#the fic won’t make any fucking sense at all
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cloudbattrolls · 11 months ago
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I hope everyone knows I’m including all my victims in one fic, because the beauty of the quad system means it will make sense* for me to
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gothsuguru · 8 months ago
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imagine a double date, suguru with reader and satoru with sukuna (it was all satoru's idea, sukuna and suguru are confused af and reader is just vibing)
AHHHHHHH YOU GET IT ANON (i have something similar to this in the works 🤭🤭🤭 it’s a silly lil roadtrip)
but this idea is so funny bc satoru is like guys let’s go on a double date :D and suguru is like… who are YOU gonna bring anyways you’re not dating anybody… cut to sukuna already sitting at the restaurant smirking at suguru 😭 satoru is footing the whole bill so that’s why sukie was like yeah idgaf i’ll join and he makes sure to sit next to reader to annoy BOTH suguru and satoru 🤭🤭🤭 sukuna: hey, try some of this pasta it’s delicious *he feeds reader w his fork while side eye smirking satosugu* meanwhile suguru’s eye is twitching out of anger and satoru’s **** is twitching bc he’s a cuck WHO SAID THAT……………….. ahem . back 2 the idea though!
i love that the consensus is that reader is just vibing and happy to be there bc that really is so them 😭 just unbothered and sexy <333 (sukie deffo out loud calls the desserts shitty btw he’s like my desserts are way better) and satoru is like ahahaha yeahhhh they areeeee ^.^ (he’s trying to get into sukuna’s pants) and suguru is just like… mentally telling sukuna to kill himself while also being really doting and romantic to reader (suguru & sukuna both dote on them and they’re both trying to get a rise out of the other one, moreso sukuna than suguru) and JEJDJDJDJ honestly at the end of the dinner satoru probably would proposition a foursome idk he just would
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augustinewrites · 1 year ago
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satoru bday fic! cw: suggestive
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gojo thinks he should be nominated for boyfriend of the year.
not only had he managed to get the kids to school on time, pick up the groceries, get all his reports in to principal yaga, and clean the kitchen, but he’d managed to do it all while extremely hungover on his birthday. 
he’d even managed to do it all before you’d even gotten out of bed.
he doesn’t blame you for sleeping in. the impromptu birthday party he’d thrown had left you all in quite the state by the early hours of morning. you need the re—
“satoru! could you come in here for a second?”
“coming!” he calls back, shoving the coupon that’d fallen from shoko’s birthday card into his wallet before making his way to the bedroom. “hey, let’s get some frozen yogurt when the kids get ho— holy shit.”
your face breaks out into a grin of triumph at his sudden silence. gojo’s rightfully stunned, carefully studying each bit of revealing lace and the way it sits against your body before committing it to memory. 
“is that…”
“the set you had commissioned in paris,” you hum, nonchalant as you drag your fingertips up your hip. “that’s the one.”
he takes a few slow steps toward where you are and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, arousal warming his whole body. “but you said you’d never wear it because—”
“because i was saving it for something special,” you finish, leaning up and shifting towards him. “like your birthday.” 
“well,” he sighs as you close the distance between you. “i should unwrap my gift then.”
“please try not to tear it,” you murmur as his lips brush over your pulse. “i’d very much like to wear it again, and i, oh, i saw the charge on the credit card…”
his reply is no more than a distracted hum as you shift onto his lap, allowing curious hands to explore your body and hungry lips to move against yours. 
the lace is soft on your skin, his hands eagerly working to undo the ties holding up delicate florals and sheer material. 
“satoru, i need you.” your breath is warm against his skin, exciting him more as he goes to pull off garter belt.
“uh, babe?”
“hm?”
“how do you take this off?”
_____
“well, i connected it to this piece—”
“but we can’t take this piece off unless we take this one off too. that doesn’t make any sense.” 
“i’m telling you, that’s how i put it on.”
“then why won’t it come off?”
it’s then that gojo decides custom lingerie should come with instructions. when he’d designed it, he hadn’t actually considered the logistics of this operation.
“okay,” you huff, turning around and placing your hands on his shoulders. “you’re just going to have to tear it.”
“fine by me,” he grins, slightly smug as he curls his fingers around the expensive material and tears—
the two of you scramble up when the front door slams open. it’s in that moment you realize that satoru hadn’t closed the bedroom door. 
“mom!” you hear megumi shout, his stomps echoing through the apartment. “tsumiki ate one of my snacks!”
“shit, fuck.” cursing, you grab his discarded t-shirt and slip it on before jumping into bed. satoru slips in next to you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and pressing against you from behind.
“satoru!” you hiss when you feel something poke the back of your thigh. 
“we just made out for like ten minutes,” he whispers back, only pulling you closer. “you didn’t think i’d get one?”
“put it away!”
“i could, but—”
you manage to summon one of your divine dogs in time for it push the bedroom door closed, breathing a sigh of relief when the kid’s footsteps come to a halt. 
“we’ll be out in a second!” you call, hearing their hushed argument as they trudge back to the kitchen.
“i might need more than a second…”
you hit satoru in the face with a pillow. “you’ll get the rest of your birthday gift tonight, after you drop the kids off at nanami’s.
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pedroshotwifey · 8 months ago
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Do you think you could write a nervous Joel fic... like he's older and a single dad and hasn't dated in a REALLY REALLY long time...but he's still really sweet, maybe he has to stop and eat reader cos he's about to cum too soon or something 🤷‍♀️😭
Hey, babe!! So I hope this is what you were hoping for! It's super tender and I did end up listening to Hozier for a good portion of it, so do with that information what you will 😅
Also, I kind of did something a bit different and wrote it more from Joel's perspective, but it's still in 2nd person (pronouns = you)! Pls lmk how you feel about it ❤
Pairing: Older Joel Miller x afab!reader
Tags/warnings: Age gap (not specified), piv sex, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, established relationship, (almost) premature ejaculation, accidental love confessions 🤭, self deprecating Joel™, big dick Joel™, kissing, stuff I'm probably forgetting
W/C: 1.9k
Summary: Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more.
What Matters
“Are you sure, baby?” 
Joel watches as your eyes flick up to him, only kindness and patience in them. Even as you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him to you, he still has a sense of cautiousness in his movements. You’ve probably lost track of how many times he’s asked you if you’re sure. 
“Yes, Joel, I’m sure,” you laugh breathily. 
You’re both lying in his bed, completely bare. There’s a soft summer breeze coming in through the window and rustling the sheer curtains. The sun’s going down, but just barely, causing a perfect golden hue to coat the room. He can’t help but think that you look even more gorgeous than usual in this lighting.
Joel tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he softly kisses your jaw and nuzzles up to you. He’s not stupid, he knows that you know he’s just trying to waste time, but you let him. You’re so fucking sweet like that. Always making him feel so wanted and appreciated. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you in this way, but that he’s worried he won’t be perfect for you. He wants to be able to show you affection in the same way that you show him. 
But what if he can’t?
You’re younger, after all, and he’s not been with a woman in so long. Maybe not since Sarah’s mom. If that’s the case, it’s been about fifteen, sixteen years. Point in case, you’re probably used to boys who can last longer and can make you come every time. What if he can’t? What if it’s been so long now, that he only lasts a couple of minutes? 
It terrifies him, the prospect that you may be disappointed in his performance. What if you decide to leave him because he’s not enough to get you off? No, he realizes, you would never do that. You’re so good, so thoughtful and generous and patient. You’d wait for him, help him get back to the point where he used to be. 
But that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good for you now. 
“Joel?” 
His name falling from your lips has his head raising back up. You look into his eyes with a desperation that he simply can’t ignore. 
“Please,” you whisper before planting a feather-light kiss to his lips. He nods slowly before he can think about it. 
“Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 
And he does, he knows it. He just hopes he can do it right. 
You’re already prepped. He spent probably half an hour fingering you to orgasm even though you had begged for the real thing each time you fell apart on his hand. It’s another thing he was worried about��being so big. Joel’s not a super cocky man by any means, but he is aware of his…attributes. 
He watches you carefully as he grasps his cock and guides it to your slippery entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes in, giving you about an inch each time he thrusts. His jaw goes slack once he’s about halfway in. You’re so fucking warm and wet and inviting. He keeps going, trying to keep his breathy whines at bay. He’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s felt something other than the palm of his hand around himself. 
“Shit, baby,” he breathes as he bottoms out. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets his head hang next to yours. He already feels like he might blow his load at any second. You bring a hand up to cup his head and thread his curls through your fingers, holding him close. His breathing is heavy when he lifts himself back up to look into your eyes. 
His heart seems to skip a beat when he sees the adoration you’re looking at him with. It kills him every time. And no matter how many times you tell him that he deserves all your affection, he knows he’ll still find a lingering doubt in the back of his mind. There’s a reason the two of you have only been “together” for about four months even though you’ve been shamelessly flirting for about a year. 
It was just too good to be true. For such a sweet, gentle thing like you to want a rough old man like him. He was never the one to initiate anything, but he knows you’ve been aware that he had his sore eyes set on you since you met. How could he not? He’s never met anyone so kind and considerate. It was impossible to deny you of him any longer when it was one of the only things you’ve ever wanted for yourself. 
“You okay?” Your honeyed voice reaches his ears—or his good ear, rather—and he smiles at you. 
“‘Course, baby. Jus’ gotta give me a second, alright?” He can feel his cheeks getting a bit rosy at the confession. “It’s been a minute.” 
You nod, still no hesitation or any sign of regret. God, what did he do to deserve you? 
Once he collects himself, he pulls out just barely, and a groan tumbles from his mouth to mingle with your soft moan. He’s already starting to sweat from the effort of not coming too soon as he starts to push into you at a slow but rhythmic pace. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and tuck your head into his chest as you whimper with his thrusts. 
“You feel so good,” you whine. 
“Fuck, sweetheart, so d’ you. “Like goddamn heaven.” And you do; overwhelmingly so.
He cradles your head and lowers the two of you even more to deepen his thrusts. He knows he’s found your spot when your breath catches and you start to tighten around him every time he pumps his hips. Unfortunately, this makes it a lot harder for him to keep his composure. 
“H-honey, I have to pull out,” he grits out. He’s so embarrassed, it hasn’t even been five minutes. He won’t last long enough for you to come before him.
But you just nod into him, even though you must be devastated by the loss of your orgasm. “It’s okay, Joel,” you breathily assure him. 
He pulls out and squeezes the base of his cock, out of breath. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he starts to apologize.
“I’m sorry, baby, I—” 
“Joel,” You stop him by carefully grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “It’s okay.” You nod, waiting for him to do the same before you continue. “Take as much time as you need. I love you no matter what. This does not determine—” 
You both realize what you said at the same time. Joel’s eyes widen and his chest feels like it caved into itself. Your lips stay still, parted in the middle of your sentence. Joel doesn’t realize tears have gathered in his eyes until his vision starts to blur and a smile spreads across his face. 
You love him. You said it. And he believes you. 
“I love you too, baby,” he whispers and lets his forehead rest against yours. “So damn much.” Fuck his age and whoever might see a problem with you being together. He wants this, and you want this, and that’s all that matters. 
Then you’re both laughing shakily, pressing kisses to each other’s lips. He only stops to start trailing them down your body instead, watching you writhe as his mustache tickles your bare skin. 
“Joel, p-please,” you beg quietly. Joel just huffs a small laugh through his nose as he lays himself between your legs, ignoring his protesting knees as he admires the entirety of you laying out just for him. You look fucking beautiful covered in a thin sheen of sweat atop his sheets, needy and panting all for him. 
He doesn’t waste too much time before putting his mouth on your sweet pussy, his tongue dragging up your slit to flick at your clit. Joel moans at your taste, sending vibrations racing toward your swollen bud. Your hips buck as your hands fly to grasp at his hair, tugging lightly and making his eyes roll back. 
He feasts on you like his life depends on it, worshiping you with all he has. He takes turns in running his tongue up you, fucking you with it the best he can, and suckling on your clit. He looks like a damn mess as he does so, his eyes not leaving your cunt unless he’s watching your face contort with pleasure. When you make eye contact with him, he knows he must look fucked out and desperate just based on the way you groan and lay your head back. 
It doesn’t take much for you to get to the edge, and it takes even less for him to push you over. You let out sharp, whiny sounds as he sucks on your clit and slips a couple of fingers inside of you to grip on to. Your entire body goes tense, and Joel has to resist the urge to smirk against you as you shake with the force of your orgasm. 
By the time you’re coming down, he’s back over you and slipping his tongue inside your mouth to share your taste. You moan into the kiss and pull him closer as he once again glides his tip into your cunt. Just as he had hoped, the distraction calmed him down enough to hopefully give him some more time. 
You both melt into each other as he bottoms out, the tip of his swollen cock hitting your cervix and making your thighs squeeze his torso. He starts at a faster pace than last time, too deep in his lust-filled haze to even try to slow down now. 
You pull away from his mouth to start leaving love bites on his neck, making his cock twitch inside of you with each pinch. He can feel you smile against his skin, and knows that you’ve found his secret. He does like a little pain with his pleasure. You keep going, sucking and biting marks before licking soothingly over them and moving to the next spot. You taste him like you’re addicted, like you could never possibly get enough.
It still doesn’t take him as long as he would like to before he starts to feel his balls drawing up and his thighs start to shake. His head goes foggy as he tries to hold on for you, but it’s too fucking much. He can’t hold it off when you feel so good around him. It’s like torture to stave off his orgasm when he’s thrusting into your soft heat. 
“Where d’ you want me, honey?” Joel asks you, his voice strained. 
“Inside,” you whisper against his neck without a second thought.
And it throws him over. He groans your name as his body stutters and his balls empty, coating your walls with his milky spend. It seems to go on forever. Each time he thinks he’s almost done, there’s another spurt and another wave of pleasure that tugs him deeper into euphoria. 
When it does end, he lets himself half-collapse on top of you. You embrace him with welcoming arms and the two of you catch your breath together in the now dark bedroom. He only pulls out once sleep threatens to take the both of you. A shower, snack, and a glass of water later, you both snuggle up together and fall asleep with content smiles and full hearts. 
*****
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hurlingdown · 7 months ago
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Grr i love your zoro fic, do you write for ftm character? If you do please ftm sanji x domtop male reader 🫠🫠🫠 WANNA EAT HIM OUT SB
I WANT MORE! — TOP MALE READER X VINSMOKE SANJI
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synopsis. sex with sanji always feels good. it's exciting. and fun. there's an issue though: it's just good, but never too good. well, here's the thing — sometimes, overwhelming pleasure bordering on overstimulation might be a good way to spice things up . . . wc. 1.7k
tags. ftm! brat! sanji, dom! reader. cunnilingus, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum eating, overstimulation, choking with thighs, reader's a little little mean, fluff!
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Sanji gasped into the back of his hand, panting desperately. 
Two warm palms had reached between his thighs and gently pried them open, a wet sensation digging into his clothed cunt. 
“F-fucking hell, sweetheart,” Sanji muttered as your tongue drew up to swipe against his soaked clit. He let out a sharp exhale as you mouthed him through his boxers, wetly sucking at the fat nub. “What—what is this? Where’d you learn this from?” 
You didn’t respond, too occupied with what was in front of you. The stain only grew in size as you buried your face into the sweet, musky scent, and you hummed with satisfaction, making him jolt with a whine as the vibration sent a shockwave of pleasure straight into him. 
“Answer—hn, me!” Strong thighs clamped down around your head as he mindlessly rutted back against your mouth, making you see stars. “Who taught you?” 
“No one,” you said, or at least tried to say, as your mouth was muzzled by Sanji pushing his wet cunt at you, smearing your face with saliva and slick. You had read about it in one of Robin’s books, and had wanted to try it. 
“What? Who?” he asked dumbly, throwing his head back onto the pillow as he rocked his hips against your mouth, trying to coax your tongue out. “It better not have been those—hngh, women at the island!” 
You almost wanted to laugh at how ironic it was, that the infamous Vinsmoke Sanji—known for being a womaniser—was now jealous of the women he usually fawned over. 
“Hn, hah, this ain’t half bad—” 
You growled, annoyed at him for using your mouth like one of his toys. You held his thighs still over your shoulder to stop him from moving, lips curling with amusement at the way his hips bucked, not understanding your displeasure. “What?” Sanji panted, raising his head to glance at you irritatedly. “Get on movin’!” 
You frowned. Who did he think he was? 
With measured strength, you pulled back just enough to show him a sickly sweet smile. “Shall I help you take it off, Sanji?” Fingers grasped the hem of his boxers as you pressed two thumbs into his lower crotch, enjoying the way he squirmed at your touch. 
“Y-yeah,” he muttered. “Take it off already.” 
What a brat. Perhaps you spoiled him a little too often. 
You peeled the clothing off, revealing a lovely, fleshy pink cunt, its lips parted and drooling all over the sheets already. It was always a sight to have him under you, his hole pulsing around you as you drilled your thick cock into him, but this—this was something else entirely.
“Hold your legs open for me.” 
“What?” 
“Do it, or you won’t be coming tonight.” 
Sanji frowned, opening his mouth as though to argue back but then deciding against it, that getting to come was far more important than any sense of self-worth tonight. He reluctantly brought his legs up and slowly spread them for you, flushing and trembling as the action exposed the entirety of his pussy to you. 
Sanji thrust up against you impatiently and you immediately grabbed his hips, tight enough to bruise. You glared up at him with a warning, to which he completely ignored. “Hurry up, sweetheart,” he griped, rubbing his wet folds on your lips. “Wanna come.” 
Oh. So that was all that he thought of you: something for him to hump on. You were going to teach him a lesson. 
“Yeah?” You grinned. “You wanna come?” 
“So bad,” Sanji whined, hips bucking as you held him still. “Just fucking go already!” 
You pretended to frown and pull away, only to have him whimper, eyes widening and shaking his head frantically. “You want me to go? I’ll go.” 
“No! Not what I meant—goddammit, sweetheart, you know what I want, so give it to me already.” 
You barked out a laugh. “I’m not a mind reader, am I? How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?” 
Sanji glowered at you, almost shivering with frustration. He knew what you wanted. You wanted to see him beg, to come undone before you even touched him properly, and he was so close to doing whatever you wanted him to if it meant he would finally be able to come. He squeezed his eyes shut, sparing them of any humiliation. 
“Please,” he whined your name softly. “Fuck me with your tongue.” 
You smiled, pleased. “Fine with me.” 
Without wasting a moment, you shoved his hips up at the same time as your tongue plunged down, sliding between the slick folds of his pussy to penetrate him. Sanji jackknifed off the bed with a hoarse scream, one hand letting go of his thigh to blindly grab for your hair, tugging at the strands painfully. 
“Oh fuck—please!” he cried out, legs spasming as he shoved your mouth deeper into his cunt. You lapped at his insides with abandon, drinking and swallowing greedily the slick that drenched his hole, enjoying the way the salty tang of it rolled deep down your throat and left a fragrant aftertaste. 
Drool dripped down your chin as you ate him out messily, loosening the most tender parts of his insides the way you had never been able to: by pounding your fat cock inside his pussy, or having him take your thick fingers as you stretched him out—those were good, too, but no, this was so much more sensual, and tasted so much better, and you were almost angry at yourself for not trying this sooner. 
Sanji was a sobbing, whining mess when you raised your head to look at him again, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he cried out your name, begging you to take him and then take more of him. “So fuckin’—good!” he moaned loudly. “I want more!” 
It’s filthy, humiliating, and so fucking arousing, and before he knew it, he was rutting back against your face, lost in so much pleasure, all at once way too much and not nearly enough to satisfy just yet—
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come!” Sanji screamed, back bowing off the bed as he came all over your face, thighs involuntarily clamping down hard around your neck, choking you so hard you blacked out for a second. 
The next thing he saw when he came to his senses was your face, shiny with his come and slick, edging toward his pulsing cunt again. 
You grinned at him, almost wickedly. 
“No, no, no.” Sanji shook his head wildly. “No more. I just came, please, sweetheart, please—” 
“You said you wanted more.” 
“Just give me a second—I’ll be ready for you in a second. Please, baby.” 
You ignored him. “I’m going to give you what you want, since you’ve been so good for me. Right, Sanji?” 
Without waiting for his answer, you grabbed him by the ass and hoisted him up into the air, sucking eagerly at his oversensitive clit as his breath seized up, lips parting and yet unable to make noise anymore, just trembling and convulsing as the muscles in his thighs continued to spasm with too much pleasure it nearly bordered on pain. 
Tears rolled down his cheeks as Sanji gasped and shuddered, clutching your hair so hard you thought you felt them getting torn up by the roots. And then you committed the next atrocity. Instead of diving in and slurping his pussy like you did before, you stuck your tongue out, using the hands gripping his ass to slowly push his cunt up your tongue, and then down, and then up again, repeatedly—fucking your tongue with his hole. 
Sanji gave a helpless whimper that sounded suspiciously like your name as he writhed on your tongue, pupils so dilated you could barely see their rim. “Please,” you thought you heard him sob faintly, as though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for anymore. 
“Please what?” 
This was his last chance to stop you—you weren’t that cruel, after all. 
“Please,” he cried weakly, “make me come again!” 
You grinned, a sense of pride overwhelming you as you dove back in to finish the job—he was so well-trained, so good for you. And who were you to deny him? He was begging so nicely, after all. 
Sanji let out a stream of broken moans as you continued your assault on his pussy, his thighs clenching around your head so tightly that stars pooled at the edges of your vision. Your tongue reached deep inside him and caressed a spot so good and fucking right that the coil of pleasure in his stomach started to get looser, and wetter, like a dam being driven to burst—a feeling he scarcely ever felt, but whenever he did, whenever he did—
You latched your mouth over his entrance, sealing it properly as he squirted down your throat. 
His lower half went limp in your arms as he continued to tremble and whimper, and you feared for a second that you might have broken him. But when he opened his half-lidded eyes to look at you with a tenderness that you rarely ever saw, you knew that wasn’t the case. 
“Never knew—” Sanji panted for breath, “that you could be so mean.” 
“Did you like it?” 
“Yeah.” 
“Want to do it again?” 
He snapped out of his daze, eyes widening with horror. 
You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Not now. I meant after.” 
“Oh,” Sanji said, softly. “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.” A second shock seized him as he looked at you, almost guiltily. “What about you? You haven’t come yet.” 
“No. Making you feel good was enough.” You smiled reassuringly, despite the fact that you were so hard it fucking hurt, aching with the need to feel his cunt tightening around it, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. You’d take care of it later, in the shower, maybe, jerking off to thoughts of earlier. 
“Are you sure?” 
“Yes. Go sleep, I know you’re tired. I’ll clean you up. And, I love you.” 
“I love you too, sweetheart,” he mumbled tiredly. “So much.” 
masterlist! # i apologise for accidentally blue-balling the reader again it was not my intention; also i love you anon i didn't know i needed this until i started imagining it
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tojipie · 1 year ago
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Omg please please please write another fic about needy cry baby gf and Toji 😫🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
thinking abt him not realizing when he’s being mean because he grew up in a house full of boys where insults were a form of affection :( we’ve all got a little bit of crybaby reader in us me finks
content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff
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a sea of limbs dance and weave around the court with intricacies you won’t even pretend to understand, leaving you more confused with each passing minute.
you remind yourself that you’re here for toji, wanting to spend more time with him regardless of whether you were into the activity.
toji liked it, so you liked it. at least before the game got confusing.
“that was two points, right?” you ask him, trying to make sense of the shot a player had just made.
toji pauses, holding the chilled end of his beer can to the back of his neck.
“three, baby.” he corrects, kicking his work boots off. the older man relaxes into the soft embrace of the couch with a groan, propping his feet up on the ottoman.
“right… right.” you realize, listening as the announcer gives a rundown of what just happened. you look over and gauge his expression, searching for any acknowledgment of what you’d just said.
“sorry, not really a basketball fan.” you joke, hoping to alleviate the awkward air.
“not that smart either, huh?” toji chuckles, taking a sip of his beer.
your stomach drops at the comment. blood rushes to your ears as humiliation takes over, eyes welling up with hot tears.
you knew he was 100% joking. that’s just how toji was around the people he loved.
you were being too sensitive, right?
the two of you had discussed instances like this before, the older man explaining that that was truly just how he spoke to people.
he never meant to upset you, in fact he’d rather hang than ever hurt you on purpose. his words, not yours.
toji has promised you he was working on it, trying to choose his words more carefully around you.
that’s all it was, you tell yourself. a simple slip of the tongue.
or was he truly mad at you this time?
nope. just a joke. you tell yourself, fiddling with a loose thread in your sleeve to distract from the lump in your throat. you try to inhale around the blockage, accidentally releasing a sob that alerts toji right away.
“hey.” he mumbles, setting his drink down to look at you. calloused hands cradle your face as the older man takes a close look at you.
you pull away, trying to compose yourself. just a joke! you remind yourself.
a joke, not serious. just. a. joke.
“nonono, hey it’s okay.” he whispers, eyes blowing wide as he realizes the gravity of the situation.
“i’m sorry sweetheart, i’m sorry.” he pleads, muting the tv to focus on you.
“m’ not stupid.” you whimper, wiping each eye with the back of your hand.
“course not pretty girl.” he whispers, rubbing your back in soft circles. “i’m sorry, you know that’s j—“
“just how you talk.” you mumble, not sure if his explanation actually made it ok.
“but.” he starts, pulling you into his lap with a grunt.
“that’s not an excuse, right?” he asks you, clearly remorseful.
“need to watch my mouth around my girl, huh?” he chuckles, still rubbing small circles up and down your back.
“it’s ok.” you conclude, resting your head on his shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
“hate making you upset.” he tells you firmly, nuzzling into the crown of your head.
“you wanna watch something else?” he asks, placing the remote in your hand. “movie, youtube?”
you crawl out of the older man’s lap and onto the couch, pulling up prime to scan the comedy section.
“i fucking hate basketball.” you giggle, the man beside you breaking out in full blown laughter as you press play on the remote.
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rafesangelita · 8 months ago
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can you do like a spin off to the fic you did where rafe went to the strip club, and instead of them making up y/n stands on business and leaves 😭? thank you if you do i love your writing smmm
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warnings: angst, cheating
a/n: i heard y’all loud and clear, i hope you guys like this version just as much, if not more <3 based off of this request
“fuck, they don’t make them like this on figure eight.” you watched with watery eyes as rafe’s hands roamed the body of a stranger, his friends hollering in the background. seeing rafe receive a lap dance should’ve been enough for you to click out of instagram and call it quits, but you couldn’t help yourself in watching the rest of kelce’s stories. after skimming through the rest of the photos and videos, you didn’t have any tears left in you to cry.
getting up on shaky legs, you took everything you could fit in a suitcase, ignoring the calls from rafe as you went around your shared bedroom, grabbing your things. just as you were taking your last bag downstairs, the front door opened, revealing the last person you wanted to face right now. “what’s all of this?” your head shot up at the voice, your lips swollen from biting on them so hard. “what’s wrong?” he moved close, making you back away.
“please don’t touch me.” your voice came out weak. rafe scoffed, blinking rapidly as you took a seat on the couch, holding your head in your hands. “what’s wrong with you? why do you have all your shit down here?” he kneeled in front of you, the smell of cheap perfume filling your senses. “you should probably remind your friends to hide me from their story ‘next time you want to let someone put their boobs in your face.” you sniffled, avoiding his gaze.
rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he reached for your arm. “baby, please, i can explain everything.” you smiled, shaking your head. “you don’t have to. i really don’t care anymore, i’m leaving.” he narrowed his eyes at you, stumbling over his next words. “w-what the fuck are you talking about?” he grabbed two of your bags, about to take them upstairs before you stopped him. “this isn’t the first time you’ve been unfaithful, rafe, and if i don’t leave right now, it won’t be the last.” your voice cracked.
he shook his head, jogging upstairs, only to see you had cleared everything that belonged to you. rafe’s heart dropped, it looked like you had never been here to begin with. panic settled in his gut. “you can’t leave, i won’t let you.” he came back down, his eyes filled with guilt. “i already have a car on the way.” rafe shouted, punching the air. “y/n, i’m begging you baby, please let’s just go to bed-” you watched him cry, and for the first time you felt nothing. “we’ll forget all about this in the morning, alright? i’ll take you somewhere nice for breakfast, we could spend the day on the druthers the way that you like.” by the way he was talking, it sounded like he was reassuring himself more than you.
“and sweep it under the rug just like the last few times? no.” you laughed bitterly. “you cheat and time and time again i don’t do anything about it. i’m so tired, rafe. ‘tired of hearing the women at the country club call me ‘dumb and clueless’, i’m tired of everyone giving me pitiful looks everytime we walk inside a room.. i’m tired of not being valued.” you looked down at your hand, removing the promise ring that clearly didn’t mean anything.
“hey, hey, come on,” he pulled you up, “i value you, you know i do. i get you everything you want, goddamit, i take care of you!” you flinched at the volume of his voice. “i could get myself whatever i want rafe. all i’ve ever wanted was for you to be faithful, and you can’t even do that.” he watched as you glanced outside. “my ride is here.” he blinked, everything hitting him all at once. “y/n, stop.” he held you in place, not allowing you to move until you shoved him.
“there’s someone out there who is going to love me, and care about my feelings in all situations, someone who isn’t selfish.” you started rolling your suitcase out of the house, rafe following closely behind. “please don’t leave!” he ran his fingers through his hair. he begged and begged until you held the very last bag in your hand. “i hope one day you meet someone like yourself, fall in love with them, and realize that no matter what you do, it will never be enough.” he watched you get into the black suv, feeling nothing but despair as the car drove away.
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dyaz-stories · 4 months ago
Text
casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader
chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me
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synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.
There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.
The one you can't keep your hands off...
word count: 9.5k
genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits
warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit
A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.
I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!
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‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’
Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.
“Duly noted.”
Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.
The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.
‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.
A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.
In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.
The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.
“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”
You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.
“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.
You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.
“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”
“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.
In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.
Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.
You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.
You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.
You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.
For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.
There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.
Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.
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Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.
You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.
Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.
The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.
‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.
That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.
These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.
You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.
Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.
“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”
That is a kind sentiment.
“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”
His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.
“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”
You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.
The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.
The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.
“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”
“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”
A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.
He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.
Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.
Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.
“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.
“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”
Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.
“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”
“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”
Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.
Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.
You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.
“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”
His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.
“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”
On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.
“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”
He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.
“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.
You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.
“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.
“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”
A smile finally forms on her lips.
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”
“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”
She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.
“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.
“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”
“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”
At that, you nod.
“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”
There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.
“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”
It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.
“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.
“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.
“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back  his head.
“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”
“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”
“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”
You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.
“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.
“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.
“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.
“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”
This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.
Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.
Everything else is futile.
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It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.
“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.
He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.
You shrug.
“Alright.”
The smile falters.
“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”
“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”
He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.
“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”
Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.
“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”
His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.
“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”
In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.
You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.
“You’re not what I expected.”
You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.
‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.
You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?
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Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.
“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”
“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”
There’s that toothy smile again.
You still don’t know what it means.
“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.
This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.
You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.
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Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.
Cemeteries remain clean.
The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.
Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.
You don’t like this.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”
“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”
“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”
The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.
You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.
For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.
“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”
Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.
The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.
There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.
To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.
At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.
It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.
You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.
“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.
“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”
You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.
“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.
Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.
“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”
He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.
“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”
There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.
Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.
Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.
You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.
“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.
“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”
That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.
What a waste.
“Of course,” you say with a nod.
You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.
“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”
“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”
Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.
You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.
Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.
“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.
“I don’t disagree with that.”
This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.
Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.
“You’re not what I expected.”
He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.
Desire.
You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.
“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”
You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.
You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.
Except you do. You do.
When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.
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You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.
Or, well, that’s what you’re told.
You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.
“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”
“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”
That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.
“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”
As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.
To be fair, you also don’t care for it.
“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”
“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.
“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”
You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.
How boring.
Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.
“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.
“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”
Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.
Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.
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The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.
Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.
Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.
You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.
Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.
It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.
“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”
You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.
“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”
You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.
“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”
That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.
Gojo’s smile thins.
“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”
He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.
When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.
Defeated.
“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”
That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.
“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’
She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.
“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”
Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.
“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”
Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.
You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.
He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.
“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.
“Wh—”
Then his lips are on yours.
He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.
It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.
He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.
When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.
There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.
“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.
There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.
“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.
He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.
Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.
“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.
You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.
“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.
“Is that how you want to play it?”
Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.
“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”
It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.
“Says— Ah— Says who?”
He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.
“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.
He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.
“You sure?”
“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.
He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.
“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.
“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.
The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.
You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.
“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.
He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.
It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.
“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.
This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—
One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.
For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.
“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.
“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”
He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.
“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.
You shrug.
“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.
His smile widens.
“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”
“I guess we will.”
Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.
“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.
Gojo hums in agreement.
“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”
You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.
You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.
Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.
“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”
“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.
The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.
On your desk, next time, huh?
You could work with that.
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thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!
tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia
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wikiangela · 2 months ago
Text
you're my happily ever after (so i'll take my chance now, risk it all somehow)
rating: G
words: 2.6k
8x06 fix-it, because I'm pissed - I or my fics aren't going anywhere tho <3
thank you to @evansboyfrend for beta reading, ily 🫶
[also on Ao3]
It feels like the whole world is crumbling down. It feels like the Earth should shake, burst on fire, open up and swallow everything around. As dramatic as it is, he kind of expects it to happen, and it’s weird that he’s still sitting here. His ears are ringing, panic rising in his chest with each of Tommy’s words. He watches Tommy get up and head for the door, and he’s frozen to his spot. It’s not- it can’t be. It fucking can’t be. “Wait,” he finally manages to say, trying to keep his voice from trembling, “did you just break up with me?” He asks, hoping to any entity that listens that he just misinterpreted it, that he got it wrong. Because- because he can’t lose Tommy. He’s falling for him so fast and so hard. He’s ready for the next step. He’s ready to move in together. He’s ready to talk about one day, eventually, maybe getting married. He knows he wants that. He knows what he wants, and he wants Tommy.  “Yeah, I guess I did.” Tommy answers, glancing back at him, his expression sad but firm. But Buck knows him. Knows that this mask will crumble into something devastated as soon as he leaves. That Tommy’s heart will shatter, just as Buck’s is right now. He can see through Tommy, he knows that he cares about Buck. It just- it doesn’t make sense. What was he even talking about… It was all so much, so fast, Buck’s brain is still scrambling trying to understand it all.  “Believe me, I didn’t see-” Tommy starts, but Buck shakes his head and interrupts him. “No.” He stands up, his legs feeling shaky. Tommy fully turns towards him, confusion in his face. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” He frowns.
“I mean, no, you’re not breaking up with me.” Buck says more confidently than he feels. Because this can’t be it. The last six months, the best six months of his fucking life, can’t end like this. Can’t end at all. He won’t have this. “I know you care about me. And I care about you. And I don’t want to break up.” He sees Tommy open his mouth to speak, his expression hardening – putting on a mask again, trying to hide the hurt. He speaks again before Tommy can. “If you truly, genuinely want this, not because you think it’s gonna be better for me or you, but because you don’t want to be with me, fine, I can respect that. But I won’t accept it without a fight. I- I wanna fight for us, Tommy.” Buck steps closer to him, hoping that Tommy doesn’t step back, that might just break him. He doesn’t, he’s stuck in place, sad eyes on Buck’s. “Let me fight for us. You-” he adds quickly, on a roll now, not wanting Tommy to interrupt until after he’s done, after he’s said his piece. He needs to say it all now, let Tommy know how he feels. He can’t watch him leave without trying to fix it first. Tommy’s looking at him intently, just listening, not even trying to speak. “You gave me a second chance once, when I fucked up our first date, and I- I want to believe it wasn’t for nothing. So- so you’re my first man, so what?” Buck throws his hands up in frustration, he thinks he’s starting to sound a little frantic, speaking faster and faster. He just can’t let Tommy leave without him knowing exactly how Buck feels. “It’s far from my first relationship ever. Why- why is it so different just because you’re a man? It shouldn’t be. I don’t need to date other people, experiment or whatever else. I’ve dated people, slept around, did it all. I know how that goes, how it feels, and I don’t want to do it again. I know what I want, Tommy. And I want you. And don’t you dare tell me how I feel.” He feels anger seep in, Tommy’s words ringing in his head. What the actual fuck was he thinking? “I’m a grown man, I know how I feel. Yeah, it’s new and exciting, but it’s also real. It’s real to me, and- and if there’s any chance of forever, I want to take it. And-” he takes a breath. He feels like he’s been speaking in one breath, feeling a little lightheaded now, his heart hammering. Or maybe that’s just the panic. “And don’t start with the whole ‘I’m not your last’ bullshit.” He shakes his head again, tears welling up in his eyes, anger still building. Really, what in the world? How could Tommy want to just throw away the most wonderful relationship that’s happened to Buck in years? Maybe ever? “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. Yeah, we could break up one day. But you could also be my forever, and I could be yours. I’d love a chance to find out, even if it hurts in the end. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one here brave enough to risk it. And- and what about my heart, huh?” Tears are threatening to spill, his voice shaking now, with sadness and anger, and desperation. He can’t let him go, he can’t. “You said I’d break your heart eventually. But this, right now? This is you breaking mine.” He finishes, almost panting now, his monologue taking the wind out of him, wanting to say everything on his mind, in his heart. He hopes he got his point across. 
“Evan.” Tommy just whispers, with a pained expression. There are tears in his eyes, too, one lone one slipping through, falling down his cheek. Buck’s hand itches to reach out and wipe it off, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to anymore. 
“Give us a chance, Tommy. Let us fight for this. Fight for me, for us. Fight with me.” He’s aware he sounds like he’s begging at this point, but he doesn’t care. This is too important. “I thought it’s been so good between us lately-”
“It has!” Tommy rushes to say. “It’s been amazing. You make me so happy. That’s why I’m scared, I just- I’m sorry, Evan, but I can’t let myself get hurt like this again. Because I- I’ve been there before, and it was hard to get back up, and with you- I don’t think I’d be able to ever recover from this one.” He admits, his stone-faced facade crumbling, and Buck can see his own feelings reflected in Tommy’s expression. Sad, devastated, heartbroken. 
“We can- we can take some time apart.” Buck says around a lump in his throat. He feels like he can’t breathe. All he wants is to rewind until before he dropped the moving in bomb which must be what made Tommy freak out. He could say anything else, and take it slower, and maybe they’d be on their way out right now, a date night like they planned. “If that’s what you need. A break. But not for good. And then let’s come back to it clear-headed, knowing for sure what we want. And if you still want to break up, I- I’ll respect that. But I already know what I want,” he repeats firmly, decisively. “I want a future with you. I want to move in together, and one day down the line get married, and- and I want it all with you. We can slow down if I’m rushing this. I tend to do that, and if it’s scaring you, I’m sorry.” He adds, not wanting to backtrack any of this, but aware of how intense he’s coming off. He’s never been more serious about anything in his life. “But the past six months have been the best in my life. I’ve never felt so happy, so free, so comfortable, so safe. And I’m not giving up on you, Tommy. I will fight for you until I can’t anymore, until you tell me that you don’t care about me and I should just fuck off.”
“Evan. You know I’ll never say that.” Tommy responds quietly.
“I know. Because I’m confident in us, in the fact that you do care, and you do want me. I know that.” Buck emphasizes, and realizes, not for the first time, that he never felt like this before. This secure. This confident about someone wanting him. “I also know you’re just trying to protect yourself, your heart, and I get it. But I can’t let you go without a fight. I won’t. I messed up a lot in my life, and I won’t mess up this. I refuse to. Because I-” he takes a sharp breath, the words pressing on his lips. He doesn’t want to say it for the first time in a possible break up, a moment of such anger and devastation. But he needs to put it all out there. Needs Tommy to understand how much he’s trying to throw away right now. “I love you, Tommy.” He confesses, sees Tommy’s face melt into the saddest expression Buck’s ever seen on anyone, tears spilling freely now. Both of theirs, he realizes, feeling wetness on his cheeks. “I’ve been falling for you a little bit more with each day we spend together, with each minute. And I know- I hope you feel the same. But if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t-” he swallows thickly, the thought alone is too much to bear. 
“I can’t do that.” Tommy interrupts quickly. “Of course I love you, Evan. It happened so quickly it kind of scared me a little.” 
“I noticed.” Buck says dryly, and Tommy lets out a humorless chuckle. “If you ask me, which you didn’t, by the way, you decided for both of us, which was an asshole move,” he points out, and Tommy looks away, as if ashamed. Good. Buck loves him, which means he’s gonna call out when he’s acting shitty. “I’d rather give us a real try and get my heart shattered if it comes to this, instead of always wondering what if, always wondering if you’re my one who got away. Which you would be.”
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, takes a step towards Buck, now just half a step away. “I’m sorry, maybe breaking up is too hasty. Impulsive,” he scoffs at himself, probably remembering how he called Buck that just a few minutes ago. Well, so maybe they’re both a little impulsive. Not a problem, in Buck’s opinion. “I don’t- I don’t want to break up. I never want to be away from you.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand flinches at his side, like he wants to reach out, grab Buck’s, touch him. Buck hopes he does. “It just- it seemed too fast. Like you got wrapped up in the moment. It’s still so new, I thought we were taking it one step at a time, and I didn’t-” he takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and Buck knows what he says is going to sting – and it does, it feels like a gut punch, actually, “I didn’t think you were as serious about this as I was getting. And I realize we should’ve done the mature thing and talked it out. I’m sorry. It’s just, we’ve barely talked about any future here. But I want it, of course I do. I’m just- I’m scared. My heart has never been in this much danger.” He looks into Buck’s eyes as he says it, more vulnerable than ever. This is everything Buck wants right now, for them to talk, to discuss this, to try fixing it, instead of one of them running away and the other giving up and not fighting for it. Buck’s been there, he doesn’t want a repeat.
“Tommy.” Buck is the one to close the distance between them, carefully brings his hands up to cup Tommy’s face, giving him a chance to back away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he breathes out a sigh of relief, like he craved Buck’s touch as much as Buck craves his. “You remember when I told you I wanted something with you? Even though I didn’t know what that something was yet?” he asks and Tommy nods slightly, Buck’s palms still resting on his cheeks. “I’ve been serious about you since that precise moment. About pursuing this, and wanting some kind of future with you. I know I tend to rush into things, it’s been a problem before.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “I tried not to do that with you, but I failed, clearly. I just think from now on, we both should stay and talk and try to work it out if we have any issues with something. If you still want me.” He adds a little anxiously, but relaxed when he feels Tommy’s palms settle on his hips.
“Of course I want you, Evan. I always will.” Tommy says, that loving look in his eyes, that always makes Buck’s heart melt a little. That look that Buck loves so much, that made him think that Tommy might feel the same way.
“Good. Like I said, I’m not letting you go. Ever.” He says decisively, a huge weight that’s been there since the topic even started finally lifting off his chest. This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and no matter the conclusion – which he’s pretty sure will be the happily ever after he’s always craved – it’s worth the risk, it’s worth everything.
“Good.” Tommy echoes, that gorgeous, scrunchy smile of his slowly spreading on his face, and it’s like sunshine came out from behind stormy clouds. “I don’t intend on letting you go, either. I love you, sweetheart. And I’m so sorry for… for this mess. For overreacting.”
“That’s fine, we’re past this- well, actually, we are gonna talk about it more, but at least we’re on the same page now, I hope.” Buck says, slowly leaning in. “I love you so much. I never want to lose you.”
“I’m sorry.” Tommy says again, and Buck just wants him to stop saying it. It’s fine, they’re fine now. “You won’t. You have me for as long as you want. I promise.”
“What if I want you forever?” Buck whispers, his face so close to Tommy's, their lips almost brush. It sends a shiver down his spine, like he hasn’t kissed him in days, when they just exchanged a quick kiss hello a few minutes ago.
“That works for me.” Tommy smiles again, and finally dives in for a kiss, but it lasts barely a second before he’s pulling away, Buck trying to follow. Tommy chuckles, running a comforting hand up and down Buck’s side. “But maybe let’s put a pause on the whole moving in together thing, huh? At least until we fully talk everything through.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Buck nods, his gaze flickering between Tommy’s eyes, now sparkling happily, and his pretty, kissable lips. It feels so good to be able to just have a mature conversation and resolve whatever issues arise. If they keep doing that, he thinks they’re going to be okay. He’ll make sure of that. “No need to be impulsive,” he adds, his lips twisting into a teasing smirk.
“Okay.” Tommy chuckles quietly, his cheeks reddening. “Just kiss me.” 
Buck doesn’t need to be told twice. He kisses Tommy like he means it, like he’s his person, like he’s the love of his life, trying to put all those emotions into a kiss. He knows for sure he’s getting the same intent back. And at this moment, in his kitchen, narrowly avoiding losing his love because of a stupid reason, he decides it. One day, not too quickly, but not too far into the future, he’s going to ask Tommy Kinard to marry him. And he’s more than sure of the response he’ll get.
[also on Ao3]
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kitten4sannie · 2 months ago
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blood pact
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pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)
genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut
summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.
w.c: 4.3k
warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie
a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33
song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)
fictober 2024
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You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye? 
Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.
It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box. 
Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded. 
“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home. 
“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors. 
“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least. 
You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?” 
“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.” 
“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar. 
Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks. 
“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.
“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere. 
He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?” 
“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.” 
Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.” 
“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.” 
Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting. 
By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning. 
“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.” 
Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.” 
“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.” 
Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved. 
In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything. 
Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air. 
“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade. 
You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view. 
“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.
“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”
“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?” 
“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?” 
His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”
“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?” 
A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?” 
Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.” 
Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you. 
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist. 
“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process. 
When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst. 
“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers. 
You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.” 
He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.” 
-
The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble. 
“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!” 
You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.” 
When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?” 
“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.” 
Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you. 
Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.
Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?” 
Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…” 
“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.” 
Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them. 
“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.” 
Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.
“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat. 
“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”
The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment. 
It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.
“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers. 
When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you. 
Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt. 
You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle. 
As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible. 
“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum. 
Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…” 
Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection. 
“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core  as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…” 
Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.” 
“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better. 
His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”
You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you. 
Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same. 
Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger. 
Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…” 
“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips. 
He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”
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ellecdc · 7 days ago
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Hi!! I love love love your Finnick fics. I saw your requests are open and thought I would try one!
I was thinking reader and Finnick reuniting in either District 13 or after in the capitol when the rebels have taken it over. It could be a separation due to an Annie situation or something different. No worries if this doesn’t sound interesting to you! 🤍
thanks for your request! I absolutely love the district 13 reunion trope, but I had never read one based in the Capitol before so I decided to give that one a try. I hope I did it justice!
Finnick Odair x fem!reader who he will always find [1.5k words]
CW: potentially ooc Finnick BUT I did it on purpose because I think his unyielding loyalty and sense of duty is what ultimately killed him so SUE ME for making him selfish just ONCE 😭, angst with a happy ending
Everything Finnick had endured and smiled through since his own Games back at merely 14 years old had been for the benefit of others. The only thing he has ever done for himself was survive his games; and that was more out of desperation and instinct than it was out of any sense of pride. He dressed for the Capitol, he performed for the Capitol, he sold himself to the Capitol in order to keep his family and loved ones safe, he showed up every year in order to give other children a fighting fucking chance to survive their own games, he agreed to protect the Mockingjay for the rebellion, he sacrificed his oldest and dearest friend for their cause and almost lost another. 
He did his best to make another district feel like home even though his heart had quite literally been ripped away from him, all for the benefit of the cause, and even joined their army. 
Today, Finnick had one thing he needed to do for himself. And anyone who found fault with that could, quite frankly, suck his dick. 
“Finnick?” Katniss asks, looking up from the electronic map on the Holo in front of her. “Were you listening?” 
Finnick watches Gale’s jaw tighten at his lack of attention and fights against an eyeroll of his own. That was yet another thing Finnick had been doing as of late: playing mediator for this godawful love triangle. 
“Uhm, listen,” Finnick starts, looking around at the faces of squad 451, “If I get the chance, I’ll meet back up with the rest of you at the president's mansion, okay?” 
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Gale starts, standing from his crouched position, prompting Finnick to do the same. “Like hell you’re taking off; the plan was to stick together.”
“The plan was to film propos; that plan has changed, and before I go any further, I have someone I need to find.” 
“Finnick…” Katniss starts, tone dripping with pity as she follows him when he takes a few steps backwards and away from the group. “Wait!”
“I’ve done my waiting, Katniss.”
“You can’t just leave!” She calls, prompting him to turn back towards her.
“You got Peeta back!” He nearly sobs, flinging an arm out towards said boy; slightly worse for wear yet still on his feet. “He’s a little broken but he’s in there, Katniss. And even if he wasn’t, at least you know he’s alive. I need to find my Peeta.”
Katniss lets out a sad sigh; eyes searching his face for any signs of hesitation. Finnick knew she’d find none. “She wasn’t with the others; what if she’s already gone?”
Gone. She meant dead. What if you were already dead?
“I would happily die next to her, Katniss. But I won’t die for a movement that means nothing if she’s not here with me.”
Finnick ignores the heat of tears lining his cheeks as he watches Katniss recall how she very nearly gave up on the entire cause herself when she found out Peeta had been taken by the Capitol from the arena. 
Well, Katniss referred to it as left behind, but Peeta was snatched; you were left behind. 
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
“Listen, we had little time to react; the moment came upon us faster than anyone anticipated and she was nowhere to be found, Odair. I looked; I searched for her, but Plutarch said we had to go.” Haymitch had explained to him.
“I protected YOUR MOCKINGJAY.” Finnick had screamed. “I protected her at the cost of Mags and Johanna. I protect Katniss, you protect my girl; that was the deal.”
“Finnick-”
“That was the deal, and you LEFT HER BEHIND!?” 
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
Finnick had gotten violent, and not on purpose. He had to be sedated for three days after that, and they considered doing it again after Peeta was aired by the capitol, but you and Johanna weren’t. He was sedated again after Peeta and Johanna were rescued from the Capitol, but you were not. 
He was officially back in your last known whereabouts. He didn’t know if he’d find you, but he had to look. 
“We…” Finnick starts as he takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from his face before turning his attention back to someone he had come to consider a friend. “We had somewhere…that we would meet. No one else knew of it, it was safe; if she’s here, I just-”
But Katniss simply nods. “You have to try.”
“I have to try.” He parrots.
Katniss’ eyes flicker between Finnick’s before she suddenly embraces him; the act seemingly shocking both Finnick and herself as he tentatively returns the embrace. 
“Be careful.”
Finnick tries to laugh as he pats her on the back before pulling away. “You be careful; you’re the one they’re all after.”
“We’ll see you out there?” She asks as he backs away. 
Finnick nods. “Look out for one another, yeah?” 
With one final wave - Peeta offering a cautious one of his own while everyone else (save Gale) waved back - Finnick began his journey to the last spot he could possibly hope for you to be.
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You itched to leave; to look for him. He was here; after all these weeks he was actually here.
You’d managed to take off early on in the chaos and confusion following the arena being blown up; heart breaking yet simultaneously leaping at the sight of Plutarch’s hovercraft taking off without you, knowing they were going to go rescue your boy.
You let that knowledge be enough as you fought to put enough space between you and the peacekeepers tasked with finding you. 
You managed to overtake two of them, slipped into one of their uniforms and stole their weapons before going to the last place you could think that might possibly be safe; the last place you could think that Finnick might possibly find you. 
The radios you’d pilfered from the peacekeepers alerted you to rebel presence a few days ago, and it was later confirmed that a team including three victors - the Mockingjay, Peeta, and Finnick - were here. 
Here. 
You paced a hole in the floor as you considered your options. The city was large, dangerous, and you’d have to stay hidden; if he saw what appeared to be a peacekeeper approaching him, he’d have to kill you. 
But you could be sitting here indefinitely if you simply waited for him. What if he was in danger? What if he needed you? What if you could help?
Your spiralling was interrupted by a quiet knock on the makeshift door. 
There was a reasonable - perhaps hopeful - part of you that knew if it was a peacekeeper or other rebel forces, they wouldn’t have bothered knocking or alerting you to their presence. 
But years of violence and conflict found you pulling the neckguard of your stolen uniform over your mouth and nose - leaving your eyes and hair exposed - as you moved in the direction of the door with your weapon raised. 
Before you have a moment to react, the door swings open quickly and you are face to face - or, rather, gun to gun - with the love of your life. 
“Finnick?” You whisper, keeping your gun raised as Finnick lowers his own and looks at you with an expression mixed with grief and unadulterated relief. 
“Hi, sweetheart.” He lets out with a soft sob, and your gun falls to the ground with a clatter as you throw yourself at him. 
He catches you; of course he catches you. 
“I can’t believe you’re here.” You nearly sob as he lowers the two of you to the ground; overwhelmed with emotions, his legs give out on him as he keeps you pressed tight against his torso. “I can’t believe it. Oh my god.”
You’re nearly keening as you alternate between pressing as many kisses to Finnick’s lips, cheeks, jaw, head - anything you can get your lips on, really - sobbing, and nearly strangling him with the desperation of your embrace. 
“I found you, I found you” Finnick chants like a prayer. “I can’t believe I found you. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You’re quickly shaking your head as you take hold of his face between your hands. “You don’t have to be sorry; you did exactly what you were supposed to.”
“They left you behind.” He cries. 
“They saved you.” 
He shakes his head but doesn’t argue, simply lowering his forehead to yours as his hands trail up and over your arms, sliding up your neck and then back down again as though he can’t help but touch every single part of you. 
“I can’t believe you’re here.” You repeat again. “I can’t believe you found me.”
“I will always find you.” He insists, pulling your face from where you try shoving it into his neck only to hold it in front of him as he stares at you imploringly. “Do you hear me? I will always find you. I will always find you.” 
“I know, Finn.” You agree. “I know you will.”
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fairlyang · 5 months ago
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Sleeping Beauty🍷
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w/c: 995
tags: 18+ smut!!! somnophilia (!!), dub-con (!!), established relationship, he’s down bad, force usage x2 (if you squint), unprotected sex, you wake up, creampie
a/n: still working on my 6K fic of ep6😵‍💫 (i’m going insane) in the meantime i might write more short smut drabbles like this for fun 🫶🏼
qimir slowly, and gently sliding inside you as your breathing slowed down and your eyes were barely able to stay open. his hand made its way to grab your waist while you let out little gasps, too tired to tell him to stop and because it felt too good.
add along the fact that you’ve both been wanting to dabble in somnophilia and have given him consent to do it when you’re sleeping, he took this opportunity.
you were going in and out of consciousness, sleeping calls to you with every flying second and you let it take over.
meanwhile qimir was now fully inside you. so warm and tight. you hugged him to perfection. he did slow and sensual thrusts, eyes rolling back because it was amazing.
he kept his moans as quiet as he could, biting on his bottom lip so he didn’t wake you. but then he realized if him fucking you wasn’t enough to keep you awake, then surely a few moans won’t wake you.
so he let out a few moans under his breath, grabbing your right leg and carefully moving it up so he could go deeper. you were laid on your side but now with your leg up, it gave him more room to fuck you how he wanted.
you were stirring in your sleep, letting out small whimpers which only drove him more feral. he was so ecstatic to finally indulge in one of your shared fantasies, he couldn’t help but change his pace to be slightly faster.
his thrusts were desperate. something about how you just fell asleep knowing he was inside you did something to him. and the fact that you’re yet to wake up.
a sleeping beauty in all her glory. you looked so peaceful, beautiful. as always. your beauty never fails to impress him and he was eternally grateful you were all his.
your breathing was somewhat steady but your pussy was clenching against him and there was already a white ring of cream around the base of his cock. even though you were unconscious your body still reacted the same way to his like when you’re awake. he groaned and closed his eyes, wanting to rely on the force alone to really feel you.
he always seemed to find himself using desire as the emotion to help him use the force. his desire for you was unlike any other so it just felt beyond perfect, he was speechless. his mind was clear and he could feel your own desire radiating off your body.
you always claimed you didn’t have a connection to the force, and your stubbornness would never let him help you nor venture past something as simple as sensing when he’s near. but when it came to moments like these it was painfully strong, another reason he was happy you were his.
you’d only be this way with him and if that was as far as your patience with the force ran, then he’d be content.
you were now slightly snoring which had him grinning ear to ear like a lovesick fool. he slowed down and went back to sensual thrusts, making sure you had every inch of him inside you.
he opened his eyes and looked down at your body, now noticing that your arousal was now dripping down to your asshole. “fuck-“ he muttered under his breath and felt himself twitch.
you stirred in your sleep and squirmed around only to just heighten the pleasure. he bit his lip and gripped your waist a little more while his right hand went to grab on to the back of your leg. he steadied himself and was trying to not just explode inside you that very second.
you suddenly just felt that ache between your thighs and your consciousness woke you up. dazed and confused, you wipe your eyes only to realize your wet dream was actually real.
you fell asleep and qimir finally made the move to fuck you as you slept. you let out a yawn and turn your head to face him, his pretty eyes already on you as you murmur, “i thought it was a dream.”
he chuckles and shakes his head, “a dream come true maybe..”
you playfully roll your eyes and he grins, “there’s my girl.”
you sheepishly grin, feeling your cheeks grow warm like they always did with any sweet words he’d give you. you stretched your arm out back to your waist to which he instinctively interlocked your hands together. his thumb gently rubbed your skin and he went back to focusing on his deep strokes.
you laid your head back into the pillow and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to just relax and feel everything he’s doing.
he was now freely moaning, absolute music to your ears and unsurprisingly the cause of your orgasm getting closer. you whimpered and tried to squeeze your thighs together but his second hand didn’t let you. he clicked his tongue and you could just picture the look of disapproval on his face while you pout.
that alone was enough for his own orgasm to build up in his body and he started going faster, desperately trying to catch his release. “qimir-“ you whimpered and squeezed his hand.
he groaned and suddenly released his load deep inside you. his pace didn’t calm down until you were shaking and crying in pleasure from your orgasm suddenly hitting you too.
he stopped and slowly pulled out, not wanting to hurt you. he let go of your leg but leaned down to kiss your hand before letting go when his dick just slid out of you with a plop.
he kissed your hand some more before laying down behind you. you turned your body to lay on his chest, with a hand on his heart just feeling it beat for you. already having in mind that you need this to happen again, and qimir knowing without having to ask.
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ceilidho · 1 year ago
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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 2. (read part 1 here) tags: dubcon
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There’s a photo of you taped up on the inside of his locker. 
The glimpse you catch of it is quick. Not like you aren’t meant to see it, but more like Johnny’s so unconcerned with whether you see it or not that he doesn’t bother to make a show of it. Just reaches into his locker to grab his lunch and shuts it while you’re still gaping at the polaroid of someone that looks suspiciously like you in your store uniform. You hear someone clear their throat and you glance up, flinching when you meet Johnny’s eyes.
“Missing me already?” he teases, winking. “I’ll be back on the floor as soon as possible. ‘Promise, hen.”
“It’s not—” 
He’s already out the door and on the way to the lunchroom before you’re able to get the rest of your sentence out. 
Johnny seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re about to spurn his advances. Any other day he would have stuck around to listen to the rest of your sentence, but when he has an inkling that those words will be tinged by the flavour of rejection, he’s quick to book it. You privately have to admit it’s not a terrible strategy. It’s not often that you’re able to get the words out. 
It’s one of those rare shifts where you’re clocking in later than Johnny, missing his lunch break. Small mercies. It doesn’t mean much because your schedules still overlap a significant amount, but it does mean that you won’t be forced to choke down your lunch while Johnny sits opposite you at the lunch table and stares you down the entire half hour. 
“Wait, that was so fucking cute,” someone says from behind you. You turn on your heel to find a coworker staring at Johnny’s locker, properly enchanted by whatever she saw. Practically swooning. 
“What is?”
“Didn’t you see the picture he has of you? In his locker?” She says it with emphasis, giving you a significant look. 
“Yeah…I…don’t you think it’s a bit…like, weird?” you ask her, making sure to keep your voice low in case Johnny is still around the corner. You can’t help the way you glance down the hallway.
She frowns. “It’s cute. He’s like, smitten with you. I’ve never seen him with a crush on anyone before and I’ve worked with him for over a year. I think it’s kind of nice. Do you not like him or something?”
“Well, I just…we aren’t even dating and I think…I think he even has a photo of me as his lock screen—”
“Because if you aren’t interested in him, you should let him down now. It’s not fair of you to just string him along, you know. He’s a really good guy.”
You’re not sure about the whole good guy thing. Johnny acts like a nice guy most of the time, but you’ve had the unfortunate luck in getting to experience the other side of him.
The problem lies in the fact that Johnny is, you think, a genuinely likeable guy to everyone else. It’s not like your coworkers are all collectively wrong in their opinion of him—he really is an excellent coworker. A good sport, a funny guy; he lends a hand whenever someone needs help. He helped Jeff move two weeks ago, drove Daryl to the airport last Saturday, and looked after Sonya’s cat while she was away on vacation that one time. 
It’s with you that his good-time nature evaporates; his lazy, drawled predilection for joking around and indulging himself and others in a good ribbing replaced by a weird, manufactured kindness. Almost sickly sweet. He lays it on so thick around others that they think you experience the same friendship with Johnny that the rest of them get to enjoy. 
Not so.
None of them catch the way he’s always hovering, always staring at you. Eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes in the middle of your shift, in the middle of the workplace. 
None of your coworkers are around when you’re at the register one day and Johnny takes his break to make a couple purchases, coming to your cash with a basket full of chocolate, wine, condoms, body butter, and batteries. No one except him notices the way you pause at the last item.
“Dinnae ken if your vibrator was rechargeable or not,” he says when you look at him funny, a big grin stretched across his face. Blue eyes gleaming almost feverishly. “Thought I’d be prepared either way.”
You scan his items in silence. When you hand him his bag, you try not to shudder when he purposefully glances his hand over yours. 
Worse are the days when Johnny comes in as a customer, the days when he’s off the schedule. When he shouldn’t even be at the store at all. No one notices the way he pesters you the entire time he’s in the store, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. If a coworker does happen to notice his presence (and how could they not when he’s such a formidable presence in any room, when he almost glows from the energy stockpiled in his body with nowhere else to go), he’ll make polite conversation, just long enough to not seem rude, before shifting his attention back to you. 
His conversation borders on interrogation. He asks you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners. He makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed. 
When you rebuff him one too many times, he’s not shy about telling you off. 
“Ye just need a good fuck ta sort ye out,” Johnny snarls when you brush off another invite out to lunch one day. It’s not often that he loses his temper with you, so his anger makes your eyes widen, your pulse pick up. During morning shift assignments, he’d corralled your manager into pairing the two of you up on curbside pick-up orders, meaning that you’ve been stuck with him for hours, nowhere else to go. 
“Excuse me?” you say, voice going up a decibel. 
He leans across the front of the cart loaded with flowerpots and gardening tools. “I get it, hen. No one at home ta play with your pussy, huh? No choice but ta come into work all pent up and frustrated—”
“This is in like, the outer Hebrides of ‘none of your business’—”
“—clit’s probably all swollen too. Fuck.” He breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes darkening. “No wonder you’re always pissed off. I’d be too if I dinnae have a little replacement pussy at home.”
“You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place, Johnny.”
“Aw, I ken, bonnie,” he says with a pout, eyebrows slanting down like he really, truly pities you, the gesture immediately contradicted by his next words. “Promise I’ll make it better. Wanna meet outside my truck in a half hour?” 
You storm off before it comes to blows. Not that it’d ever be a fair fight. Johnny would probably hold you away with his palm against your head while you swung at him uselessly. You try not to think of that too often. Of him toying with you. Most of your interactions feel like that these days. Like he’s a big cat holding your tail down when you try to scramble away. 
When you beg your manager to switch shift assignments, the look you get could wilt flowers. It’s not completely your fault, even if your request is a bit inconveniencing. Johnny has your coworkers and management so wrapped around his finger that no one can even hazard a guess as to why you might be uncomfortable around him. 
It’s the only reason you haven’t complained to HR yet. There are channels and protocols for dealing with his behaviour, but watching people practically trip over themselves to please him reminds you that the likeliest outcome would be them transferring you to another store. It just doesn’t seem worth it.
You don’t think about how frazzled his words leave you for the rest of your shift. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about. 
You know from the second that your manager reassigns you to women’s apparel that you’ve probably made a mistake. Customers buzz around you like gnats, like swarms of flies, and it’s only natural that you’d be compelled to swat a few. You hold on to the fraying edges of your patience with little finesse. About halfway through your shift, you get a stern talking to from your floor supervisor and put on an extra long break. You’re no less irritated when you get back though, somehow still agitated and snappy. 
Big hands clamp over your shoulders and squeeze like he’s giving you a massage, thumbs digging into the grooves of your upper back. He ignores the way you tense up.
“Hen, you’re making the customers uncomfortable with all your huffin’ and puffin’,” he whispers into your ear, a light chuckle falling out with his words. Amused by your attitude this time instead of ticked off. “If ye want, I could take ye ta the back room ta loosen ye up a bit. Make your day a little better. Dinnae think anybody will even notice if we dip away for a bit—’sides management will probably send me a gift basket if ye come back perky after a good shag.”
You shrug him off to go clock out, ignoring the way he chuckles as you storm off. No one knows if you go home and wear out the battery in your vibrator while thinking about Johnny’s words. Thinking about Johnny guiding you to his truck with a palm flat on your low back, pinkie teasing just under the waistband of your pants, before laying you out across the backseat and climbing on top of you.
You come when you think about how he’d have to keep the door open to fuck you in his car.
Unfortunately, you’re more than familiar with his sweet side as well. 
On your birthday, he comes in early with a sheet cake and organizes the employees so that the breakroom is dark when you come in. The entire staff is there when you switch on the lights, shouting your name and happy birthday, decked out in party hats and blowing into noisemakers.
It catches you off guard. Hits you right in the solar plexus and leaves you winded. You stand in the middle of the room like you’re under a spotlight and that spotlight is Johnny’s stare burning a hole in your head. For once, it doesn’t rankle. It leaves you feeling light, feathery, like floating down to earth. A coworker hands you a noisemaker and you smile until your eyes crinkle when you blow into it. 
You’re in a good enough mood that you don’t argue when he insists on sitting beside you. He got you the cake after all. Maybe it’s the least he deserves. Your goodwill lasts until Johnny tries to feed you a piece of cake with his fork; he winds up getting cake smushed all over your cheek when you turn your head away. 
“Johnny, ‘m not a baby,” you complain, wrinkling your nose when cake and icing slide down your face. “I can feed myself. This is so gross.”
“Shucks, hen, lemme get that. Shouldnae have turned your head,” Johnny curses, leaning over to scoop it off with his fingers. He holds them out to you, an offering. “Here ye go, kitty.”
You stare, horrified, until he shrugs like ‘suit yourself’ and pops them into his own mouth. Then drags the same spit covered fingers over your cheek again to keep cleaning you up. 
You can tell that it’s hopeless to complain by the way your coworkers giggle and gossip, eyes drawn to the two of you. Maybe it would be better if you were transferred. You only have so many ‘I’m not his work wife’s left in you. Something’s bound to give. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be you. 
On the walk to your car after your shift, which Johnny insists on doing like he does every time the two of you work a closing shift together, he jokingly asks if you’ve gotten your birthday spanks. He says it in that same awkward joking tone, just a bit too excited, staring at you too eagerly. Unblinking. Tuts his tongue when you tell him you’ve never heard of that before. 
You jolt and squeak at the pop on your ass when he insists on opening the door to your car and helping you in. The betrayed look you shoot him hardly penetrates through his shit-eating grin. 
“See ye tomorrow, kitty,” Johnny calls out, walking backwards away from you to where his truck is parked just a few spots away from yours. You think he would’ve parked right next to you if you hadn’t chosen a spot conveniently between two other cars. “More where that came from.”
Your hands shake against the steering wheel your whole drive home. Dreading tomorrow’s shift.
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ynsbarbbb · 7 months ago
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tell me you love me | l. norris
hypothesis - on days like these, where everything just seems to go wrong, the uttered words from your boyfriend is the only cure.
pairing - lando norris x fem!driver!reader
[fic is inspired by “tell me you love me” by demi lovato]
“i need someone on days like this, i do”
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“are you fucking kidding me right now?” you groan as your car’s engine died, right at the turn of the finish line. right at the turn of qualifying for the miami grand prix.
“come on, come on,” practically begging the car, trying to see if you could just get it back to life, to salvage the last bit of your pride that’s hanging on by a damn thin thread.
slamming your hands on the wheel, “son of a bitch!”
“lost power,” you sigh into your ear piece, defeated. laying your head on your hands that rested in the steering wheel.
this is really just what you needed.
another layer of cake on your already shitty day.
first the argument you had with lando this morning, really, about something so imbecile silly that you can actually laugh about it right now. running late, missing your shoe, bumping your hip on the counter - sure to leave a nasty bruise and lando not wanting to get out of the bed.
silly, right?
and now this.
“what happened?” zac questioned, concerned. the car was perfectly fine yesterday, practically soaring all over the track. you were sure that you’d start first pole by how the car roared.
“you fucking tell me,” you didn’t mean to be so harsh. zac’ question just scratched that itchy irritable spot that has been bothering you, all day.
zac sighed, not commenting on your response, sensing how it’ll make the situation worse.
knowing that if he said anything about your starting pole, which you already definitely knew, you’d blow your head.
smart man.
“sending tow, stay there.”
like you’d be going any fucking where.
~~
a coffee. that’s what you needed. a strong one at that.
with your suit arms tied around your hips you walk the way of the holy grail, not really observing your surroundings and stumbling straight into the blistering coffee cup of one of mclaren’s mechanics.
the liquid seeping through your shirt, burning your skin. his cup falling to the ground and shattering in hundreds of little pieces.
“y/n,” the mechanic was quick to react, grabbing napkins that rested on the edge of the table, dabbing at the material, pressing into your now third degree burn.
why didn’t you pay attention? why where you so wrapped up in your head?
why?
“just leave it,” hissing, you swatted the napkin from his hand, you take the route back to your room. the ceramic pieces crunching under your shoes.
with a hand pressed to your head, you can already feel the lump forming in your throat, eyes burning as tears well up behind your eyes. you bite your lip, you won’t succumb to today, you won’t show your white flag just yet.
you won’t acknowledge the pitying looks from everyone on your team.
you won’t acknowledge the murmurs on the paddock of mclaren’s worst starting pole.
you won’t acknowledge the desire you feel to be wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms.
you just won’t.
another, beautiful layer of cake stacked.
~~
“really?” you whine as you pat your pockets, looking for the keycard that’s used to unlock the door, but it comes out empty.
damn zac for changing the locks. damn the security protocol.
you left, or more like forgot, it at home. on the counter, where you usually leave it. your shoulders sag and with your back turned to the door you glide down it. arms wrapped around your knees and head rested on it.
here it comes, the wall to the well finally comes crashing down and the first tear rolls down your cheek landing on the coffee stain.
you finally hoist your white flag, today won.
a pretty red cherry on top of your stacked cake. a delicious topping.
“there you are,” a muppet voice says, breaking you from the train of thoughts that’s currently speeding down the tracks in your mind.
you look up, and lando is peeping around the corner of the wall.
on every other day you would’ve laughed at the sight.
your lip trembles and a new wave of tears wells up behind your eyes. lando makes quick work to scramble towards you, crouching down in front of you.
“hey, hey, no, none of that,” he’s gentle. he brought his hands up to your face, wiping the stray tears that ran down your face. you lean into his touch, and finally, something that feels right for today.
“turn that frown upside down,” he says in a sing song voice, a smile creeping onto his lips. the gaps in his teeth more than welcoming.
you bite on your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth slightly lifting.
but lando takes that as a success nonetheless.
“there she is, my beautiful girl.”
a sob like snort leaves your mouth and lando can’t keep that muppet laugh of his in any longer.
hair that fell around your face, he pushed it behind your ears, “rumour has it that someone is having one hell of a day.”
you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “really? who is it? max?”
“ah, sarcasm, it’s welcoming,” lando jokes.
rolling your eyes you look at his, wispy lashes, a light shade of red tint on the apples of his cheeks, “just tell me you love me, norris.”
“i love you.”
he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“i love you,” a kiss to your brow.
“i love you,” a kiss to your cheek.
“i love you,” a kiss on your nose.
“i love you,” a final kiss to your lips.
“i love you.”
fin.
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slytherinslut0 · 7 months ago
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tom riddle. | you don’t have to do this
summary: you and tom have endured seven years of ignoring your feelings for eachother for mattheo’s sake, and simply just can’t do it any more. it’s wrong, we shouldn’t be doing this type of trope.
word count: 1.2k
tags: nothing just a lot of angst and mentions of fighting (tom and mattheo), tom and reader kiss at the end. collective yet suppressed pining.
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notes: this started out as headcanons and turned into something way longer (story of my life?). i need this as an entire proper fic, this is simply a concept for the time being.
————-
okay so like we all know about the cold, emotionally detached tom riddle—but what about the tom riddle who has been secretly harbouring feelings for you for years? the tom who has kept these feelings hidden because his brother, who has always been open about his affection for you, feels the same way.
what about tom riddle who has watched mattheo hit on you every single fucking day for 7 years and has found himself on the brink of bloody exploding because even though you reject mattheo every single time, the silent torment is unrelenting, and there’s always the gnawing chance that maybe one day you won’t turn him down.
what about tom riddle who forces himself to be distant from you, abruptly severing any tutoring sessions or any other individual interactions that might put you in close proximity to him because he needs to purge these feelings for you yet every goddamn moment near you makes it fucking impossible to do just that.
what about tom riddle who intervenes when you're all gathered in the common room on a friday night, drinking, to tell mattheo to lay off as he continues bugging you after you’ve told him to go away ten times over.
of course, you and mattheo always bicker and banter in a lighthearted manner. mattheo has been in your life for seven years. he’s your bestfriend. you love him, just not like that. never, like that. he just doesn’t know when to relent.
what about tom riddle who doesn’t dare meet your gaze as he succeeds in getting mattheo to leave you alone, fearing the admiration in your eyes would linger in his peripherals, infiltrating his mind and haunting him when he tries to sleep at night. he’d keep his sights glued to his brother, not breaking away until he’d lost him in the crowd, before he’d retreat himself, as well, without saying another word.
what about tom riddle who finds himself intervening more and more frequently, unable to endure it any longer? as though the flood gates were now wide open and he just simply couldn’t stop himself? as though he could sense the shift in admiration you had for him. as though he knew this is what you needed.
what about tom riddle, who knows his brother is harmless, yet simply can't refrain from getting increasingly more irritated with him every time he brings you up until one day it erupts into a full-blown fight in the middle of the common room as mattheo starts to grow suspicious about tom’s intentions, fueling the tension between them to its breaking point.
now, what about you, who watches this entire thing unfold, torn between feeling bad for mattheo and suffocating admiration for tom? you don’t know why tom has suddenly decided to intervene so often, but there’s a knot in the pit of your stomach every time you look at him, and the fact that he doesn't dare meet your eyes only intensifies it.
you’ve always harboured secret feelings for tom, but you could never act on them, knowing it would shatter mattheo’s heart. (more like his ego. we all know this boy would be sleeping around unfazed while still trying to pick you up. he’d just be pissed you chose tom over him.)
what about tom riddle who swallows the pit of guilt lodged in his throat, deep down feeling terrible for what he just did as he goes to brush past you to clean his knuckles up in the bathroom, tensing as tight as a coiled spring when you suddenly stop him with a gentle hand on his arm—a silent exchange of knowing admiration immediately passing between you.
little did you know, the second he met your eyes, the second you touched him, it was over for him. regardless of how cold and indifferent he was coming off. internally, he was in flame. clinging to the very last tattered strings of his resolve.
now what about you, who immediately senses the guilt in tom’s eyes and feels a sense of resonance? you, who is riddled with your own layers of guilt—for being the reason they fought, for not reciprocating mattheo’s advances, for desiring his brother instead, and for the very move you were about to make just now as tom’s eyes dipped over your lips, lingering there for far too long.
“let me help you clean up…it’s the least i can do…”
what about tom riddle who would nod silently, outwardly reluctant but internally eagerly willing, following you out of the common room and into your dorm— sheepishly tracing after you as you lead him to your bathroom, internally counting the number of tiles lining the floor or the seconds between each breath he took—anything to distract him from the intimate proximity he found himself in with you just now.
he had to keep it together. he shouldn’t be here.
and what about you, whose entire body is vibrating, hands trembling slightly but enough to be entirely noticeable as you patch up his knuckles—avoiding looking up at his face as he grimaces from the sting of the cleaning solution, your focus solely on the task at hand.
you, who nearly jumps out of your own skin as he speaks to you for the first time in what has felt like ages.
“you don’t have to do this, you know…”
“and you didn’t have to fight your brother…”
“fair point.” he’d chuckle. fuck, you’d missed that. “mattheo just wouldn’t leave it alone.”
“he hasn’t…for seven years.”
he’d hum a nod. “he’s obsessed. no one can blame him.”
you, who involuntarily looks up, unable to stop yourself now, your heart pounding like a wild animal desperate for release. the room suddenly feels stifling as he looks down at you, meeting your eyes, your mind swirling with thoughts of how badly you want to kiss him, how utterly wrong it would be to do so, and how much it would piss off mattheo. you’re fighting to decide if you even care.
“hm,” you should play it off, but you can’t. “care to elaborate?”
tom riddle who has to fight the urge to reach up and grasp the back of your neck and pull you into him, his fingers practically twitching with the desire to close the gap between you. tom riddle who is merely inches away from you, battling every instinct urging him to give in. he can see it in your eyes, the longing, the desire mirrored back at him. he can practically feel it in your touch.
“all the guys are obsessed with you.” so quiet you almost missed it, so gentle it almost tickled. “you’ve always had that effect. you’re fucking beautiful.”
his eyes are on your lips now and you’re trembling, stomach doing cartwheels. you go to break eye contact but his hand reaches out and cups your cheek, stalling you in place.
it’s wrong. this is wrong. “i…”
“hm?” he tilts his head.
“tom…”
his thumb ghosts over your cheekbone. his eyes don’t know where to land. “don’t act like you don’t have feelings for me…i see it…”
you shudder, scorching under the heat of a thousand suns. gods, you want this. youve fucking dreamed of it. but you can’t, you can’t do that to mattheo, it’s—
“it’s wrong…he’ll be furious…”
tom riddle who intently observes you as you tremble under his touch, your nerves palpable through your skin. tom riddle who finds it almost relieving, to see you like this— as though this is a confirmation of his hopes and suspicions, a validation of the effect he’s always hoped he’d have on you. tom riddle who agrees with you, who knows exactly how fucking wrong this is, but after seven years of suppressing it—doesn’t know how much he fucking cares anymore.
tom riddle who, in this moment, wants to do so many fucking things to you he doesn’t even know where to start.
his hand slides lower, his thumb grazing your jaw. “he’s tried, for so long, to get your attention…and he’s never gotten a damn thing from you…”
his hand shifts again, his thumb reaching for your bottom lip, tracing it and tugging on it gently. you’re in shambles, barely breathing, oxygen fleeing the vicinity and being replaced by suffocating desire, tom’s lips being the only reprieve in sight.
“but look at me…” he continues. “i do one thing, and you’re on fire.”
tom riddle and you, both on the verge of falling apart, unable to contain yourselves any longer. you don’t have to say another word as your eyes lock and you move in perfect synchrony, crashing your lips together with an urgency that speaks of years of pent-up desire.
it’s as if the world would end if you didn't, as if you were determined to make up for seven years of denial and restraint for mattheo’s sake and just indulge in each other for once. your kiss is filled with thirst, hunger, and unbridled passion, evident in the way your fingers dig into each other, as if to confirm that this is real, that it's not just some dream.
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago
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Just Friends: Confession
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes
masterlist
Summary: you can't get away from your fallout with Bucky.
It’s giving
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
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You continue past the cars and down the vacant road. The edges are trimmed with gravel and faded grass. You refuse to look back as you hug your pie, the tine of butter safely nestled in your purse. You can’t believe this. Not just him, but yourself. 
You are so mad. You don’t yell. You don’t do this. Yet here you are marching off impulsively to who knows where. 
You hear tires and a whirring engine. You might be able to hitchhike, though you think that went out of style in the 70s. Also, is it preferable to Bucky? 
“Dreamy,” Bucky slows, an arm hooked through the open driver’s window, “stop. Please, get it. I’ll take you home.” 
“No,” you snap. 
“Come on. You know you won’t make it that far. We can talk--” 
“I told you, I’m done talking,” you try futilely to outpace the tires. “Go away.” 
“You know I can’t do that,” he sighs. “It’s cold and it’s only going to get colder. And that dress isn’t going to do much for you--” 
“Stop telling me what to do!” You sneer. “Alright? Just leave me alone.” 
“This is stupid,” he says. 
“Then I’m stupid. I’m good with that,” you roll your eyes. 
“You know that’s not what I mean. It’s dangerous. You’re going to get lost--” 
“I wish you would,” you huff. 
“Alright,” he veers towards you and blocks you with the front of his car, stopping at an angle so you have no other choice but to hop into a ditch to get away. You just stand there, glaring as he gets out. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were so upset about the date. I just... I should’ve tried, you’re right. And I was a butt.” 
He shakes his head and looks away, hands on his hips, “but I didn’t. And I couldn’t make myself do that.” 
“Oh, so you were deliberately horrible?” You accuse. 
“No, but yes,” he looks at you with a furrow in his forehead. He takes a deep breath and gulps. He pushes his shoulders up and tilts his head. “Dreamy, can we talk in the car? Please?” 
“Say whatever you need to say,” you growl. 
His cheeks dimple as he frowns, “why are you being so damn stubborn?” 
“Stupid, stubborn, why am I even your friend?” 
“I didn’t say--” 
“You did--” 
“But I didn’t mean--” 
“Well, it’s true.” You retort. 
“Dreamy, goddamnit, just listen,” he grits out, “alright? I’m tryna say something to you.” You flinch as he steps closer and puts his hands on your shoulders. You tense but don’t pull away. “I... I don’t know how to tell you. I wanted to before—Jesus, even now I can’t get it fucking out.” 
You’re taken aback by his frustration and his profanity. His eyes gleam intensely as he squeezes your shoulders tighter. He searches your face as his dark lashes flutter. 
“Dreamy...” he murmurs. 
You have no time to react. He’s leaning in and then you’re smothered by him. His beard tickles and scratches against you as his tongue flicks between your lips. You squeak and drop the pie. You push against his chest in shock and rip your mouth away. 
“Bucky!?” You exclaim. “Why--” 
“Dreamy,” he rasps, his face pale with shock and disappointment. “I’m in love with you--” 
“No! No, you’re not,” you shove on his chest as he tries to lean in again. “Because we’re friends. You love me like a friend--” 
“No, dreamy,” he grabs your wrists. “Not like that.” 
“No, Bucky, please, I just wanted a friend,” you pout. 
He winces, “but you got more. Isn’t that good?” 
Your heart races. You stare up at him. You never thought of him like that. Never even considered it. You’re poor, you’re insecure, you’re lost, you can’t do a relationship. You’re not looking for that. Not yet. 
“Bucky,” you give a pained grimace, “I’m flattered but I think we’re in very different places in our lives--” 
“No, don’t give me that cliche bullshit,” he hisses, keeping hold of your wrists. “Dreamy, tell me you ever felt this way with anyone else.” 
“You’re my friend,” you repeat. 
“No, no,” he snarls, “no. I see it. The way you smile at me, the way your eyes shine, when you grab onto my arm or my hand--” 
“Bucky...” you breathe. 
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t run away,” he jerks you by your wrists as you try to untangle them. “I waited over a century to find the perfect girl, Dreamy. It’s you--” 
“You’re hurting me,” you step into the pie as you struggle with him. “Please, let me go--” 
“No, I can’t,” he growls, “I won’t let you go, Dreamy.” 
He yanks you towards the car and you squeal, “stop! Please! What are you doing?” 
“What’s good for you,” he drags you around to the trunk, his hand still on one of your wrists as he releases the other to open the lid. “I can’t let you walk home and I’m not going to let you get away from me. I’m running outta time, doll.” 
“No, no,” you gnash your teeth as you kick with your legs. He swings you around easily and flips you over the edge of the trunk. He rolls you inside as you flail and he snaps the lid shut. 
The car dips at the back as he leans on the outside, “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Dreamy. You just don’t know what’s good for you. It’s why you need me around.”  
He taps on the outside then his steps crunch through the gravel. You whine and wail, hitting the trunk with your feet and hands. The front door opens and shuts and the engine hums back to life. You roll against the back as he reverses and twists the car around. 
“Buckyyyyy!” You screech. 
You don’t know if can hear you or not. You don’t think it matters. You can hardly think as disbelief muddles with your fear. How can he do this? You could never expect this. He’s Bucky, he’s a hero, he’s your friend. So why are you in the trunk of his car? 
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