laughing.

She held up her hands in defense “sorry!” Ellie’s lips curled to a smile before returning her hand to the edge of the soft skin covering your hip.

“Did Yknow the lotus flower has the ability to grow in dirty conditions?”

“What?” Your tone grew confused.

“Yeah, then it grows to becomes a beautiful creation…it is made with mud, and dirt, and still persists….”

You just watch her.

Ellie clears her throat, “Yknow, you grow with these,…stupid thoughts in your mind about how you look, yet you still come to be so beautiful…?” Her cheeks dusted pink, real smooth els, real smooth. Like butter.

“You read my flower book?” Your voice giggled, breaking the silence.

“That’s all you got out of that??” Her face fell, laughing along with you. “You’re awful….”

“You just said I was beautiful though” you teased.

“You can be pretty and awful…..at the same time”

You both smiled, watching eachother for a moment before finally,

“I can enjoy your little flower book too ok? Yeah I read it.”

You nudged her shoulder, laughing once more.

#lesbian #tlou #wlw post #ellie tlou #the last of us #ellie williams #queer #sapphic #bella ramsey #wlw community #hbo ellie williams #bella ramsey ellie #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fic

58 notes · View notes

midnight-bay-if · 2 days ago

Note

ROs reaction to MC dressing slutty for the first time? Doesn't matter if they're going out or just in the privacy of their room 👀

(Hope this is okay! My brain has been pretty broken recently, but I'm still trying to move forward with everything.)

S: It was one of those precious, rare evenings when Selby had convinced Taj to take Rain out for the night, bribed with theatre tickets for the latest local production. Taj had no interest, of course, but something in their mood must have shown on their face because Taj snatched the tickets and, with a huff, directed Rain out the door, leaving the two of you alone.

You guide them to the bedroom, insisting they keep their eyes closed, and gently push them down onto the bed. Anticipation fills their gut with every rustle of clothing they hear. You didn’t share any further instructions or even hint at your intent. A part of them is waiting to feel your hands against their skin or your breath on their ear.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

They do… and their mouth drops open at the sight of you. Pleasant shivers travel down their spine as their blood rushes downward. They rip at the buttons of their shirt, eyes locked on you without even glancing away long enough to undress.

“I hope you don’t intend on going anywhere this evening, darling. Lock the bedroom door; tonight, you are mine alone.”

Rain: They are unaware of what surprise is, but they are excited. Usually, when you say you have a surprise for them, it is a new VHS you rented for the two of you to watch together or movie tickets for a film they have mentioned wanting to see. But this time, you seemed extra secretive.

They are lying on the couch, their legs hanging off the end, kicking their feet in the air as they wait. Then, they hear the bedroom door creak open a hairsbreadth, and a small beam of light cuts into the room

“Rain? Would you close your eyes?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Rain firmly holds their hand across their eyes, excited butterflies fluttering in their stomachs. Never once has one of your surprises failed to deliver, and they know they will enjoy devising a way to return the favour.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

They do. Then they immediately shut their eyes once more, but the image doesn’t leave. It has burned itself into their retinas, and Rain is so very thankful for it. They bravely open their eyes again, and this time their gaze lingers on the details. The sheer material, the lace, the curves—all of it pulls their attention. They run their fingers across the fabric to distract from how short their breath has become.

“All of this for me?” They hum, pulling you down onto the couch beside them, and you both laugh. “Just so you know… nice Rain has decided to check out for the evening. What is left is willing to do absolutely anything you say.”

Taj: It was date night. They had made plans to spend an evening on the town with you, probably spend an hour or two in the nearest bar, have a few drinks, dance, and let loose. It was all your idea, of course. Taj would have been happy grabbing a six-pack from a convenience store and basking in your company from the comfort of your apartment.

But they also understood that this was as much an excuse for you to dress up and get a little fancy as it was for them to do the same. So, that’s what they had done. Rather than pull on their usual hoodie and jeans, they allowed Selby to choose something for them. Not too formal so that they would look out of place, but dressed up enough that someone might stop and take a look.

They eagerly awaited your entry into the living room, having sought N's advice about what you might wear.

That might have served as the hint they required, yet they are still astonished when you emerge in the form-fitting, alluring outfit you wear. Their ears perk up, and their tail sways as they absorb every detail like a man lost in a dry desert, yearning for water, who has just discovered a life-saving oasis.

“Fuck me…”

Their mouth dries up, and they subconsciously wet their lips with their tongue, unable to tear their eyes away from you. They have never seen you like this before, the tight fabric that clings to you, the bare, tantalising skin that teases them from beneath it.

They storm towards you and pull you flush against them, their fingers practically digging into their hips to keep you still. “Say the word, and we’ll skip the drinks and go straight for dessert.”

N: They hadn’t been told much. They lounged on the living room sofa, pinching grapes from the nearby fruit bowl, kicking their feet in the air while they waited for whatever surprise you teased them with earlier. Your only instruction was for them to be patient, wait for you in the living room, and DO NOT PEEK. Admittedly, being given such a direct order only encouraged them to break it, but for once, they buried the temptation in favour of a vine of seedless grapes.

When you finally step out of your bedroom, N’s fiery blood catches fire. Literally. The guise that protects their true identity burns away the moment their eyes meet yours. Hurls unfurl, skin prongs, and embers sizzle away the excess, but N doesn’t even flinch.

“Give me a spin, my dear.” You do so, slowly turning on the spot, lashes lowered. “Mm… I intend to take my time with you this evening. It would be a mistake to expect any mercy.”

Umbra: They weren’t sure why you asked them to wait outside your bedroom, but pacing the length of the hallway was starting to make their hands twitch with the urge to open the door. It had been about an hour, and Umbra was becoming fidgety. You had proposed spending an evening away from the apartment, and Umbra was merely thrilled that you considered them. If you wanted to go out, they were entirely on board. However, they couldn't grasp why you were so set on getting ready by yourself.

Eventually, the door opens, and Umbra’s busy mind goes silent. Their eyes roam over every expanse of skin, mouth agape, before eventually it all becomes too overwhelming and they shyly turn away, hand covering their mouth.

“What do you think?”

The static in Umbra’s mind continues, and they stumble for an answer. “Beautiful,” they confess, a sense of awe dripping into their tone. “But… won’t you be cold? I… I don’t think I will be able to warm you… hm…” They glance around, hoping an answer might present itself. “Maybe you could wear my jacket over yours? Or you could wear my gloves—”

You tug their shirt towards you, jolting them and refocusing their attention on you. “You know I never intended to go out this evening, right, Umbra…?”

“Oh?” Umbra tilts their head in confusion; then realisation sets in. “Oh. Right.” They cough, their pale cheeks turning a rare shade of red. “Then I think I know exactly how to warm you up.”

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby

60 notes · View notes

catfern · 2 days ago

Text

i'm drunk and have been thinking a lot about what's like to be eaten (literally) while having sex. also i haven't posted in a while so have abby.

warnings: THIS DOES CONTAIN MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM, DEATH. also mentions of fingering (r!receiving), sex.

buffalo replaced - mitski

cannibal!abby who is patient. many wouldn’t know it, they see bleeding impulsivity as something all-consuming, something that remains unable to be swallowed. unable to be anything else, anything softer. oh, but abby could be so patient.

sitting, waiting. assessing. she spent her days counting vertebrae of the women who came into coffee shops, sloppily tracing the shape of collarbones into the wood of tables with her bumpy, bitten nails. cannibal!abby was a creature who had existed in hunger before she had quite known what hunger had truly felt like. what was hunger, separate from a yearning for skin under her fingers? what was the absent feeling beneath the sharpness of her teeth, if not love?

cannibal!abby had met you at a park. a wet, foggy day, wind gnawing at flashes of exposed flesh. your scarf had flown off your shoulders, sinked away into dewy grass — and abby, in all her shallow kindness, had picked it up. she hadn’t even meant to. the feeling of silk softness called to the prints on her fingers, and she had wanted to know what it felt like to touch it. something soft, something giving. cannibal!abby had only ever known the fight of last life, of the women beneath the harshness of her hands who had finally understood that no kindness was left within her. only hunger.

you had thanked her before she even looked at you, before you even got a good look at her. would you have thanked her still, had you seen the empty blue of her eyes? the starved creature chained beneath? could you even see it, she had wondered. you hadn’t seemed to mind if you had. short conversation followed, and you’d already invited her for coffee. something to ‘warm her in the winter weather’.

cannibal!abby who knew how to do everything right. who knew how to act a person like a puppeteer; far enough to let the strings on her own limbs pull taught, feel squeaking pain under her own skin — close enough to feel just the edges of existence, to know that feeling it was living.

cannibal!abby who was charming. soft laughs and genuine, somewhat genuine, interest in what you did. it was something practiced, like learning how to hunt, how to aim the barrel of a gun. something you never forget.

you blushed, and abby had imagined, then, the taste of your blood had she bit into the sculpt of your cheek like an apple. something gnawed at her, in the seams of her untoward existence. what was it? a craving, a yearning. it felt familiar, in its own way. like something she was born with, but had never found.

cannibal!abby who made sure to take it slow. she measured the days she would text you, mark them on her calendar. a plan was something holy, something needed, though, she had never taken this much time with anyone before. abby was patient, but she wasn’t kind with her time. she had been hungry all her life, so her life had thus been so rushed, so all consuming — chasing the facile feelings of hunger, of taste. she hadn’t breathed in a person this long. it was funny. on every date, you had smelled like honey and white wine. it made her hesitate. they say it takes the strength of biting into a carrot to bite off one’s own finger.

cannibal!abby who had invited you back to her apartment on the eighth date. she never takes this long, and she mentally scolds herself as she kicks her shoes off in the doorway. she felt it akin to aging liquor in wooden barrels, her waiting. she liked to think she could feel your blood getting sweeter the longer she held your hand in hers. but she just enjoyed the softness of your palm.

cannibal!abby who is gentle in bed. fear spoils the meat, she’d told herself some time, long ago. she’d gotten it from something, read it in a book or seen it in a show. either way, they were right. she’d hated the scream of people, the pitch of their voices as their life seeped in their last breathes; she hated it. it soured the experience. and the meat was tougher to eat, then. harder on the teeth of an animal.

cannibal!abby who runs her hands along your sides, mapping you like she’d forget you once you were gone. she spoke in dulcet tones, whispering trails up your neck like she could tattoo the pallor of your skin once life had left it.

‘that’s it’

‘good girl, you’re doing so well for me’

her fingers stretch you like they know you, like they’ve known you for longer than abby lets on. her breath is heavy on your chest, the taste of alcohol on her breath souring the flesh of them. cannibal!abby who kisses gently, softly, ghostly measures tracing the boundaries of your body like she was creating something new, sundering what you were and what she had so longed for.

iron and kindness were the same taste on her tongue.

cannibal!abby who feels how you flutter around her, how you want her like she’s never been wanted before, needed. something like a growl blooms in her chest, something mean but not inhumane.

‘fuck, baby’

‘yeah, you want it? tell me. tell me what you want.’

cannibal!abby who hears you plead and knows its for a taste. in the height of all, she wants to believe you want to know the feeling of her teeth tearing meat from bone. she wants to imagine how easy it would be, how much you would give her. cannibal!abby who admits that she doesn’t want to fight anymore. she doesn’t want to plan, to deceive, to trick. she wants to exist, and know that the world wants her to exist too.

cannibal!abby who brings a knife down like jagged teeth. cannibal!abby who forgets planning, forgets precision and patience. cannibal!abby who wants you dead because dead is easier to deal with. she feels your nails scratch at the bedsheets, something taught and horrible and scared, but you don’t scream. maybe … maybe you believe it’s an act of love. abby does. oh god, she loves you. and she wants you to know it. abby wants to believe you know it. abby wants to believe that you want her to be fed.

cannibal!abby who watches life leave like she has a million times before. cannibal!abby who takes a breath, something that sits heavy in the false life of her lungs, and feels nothing.

she feels nothing.

cannibal!abby, once so adept with her knife, with the separation of a blade in hand, slicing skin like she’d never touched it, who’s teeth come down like starving pearls. once, she’d cook the meat in a pan, in the starch of her kitchen, clean and organised. she’d use spices, and add sides of vegetables. she’d made it a meal. like a human would.

fuck that, she’d thought. no more distance, no more separation. she’d descended upon your dying flesh like an animal ashamed, teeth pulling at the fabric of your skin like it was any easier for her to tear you apart than it was for her to put you together. like you weren’t what you had once meant to her.

she’d felt your blood drip on her lips, felt the heaviness of your muscle sit in her stomach. she watched your face like it would move again. like the twitch of your lips post-mortem meant that you loved her still, despite it all.

cannibal!abby who felt your love in every swallow, and never felt hungry again.

#added so many new tags bc who doesn't want traction #love yall anyways cowboy ellie coming soon like i promised #just need to get drunk again for the inspiration #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson angst #abby x you #abby x y/n

55 notes · View notes

writeonwhiskey · 2 days ago

Text

act like you love me: chapter one

a/n: couldn't keep you waiting long for the first chapter. as you read, dialogue in bold represents words spoken in the script. any dialogue in regular text, in my mind as i was writing, is them speaking in korean. enjoy, my dears!

Summary: After a horrendous on set experience with famous actor Hwang Hyunjin, you hope to never work with him again. But when you're cast as his onscreen love interest and forced to bond, everything you once believed about him changes. One minute you’re professionals just pretending, then the lines start to blur, and suddenly, you’re not.

Word Count: 3223

Tracklist: Another Day, Ex, B Me

[ master list here ]

Chapter One: We Meet Again, Unfortunately

APRIL 29th, 2025

WEEK 1

You arrive on set promptly at 11:30am, earlier than what's requested on your call sheet. The set is a whirlwind of motion as you follow behind the PA guiding you through a lot of trailers. You’re filled with the same rush of excitement that you had on your first set, but this time is different. It’s finally starting to sink in—another achievement on your much dreamed about path to success.

You’ve always loved acting (drama club in every school you attended, school plays, local theatre) but it was watching Korean dramas and films, that finally made something click. There was a different kind of emotional depth in the way stories were told. You fell in love with it. You wanted to be a part of it.

However, as a non-native actor in Korea, the odds have always been stacked against you. You first moved here at sixteen, when your dad was stationed with the military. By the time you turned twenty-one, your family had gone back home, but you stayed. That was four years ago. You threw yourself further into learning the language, studying relentlessly until your accent all but disappeared. Casting directors often compliment you on how fluent you sound—almost native, they always say. But the praise never quite translates into major roles. Just bit parts. Background characters. The forgettable foreigner.

Until now.

The Heir and the Innkeeper could be your big break. Slated as a romantic drama following an irresponsible chaebol heir caught in yet another scandal that threatens to ruin his family’s livelihood. He’s forced to hide away at a countryside inn run by a hardworking, no-nonsense woman (that’s you). They clash, of course. Then fall in love, of course.

It’s an eight-episode, limited series…and it’s being backed by fucking Netflix. It’s a huge opportunity.

The only catch? The actor hired to portray the heir.

None other than Hwang Hyunjin.

While most actresses would be chomping at the bit for a chance to star alongside him, you were tempted to back out of the project when you heard who your co-star would be. Your agent had to talk some sense into you—you can’t pass this up. Working with people you may not be fond of is part of the job. You just have to show up, do what they’ve hired you to do, and that’s it. You are not obligated to interact with him outside of that.

And, thankfully, today you’re just here to work with the hair, makeup, and wardrobe teams on your character’s look and have it approved by the director.

You don’t have to film anything. You don’t even have to see him yet.

The PA stops outside a trailer with a sign that reads ‘Hair & Makeup’, and opens the door. “I’ll be back for you when you’re done.”

“Okay, thank you. What was your name again?”

“Jeongin,” he replies and closes the door after you ascend the stairs.

The interior is strikingly bright—all white walls with fluorescent overhead lighting. There are three black chairs stationed in front of individual vanity mirrors, and a small TV hangs above the back wall.

“y/n?” a deep voice greets, and you nod. He has shoulder length blonde hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I’m Felix, that’s Yuna. Take a seat, we’ll get started on you in a minute.”

Yuna is tall with long, dark hair. She’s snipping away at the hair of the man in the furthest chair.

“Han,” the other man says, extending his hand when you sit. Felix is currently dabbing at his face with a makeup brush. “That’s Minho.”

“The Ahn brothers?” you shake his hand, recalling their roles from the call sheet.

Their characters are employees of the inn, and extremely close friends of the innkeeper, so you will have a lot of scenes to film with them in the coming weeks.

“Only when they call action,” Minho says in mock disdain.

“On or off set, he loves me. Don’t let him fool you,” Han whispers with a wink.

Yuna removes the cape from Minho after finishing his hair, then approaches you with a clean one. Minho stands and stretches out his limbs.

“You’re lucky,” she says running her hands through your hair. “Your character gets a decent hairstyle. No tragic bangs. No dry extensions.”

You smile and relax in the chair. Minho and Han hang around in the room until another PA comes to take them to wardrobe. Alone with Felix and Yuna working seamlessly together, you find yourself even more at ease.

“I owe both of you coffee for this,” you say watching as Felix applies the finishing touches to your face and Yuna straightens the final section of your hair.

“You owe us your first award,” Felix corrects, nudging your chin up. “We’re manifesting.”

Yuna hums in agreement. “The ‘innocent girl next door with hidden fire’ look is totally working for you. Soft waves, dewy skin, a little gloss…they’re gonna eat it up.”

“I just hope I don’t mess it up,” you admit, keeping your voice light, but meaning it. “I’m not exactly the normal choice for a role like this.”

Felix catches your eye in the mirror. “You won’t. You’ve got presence. Directors and audiences notice that.”

“And cheekbones,” Yuna adds. “Presence and cheekbones? Deadly combo.”

You smile, the nerves still there, but softened by their quiet confidence in you.

Not to say that you aren’t confident in your own abilities. You absolutely are. But it’s always interesting to hear how others perceive you. It reassures you that you’re doing something right.

After your hair and makeup are complete, Jeongin returns.

“They’re finishing up a scene right now and then the director wants to introduce you and Hyunjin.” He says. “Then we’ll get you over to wardrobe.”

So much for not having to see him today.

“Sounds good,” you force a smile, following where he leads.

To the general public, Hyunjin is known for his perfect jawline, warm brown eyes and flawless skin. But you remember him for his even more flawless ego. You’ve seen beneath the façade. You know, as a firsthand eyewitness, that Hwang Hyunjin is an entitled asshole.

You wonder, briefly, if he even remembers working with you.

You doubt it.

He hardly noticed or thought about anyone except himself that day.

You enter the building where the scene is being filmed. Crew members run past, a gaffer is shouting about electrical cords not being taped down properly, and the key grip is checking the lighting rigs.

The set is decorated to look like a lavish, upscale living room, fitting for the characters that reside there. Your eyes immediately land on the long-limbed man lounging on the couch—his dark hair perfectly styled and parted at the side. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button-up shirt with rolled sleeves. His head rests on the arm of the couch, his eyes closed.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s probably sleeping without a clue as to what’s going on around him and all the hard work the crew is putting in. It’s actually quite fitting for the oblivious and privileged character he’s playing. And yet, you find yourself staring at him for longer than you should…

“Roll sound,” the assistant director, Seungmin, starts the roll call.

Jeongin holds his arm out to stop you from moving forward and you freeze as everything falls quiet.

“Speed,” the boom operator replies.

“Roll camera.”

“Rolling,” the camera operator chimes in.

“Marker.”

“The Heir and the Innkeeper—episode one, scene six, take four,” another crew member announces, slapping the slate.

“Action!” The director bellows.

A door bursts open and in storms an older man with greying hair—the legendary J.Y. Park. A smile spreads across your face. He was part of the reason you were more inclined to work on this project. It’s an honor to be included in the same cast as him.

“Jae-hoon!” He shouts, throwing a newspaper on top of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin shoots up on the couch, his eyes snapping open. He grabs the newspaper, looking at the headline—from the script you know it’s an image of him outside a nightclub after an altercation with someone, sporting a busted lip as two men struggle to hold him back.

“They still print these things?” Hyunjin delivers his line with perfect nonchalance.

You watch as the scene unfolds, the tension between the actors reaches you even where you stand nearly forty feet away. You have to admit—Hyunjin is good. There’s clearly a reason he’s achieved such high levels of success in this industry despite being insufferable.

Hyunjin sighs, standing from the couch, grabbing an ice pack from the end table and pressing it to his lip. “I’ll talk to the press, do an apology tour. It’s fine.”

“An apology isn’t going to cut it this time. You’ve jeopardized the merger and may have lost us billions with your incessant, childish behavior. Pack your bags, you’re getting out of the city.”

“A vacation?” Hyunjin smirks, arching an eyebrow.

J.Y. Park scowls, jaw clenched. “You need to grow up if you expect me to leave this company in your hands someday.”

They stare each other down for what feels like hours before the director yells, “Cut! We got it.”

The set drowns in sound as everyone resumes conversing and the crew starts moving things around to set up for the next shot.

“Alright, let’s go,” Jeongin says. He stops once you’ve reached the director’s chair. “Director Bang, y/n, as requested.”

“y/n, it’s nice to see you again,” he says as Jeongin retreats.

You haven’t seen him since the audition. Typically, you would have met with him and/or the casting directors to have a chemistry read with Hyunjin, but your schedules never lined up. Director Bang vouched for you, claiming he saw something in you that he just knew was right for the part. Knowing the trust he’s placing in you to get this right, though, is an added stress. You have to get along with your menace of a co-star.

“You too, Mr. Bang. I’m excited to get started,” you smile enthusiastically and bow.

“Good. You have a lot up against you, as I said on the phone, but don’t let that discourage you.” He returns your smile. “And call me Chan, please.”

He stands from his chair, makes eye contact with Hyunjin across the room and waves him over. You keep a small smile planted on your face—playing nice. You can do this. You’re an actor, after all.

“Before you head to wardrobe, I want you and Hyunjin to run through your lines together.”

Hyunjin saunters over, looking you up and down as he approaches. “Yeah, boss?”

“This is y/n. y/n, Hyunjin.”

“We’ve met,” Hyunjin says, bowing.

Ah. So, he does remember?

Although, you wouldn’t actually call what transpired as having ‘met’. You were forced to endure his tyranny.

You return the bow.

“Really? That’s great, then. Go to your trailer and go over your lines for episode 1, scene 15 and then episode 4, scene 8, alright?” Chan continues. “I’ll stop by in a bit to see how it’s going.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin gives a curt nod to Chan, who spares one final look between you two before going to watch the playback. “Nice to see you again.”

“Is it? I’m still deciding,” you shoot back, dropping the smile and meeting his gaze with a sharpness that matches your tone.

The idea of playing nice and actually having to do it are not mixing very well in your head right now. Not when you know what lingers beneath the surface with him.

You head for the exit, not bothering to see if he’s following. But of course he is. He has to.

“Still all sarcasm, I see.” He catches up to you in just a few paces to walk by your side.

“Were you expecting me to fall at your feet like an obsessed fan?” You stop walking when your senses catch up to you. You have no idea where you’re going. “Where’s your trailer?”

“There’s still time to come around,” he says, voice dripping with a smug, infuriating charm as he starts leading the way.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you say, walking behind him until you get to his trailer. He holds the door open for you to enter first.

The trailer is fully decked out with cream colored leather sofas, a kitchenette, microwave, refrigerator and freezer, bathroom, and a bed. The floors and walls are a light brown colored wood paneling, making it feel rather homey.

“You know your lines?” he asks, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

But you’re still taking in the fact of where you are and with whom. In a trailer. With Hyunjin. A few years ago, your heart and mind would have been racing at even just the thought of this.

Although the ethereal glow that surrounded him the first time you laid eyes on him is long gone, he’s still catastrophically attractive. There’s no denying that.

And for a second your intertwined future on this project sinks in. You’ve never had to kiss someone for a role before, so you can’t help but wonder what it will be like to kiss him—mainly if you’ll be repulsed by it.

“Don’t insult me.” You recover, pulling yourself from your thoughts.

“Don’t do this, don’t do that,” he mocks. “What can I do, then?”

“Your job.”

He laughs as he leans against the kitchen counter. You start to take a seat but rethink it, not wanting to physically put yourself in a position that’s lower than him. He might be the main male lead, but you’re the female lead and you won’t let him forget that for even a second.

“From the top?” you ask.

“Certainly not the bottom,” he retorts.

You grit your teeth and let out a low breath. This is going to be a long three months.

You shake off the nerves, getting it straight in your mind that the man in front of you is just an actor. You’ve run lines with plenty of scene partners; this should be no different.

And it isn’t—for the first scene. There’s a lot of bickering, which comes naturally.

The second scene proves to be a strain. When Hyunjin steps towards you, you instinctively step back. When he moves to tuck your hair behind your ear, you either flinch or your face just isn’t relaxed enough to make it feel like a moment of genuine connection.

“You have to stop that,” he says, annoyed after the umpteenth failed attempt.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” you reply.

“Relax your face muscles. You’re acting like—” he does an exaggerated imitation of the grimacing expression you’ve been making, “—as if I have leprosy or something.”

The look on his face catches you momentarily off guard and you have to immediately grit your teeth to keep from laughing. You didn’t know his face could contort in such a way. Regardless, he is not amusing. He can’t be.

“You haven’t told me the moves or gestures you’ll be making—so I’m not expecting it,” you reply, shaking off the distraction. “Let’s run it again, and do everything exactly like you did on the last one, don’t keep switching it up.”

Forty minutes later you’re rehearsing in front of Chan. He’s seated on the couch as you and Hyunjin stand in front of him.

“Cut, cut,” Chan says. He leans back against the couch, stroking his chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “Something is off.”

You glance over at Hyunjin, then to Chan, unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

“We can try it again,” Hyunjin offers.

“She needs to get to wardrobe. And you need to film your next scene,” Chan shakes his head. “The bit from episode one was great. The tension and hostility is perfect. But I’m not picking up on the chemistry for the later episode.”

Fuck.

Clearly, you still aren’t hiding your disdain for him as well as you thought. You need to work on that.

“I want the two of you to spend a day together, get comfortable, get to know each other,” Chan continues.

Fuck. Again.

You didn’t want to work on it like that.

“You’ll meet with the intimacy coordinator soon and whatever this—” he motions between you and Hyunjin, “—is, simply won’t cut it.”

In a matter of hours your plans for steering clear of this man when you’re not filming has been foiled. And you’ve already been reminded of just how close you will be getting on set.

“We’ll work on it,” you say.

Hyunjin nods his agreement as Chan stands and exits the trailer, muttering quietly to himself.

“I told you…you need to pull it together if this is going to work,” Hyunjin says when it’s just the two of you again.

There he is, peeking through the façade.

“Me?” You ask, appalled, but not surprised, at the accusation.

“I don’t see anyone els—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, holding your hand up. “Let’s get something straight. You and I are a team on this. I’m not going to let you steamroll through this project and shift the blame to me for anything that goes wrong.”

“Is that so?”

You don’t know what to make of his tone. Is he challenging you?

“Yes.” You hold his gaze, not backing down.

He pulls his phone out from his pocket. “What’s your number?”

“W—what?” You stumble.

“We have to bond or whatever,” he shrugs. “I’d say I’ll have my people call your people, but…you don’t exactly have people, do you?”

A snappy reply doesn’t come quickly enough this time. You reluctantly provide him with your number, and your phone buzzes when he sends you a text.

“That was a joke, by the way. Lighten up.”

You glare at him.

If he does remember you, he has to remember the way he behaved on set that day. The way he looked at you after your attempt at a joke. Is it only okay when he does it?

How and why is he acting like none of that ever happened?

“My assistant will plan something,” he says to your silence.

“Fine. Just…keep it professional,” you reply.

He arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow again. “Oh, I will. We’re splitting the bill for everything 50/50.”

“Then keep it cheap.”

He laughs, the sound grating your nerves, just as there’s a knock on the door. It swings open and Jeongin pokes his head in.

“Here to take you to wardrobe, y/n.”

Thank the fucking lord for that.

You follow after Jeongin, lost in thought, trying to come to terms with what you’re going to have to deal with for the sake of this role. This experience should be exciting. You don’t want the mental drain of putting up with Hyunjin to sour it for you. You can’t let it.

You don’t care, personally, to get to know him. But for your career? You will.

You’ll do what Chan has asked of you, but you’re keeping your guard up. You won’t be blindsided whenever he finally decides to flip the switch and show his true colors again.

a/n: they're so feisty. i hope you enjoyed the guest appearances. most of the gang is here, too! what do you think of their roles? and what do you think binnie's role will be?

[ read chapter two here ] (coming 5/19)

[ master list here ]

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin imagines #alylm #act like you love me

62 notes · View notes

sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 days ago

Text

I made this as a birthday gift for @fantasyinallforms who has just been a wonderful and talented person to get to know. I'm so happy you're apart of this fandom! 😘 I hope you enjoy my contribution to the jealousy tag! 😁

Don't Touch What's Mine

Rating: M

Warning(s): N/A

Summary: The Blacklock delegation is coming to Erebor and it turns out they have an old stipulation that they demand still be upheld by Erebor: they will only do business with the Consort. Thorin and Balin quickly prep Bilbo on what to do to keep from offending the Blacklocks, but when they arrive they seem to take special interest in the hobbit. Perhaps a little too much interest if you ask Thorin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The looks of surprise on the dwarves’ faces when Bilbo stepped up to greet them had Thorin on edge. However, they didn’t seem off put in the slightest that Bilbo was a hobbit. They greeted him just as respectfully as they would any dwarven consort causing Thorin and Balin to share a look of relief. Maybe things would actually go smoothly for them then. The lead Blacklock ambassador stepped forward and bowed after Bilbo’s speech of friendship and cooperation. His eyes roved over Bilbo’s form a little too appreciatively for Thorin’s liking.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I am Klon, son of Flon, and I am accompanied by Temar, son of Ragar, and Thoi, daughter of Koi. We are excited to see how Erebor fares after its reclamation. A feat that I’ve heard you had a direct hand in.”

“If by ‘direct hand’ you mean stalled a dragon to keep it from devouring me whole, then I suppose that would be accurate.”

Thorin smiled as the delegation got a good chuckle out of Bilbo’s modesty. He would remind himself to shower praises upon his hobbit that night til he remembered just how integral he truly was.

“I see tales of your wit were not exaggerated, but what if I were to say that your beauty woefully was undersold?”

Thorin felt a mighty frown pull at his face.

“I would say perhaps you are the one with flowery words, but seeing as I am no dragon I will not preen self-importantly.” Bilbo was quick to answer, still smiling the whole time. “Shall we adjourn to a meeting room?”

The Blacklock dwarves were not the least bit offended. In fact, they were almost impressed by Bilbo’s bluntness which was certainly a habit that had been instilled in him after living in the mountain so long. Klon, it seemed, was especially pleased and was eager to offer an arm to escort Bilbo before Thorin could take the honor. Thorin felt frozen in place as something twisted inside his gut. He should be gratified that others saw such value in his spouse, but for some reason he found himself…irked. Dwalin stepped up next to him, his eyes narrowed.

“You might want to keep an eye on that one. It almost looked like he was…flirting.”

Flirting. Flirting?! Yes, this situation definitely needed further scrutiny.

For more of this fic, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's fics #the hobbit #bagginshield #dont touch whats mine #jealous thorin #everyone go wish fantasy a happy birthday today!!

56 notes · View notes

xiaokuer-schmetterling · 2 days ago

Text

griddlehark fan edit SO EPIC Y'ALL

-----

youtube

-----

if you like it! be sure to go back to op's channel and let them know!

from the youtube desc:

May 18, 2024 #TheLockedTomb#TakeMeToChurch#Hozier

✨ STREAM NOW ✨ https://ffm.to/eirytmtc

💀 Turn on subtitles for lyrics 💀

────────────

Read below for the music and animatic process!

This has been one of the longest passion projects I’ve worked on, and I’ve LOVED every second. It's been my absolute honour to work with some of the most talented musicians and artists on this, and everyone involved has put their heart and souls into this project over the last few months. I could not be more PROUD of how it all turned out. Hehe. Yay. 🥳

⚔️ MUSIC ⚔️ I’ve always yearned for a Phantom of The Opera style orchestration of this song. In late 2023, I pitched the idea to my favourite instrumentalist and multi-talented friend, Kāru. The moment he started working on the orchestration, I knew it was going to be magic. PS. can you hear those church bells ringing in the background? because church... it’s in the name. Finger-guns. Wink. On the vocal end of things, I had written into the very bones (haha) of the vocal arrangement to have a HUGE worship-style gospel choir alongside the leads. I experimented with three different live-choirs before finally landing on Itunu whose sound I truly, truly loved. I had the best time ever recording the leads for this song, and even though I always love the process of recording and arranging vocals, this holds a very special place in my heart. Hozier is truly an artist like no other, and he’s my absolute favourite lyricist of all time so it was just a pleasure and a half to work on this.

⚔️ ART ⚔️ The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir!! If you find the concept of sassy necromancer lesbians fighting in fantasy space (+ so, so much more) to be an interesting premise, I promise you won’t regret picking this series up (not sponsored, this entire project was made by fans for fans! I truly am just a nerd at heart) I finished Gideon The Ninth late 2023 and was immediately obsessed. An idea then fell out the sky and stabbed me through the chest. What if I got a GTN animatic to accompany my cover? The more I thought about the similarities between the story and the song, the more it made sense. So, I crossed my heart and reached out to ‪@cadencelewisart‬ to request a commission! She’s a huge fan of the books as well and I think that love and care really shines through the final scenes. I could not be more pleased with the animatic and I hope you all enjoy it too! You may recognise a few iconic poses such as “The Creation Of Adam”, "The Last Supper", and so, so much more! Head on over to my instagram to see some Behind-The-Scenes action for this animatic!

✨ CREDITS ✨ Lead Vocals, Vocal Arrangement: Reinaeiry Instrumentalist: Kāru Animatic Artist: Cadence Lewis Gospel Choir: Itunu Mix & Master: Mike Butler

────────────

If you enjoyed this, please like this video and subscribe to my channel for more! Comment down below your thoughts about this video/what I should do next. I try my best to read them all ♥

────────────

✨ MY LINKS ✨ My Socials + Streaming Platforms + MORE: https://linktr.ee/reinaeiry

I am 100% independent! If you’d like to support me and my music endeavours, please consider sending over a small tip at https://ko-fi.com/reinaeiry - Every little bit is appreciated and I respond back to any messages you leave under your tip! Thank you!!

────────────

Stay healthy, happy, and know that you are always loved. HAVE A GOOD GAY, FAEIRYS! ♥

=====

end post

#this salutation is especially apropos bc i use fae/they now hahahahah i love it #Stay healthy-happy-and know that you are always loved. HAVE A GOOD GAY FAEIRYS! ♥#📻 xks.radio #bonus materials #griddlehark #gtn #gtn fanart #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #I DON'T KNOW WHICH FIC THIS IS GONNA BE BONUS FOR BUT IT IS GODDAMN WELL GONNA BE BONUS MATERIAL FOR SOME GRIDDLEHARK PODFIC I MAKE #Youtube

48 notes · View notes

dioslesbianwife · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! I really love your work and writing,If you don't mind can you write hcs or anything else with jofoes stands begin affectionate and loving towards the reader without the joefoes control,Like killer queen nuzzling this head and leaning to reader hand,Or Wonder of u speaking sweet things to reader,How would the joefoes react?

hiii, i’m glad you like my writing! sure, this is a fun idea, i hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <333

Dio Brando & The World

Dio does not like the idea of his own Stand being interested in anyone other than him.

So when he sees The World kneeling beside you, touching your face with a strangely gentle hand, Dio literally time stops out of pure shock.

When time resumes, you’re laughing softly and calling it “weirdly sweet.”

He’s fuming. Internally.

“You serve me, not them. What is the meaning of this?”

You say, “I think he just likes me more,” as a joke. The World’s eyes glow a little brighter behind you.

Dio spends days trying to “reassert dominance” over his own Stand.

In private, he asks The World if it thinks you’re… special. The Stand doesn’t answer. But it follows you out of the room, leaving Dio alone with his existential crisis.

Yoshikage Kira & Killer Queen

Kira is already a bit of a control freak- especially about Killer Queen. It's his perfect extension. Elegant. Precise. Ruthless.

So when he finds Killer Queen rubbing its head against your hand like a giant, catlike death god?? He's frozen.

"What... are you doing."

You giggle and scratch under its chin. Killer Queen literally purrs.

Kira feels jealous. Like, deeply.

“Why are you touching it like that?”

(You: “He came to me first…”)

Starts following you around to spy on Killer Queen like a suspicious husband catching his wife cheating- with his own soul energy.

He’ll never say it aloud, but he starts treating you even more gently after that. If Killer Queen loves you… you must truly be flawless.

Diavolo & King Crimson

Absolutely furious.

King Crimson is supposed to be merciless. Brutal. Cold.

And yet it gently hovers near you, stands behind you protectively when others approach, and even touches your face like it’s admiring a statue.

Diavolo confronts it in private.

“I did not permit this behavior.”

The Stand just stares at him.

He starts to worry you’re some kind of enemy Stand user manipulating it- but you’re just… being yourself.

Secretly… he’s relieved. You’re untouchable. Nothing can harm you so long as he’s around.

Enrico Pucci & Made in Heaven

Made in Heaven is usually impossibly fast, detached, impersonal. But with you?

It slows down.

It brushes past you like a divine breeze. It keeps you safe in ways you barely notice.

Pucci notices. Oh, he notices.

“Is this your will, Lord? Or is this… theirs?”

He starts dreaming of your face. Made in Heaven hovers when you’re near, like a deity waiting for your command.

You once said you liked the sound of a certain bell. That night, it chimed at midnight, even though it hadn't in 200 years.

Pucci now believes you’re the chosen one. Possibly a messiah. Maybe even more than him.

Funny Valentine & Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

D4C is ruthless. The only thing it cares about is dimension-hopping and protecting Valentine’s legacy.

But with you… it starts showing up unannounced just to bring you gifts. Flowers from other worlds. Cute things. Unusual pets.

You once joked that you wanted to meet another version of yourself.

D4C found one and held it back so you wouldn’t touch it.

Valentine is horrified. Terrified.

“This thing is meant to serve my America, not act like some romantic courier!”

But it’s always gentle when it looks at you. Almost human.

And worst of all? You seem to like it.

“Please stop petting the extradimensional beast. It’ll only encourage it.”

Tooru & Wonder of U

He’s disturbed in the weirdest way. Wonder of U, the unstoppable calamity avatar, starts… sweet-talking you.

“Your presence deters misfortune, beloved.”

“You are safe within my gaze.”

Tooru literally gapes at his own Stand like:

“Bro?? I didn’t program you to do this. What the hell.”

The Stand often acts independently anyway- but with you? It initiates conversations. It appears early. It protects you from harmless things like tripping or bee stings.

Tooru is both terrified and smug.

Terrified: “Are you becoming even more self-aware?”

Smug: “I guess Y/N’s just so lovable, even concepts fall for them.”

Starts sulking every time Wonder of U flirts with you.

40 notes · View notes

neurospiczzzziee · 2 days ago

Text

Moon Light

"Moon Light, just a little bit longer. We'll have these unwanted 'Guests' evicted in no time."

This piece is a continuation of a comic WIP I sketched inspired by an art request I received from @nikispade

Comic WIP: "Burdock Bur"

Takes place right after a mission

Blitzø: dinner gonna be soon! Stolz check on Loonie!

*Stolas slides the screen door to the balcony to join Loona*

Stolas: Mind if I join?

Loona: sure

*awkward silence*

Stolas looks down and notices a tick in her fur.

Stolas: ummm. . .Loona. . .

Loona: yeah? What?

Stolas:. . you seem to have a burdock burr in your coat. Mind if I help you remove it?

Loona: Oh shit. Those suck. Yeah that would be great. Thx.

*Stolas proceeds to remove the tick effortlessly. Takes out a lighter and lights the Tick on fire*

Stolas: get fucked little one!

Loona: !!!!!!

*starts to shake*

Loona: EW EW EW!!!!! STOLAS PLEASE CHECK ALL OF MY FUR!!! HELP! EW! OH GAWD.

Depicting Stolas' Strengths

So I made these art pieces to really show Stolas' Strengths as a character, how he is a really good father figure.

Because of mastermind and Sinsmas Stolas has been in a very fragile. I wanted to depict Stolas' strengths as a character and hopefully how we will see them in the future of the show. Stolas at the end of the day is a really good father and I know he'll be an amazing bonus dad for Loona. He has a history of raising children and working with scared children. I think he would be fantastic in a situation like this. He would know exactly what to do to comfort Loona and calm her down. Especially coming up with a clever lie so she would not freak out at first. The idea is she got the tick from crawling in some bushes on earth (This is low-key inspired from my own fear of ticks. Whenever I have a tick embedded in my skin I literally cry and freak out). So Loona doesn't immediately freak out Stolas tells her that she instead has a burdock bur stuck in her fur and asks her if he can remove it.

The finalized drawing is after Loona finds out about the first tick she has Stolas check the remaining parts of her fur to see if there are any more unwanted guests. I like the idea of them specifically moving towards the door so they can use the inside light to see better.

Once again I love wholesome Stolitz Family content and I really enjoyed drawing this art requests. For my friends who sent me requests. I did not forget about y'all! I am working on them!!!! It just takes time!

Some of them might be used for future collabs in the near future 👀👀👀👀

As always if you have any Stolitz art requests my asks are open!!! Also any fanfic writers/artists who are interested in collabing. I'm down to clown just reach out to me through Tumblr dms. Because I have a helluva boss brain rot and I'm trying to survive until the next season. 🤣

✨Shout out time!!!✨

Thx @theradiodaemon and @larryisnotagirl for helping me come up with Stolas' wording to Loona and for ur friendship!

@dishrack-holygrail thank you for the moral support friend!

#Guys im not kidding i have a huge fear of ticks 🤢😰#i literally dont have a fear of other bugs and will pick up rhe majority of critters with my bare hands #repeat after me TICKS GIVE ME THE ICK #im not kidding though collabing is really fun #comunal brainrot #stolas #helluva boss loona #stolitz #helluva boss lives rent free in my head #neurospiczzzziee helluva fan art #neurospiczzziee artwork #helluva boss

41 notes · View notes

sergeantbarnessdoll · 2 days ago

Note

Ooo can I please request a soft dark Nick Fowler & soft dark Lloyd Hansen x fem!shy reader where Y/n is Six’s younger sister and she grew up in foster care when he was in jail, and her foster sister she was close to was Mace. Nick takes Y/n as a hostage to get Mace to give him the drive (she’d be terrified). He locks her in her room and but then she’s taken AGAIN but from Nick’s home when Lloyd Hansen breaks in and kicks the bedroom door down in and literally wraps his arms around her and drags her out of Nick’s home (so he took the hostage, hostage😵‍💫 Poor girl is even more terrified) Poor woman is like, “Wait I was already taken?? This is happening AGAIN??” Lloyd takes her hostage because he wants Six to give him HIS drive and takes her to his mansion. Lmao then Nick takes his private plane straight to where Lloyd lives and tries to take her back, Y/n is just like “😵‍💫” Imagine she’s just so done and is like “Can you BOYS please make up your mind on whose hostage I am???” And when they both immediately stop bickering and whip their heads over to Y/n, she just squeaks out a shy “I’m sorry” for her outburst 😂 They’d definitely want the drives but still keep Y/n after that. Like they’d come to the conclusion that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to share her and to work together. They now have a common interest, Y/n and the drives! They spoil her so much and get her to feel comfortable around them and she starts to feel really safe and start falling in love with them both. They could tell she was getting less jumpy around them. When Mace and Six come to save her, they find the three of them all snuggled together on the couch, all lovey dovey.

Common Interest » Nick Fowler and Lloyd Hansen

Pairings: Soft Dark!Nick Fowler x Shy!Female Reader x Soft Dark!Lloyd Hansen with Mace and Six

Summary: You get taken hostage by Nick, but you also get taken hostage by Lloyd. That means that have a common interest… you

Warnings: Soft Dark, Angst (Nick and Lloyd), Fluff, language, kidnapping (twice), kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for this beautiful request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

Nick had his eyes on you all day. So did Lloyd. They were waiting for the perfect time to get their hands on you. That’s when the auction came into play. Lloyd and Nick didn’t go to the auction together. They didn’t even know each other was going to be there. They were only there for two things… you and the drive.

Nick watched as you were talking to Mace. You know Mace through your foster sister. You’re there to help Mace with something. She told you what you’re supposed to do for your part of the plan, but you still weren’t sure about it. When it came time for you to execute your part of the plan, it went perfectly. After that, you went to the bathroom to have a moment to yourself. You’ll admit that you were nervous and scared about your part of the plan, but now that your part is done, you can try to relax and enjoy the rest of the night. A moment later, you walked out of the bathroom, only for someone to grab your arm and lead you out of the building.

“Stay calm and do as you’re told.” Nick whispers in your ear.

Lloyd watches closely as Nick led you to a black SUV. You got in the backseat and so did Nick.

“Follow that car.” Lloyd says to his driver.

His driver nodded and followed the car you and Nick are in.

“Where- Where are you taking me?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“You’ll find out in a little bit, Y/N.” Nick says.

You frowned. How does this man know your name?

“How- How do you know my name?” You asked.

“I did my research on you. You’re friends with Mace.” He says.

“Actually, Mace is my foster sister’s friend. Her and I barely know each other.” You politely corrected him.

“Close enough.” He says.

Nick still didn’t tell you where he was taking you. You saw a nice house when you guys came to a stop. You just didn’t know it was Nick’s house in the moment.

“Who’s house is this?” You asked as you got out of the car.

“Mine.” Nick answers.

Nick held onto your arm so you didn’t try to escape as he lead you inside of his house. He took you upstairs to an empty bedroom that had a nicely made bed in it. Little did you know that Nick is going to keep you locked in that bedroom.

“My name is Nick Fowler and the reason why I brought you here is because you have something that I want.” He says.

You frowned in confusion. What do you have that he wants?

“Where’s the drive?” Nick asks softly.

“What drive?” You asked in total confusion.

“You know what I’m talking about, sweetheart.” He says.

“No- No I don’t.” You answered.

“Yes you do. Mace told you about it.” He says.

“She told me about it, but- but she didn’t tell me where it is.” You tell him honestly.

Nick hums to himself.

“I have some calls to make and business to take care of.” Nick says, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Nick walked out of the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Your eyes went wide when you realized that he locked the door from the other side. You walked over to the door and started yanking on the doorknob.

“Why are you doing this?!” You asked loudly.

You were expecting Nick to answer you, but he didn’t. You don’t even know if he’s still in the house. You might as well relax if you’re going to be here a while. You sighed and walked over to the bed and sat down. You looked over at the nightstand and seen a few books. You grabbed one and started reading it.

———

A few hours go by and Nick still has you locked in the bedroom. He hasn’t came back either. You already finished reading one book and now you’re on the second one. You jumped when you heard the doorknob jiggling. You put the book down on the nightstand and stared at the door. Then it opened. You were expecting Nick to walk in the room, but it wasn’t him. It was someone else.

“Hello, sunshine.” Lloyd grins. “I’m Lloyd Hansen of Hansen Government Services. You’re Y/N, right?” He says.

“Umm- yes?” You answered like a question.

“Great.” He says.

Lloyd walked over to you and grabbed onto your arm, pulling you up from the bed and lead you out of the bedroom. He led you outside to a black SUV. A different SUV from Nick’s.

“Wait, I was already taken? This is happening again?” You asked.

“Yep.” Lloyd replies.

You were scared, but more confused. Why are you being taken hostage by two different men in the same night?

“What- What about Nick?” You curiously asked.

“I couldn’t care less about Fowler.” Lloyd says.

“If you don’t care about him, why you taking me hostage?” You asked curiously.

“You have information I want.” He says.

Now you’re even more confused. What kind of information does this man want? You would ask what kind of information he’s looking for, but it would just confuse you even more than you already are.

“Your older brother is Court Gentry, right?” Lloyd asks.

“I-I don’t see what my brother has to do with you taking me hostage.” You say.

“He has something I want.” He says.

“I wouldn’t know what that would be.” You answered honestly. “I haven’t- I haven’t seen my brother in years. I was put in the foster care system after he went to jail.” You say.

“That’s where you’re wrong, pumpkin.” He says.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“Your brother isn’t in jail as of right now.” Lloyd tells you.

“Wh-What? How?” You asked, your eyes going wide.

“That’s not important right now. What is important is…” He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Where’s the drive?” He asks.

Here we go again with the stupid drive.

“I-I already told Nick that Mace never told me about a drive.” You say.

“I don’t know who Mace is. I don’t know what drive Fowler is looking for.” Lloyd says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, which is true.

When the car stopped in front of Lloyd’s mansion, Lloyd lead you inside. You two were met by Nick as soon as Lloyd opened the door.

“I was wondering where you went, sweetheart.” Nick says, looking at you.

You stayed quiet, not sure what to say.

“You’re trespassing, Fowler.” Lloyd says.

“I can say the same thing about you, Hansen.” Nick says.

“She has information I want.” Lloyd says.

“Same here.” Nick says.

“Umm- for the record, I don’t know what either of you are talking about.” You chimed in.

“Be a good girl and sit down on the stairs.” Lloyd says.

You walked over to the stairs and sat down, looking at Nick and Lloyd. You watched and listened as they began to bicker. It’s safe to say that Nick and Lloyd don’t like each other. To be honest, you were done with them bickering and being taken twice in one night.

“Can you BOYS please make up your mind on who’s hostage I am?” You blurted out.

Nick and Lloyd stopped bickering long enough to look over at you.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized in a shy mumble.

Nick and Lloyd talked it out. They both have two common interests… you and the drives. Both of them came to a conclusion of keeping you for themselves.

———

After coming to the conclusion of keep you for themselves. Besides the drives, you’re the only other thing Nick and Lloyd have in common. It’s been a few dates since they decided to keep you for themselves. They’ve been spoiling you with clothes, jewelry, etc. They’ve also been keeping you safe and comfortable.

Little do the three of you know that Mace and Six teamed up to save you. Even though, they barely know each other, they also have something in common and that’s you. Mace and Six found a way inside of Lloyd’s mansion without getting caught. They entered his mansion cautiously, holding their guns in front of them. They were hit with so much confusion when they walked in the living room to see you cuddled up in between Nick and Lloyd.

“What the hell is going on here?” Six asks.

You looked up to see your brother. You smiled and ran over to him and gave him a hug. Six hugs you back.

“I missed you.” You say.

“I missed you too.” Six says. “Are you ok? Did they hurt you?” He whispers.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but Lloyd answered for you.

“She’s fine.” Lloyd says.

“We’d like to hear that from her.” Mace says.

“I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me.” You tell them.

“You know you can tell us.” Mace says lowly.

“She said she’s fine.” Nick says.

“My sister can speak for herself, man.” Six says.

“It’s ok, Court.” You say softly.

Meanwhile, Nick was having a stare off with Mace and Lloyd was having a stare off with Six.

“Where’s the drive?” Nick asks Mace.

“Give us Y/N and I’ll give you the drive.” Mace negotiates.

“You should know that negotiations are off the table.” Lloyd says.

You watched as Mace and Six tried to negotiate with Nick and Lloyd, but nothing was working. You knew this was going to end badly if you didn’t try to stop the four of them.

“Just give them the drives!” You blurted out.

The four of them stopped arguing and looked at you.

“You guys both know they’re not going to stop if you guys don’t give them what they want. Give them the drives and leave me here.” You say.

“We’re not leaving you here with them, Y/N.” Mace says.

“They can have the drives, but you’re coming home with me.” Six says.

“She’s not going anywhere.” Nick says.

“Guys, please.” You pleaded, your eyes tearing up.

Normally, Mace and Six don’t give up this easily. They just want you to be happy. That’s all they care about.

“Ok. Fine.” Six says.

Six pulled the drive out of his pocket and gave it to Lloyd. Mace didn’t give Nick the drive he wants. She just stared him down again.

“Give Fowler the drive, Mace.” Six says.

“You can’t be serious, Six.” Mace says.

“Unfortunately, I am. If being with them makes my little sister happy, we have to do this.” He says.

“Fine.” She mumbles.

Mace got the drive out of her pocket and gave it to Nick.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Y/N?” Mace asks softly.

“Yes.” You answered softly.

Mace walked over to you and gave you a hug. So did Six.

“Just know, me and Mace are one call away, ok?” Six says softly.

“Ok.” You whispered.

“I love you, sis.” He says.

“I love you too, Court.” You say.

Six approaches Nick and Lloyd.

“If either of you do anything to hurt my little sister, I won’t hesitate to beat your asses.” Six says.

“We’re not going to hurt her, Six.” Lloyd says.

“We’re not that cruel.” Nick says.

“I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.” Six says.

Mace and Six gave you one last look before leaving. You let out a shaky breath. Nick and Lloyd walked up beside you and wrapped their arms around your waist.

“You’ll be fine here with us.” Lloyd says.

“I know.” You sighed.

“Just trust us.” Nick says.

“Ok.” You whispered. “I love you guys.” You say, standing on your tippy toes to kiss their lips.

“We love you too.” They say softly in union.

-Bucky’s Doll

35 notes · View notes