#the shadow is but a small and passing thing

[kimuzostar]

YOU CAN'T HIDE ii

⊱ bountyhunter!terry x black fem reader ⊰ ⊱ warnings: 18+, smut, degradation kink, pregnancy scare, mention of clinic visit, slight choking, stalking aspects, slight dom!terry and more i forgot ⊰ ⊱ probably the last part for this, i don't know... writing smut scares me because i'm bad at it ⊰ enjoy

A few weeks have passed of you being on the run. The media coverage of the robbery had died down; yet you were still on edge. 

Not about the robbery but about him.

“When I catch you again, I won’t be as nice.”

 His words replayed over and over in your head. You felt them deep in your stomach, just like his di-

No, no, no. You will not allow a man to be the proprietor of your downfall. 

After he left, you gathered your things and immediately headed for the nearest bus station. You brought a ticket to Arondale, another small town about four hours away. You needed to put distance between the two of you. 

As you boarded the bus, you had an eerie feeling of being watched. You turn and see a truck. His truck. 

Its lights cut on and it rapidly sped off in the opposite direction. 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

Now you could live in peace….. or so you thought. 

You were currently bent over the toilet of your dingy motel room. The entire contents of your stomach emptied out before you. 

For the last 5 or so days, you’ve been unable to hold down any food, certain smells cause you to gag, and you’ve been over emotional about every little thing. 

The tenant next door was not being of any help as he didn’t seem to know how to lower his volume. Constantly playing loud music and talking loudly. Every time you went to complain, he would get quiet and not answer his door. 

The one time you did see him, his back was turned to you as he got in his car. You wish you would’ve saw his face so you could flip it off. 

You were trying not to think the worst, brushing it off to a persistent stomach bug. But your period was late and that wasn’t making anything more comforting. 

“There’s no fucking way!”, you whisper to yourself. 

There’s no way you could possibly be pregnant by a man you don’t even know. A man whose face you’ve never even seen. You didn’t need any of this right now. 

Gathering yourself, you pull up to look in the mirror. Your curly hair wild, eyes shadowed with bags and your plump lips were chapped. You were a mess. 

You needed a pregnancy test. There was a small market across the street. You gathered your jacket and headed out. 

-

The market was stocked; having every essential one might need. 

You grabbed a buggy. You were going to get everything you needed so if you get the worst, you wouldn’t have to come out for a while. 

As you turn down one of the aisles, you bump into someone. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you say. 

Looking up, you see it’s your loud next door tenant. He’s wearing shades with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. A perfect set of 32s. 

“That’s no bother, just don’t do it again,” he replies. 

Already aggravated, you didn’t have the energy to play into his games. You continue along the aisle, paying him no more attention. 

Scanning the items, you finally find what you’re looking for; a clear blue pregnancy test. You grab it, biting your lower lip out of nervousness. 

Taking a step backwards, you run into what feels like a brick wall. A pair of arms surround you, the hands covering yours over the test. They lift them so the owner can take a closer look. 

“A pregnancy test. Who dis fa?”, the person says. 

You push back, turning to see who it is. 

It’s the tenant again. 

“Don’t fucking touch me and it’s none of your fucking business.”

He laughs, taking off his shades to get a better look at you. 

“I think it’s a lot of my business considering I could be a daddy.”  

Fuck, those eyes. 

It was him. The bounty hunter. 

Terry stood before you, smiling so big that his eyes disappeared. His hair was cut low, his skin bronzed by the sun. 

He was beautiful. 

You were frozen, unable to properly process what was going on. You wanted to run but your body wouldn’t move. You have many questions but your mouth wouldn’t move. 

“You look surprised. What’s wrong?”, he says jokingly. 

You finally get the push to speak. 

“You’re not the only person I’ve been with so you’re probably not the father”, you lie. 

Terry raises one of his eyebrows. “Is that so?”, he says. 

“Yes, so you can go away now”, you reply. 

“Nah, I’m curious about the results. Let's get back to your room”, he says walking towards the registers.

Your shoulders sunk. There was no way of this. 

-

Terry watched every step of you take your test; standing in the bathroom doorway like a bouncer. 

You avoided eye contact, feeling vulnerable about the current situation. 

“What does it say?”, he asks. 

“I don’t know, the instructions say there’s a 20 minute wait,” you reply. 

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling in thought. 

“What should we name it? I’m thinking Junior for a boy and Jasmi for a girl”, he says, smiling. 

You scoff. 

“You have lost your black ass mind if you think I’m having a baby with you. Plus, you don’t even know if this is your baby. The only thing I’m worried about is what clinic I need to go to”, you say. 

You peek at him through your lashes. He stood arms crossed, no longer smiling. You could cut the tension with a knife. 

“I’ve been watching you for weeks. There is no other man”, he says. 

“How did you find me? I left Springville weeks ago, it should’ve been impossible for you to find me here.”

Terry smiles, a laugh erupting deep from within his chest. 

“I never stopped following you, you’re just too fucking stupid to realize it. I followed your bus all the way here. I’ve been staying next door the whole time.”, he chuckles. 

You stood there dumbfounded. The clogs in your brain jammed and you were unable to produce a coherent thought. 

The loud music, the loud talking, the man entering the car. All him. 

“Are you actually insane? Do you not hear how ridiculous you sound? What’s not clicking?”, you say. 

Terry’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. 

“Why are you so mad? I never told you I was going to leave you alone. I said when I catch you, not if I catch. You’re my problem until I feel you’re sorted out,” he says. “You were warned yet you still can’t hide.”

He stepped towards you. You step back and he follows you until you hit the wall. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. You shiver at the contact. 

“Do I scare you?”, he asks, tracing a circle on your hip. 

Feigning dominance, you respond, “No, I’m not scared of you.”

You were definitely afraid of him. 

“I’m not afraid of a bubbling moron that goes around stalking people, unable to act like an adult,” you continue. 

You see Terry’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He pulls back, trailing the hand on your hip up to your neck. He wraps it around, squeezing slightly. You can feel your nipples harden through your shirt. 

”As long as you’re here, I won’t ever leave you alone. Deal with it”, he says. 

The statement causes you to look down at the floor. The thought of him bothering you forever was too much to bear. 

Terry lifts your chin so you can meet his eyes. You’re stuck, unable to look away; almost like you were being hypnotized. 

He kisses you, his mouth engulfing yours. His lips were so soft, citing a moan from you. His hands slide their way to your butt. He squeezes, pulling you flesh against his body. 

He picks you up, walking you over to the bed. He places you down, still not breaking the kiss. 

Your tongues fight for power, neither of you wanting to fall to the other. 

“Take these off”, he says tugging at your pants. 

You oblige, removing your shirt, pants and underwear. He does the same, allowing you to finally get a good look at his body. 

He was chiseled by the gods. His shoulders were large, coupled with a six pack and a deep v-line leading down to a hung dick. 

Terry hovers over you, settling his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. His fingers begin to rub up and down your pussy, softly grazing over your clit. 

He plunges two fingers in you. He licks from your collarbone to the shell of your ear. He gives it a kiss. 

“Still as tight as last time. There’s no way somebody else been in here,” he teases in your ear. 

“Would’ve been better than you anyways,” you reply. 

Terry freezes. He pulls his fingers out of you, lifting his head up to stare in your eyes. The stoic expression is back. 

Uh oh. 

He sits back, using your hips to flip you on your stomach. His hands find your hair and he pushes your face into the mattress. He straddles you, his other hand on your back.  You can feel his dick resting on your ass. 

“I’ve been being really nice. I don’t appreciate all this back talk,” he says. 

“If you stop talking so much shit then maybe we wouldn’t have that problem,” you reply. 

Terry pushes you further into the mattress, leaning in closer to your face. 

“Apologize and mayb-“, he starts. 

“Fuck you”, you spit, cutting him off. 

With no warning, he slams into you, taking a pause so you can adjust around him. 

His grip loosens from your hair, wrapping it around to cover your mouth. He lowers the rest of his body on you, trapping you between him and the mattress. 

“You don’t know how to shut up and be a good girl. Always got that bitchy attitude. That’s ok, I can fix that”, he says with a smile. 

He begins to thrust into you, hard. The position made it feel like he was poking your lungs. 

“Can’t nobody fuck this pussy like I can.”

He would pull up, only leaving the tip; rolling his hips, before thrusting back in. He kept moving over your spot; it felt like scratching an itch slowly.

“Talking all that big shit, say something now,” he urges, removing his hand. 

All you could respond with was a moan. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t form any words. He was fucking you dumb. 

You began to pant, feeling out of breath; that familiar knot growing in your stomach. 

Terry shifts, the change of angle reaching a new dept within you. 

“Cumming,” you say with an exasperated sigh. He continued to fuck you through it, making it feel like it was going on forever. 

“That’s what I thought”, he says. 

Terry flips over to his side, taking you with him. He grabs the back of your knee, pulling it up to your ear. He slides back into you, feeling even deeper than before. 

“Ah, fuck, that feels so fucking good”, you say. 

“You are mine, this pussy is mine, all MINE. You belong to me,” he growls, planting a kiss on your knee.  

You nodded. The words sounding like music to your ears. If this was the kind of dick you’d get everyday, you thought it wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, you know he wasn’t going to leave you alone anytime soon. Especially if you had a baby on the way. 

“You will be a slut for me, whether you like it or not  

He kept slamming into, never letting up. His free hand grabs your neck, pulling you closer to his face. You felt the warmth of his breath on your skin. 

“I’m gonna cum again”, you say. 

“Let it go, wet that dick up”, he replies. 

With that, you let go, screaming to the heavens. Terry follows closely behind. You feel him tense up as he paints your walls white. 

The two of you are a mess of sweat and deep breaths. Terry pulls out of you, looking down at the art he created. He gives a playful slap to your ass cheek.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”, he says.

You roll your eyes, getting a chuckle out of him. 

He gets up, heading to the bathroom to check on the test. 

“Oh look”, he says flashing it to you, “it’s negative”.

-

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @skvrpion @avoidthings @jimmybutlrr @persethegawd @nayaesworld @mymindisneverhere @theereina @thabiddie23 @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov @madamzola @literallegendicon @blyffe

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection: First Meetings

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You have two encounters that you never imagined would change the course of your life.

A/N: This is a side story set during a time prior to the events in A Feline Connection series. Please read the series first to understand the characters involved.

Warnings: backstory, slight fluff, light angst, signs of toxic relationship (not from Natasha)

Words: 1906

“So if you want to arrest me, arrest me.”

Your lips curl up into an amused smirk as you rest your chin on your hand, captivated by the impressive words of the legendary Black Widow. You continue to watch the news broadcast with interest as she stares down the camera, her expression unwavering.

“You know where—”

The large screen suddenly turns off, leaving the room in silence. Surprised, you straighten in your cushioned seat, turning to search for the remote. 

A hand slides under your chin, tilting your face back over your shoulder.

The intense gaze of familiar, stormy gray eyes meets yours.

You tilt your head back further, lips curling into a playful smirk.

“I was watching that.”

Whitney stands behind you, her expression unreadable as her eyes glance briefly at the now-dark screen, a flicker of something sharp passing through her gaze before it fades to something softer.

She returns her attention to you, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. 

Without a word, she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your mouth, her quiet apology barely murmured as she pulls away.

“Sorry.”

When you smile, accepting her apology, she lets go of you and straightens.

“Come on, let’s get ready for tonight.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The city is quiet tonight, the empty streets echoing only the calls of late-night food vendors. 

You gaze down from your perch above, eyes narrowing as you wait for the correct time to act.

Below, a vendor tries to charm a couple into a last-minute snack, his voice bright and persuasive.

But a flicker of movement in the shadows diverts your attention. 

A small black cat creeps toward the food cart, waiting until no one is looking to pounce, snagging a piece of meat before slipping back into the darkness. 

You smile, watching the graceful creature scurry off into an alley, successful and unseen.

“What a cute little thief,” you murmur, amused. 

With Whitney nowhere in sight yet from her scouting, you decide to investigate, descending into the alley as silently as a shadow. The faint scuff of paws guides you until you spot a worn box tucked against a wall. 

You approach carefully, hearing a faint rustling from within.  

Peering over the edge, your gaze meets wide, curious yellow eyes. You hold still, barely breathing as the little creature tilts her head at you, a soft, inquisitive meow slipping from her.  

You smile, extending your hand slowly. 

The cat’s gaze narrows with suspicion, but she inches closer, sniffing your fingers cautiously. Her rough tongue flicks over your skin, and you chuckle softly at the tickling sensation. 

You take a moment to observe the makeshift shelter she’s claimed. It is nothing more than a worn box lined with scraps of newspaper and a thin, tattered cloth for warmth.

On the side, a torn sign reads, “Please take.” 

Your chest tightens at the sight, and you gently lift the cat, cradling her against your chest. She nuzzles closer, purring at the warmth. 

Before you can appreciate the small creature further, a sound catches your attention—a familiar footstep, sharp and steady.

You turn to see Whitney approaching, a disapproving frown etched on her face. 

“Hey, there you are,” she says curtly. “You need to be focused. We only have a small window of time.”  

Her gaze falls to the cat in your arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“And put that back.” 

You throw her a teasing smirk, hoping to lighten her mood.

“Since when is it my job to leave things behind?” 

However, her gaze hardens at your attempt at a joke, her eyes flashing with a warning. 

“Put. It. Back,” she repeats firmly, her tone brooking no argument. 

Your smile falls as you frown at her, a slight chill running through your spine at her voice. You hesitate, feeling the cat burrow closer. 

“You’re scaring her, Whitney,” you say, your voice soft.  

“And you need to learn the difference between things that matter,” she murmurs, her hand trailing up to cup your cheek, her thumb caressing your skin gently.

But then her grip tightens, her gaze dropping to the tiny creature in your arms. “And useless things left behind for a reason.” 

You unconsciously tighten your grip, cradling the cat closer.

“Now, put it back,” Whitney says with a finality. 

Reluctantly, you move to place the cat back in her box, arranging the makeshift bedding into something comfortable. The cat tilts her head, letting out a soft meow as you pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, stroking her head one last time before turning away. 

Whitney's hand cups your neck as you stand, leaning in close. 

“Good girl,” she murmurs approvingly, moving to kiss you, but you turn slightly, evading her.

Her lips brush your cheek instead, and with a small huff, you grapple away quickly, leaving her alone.

Whitney scoffs in disbelief, her hand falling back to her side, her eyes narrowing as they watch you disappear. 

Her glare shifts to the cat’s box. 

With a frustrated growl, she kicks it over, scattering the contents. 

A startled cry echoes as the little creature scurries into the shadows. 

Taking a deep breath, Whitney shakes her head, running her hand through her hair as she regains her composure before following after you. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Whitney paces down a hall, irritation clear as she speaks on the phone. 

“I don’t care which one. Buy them all if you have to. Just get it here.” 

Hanging up, she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, but something bumps her leg as she rounds a corner. She snaps her gaze down, surprised to see the little black cat stumbling upright from the collision. 

Scoffing, she grabs it by the scruff, lifting it to eye level.   

The cat hisses, swiping a tiny paw at her. 

Whitney rolls her eyes, muttering, “How did you even get in here?” 

She’s about to call a guard to remove the creature and send it back into the streets when your door swings open. 

Your eyes meet hers with a slight glare, obviously still upset about earlier. But when your gaze shifts to the cat, your expression softens, and you step closer to her.

“You got me the cat?” you ask in surprise, a happy expression crossing your face.

Whitney observes your expression, glancing from you to the cat who meows softly at your attention. 

“I…felt bad. So, I tracked her down,” she says, lying smoothly as she drops the cat into your waiting arms. 

You beam, stroking the cat, and turn back to Whitney, cupping her cheek before pulling her into a kiss.

She deepens it instinctively, pressing closer, but you pull away, and she has to clench her teeth to keep the irritation of your action at bay.

Her frustration is only slightly soothed when you caress her cheek fondly, giving her a soft look.

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling. 

Whitney gives a slight nod, her gaze thoughtful as she watches you cradle the cat close. 

“Anything for you,” she responds, the words smooth and automatic.

You kiss her once more, along with the promise that you’ll drop by her room later, before returning to your room, cooing to the cat, “Do you want to see your new home?” 

As you close the door, Whitney watches, a hint of satisfaction mingling with annoyance.

Remembering your expression and reaction to the cat, she scoffs lightly, deciding the little stray had some uses after all.

Shaking her head, she turns to leave, opens her phone, and redials. 

“Cancel the order,” she says. “I won’t be needing it after all.��� 

Inside your room, you set the cat on the coffee table. 

“Stay,” you murmur, watching with pride as she sits patiently. “Smart girl.” 

You go to the bathroom to fetch supplies to help clean up the cat. When you return, you find the cat staring up intently at the TV that you were previously watching.

“So if you want to arrest me, arrest me.”

Your gaze drifts to the person on the screen, her red hair frames her face perfectly as her sharp green eyes stare into the lens of the camera, steady and confident.

“You know where to find me.” 

Her voice filters through your speakers, making you smile lightly in admiration at her fearless statement.

Meanwhile, the cat is entirely entranced by the person on the screen. Her paw raises, almost as if reaching for the woman.

You laugh softly, lowering the volume as the screen cuts to news analysts discussing the country’s changing landscape now that SHIELD is gone. 

“That’s the Black Widow,” you tell the cat, lightly tapping her nose. “She’s pretty impressive, just like you.”

When you said the woman’s persona, you noticed the cat’s tail quickened in excitement. You tilt your head curiously as a suspicion comes to mind.

“Widow?” you muse tentatively, watching the cat respond with a happy meow. “Is that your name now?” 

She purrs happily in agreement, her gaze returning to the screen. 

“Widow, huh?” you murmur, glancing back at the picture of the woman on the screen, observing the face of a person you’ll probably never meet. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Two Years Later

“Widow?” 

Your voice echoes along the empty path as you search for the cat. 

She’s trained to return after her little adventures, but you still feel the pang of worry and guilt for bringing her with you on this early walk in the first place after you found yourself unable to fall back asleep.

Nightmares about the life you left behind and your past actions still haunting you. Regrets and guilt return as they always have.

Lost in thought, you wander down the path, about to call out again, when you spot a figure up ahead. 

Curious someone is here this early, you approach quietly, before your eyes widen, realizing who it is.

There, resting against the tree is the Black Widow herself, eyes closed, cradling a familiar black cat. 

Strands of her unmistakable red hair have fallen across her face, swaying gently in the early morning breeze.

Even in her sleep, you can see subtle signs of fatigue etched across her features—the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the slight furrow of her brows as if even her dreams carry weight. 

Your heart aches, a wave of sympathy mingling with respect.

This woman, known for her strength and resilience, now rests quietly, a sliver of vulnerability showing through.

As if sensing your presence, Widow peaks one eye open, casting a fleeting glance your way. 

Before you can react, Widow nuzzles deeper into the comfort of the Avenger’s arms, closing her eyes as she returns to her new space of warm slumber. 

You barely stifle a quiet huff, rolling your eyes slightly at the cat’s usual antics, before spotting a nearby bench. 

With a resigned sigh, you take a seat, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your hand. You decide to wait, giving both the Avenger and the little troublemaker their moment of rest.

Eventually, the early morning light slowly creeps over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the path as the world begins to wake.

Then, with a subtle stir, Widow shifts slightly, slowly rousing the Avenger from her rest.

As her green eyes flutter open, she blinks against the gentle light, her gaze eventually settling on you. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, her emerald eyes meeting yours with a look of mild surprise. 

Slightly stunned yourself, words of greeting seem to elude you, and instead, the only thing that escapes your lips is the simplest of truths.

“You have my cat.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a perspective in the readers past and her first meeting with Widow and Natasha, hope you enjoy. thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123-blog, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @escapereality4music, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴜ ɴ ᴛ ɪ ʟ ᴅ ᴇ ᴀ ᴛ ʜ ᴅ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ᴀ ᴘ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Show Aemond Targaryen x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

˚꒰notes꒱‧ English is not my first language. Gifs belong to @barbieaemond. Hope you enjoy!

Aemond’s obsession with you is intense yet restrained. He’s not the type to openly declare his feelings or show affection through words or flowery gestures. Instead, he watches you, studies you, absorbs every detail—like he’s trying to memorize you. Your smallest gestures, the sound of your laughter, even the way your eyes shift when you’re uncomfortable—all of it becomes ingrained in his mind. You’re his fixation, his secret treasure, the one thing he allows himself to crave.

At first, his presence is barely noticeable. He’s there, quietly lingering in the background, watching you in ways that feel both protective and invasive. But as time passes, you realize he’s always there, always watching.

“You have no idea, do you?” he’d murmur one night, his eyes holding an unsettling intensity. “How long I’ve waited, how much I’d sacrifice just to keep you close.”

Aemond’s possessiveness doesn’t manifest in obvious ways. He doesn’t need to announce that you’re his—he knows it, and in his mind, so should you. The way he stands close to you, how he always seems to position himself between you and others, the subtle but possessive hand he places on the small of your back—all are quiet signs of his control.

When others try to get too close to you, his gaze alone is enough to send them away. Aemond doesn’t tolerate competition; to him, you’re his, and he’ll ensure that no one ever doubts it. He won’t raise his voice or cause a scene like his brother—his icy stare and that ever-present hand on his sword are all he needs to convey his message.

“You belong to me,” he’d say in that low, measured tone, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm. “Do not let them forget that.”

Aemond knows everything about you—your daily habits, your secrets, your fears. He’s intelligent, calculating, and patient, and he uses those skills to orchestrate situations that keep you close to him. He knows who you speak to, where you go, and even your thoughts before you voice them. He’ll play on your fears, your desires, using them to his advantage, always pushing you closer into his web.

He won’t openly restrict you. Instead, he’ll manipulate circumstances so that you have no choice but to turn to him. When you need comfort, he’s there; when you feel threatened, he’s there, his hand on his sword, ready to protect. In his mind, he’s the only one who can understand you, the only one who’s truly worthy of you.

“You see how they look at you, don’t you?” he’d whisper, his tone almost affectionate, a hint of jealousy darkening his gaze. “They don’t deserve to even stand in your shadow.”

Aemond’s jealousy is quiet, subtle, but no less dangerous. He seethes when others try to approach you, though he keeps his composure, his expression unreadable. But if anyone dares get too close, Aemond’s revenge is swift and ruthless. He’ll ruin reputations, destroy alliances—he’ll make them pay in ways that leave no question about his power. His jealousy isn’t petty; it’s all-consuming, a cold, lethal fire.

If he catches you in conversation with another man, he’ll silently insert himself into the situation, his icy gaze boring into them, making it clear that you’re untouchable. He won’t show his rage outwardly, but the consequences will be devastating. And if anyone dares to harm you or threaten your relationship? His retribution will be terrifyingly swift.

“Let them try,” he’d murmur, his fingers running possessively through your hair. “They’ll regret ever thinking they could touch what’s mine.”

Aemond struggles with vulnerability, his past leaving scars he can’t hide. His emotions are buried deep, guarded by layers of pride, shame, and bitterness. But with you, his intensity surfaces in ways even he can’t fully control. You’re the one thing that breaks through his walls, and he both hates and craves that vulnerability. He’ll never openly admit his love, but it shows in the way he’s constantly there, always silently protecting, always watching.

And when he’s alone with you, he lets that restraint slip. He holds you as if you’re a lifeline, a fragile thing he could lose at any moment. His touch is both possessive and desperate, a reminder that you’re the one thing in his life he can’t stand to lose.

“You’re the only one I need,” he’d confess in a rare moment of vulnerability, his voice almost breaking. “The only one who matters.”

He believes the world is a dangerous place, full of enemies who’d harm you, and he’s determined to be your shield. He’ll demand that you stay close to him, questioning your every move if it takes you out of his sight. He’ll use his power to keep you safe, even if it means isolating you from everyone else.

If you try to resist, he won’t argue or raise his voice. Instead, he’ll find subtle ways to manipulate the situation so that you have no choice but to obey. And in his mind, it’s all justified—it’s all to keep you safe.

“Stay close to me,” he’d command softly, his hand tightening around yours. “The world is full of threats, and I’ll be damned if I let any of them touch you.”

He’s possessive to the point of madness, convinced that you’re the only person who understands him, the only one who sees him for who he truly is. And if he ever feels like he’s losing you, his obsession will consume him, driving him to desperate, dangerous lengths.

He won’t hesitate to use every resource at his disposal to ensure you remain his, even if it means trapping you in a world where he’s your only companion.

“If you ever leave, there’ll be no place you can hide,” he’d say, his voice low, his gaze dark and unwavering. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Aemond’s love isn’t gentle or kind; it’s fierce, unyielding, and impossible to escape. Once he’s set his sights on you, there’s no freedom, no escape. His love is a trap, one that tightens around you until you realize there’s no way out. But in Aemond’s mind, it’s a love like no other—a love that binds you together, that defies the bounds of mortality itself

In Aemond’s world, love is something that consumes, devours. Once he’s claimed you, there’s no escape—only him, and the unbreakable bond he’s forced upon you.

“Even death wouldn’t stop me from finding you,” he’d murmur, his lips brushing over your forehead, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “No one else could ever love you like I do. Remember that.”

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 4 of 12

Synopsis: New feelings emerge the annual obx bonfire, and maybe rafe makes sense sometimes?

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

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The beach was alive with energy. Shadows danced across the sand as the bonfire crackled, its flames licking up into the night sky. Music pulsed from a speaker someone had dragged down, a beat that felt like the heartbeat of the entire crowd. It was packed, Kooks and Pogues alike coming together under the shared, unspoken Outer Banks tradition: that bonfires were for everyone. Tonight, social status was checked at the edge of the sand, and the air buzzed with freedom.

Y/N took it all in, smiling as she watched the chaos around her. To her left, Pope was pulling a face as he choked down a swig of the lukewarm beer they’d snagged from an abandoned cooler, and on her right, Kiara was doubling over in laughter as JJ finished off the remains of a sloppy keg stand, his grin as wide as it was reckless.

“Twenty seconds! That’s a record!” Kiara declared, raising her cup as JJ landed, somewhat unsteadily, on his feet. He leaned on Pope, pretending to stagger for effect.

“Twenty-five seconds if you count style points,” JJ retorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And that was a world-class dismount.”

“World-class dismount?” Pope scoffed, though he couldn’t hold back a grin. “That was barely even a landing.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along, joining in with the rest of them. This was her crew—her people. Moments like this reminded her that these were more than just friends; they were family. They shared everything, from scraps to secrets, and it felt easy, right. Here, she didn’t have to be anything but herself.

The group continued to cheer JJ on, tossing him mock praises while he bowed with exaggerated flair. Then he shot a challenging look over at Pope. “Think you can beat that, Pope? Or is Mr. Honour Student scared to take on the keg?”

Pope rolled his eyes, but Y/N could see the glint of competitiveness sparking behind his usual calm. “Step aside, amateurs,” he said, striding toward the keg. “Prepare to witness a true display of keg-standing grace.”

Kiara snorted. “Yeah, you’ll need all the grace you can get to beat JJ’s ‘world-class dismount.’”

Y/N watched as Pope set himself up, bracing his hands on the keg while JJ and Kiara took hold of his legs. The group counted down as Pope lifted up, holding his own surprisingly well. JJ and Kiara kept the playful jeers coming, while Y/N joined in with cheers, laughing so hard her sides hurt. When Pope finally came down, he shook his head with mock disgust at the crowd’s over-the-top applause.

The group quickly settled into their usual rhythm, passing around drinks, teasing each other, and laughing so loudly they drew a few curious glances from the others around the bonfire. Kiara passed Y/N a drink, winking as if sharing a secret. Y/N took a sip, enjoying the taste of freedom mixed with the slight saltiness of the ocean breeze.

Then, as the night continued, something shifted. It was subtle at first, a glance, a small change in the atmosphere. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed a figure entering the firelight, carrying herself with an effortless confidence. Sarah Cameron, arriving with her own Kook crowd. She seemed to glide through the sand, her friends moving aside to let her through as if they’d choreographed the whole thing.

Y/N watched her for a second, noticing how, even among the crowd, Sarah looked almost… untouchable. There was something magnetic about her, even if Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She glanced around, curious if anyone else had noticed, and saw John B watching Sarah with a look that wasn’t just casual curiosity. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with her as she passed, the kind of look that felt more like a question than a glance.

The thing was, John B hadn’t looked away right away. And Sarah, too, held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before giving him a small, unreadable smile and moving on.

Y/N felt a small flutter of curiosity, but she quickly brushed it aside. It was probably nothing; John B was just noticing Sarah, like everyone else was. If he was intrigued by her, that was no surprise—everyone seemed to be.

She turned her attention back to the group, pushing aside any thoughts of Sarah Cameron and the strange little moment she’d witnessed. The Pogues were deep into some new joke, Pope recounting a mishap from a surf lesson he’d tried to give a tourist last summer, everyone laughing so hard they could hardly breathe.

It was all familiar, all part of their dynamic. But as Y/N looked around at them—JJ, leaning back with a confident grin; Kiara, always quick with a witty comeback; Pope, rolling his eyes good-naturedly—she felt a faint pang of something. A sense of being surrounded yet slightly apart. They were all laughing, all connected in a way she was part of but also… maybe not entirely. It was subtle, something she couldn’t quite name, but it was there.

–

The bonfire crackled on, casting warm, flickering shadows over everyone as laughter and stories echoed into the night. Y/N stretched her legs out on the soft sand, her eyes dancing over her friends as they chatted and laughed around her. The atmosphere was alive, a tangle of music, firelight, and easygoing conversations. She could almost forget the weight that had been following her around lately, the quiet sense that something was off.

JJ was in his usual element, animatedly telling a story about some wild, yet exaggerated, run-in with a tourist and a local cop. His hands flew through the air, mimicking the cop’s serious tone and his own escape from the situation. Everyone laughed, even Pope, who was the least likely to show much amusement. 

“Bet you didn’t get off that easy, though!” Kiara teased, nudging JJ with her foot.

“I got off just fine, thank you,” JJ replied with a wink, his grin wide as he glanced over at the crowd. “And speaking of getting off, there’s a cute tourist over there who might need a tour guide tonight.” He gave a sly smile, turning his head toward a group of vacationers by the food table.

John B. shot JJ a mock glare from the other side of the fire, his voice loud over the chatter. “What is it with you and tourists, man? At this point, I’m just concerned for their safety.”

JJ laughed, throwing up his hands in defense. “I’m a professional. Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, right,” Pope chimed in, shaking his head as he passed around another beer. “JJ ‘Tour Guide’ Maybank at it again. Should we be concerned for our reputation?”

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled. “Some things never change.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N joined in, her laughter light and genuine, but underneath it, something else simmered—a slight discomfort she couldn't quite shake. She watched JJ eye the tourist again, clearly sizing her up. It was nothing new, just JJ being... well, JJ. He’d always been carefree, always found someone to flirt with, to connect with, even if it was for one night. 

But something about it hit a little harder tonight. 

Pope leaned in, his voice intentionally loud, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “Hey, when are you gonna find someone to hook up with? You’re, like, the only one here who hasn’t.”

Y/N froze for a second, then forced a laugh. “I’m just… not in the mood for that stuff,” she said, not quite convincing herself. She could feel her friends' eyes on her, even as they all laughed it off. 

“Yeah, Y/N,” JJ added without missing a beat, his smile wide and easy. “What, too busy reading books to bother with that stuff?” The words were lighthearted, thrown out with a laugh, but they landed heavier than he realized.

The group chuckled, but Y/N felt a slight tension building in her chest. It was a joke, sure, but it was the second time tonight that someone had mentioned her "lack of experience." As if it defined her in their eyes.

Kiara, sensing the slight shift in Y/N’s mood, leaned over and threw an arm around her. “You know we’re just messing with you, right? You’re one of us—don’t need anyone to complete you or whatever.”

But the words felt hollow, even though Y/N knew Kiara meant well. One of us. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. Y/N had always felt like she was one of the group—the sidekick, the buddy. But she didn't want to be just the "one of the guys" forever. She wanted to be seen differently. She wanted someone to notice her for more than her place in the group.

“Yeah, you’re our moral compass,” Pope added with a grin, raising his cup to her. “You keep us all on the straight and narrow, Y/N.”

She managed a strained smile, raising her own drink in response. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment… I think.” But the weight of their words, their easy camaraderie, left her feeling more like an outsider than ever.

But Y/N felt herself pulling further away, her smile fading just a little. The casual remark—that she was more like the friend who held everyone together, the one who didn’t need anything in return—only reinforced the space between them. She wasn’t the girl they saw in the same light as Kiara. She wasn’t the one who could be flirted with, or kissed in the heat of the moment. She was the one who watched. Who held the drinks, who laughed at the jokes.

The conversation shifted again, and Y/N, trying to mask her discomfort, found herself zoning out. She stared at the fire, the flames dancing in a rhythm that felt almost mocking in its carefree energy. 

In the midst of her thoughts, she caught John B.’s gaze across the fire. He looked over at her, offering a quick smile before turning to say something to JJ. His presence—his casual nature, his place in the group—was a sharp reminder that, no matter how much time they spent together, she’d always be just a part of the background. He fit in effortlessly. He had a life outside the group, but when he was with them, he was fully there.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice how John B. had looked at Sarah when she arrived. It was subtle, but it was there. A shared glance. And maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a casual look, but it stung all the same.

She quickly averted her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of being left behind. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t that she wanted to be the one to catch John B.’s attention. It was the realization that, in this group, there were parts of her that no one truly saw.

And that thought settled over her like a cold wave.

JJ’s voice broke through her thoughts, his casual tone making her even more aware of the gap she felt. “Well, Y/N’s too good for that stuff anyway. She’s more about, like, keeping her nose in a book or something. Definitely not the party girl type.”

She froze, the teasing jab landing a little too close to home. She could feel all eyes on her for a moment longer than was comfortable. Their laughter, Kiara’s reassuring arm around her shoulders, the lighthearted comments, all felt like they were circling around her, but not letting her in.

She needed air.

Standing quickly, Y/N excused herself, her voice tight. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked toward the shore, the cool night air brushing against her skin, and with every step, she felt more like a stranger to the group she had spent so many years with. She reached the water’s edge and stood there for a moment, staring out at the ocean, the rhythmic waves matching the turmoil inside her.

---

The bonfire crackled in the distance, the warmth and laughter of the group growing fainter as Y/N walked along the shore. Her steps felt heavy, her thoughts swirling with the aftertaste of the evening—the teasing, the offhand comments, the feeling of not quite fitting in. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been part of their jokes before, but tonight it was different.

She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much—the jokes about her never hooking up or not being like Kiara. It was just a night, after all. But it all piled up, and now, standing by herself in the cool night air, she couldn’t escape the way she felt. Invisible.

And then she heard footsteps approaching, the familiar sound of someone walking through the sand with a confident stride.

“Where are you going, bookworm?” Rafe’s voice came from behind her, the teasing tone clear even from a distance.

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes. “Really? You too?” she muttered under her breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of sarcasm. She turned to face him, arms crossed. “I thought we had a truce, Rafe. What do you want?”

Rafe, as usual, didn’t take her irritation seriously. His lips twitched with a mischievous grin, like he always knew how to push her buttons. “Truce? What truce? Come on, you can’t seriously be sulking out here by yourself. The night’s still young, and you’re out here playing emo beachside poetry.”

Y/N scoffed, feeling an odd mix of annoyance and amusement. “Really? Emo beachside poetry? You’re such a pain in the ass.”

Rafe shrugged, unaffected. “Yeah, well, someone’s got to keep you from brooding. So, what’s the deal? You’re just gonna sit out here while the rest of the world is having fun? You’re not exactly the type to pull a disappearing act.”

She stared at him for a beat, trying to figure out why his presence suddenly felt even more annoying than usual. “I’m not brooding,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry the same confidence. “I just needed a break.”

Rafe, sensing her discomfort but not exactly understanding the full extent of it, shrugged and stepped closer. He wasn’t used to seeing her like this, not when she was usually so steady and unbothered. But he couldn’t help himself—he was always itching to push people’s buttons, especially hers.

A long silence stretched between them. Rafe, for once, wasn’t sure what to say. His usual quips felt wrong in the heavy air, and he hesitated, a rare thing for him.

Y/N broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the comments,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “About me not hooking up with anyone… or not being like Kiara.” She shook her head, trying to make light of it. “It’s just… it’s nothing, really.”

Rafe frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he took a step closer. “What are you talking about?” His voice was quieter now, less teasing and more concerned, though he was still doing his best to hide it.

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. It just… it felt like they don’t see me the way I want to be seen. Like I’m just some ‘one of the guys’ kind of thing. Like I don’t matter the same way they all do.”

Rafe paused, letting the words sink in. His gaze softened for a moment, but his usual wall of sarcasm quickly came back up. “Is that it? You’re mad because you didn’t get the hookup attention?”

Y/N glared at him, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “That’s not the point, Rafe.”

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to process her words. He wasn’t great with emotions, especially when it came to the people closest to him, but he hated seeing her upset. And he hated not knowing how to help.

“I don’t get you, Y/N,” he said after a beat. “You’ve always been with them. Hell, they act like you’re one of them, one of the crew. And now you’re telling me you’re upset ‘cause you don’t get treated like some girl?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond right away. She could feel the frustration rising again, like a knot in her chest. She had tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. That she was fine with being one of the guys. But she wasn’t fine.

Rafe sighed, his voice softening just a little. “You know, I’ve never been big on feelings or whatever. But I don’t like seeing people hurt. And you... you don’t deserve to feel like that.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by his sudden shift. She hadn’t expected him to be this… serious. For a moment, she almost didn’t know what to say.

Rafe, still a little uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, tried to make light of it. “Look, I’ve always thought of you as one of the guys. I mean, you hang with them more than anyone, right? It’s like you’re part of the crew. But… now that I’m seeing this, it’s like, huh. Maybe there’s more to you than just being the ‘bookworm’ in the back.” His tone had a subtle softness to it, like he was trying to figure out something about her—and maybe himself, too.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. The words she had been holding in all night slipped out before she could stop them. “I—uh, I have a crush on JJ,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “I think I always have.”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Well, I can see that. JJ’s, uh... JJ. The golden boy, right?” He paused, then added, more seriously, “But JJ’s not exactly the best at noticing what’s right in front of him. So, don’t get your hopes up.”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. She wasn’t sure why she had said it—maybe because Rafe didn’t seem to judge her like the others did, maybe because she needed to get it out. “I know. I know it’s stupid. It’s complicated.”

Rafe shifted, sitting down beside her, though his usual confidence seemed to have faded a little. “Yeah, relationships are complicated. I wouldn’t know much about them, to be honest.” He shrugged, trying to keep things light, but his tone was tinged with something more—maybe a little vulnerability that he wasn’t used to showing. “I don’t do that whole ‘feelings’ thing. And honestly, I don’t really think anyone should, if I’m being real.”

Y/N turned to look at him, surprised by the shift in his attitude. It wasn’t the usual Rafe—there was something a little more... human in his words.

“I don’t know why anyone gets into relationships, honestly,” Rafe continued, his voice more thoughtful now. “They always seem messy. I’ve seen enough of that in my family. But maybe that’s why I stay out of it. Keeps it simple.”

Y/N nodded slowly, understanding more than she let on. “Yeah. I get that.”

Rafe broke the silence with a half-smile, his usual cocky grin returning. “Look, I’m not saying I have all the answers, but you’re not just some sidekick, Y/N. You deserve more than that. Anyone who can’t see that... they’re blind.”

Y/N stared out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, her thoughts swirling. She hadn’t expected this conversation with Rafe to feel like it was unearthing something real inside her, but here they were. It was the first time in a long while she felt like someone understood, even if it was Rafe—a guy who seemed to care more about being a pain in her side than anything else.

“So, what now?” she asked, her voice quieter. "Do I just keep pretending it doesn’t matter? That I’m okay with being invisible?"

Rafe shifted beside her, his presence solid and unexpected. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the waves and the crackling of the bonfire far in the distance.

“Maybe don’t pretend,” he said after a beat. “But don’t expect everything to change overnight, either. You can’t force people to see you differently, even if they’re close to you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them. And if they do—well, then that’s when things get messy. But I think you deserve better than being invisible.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brow furrowed. She wasn’t sure what to make of his words, but she felt like she might be seeing a different side of him for the first time. Not the brash, cocky Rafe, but the one who understood what it felt like to be lost in the crowd.

"You're kind of making sense, you know?" Y/N said, half-laughing, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe gave a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I do that sometimes."

For the first time that night, Y/N felt like she could breathe a little easier. Maybe she wasn’t completely alone in feeling invisible. But the night was far from over, and Y/N knew that her place in the group—and the way she was seen—was something she’d have to face sooner or later.

"Thanks, Rafe," she said quietly, almost as an afterthought.

He gave her a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t mention it, bookworm. Just don’t go getting any ideas, alright?"

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Don’t worry. You’re the last person I’d ever have ideas about."

They both stayed quiet for a while longer, watching the waves, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the sand. It wasn’t the end of her internal battle, but for a moment, it felt like maybe she had a little more clarity. Just a little more understanding. And that was enough for now.

---

Next up: morning confrontations and coffee mishaps

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Taglist:

@hockeybabe87

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A/N: never underestimate the power of a uni student during midterms. she will write multiple chapters of a fic in 24 hours

[whimsicallywiddershins]

The entire fandom agrees that Percy Jackson has some scary eldritch qualities that humans notice. But I think that all the demigods do, even if most of the effects are more subtle. Powerful demigods are super noticeable, but even the weakest are scary to normal people. But I like to imagine some of my favorites:

Annabeth looks at people like she's dissecting a blueprint, and nothing about them is hidden. She turns her head at odd angles, like an owl. She notices small things and goes completely still, staring, like a bird of prey who just saw a mouse. People feel unsettled by her gaze, like every weakness and vulnerability are no longer hidden.

Hazel's hair, skin and eyes seem to shine metallic when the light catches just right. Sometimes her motions are rigid and awkward, like she hadn't used her limbs for a long time, like she isn't used to having a body. Her shadow is a deeper black than it should be, is bigger than it should be, and doesn't always move with the light.

Nico's skin is sometimes almost translucent, like he is more ghost than human. You can almost see the muscle and bones beneath it. His eyes catch and hold people, so dark and deep it feels like they are falling an incredibly long distance into dark water and earth. His shadow is also too dark. Sometimes, people swear they can hear faint screaming from his shadow, like thousands of tormented souls are trapped inside.

Jason has fangs, more wolf than human. His mouth opens wider than it should, and he looks at people like he is thinking of the best way to hunt and catch and rip and tear. His eyes are too blue and he always smells like ozone. People want to bow to him as he walks by. People want to run, but instinctively know that he will chase them, and they wait, frozen, for him to pass.

Thalia, like Jason, is a hunter. Her eyes are too blue, too vivid, and she stares people down like she is already picturing them riddled with arrows. She tracks small sounds with terrifying intensity. Brushing up against her will deliver a horrible static shock, and power lines and lights flicker and buzz when she walks by.

Will's hair is too bright. His skin glows, especially at night. At first, it seems to be a sweet thing, his good nature shining though. But sometimes when people touch him, they burn. Just standing near him is too much, like standing in the direct sun on a hot summer day.

Piper's face seems to change, every time someone turns to look at her. Subtle, but someone's subconscious is screaming that this girl is different, something is wrong. Her voice trills, like a bird, when she in happy. People can't help but to follow her and when she is gone, they feel bereft. She is too beautiful, and it hurts to look, but people can't help themselves and look anyways.

Leo is always hot to the touch. His fingers and limbs feel rough and metallic, his hair curls like wire. His eyes glitter like polished coins and when he walks by, cars and computers and machines start up and move on their own, just for a moment. He runs across a busy street and the cars stop for him with no regard for what the driver is doing.

Frank doesn't move like a human. He glides, slinks, pads softly and so quietly most people don't notice him. He had an aura of command. Frank seems so normal and average, but angry or upset people look at him and know that they can't take him. Sometimes, when he is angry, people get upset and fights start in his wake.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 5

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: description and mention of murder, language, absolutely cliché cliffhanger

A/N: Hey, lovely moots! Just a heads-up that things are about to get a little hectic on my end with writing my MA thesis and juggling work over the next few weeks, so there might be a slight delay in the next chapter. Thanks so much for your patience and understanding & most importantly for loving this story so far. Hope you enjoy the read in the meantime! 🤍

Catch up on Chapter 4 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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Previously:

With Emma snug in your arms and a renewed sense of determination, you stepped into the night together. 

For a second, the three of you standing there almost looked like some offbeat family photo… bittersweet, and about as far from normal as it gets.

But the moment you took in your surroundings, you felt a chill sensation. This sure as hell didn’t look like Idaho Falls. Nor the rundown warehouse you’d started in.

You had no idea where you were. 

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You tightened your grip on Emma, feeling the weight of her small body pressing into you like an anchor. And you undoubtedly needed that goddamn anchor then and there. Wherever there was.

She looked up at you with wide, tired and weary eyes, sensing the danger but too young to understand the why of it all. She was still shivering from being held hostage in a — what exactly? You turned around to take a glance at the building you and Emma were taken to. It was some sort of a fort-looking, massive, brutalist building. The unpainted concrete walls and the defined, sharp edges just gave the already eerie atmosphere another layer of creepiness. 

Russell also took a look at the building, but his mind was occupied with finding something — anything, really, that indicated where they were.

He scanned the empty streets. The whole place looked deserted and industrial. Old factory buildings with busted-out windows, a chain-link fence rusting along the perimeter, and no signs of life except for a stray cat slinking through the shadows. 

This is what The Rolling Stones was singing about in Living In A Ghost Town, he thought.

Russell glanced around, brow furrowed.

“This… doesn’t look good” he muttered, looking like he was trying to solve a Rubik's Cube with one hand tied behind his back.

“No kidding” you shot back, keeping your tone as light as you could manage for Emma’s sake, but your heart was thumping like a jackhammer. You were about three seconds away from a nervous breakdown — which, at this point, would probably be your hundredth. “So, genius… what’s the plan?”

Russell glanced at you, clearly trying to keep it together, but the frustration in his voice was impossible to miss. “I’m trying to come up with one. But I’m pretty sure you won’t like it.”

“There wasn’t any part of this I liked in the first place!” you grumbled.

Just then, a low rumble echoed from somewhere in the distance, a car engine revving up, headlights slicing through the dark. At the sound of voices barked orders, “Get ‘em!” and “Don’t fucking let them get away!”, Russell muttered a curse under his breath, pulling you both back into the shadows.

You flattened yourself against the cold wall, clutching Emma close. The car’s headlights swept across the cracked pavement, illuminating the scene for a heartbeat before the light passed, leaving you in the cover of darkness again. You held your breath, listening as the car slowed, idling nearby.

Russell’s eyes met yours, a silent message passing between you. You could almost hear his thoughts screaming This wasn’t part any of the plans I came up with.

The car's engine finally faded, and Russell took a slow, perfectly controlled breath. Huh. “Alright” he whispered. “Follow me. We stick to the backstreets, stay low, and pray they don’t have the whole damn town locked down.”

You raised an eyebrow, attempting a dry smile despite the tension. “So, no master plan, just hope for the best? Excellent.”

His lips twitched, a hint of his usual smirk breaking through. “Welcome to my life.”

With that, he led the way down the alley, sticking close to the wall and guiding you through the maze of abandoned buildings. Emma clung to you, her little fingers curled into your shirt with a force that no four-year-old should bear, and you stroked her back, whispering soft reassurances you weren’t sure you even believed yourself.

And honestly, you weren’t sure who needed the comfort more, her or you.

A few blocks down, you came across an old diner with a busted sign hanging above. It looked deserted. Perfect. Russell motioned for you to duck inside, the three of you slipping into the dimly lit space, huddling behind an overturned booth.

Russell scanned the room. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes. I need to come up with a plan.”

You nodded, settling Emma down and trying to keep your own nerves in check. It was just the three of you now, in a dusty, forgotten diner on the edge of nowhere, hiding from a nightmare that had yet to let you go. As you leaned back against the booth, you glanced at Russell, whose eyes were still scanning the room, like he could will a plan into existence if he stared hard enough. “So, any ideas on where exactly we are?”

He shrugged, offering a look that was almost... endearing in its hopelessness. “Somewhere... not Idaho Falls?”

You couldn’t help it. A low, incredulous laugh slipped out of your lips. “Well, thanks, Sherlock. That really narrows it down.”

“We’re far from home?” Emma's voice cut through the hushed tension.

You froze as you looked at her wide, curious and somewhat nervous eyes. 

“Yes, we are” Russell said before you could answer. Your eyes snapped at his face with a questioning expression, then he continued “… because we are on a little adventure.”

You shot him a look. Adventure? Was that what we were calling it now? Maybe you’d missed the part where your life turned into a bad action movie. But you just kept quiet. No point in crushing the adventure vibe. And you had no better idea how to explain it to her without mounting the trauma of the situation to her.

Emma turned to him as he spoke and after a moment of silence, her little voice hit his ears. “Who’s he?” she asked, pointing at Russell.

Russell blinked back, like she’d just asked him how to solve world hunger in the span of five minutes. He’d only met her about an hour ago, and now this. The million-dollar question.

Your dad, his mind screamed, but his mouth rather formed the following sentence.

“Uh, I’m a friend of your mom’s” he said, flashing her a smile that wasn’t exactly convincing. The truth was right there, hanging in the air like a bad smell, but neither of you were about to air it out yet. Not now, and definitely not here. "My name's Russell."

Emma didn’t seem to notice the weirdness, though. She just nodded like that made sense. And you? You were still stuck on the fact that your life had turned into a poorly scripted Bruce Willis-movie.

Emma tilted her head while her expression turned adorably thoughtful. “You’re hairy. Like grandpa.”

Russell chuckled as he ran a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s my pirate look.”

Her eyes lit up at the word pirate. “Are you a pirate?! Can I be one, too?”

“Absolutely” he replied. “But we have to be sneaky pirates, okay? No one can know we’re here.”

Your heart did a little flip at the sight. The way he talked to your daughter. His daughter. His voice was surprisingly soft and sweet, even in this situation. Emma’s reaction wasn’t a shock, though. She had a habit of linking beards (like the one your dad rocked) with safety and familiar love.

“Okay!” Emma nodded so seriously it was like she’d just signed up for a full-on treasure hunt. “What’s our treasure?” she asked, her little brain clearly putting the pieces together. If we’re on an adventure, we must be looking for something, right?

Russell didn’t miss a beat. “Finding you is the biggest treasure there is” he said, throwing you a quick look that somehow managed to be both warm and determined. “Your mom was worried sick about you.”

Emma’s serious face melted into a grin, giggling like she’d just figured out the punchline of a joke she didn’t even know she was in. “I’m a treasure!”

Russell couldn’t help but smile back, watching her with something a little different in his eyes now. There was something about this brave little girl that made him feel a little less lost in the middle of all this chaos.

Just then, the sound of tires screeching echoed from down the street, and he stiffened, pulling you both deeper into the shadows, close to his chest.

"We need to move” Russell said, his voice sharp with urgency. The fact that he still didn’t have a solid plan didn’t seem to slow him down. Without warning, he scooped Emma up into his arms, his eyes softening just a fraction as he did. “We’ll move faster this way, pirate” he added, his lips twitching into a grin. “Just stay quiet, little treasure hunter, ‘kay?”

Emma blinked at him, clearly processing this new development like she was on the set of some kind of action flick. But after a beat, she nodded, her little hands clutching his shirt like she was ready to face whatever was next.

This whole scene was surprising. She seemed to like him already — and that was backed by the way she smiled back at you from his arms. 

You could hardly believe your eyes. 

In the midst of a kidnapping, Russell somehow made her forget the fear and pain of the past few days, if only for a moment.

Russell gave her a quick wink before looking back at you. The plan might still be nonexistent, but at least someone was acting like they had it together.

With Emma snug in his arms, Russell headed out quietly, leading you through the maze of shadows and concrete buildings. The screeching tires faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of your heart that you could feel in your eardrums. 

“Alright, pirate crew” Russell whispered, his eyes scanning the surroundings like he was already in full-on mission mode. And he probably was. “We need an escape route. And I need your sharp eyes on lookout, got it? Keep ‘em peeled for any bad guys.”

“Bad guys?” she echoed, looking around, wide-eyed. “Are they gonna hurt us?”

Russell shook his head, grinning. “Not a chance. We’re pirates, remember? We’ll outsmart them easily. Right, captain?”

Emma giggled, playing along like she was born for this. And you had to hand it to him — Russell knew exactly what he was doing. Using the pirate game to sneak his way in, to worm his way through to your daughter. You hated to admit it, but... yeah, it was working.

“Alright, crew, any bright ideas?” you whispered, forcing as much lightness into your tone as you could muster for Emma’s sake.

But before anyone could answer, you heard it—tires screeching, closer this time, much too close. The sound scraped at your nerves, a noise that would probably haunt your nightmares for weeks. If your survive it, that is. Your heart skipped a beat as headlights sliced through the dark, illuminating everything for a split second before they vanished again.

"Shi—“ you muttered, but quickly bit the end as you glanced at your daughter.

Russell’s face hardened, the easy smile he’d been wearing slipping away. "Stay down, stay quiet. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Emma clutched at his shirt. “What’s happening?”

Russell’s jaw tightened, and for a second, you could have sworn you saw actual fear in his eyes. Like he knew something bad was about to happen. Something fatal.

“We’re playing a new game now, treasure hunter. It’s called ‘hide and don’t get caught'” he said, his eyes darting around, until they landed on a massive tree surrounded by some half-crushed rocks.

And just like that, he got the plan.

Without wasting another second, Russell shoved Emma back into your arms, nudging you both behind the tree. You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes was all the explanation you needed. There was no room for negotiation. This wasn’t just another close call; he was done running.

“Stay here” he whispered. “… and whatever you hear… don’t come out” he added. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, like he was taking in all of your little features; the way your hair framed your face, the slight tremor in your shoulders, your lashes looking slightly vet from fear. You looked like you’d been through a storm, and honestly, you had. But to him, standing there, you and Emma were worth every bruise, every risk.

With one last look, he turned, placing himself between you and the approaching threats.

You barely had time to register anything before you heard a car door creak open. You couldn’t see a thing from your hiding spot, but you didn’t need to. You knew exactly who it was. Rourke, or one of his Horizon lackeys. And Russell? He was still out there. With only a single gun and that damn stubborn fire in his eyes (that you somehow always adored). 

It was insane. He was insane.

Your pulse raced, heart hammering in your chest as you pressed yourself further into the shadows, praying Russell had a plan. Or, at the very least, that his unshakable confidence wouldn’t get him killed. You could hear the shuffle of boots approaching, slow and controlled.

You held Emma close, her small fingers tightening around you as she buried her face against your shoulder. You stroked her back gently, whispering, “Shh… we’re just playing hide and seek, yeah?" you asked, echoing Russell's words from earlier. "Can you… can you stay quiet for me?” 

Her fearful eyes were shiny from unshed tears, but she nodded. The guilt hit you like a punch to the gut. God, you’d never felt more of a failure as a mom than in that moment. You were supposed to keep her safe, to protect her, not drag her into this mess.

Outside, Russell didn’t flinch as the footsteps drew closer, his body poised like a coiled spring, ready to move. You could only listen, heart hammering, hoping he had some kind of plan up his sleeve because this wasn’t a fight he could take on alone.

“Come on, Shaw” a voice called from the shadows, the kind of voice that made you want to punch something. Rourke. Of course. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and just plain out of luck. Come back to us… and maybe we’ll consider not wiping out your adorable little family."

Russell’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he took a step closer to the darkened street. He didn’t raise his voice, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. “You touch one hair on their heads, and you’ll regret it, Rourke.”

Rourke chuckled with a sound so smug, it almost made you physically ill. “You know, Shaw, I thought you were smarter than this. Putting your life on the line... and for what? You can’t win here.”

Russell didn’t waver, his voice low and steady. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s worth fighting for.”

“Oh, I think I do” Rourke sneered, taking another step closer, his figure shifting in the moonlight. “I know weakness when I see it. I see it every time I look at you.”

A beat of silence. It was deafening.

“And I see a coward” Russell finally replied. “Hiding behind hired thugs, preying on those who can’t fight back. Real tough guy... That's what you enjoy, huh? That's the reason for that little side hustle of yours?" he asked. "Does Morello still have no clue about it?"

Morello? Side hustle? What was Russell playing at?

Rourke’s smug grin faltered, but only for a second. “You talk a big game, Shaw. Let’s see if you back it up.” He motioned to his men, weapons glinting faintly. Russell mirrored their actions.

You couldn't see anything, but the sounds were lound and clear. You’ve never felt this scared in your life. Ever.

From your hidden spot behind the tree, you felt Emma’s little arms clutch you tighter, sensing the danger. Your heart pounded as you watched Russell’s shadow standing alone, facing them all down.

Then Rourke took one last step forward. “Final offer, Shaw” his voice creaked with menace. “Come with us, and maybe, just maybe, your bitch and offspring stay intact.”

Russell’s grip on his gun tightened. “Big words for a guy who needs an entourage to feel important” he shot back. “But I’ll pass on the offer, thanks.”

Rourke’s face twisted, anger finally replacing his smirk. “Fine,” he spat. “You want to play hero, Shaw? Then let’s see if you survive it.”

And then, without warning, bang. The most terrifying gunshot sound you’ve ever experienced.

Not that you’ve never heard a gunshot before. It wasn’t necessarily the sound you found terrifying… but rather the silence that followed, and the uncertainty of who was at the receiving end.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 6):

“I know you don’t want to“ he began, holding up a hand before you could get a word in. “But you and Emma need to check into the hospital. Just to be sure she’s okay, no hidden bumps or bruises.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t try to be a hero. Do it for her, if not for yourself. And…maybe a little for me, too.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you both. “I need to know you’re safe. After everything that just went down, I don’t think I could handle one more surprise tonight.”

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

I know, such a cliché and terrible cliffhanger. But what can I say? Don’t fix what’s not broken.

Chapter 6 coming soon…

���� Taglist 🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[faustiantales]

𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖚𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌

Dark Descent: Vyn Richter X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, creampie

Synopsis: Vyn Richter is one of the popular professors at Stellis University. Many young women would swoon over the handsome psychiatrist, falling in love with his charm and gentlemanly personality. However, those poor women will never realize that Vyn and his precious little sister often engage in their routine clandestine endeavors behind locked office doors.

Shadows Lengthen: 1.4k words

        [Y/n] stumbled into the library, her heart racing. The bell had rung, signaling the end of another draining class. Her backpack hung from her shoulders like a lead weight, filled with textbooks and unfinished homework. She scanned the quiet room, searching for the familiar comfort of an empty corner.

        The smell of old pages and the distant hum of the air conditioner created a soothing backdrop as she found her sanctuary, a chair tucked away behind a towering bookshelf. She slumped into it, letting out a sigh that echoed softly in the vast emptiness.

        Her mind drifted to the last time she saw her older brother, Vyn. It had been during the previous break, and she had felt the same rush of anxiety and excitement as she always did when he called her into the 'private tutoring' sessions. She remembered the stern look on his face as he locked the door, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, leaving no inch of her skin untouched by his gaze.

        She shivered, the memory of his hands on her thighs sending a jolt of electricity through her body. It was wrong, she knew, but she couldn't resist the allure of his dominance. The way he made her feel and the things he did to her were all dangerous secrets that she cherished.

        Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be engrossed in a book she hadn't even opened. The footsteps grew louder, and she recognized the rhythmic click of her brother's shoes. Her stomach tightened into a knot. The footsteps stopped just short of her hiding spot, and she held her breath.

        "[Y/n]," Vyn's velvety voice echoed through the library. She knew he had found her. "There you are."

        Her heart hammered in her chest as she closed the book with trembling fingers. She had to play it cool and hide her excitement. She stood up, trying to shake off the images of their last encounter. He was still dressed in his professor's attire, looking as dashing as ever.

        She smiled and stepped out from behind the bookshelf. "Hi, brother~"

       "Let's go to my office," he said, gesturing towards the exit. "The usual."

        The walk to his office was a silent one, each step heavier than the last. The anticipation grew with every footfall. Ever since they started this risky game of lustful endeavors inside the school grounds, the two couldn't seem to stop. On the contrary, it looks like they're getting more addicted to it. To engage in such sexual activities in a public establishment, away from prying eyes, was like playing with fire, yet the thrill was intoxicating. Once they were inside, the door clicking shut behind them, he turned to face her.

        "[Y/n]," he began, his voice soft. His hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer. "My beautiful darling."

        "Brother~" She moaned softly, grinding her clothed cunt against the tent in his pants, making him groan with pleasure. 

        Without another word, he bent down and captured her mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was tender. She melted into him, unable to resist the allure of his touch. He guided her to the desk, his hands roaming over her body with a practiced ease that spoke of his desire and hunger. She felt the familiar ache between her legs, the need for him growing stronger with each passing second. He broke the kiss, his eyes searching hers for consent. She nodded, her cheeks flushing with a mix of arousal and apprehension.

        Vyn reached under her skirt, his hands deftly finding the waistband of her panties. He pulled them down, his eyes never leaving hers. She stepped out of them, feeling the coolness of the floor against her bare skin. He pushed her gently onto the desk, her books and notebooks scattering to the floor. He spread her legs wide, his gaze dropping to the juncture of her thighs. He licked his lips, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a thrill through her body.

        "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. He leaned in, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. "And all mine."

        The first touch of his tongue sent a shockwave through her. She gripped the edge of the desk, her nails digging into the wood as he tasted her, exploring every inch of her with a passion that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She moaned, the sound echoing in the small room. The world outside the office door faded away, leaving only the two of them in their clandestine bubble of pleasure.

        As he worked his magic, she felt the tension in her body coil tighter and tighter. Her legs began to tremble, and she knew she was close to the edge. He knew it too, his movements becoming more urgent, his tongue flicking against her clit in a rhythm that sent her spiraling. She bit her lip to stifle the cry that threatened to escape, the intensity of the sensation threatening to overwhelm her.

        And then it did. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for breath. Her body convulsed, her hips bucking against his mouth as he lapped up her juices. She had never felt so exposed or vulnerable, yet she had never felt so alive. When the last tremor subsided, he stood up, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, revealing his erection.

        "Now, it's my turn," he said, his voice low and demanding.

        [Y/n] nodded, her cheeks still flushed, her body still humming with pleasure. She knew what was coming next, and she was ready for it. Prepared to give herself to him once again, in this secret place where they could be who they truly were.

        As he slid into her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. The desk creaked beneath them, a testament to their passion. He began to move, his thrusts hard and deep, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She could feel the tension building again, a delicious pressure that grew with every stroke.

        They moved together, their bodies speaking a language that only they understood. The sounds of their skin slapping against each other filled the room, a symphony of need and desire. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, urging him on.

        [Y/n]'s moans grew louder, echoing off the walls of the library, a silent testament to their transgression. She didn't care if anyone heard. All she knew was that she needed this, needed him, in a way that she couldn't explain.

        Their rhythm grew frantic, their breathing ragged. She could feel him getting closer, his movements becoming more erratic. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came, filling her with his warmth. They clung to each other, their hearts beating in unison, lost in the aftermath of their shared climax.

        For a moment, they just stood there, the only sound in the room the harsh panting of their breath. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, reality crashed back in. The clock on the wall ticked away, a reminder that their time was limited. He pulled out, his expression shifting from one of passion to one of concern.

        "Go and have a quick lunch," he said, his voice soft. Vyn straightened his clothes, his eyes lovingly gazing at hers as he tucked in his shirt. "I'll see you at home later, and continue our unfinished business. But for now, I'll be taking this."

        [Y/n] blushed as her brother teasingly shook her panties at head level, a knowing smirk on his lips as he took a deep sniff, and licked it, before pocketing the item. The girl stayed there, dumbfounded at her older brother's childish behavior as the said man left without another word.

        "This is embarrassing..." she murmured, her blush deepening as she took a peek at her pussy oozing with her brother's cum. "But also arousing."

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

[laviefantasie]

[ Illicit Gazes ]

Pairings: Teacher! Gojo Satoru x Student! Reader

Summary: You wanted to scream that you weren’t a kid, that you knew what you were doing and feeling. But he never gave you the chance. Nothing even started, yet everything had already ended.

[ WARING TAGS: hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, underage, age gap, teacher-student ]

Thinking about making more of this ones, let me know what you think.



You never meant for it to happen.

It started with small, innocent things. Offering him snacks after a long day. Bringing him his favorite milk tea when you noticed he hadn’t had time to eat. It was just... kindness. You didn’t think anything of it at first. It wasn’t like you were trying to get his attention. He was your teacher and you were his student. It was supposed to be simple.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being simple.

You started noticing things. How his smile never quite reached his eyes when he was being playful, how the laughter he forced sounded just a little too strained. How, when everyone else was around, he would throw himself into his persona as the untouchable, invincible teacher, but the moment the door closed behind them, there was a crack—a tiny chink in his armor.

And that's when you started falling. Slowly. Imperceptibly.

The way he’d thank you for the snacks, his voice a little softer than usual. The way he you would feel him look at you under that blindfold when you handed him a cup of bubble tea, feeing his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. At first, you brushed it off. It was just how he was, right? Charismatic. Unbothered. Unaffected.

But the more you cared for him, the more you noticed how you were changing.

You found yourself looking forward to those small moments: when you’d bring him dinner after a long day and he’d act like it was the best thing that happened all week, or when you’d sit beside him in silence, just being there, and yet it felt more than enough.

And when you found yourself daydreaming, imagining what it would be like if he’d just look at you like he did everyone else... as if you weren’t just his student. As if you were something more.

The first time you realized you had a crush on him, you were sitting in front of his desk, watching him work late into the night. He was hunched over, looking at something on his phone, tapping away with a focused intensity. The moonlight spilled through the window behind him, casting soft shadows across his face. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. The way his white hair fell messily around his face. How his sharp, almost cruel eyes softened when he wasn’t trying to be a teacher or the strongest. It was like seeing him for the first time.

You watched him for longer than you should have, and when he caught you staring, there was no teasing smile or sarcastic comment. He just stared at you with an unreadable expression, his eyes covered under his usual blindfold lingering on you for just a second too long. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. His covered gaze held you in place, a silent understanding passing between the two of you, and for the briefest of moments, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist.

But then he smiled—genuinely this time—and your heart skipped in a way it never had before.

“What? You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of snack. Don’t tell me you’re already craving my sweet treats, (Y/N)”

You’d laughed, nervously, but deep inside, you knew. You knew that it wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something else. Something dangerous.

And from that moment on, it was harder and harder to ignore the way your heart fluttered when he smiled, when he teased you, or when you saw that flicker of something deeper behind his smile. He didn’t always show it, but you could sense the vulnerability beneath the surface.

But you also knew this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t just a crush—it was something more. Something you shouldn’t feel. Something you could never act on.

And yet, despite your better judgment, every interaction, every word, only made it worse. You were falling deeper, faster, with each passing day.

He didn’t want to fall for you.

He couldn’t.

Gojo Satoru was many things—powerful, untouchable, the strongest—but he wasn’t immune to the temptations that came with being around someone as human as you. You, with your kindness, your gentle words, and the way you never treated him like some god. You always saw him. Truly saw him. Not as a teacher, not as the person who was expected to fix everything. But as a man. A broken one, sure, but still a man.

But Gojo knew better than to let himself get too close to you. It was the same reason he never let himself form real attachments, never let anyone get too close: after all, love was the worst curse of all.

He had seen it, time and time again. The people who cared about him, the ones he cared about—none of them ended up the way they wanted. Whether it was the weight of responsibility, the loss, or simply the pain of caring too much, he had watched it all unravel in the worst possible ways. The ones he loved, the ones who loved him, always ended up broken, lost, or worse. Love only created vulnerability, and vulnerability always led to destruction.

Just like he had.

And you? He couldn’t let you be a part of that. He couldn’t let you be the one he fell for. Because if he let you in, it would be like every other time, every other person. The same pain. The same destruction.

So he kept his distance. Played it off with jokes and light teasing. Kept you at arm’s length, even when it hurt to see you wanting to come closer. You were too pure for that. Too pure to fall for someone like him.

But God, it was getting harder. Every smile you gave him, every little act of care, every time you offered him something as simple as homemade mochi—it broke through his defenses. And that terrified him.

The way you looked at him... the way you worried about him, as if he were anything but a weapon, anything but someone who had been molded by a life of expectations and heartbreak—it tore him apart in ways he couldn’t explain.

It was late one evening when the shift happened—the moment where everything changed but nothing was said. You had been working late again, sitting on the windowsill of his office, idly tracing the edge of a notebook with your fingers as Gojo poured over mission reports.

It was quiet, too quiet. And the silence between the two of you felt too heavy, too thick. You could feel the tension in the air, the space between you expanding with every passing second. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You know, you don’t always have to act like you’re invincible”, you said it softly, trying to sound casual.

But your words were laced with more emotion than you intended.

Gojo paused, glancing up from the papers in front of him. He turned to you, taking a second to really look at you, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his face. It was like he was trying to decide whether to shut you down or admit the truth.

“I don’t have a choice, (Y/N). Not really”

His voice dropped, and you saw something raw in his expression. Something you weren’t supposed to see. He wasn’t just the teacher now. He was a man, broken and tired, someone who had been carrying too much for far too long.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone”

You didn’t realize how much you meant it until the words were already out, the softness in your voice betraying the feelings you had buried so deeply.

Gojo looked at you, and this time, there was no teasing smile. No playful comment. His gaze was intense, even under the blindfold, almost painful to hold. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but he stopped himself.

“(Y/N), I—”

He paused again, struggling to find the right words, the right excuse to pull back. To keep his distance.

But you couldn’t let him.

“I want to be here for you. I want to help”

There it was. You couldn’t keep pretending anymore. You couldn’t ignore it. You cared about him. More than just a crush. More than just admiration. It was everything, all-consuming, and you were terrified of it.

And Gojo, well, he felt it too. For a brief moment, you saw it—the truth behind his usual mask. He wanted to say something, to make it clear that he couldn’t let this happen. That it couldn’t happen.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his face softened, just slightly. And then he turned away, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for”

But you did.

The next day, Gojo made his decision. It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t yell, didn’t make a scene. He just... pushed you away. Subtly. Quietly.

You tried to close the distance, to let him know that you were still there, but every time you tried, he was just a little farther out of reach.

And it hurt. But you understood.

This was his curse. The curse of loving and being loved. It was the same reason he’d always kept his distance from others—because love was dangerous. It always led to pain.

And maybe, just maybe, he was trying to protect you from that.

The understanding didn’t make it hurt less.

[superblysubpar]

vampire!eddie munson x somekindofslayer!you / partner!steve

2,653 words

warnings: other than kind of like, illusions to some spicy things/slight implications of dubcon, not much in this little snippet | vampire things? Idk how to tag that ya'll? like weapons, blood imagery, etc? | oh also I think modern AU but also like ST things happened but also like the party is all in the modern AU except Eddie? Idk I haven't decided, don't think too hard about it

A/N: okay, so this is a little snippet of something I started *last* October and I lost the will and love to write and I've been returning to it frequently and I think I'll be posting the full thing soonish. I hope you enjoy it (and yes, I'm cheating and counting this as 3 days)

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

It feels wrong.

There’s no better way to describe the feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders and pricks at the back of your neck as you weave in and out of the too loud crowd.

Spilled beer and red plastic cups at your feet further marking up and ruining what you’re sure was once beautiful wood floors. Spray painted images and words foul and rude against walls with chipped paint and frayed wallpaper that hold a history people have forgotten too quickly.

Your fingers glide over the banister, the tipped cup to your lips flashing red in the dingy mirror on the grand father clock as you ascend the stairs.

The celebration below softens to a dull murmur of a crowd, the low rumble of bass as you take the last step and your lungs deflate with an exhaled breath of relief. Each door you pass is open, revealing dust and cobwebbed covered furniture and art, rooms frozen in time as the world around it kept going. You were surprised to find that none of the pop culture clad couple’s costumes had made their way upstairs this evening to make use of the more private rooms.

Perhaps there were still some things here that people didn’t want to disturb.

The claims that this home held ghosts, made you see things, the history of what once happened in this town, hadn’t dissuaded the night from happening as you had hoped. The possibility of all the sinister and spooky things the home brought only served to be fuel for a Halloween night party and practically dared the teens to host it there.

Which is probably exactly what he wanted.

Your hand discards the now empty solo cup on a dark wood buffet, finger leaving a clean swipe to it’s surface as you tilt your head to listen for anything out of the ordinary while the heels of your boots slow, then stop in front of the only closed door on this level.

The knob of the door twists easily underneath your palm, and as the door creaks open, soft light flickers above from a room you can’t quite yet see. With a deep breath, you close the door behind yourself as quietly as you can, the noise of the party now almost nonexistent. The only clue to it the vibrations from below your soles as you carefully start the climb of this second staircase.

While equally stuck in the past, this attic is littered with frequent use.

Recent too.

Candle’s wicks flicker around the room, all of various heights with melted wax now solidified in drips down their sides, which tells you they’ve just been lit, but not for the first time ever.

There’s a dark line in the slat flooring, like it’s been ripped in half and then clumsily pushed and glued back together. Something inside jars glint in the moonlight shining in from the small window on the opposite side of the room.

“Nice costume,” a deep voice from the shadows calls. A flick of a zippo sounds before the flame sparks, illuminating a figure leaning against the wall. Broad shoulders long hair falls against and a cigarette dangling between plush lips just made out in its glow as he lights it. The metal clicks together, returning him to the darkness. The end of the cigarette burns red at his side as a puff of smoke floats into the air with his words, “Buffy, right?”

Your throat feels dry as you risk a glance down at the costume, as if you need to remind yourself what you’re wearing. Little black dress, emphasis on the little. Your tits shoved up and out with a cross hanging heavy between them and little left to the imagination between the short hem just covering your ass and the tall knee high boots.

“You’re just missing one thing, vampire slayer,” his voice makes you jump, an instinctual step back only to find you’re up against the banister and he’s right in front of you now.

He hadn’t made a single sound.

“Yeah?” Your voice betrays you, cracking as the weight of something inside of your boot scolds you for not having it out and ready as he leans in, eyes on the cross on your neck as you try to sound more confident than you are, “What’s that…sorry I didn’t catch your name? And who are you supposed to be?”

In a flash, he’s across the room, twirling something between his fingers you can’t quite see as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and paces.

“Wow, you don’t recognize me?” The chains against his jeans click as he spins with a dramatic sigh, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t remember me either.”

His leather and denim clad shoulders rise then fall in a shrug, the devil on his chest pulled tight as he stretches his arms out as if to say “ta-da”, and his tone sounds like he’s doing just that when he says:

“I’m Eddie Munson. The guy who made this place famous.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, tongue suddenly taking up too much space in your mouth as your stomach clenches.

“Yeah? That your name or your costume’s?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He whistles to get your attention when you look down, now acutely aware of the empty space between your calf and boot.

He waves the wood stake in the air, teeth gleaming white in his smile that brings a dimple out you can see all the way across the room.

“Looking for this, princess?”

“I’m not a vampire slayer, Mr. Munson,” you start, fingers behind your back working at the discrete silver bracelet on your wrist.

Eddie’s lips purse, amused as he leans against the windowsill, completely at ease as he watches you take a cautious step forward then another.

He grins at you when you take a third step and nods his head, encouraging you, “That’s it. Get closer. Promise I won’t bite…” he winks, “ ‘Less you want me to, of course.”

“Lotta girls take you up on that offer Mr. Munson? That what you were hoping for tonight?”

His smile grows wider, his tongue pokes at a canine that’s suddenly grown longer.

“First of all, Mr. Munson is my uncle, please,” he sticks his hand out now that you’re close enough, like he intends to shake yours, “It’s Eddie. And second, you vampire slayers…” he sighs, “Always all business, never any fun, huh?”

“Right, Eddie,” you concede, whispering, now close enough that you know he could easily do what’s in his nature. “And I thought I told you, I’m not a vampire slayer.”

His eyes flash when your hand wraps around his in a firm shake. His adam’s apple bobs with a large swallow as you take a step even closer, body between his spread legs, your neck and chest right where he’d want it. Eddie’s eyes are tinged with red, but he starts to pull away, breathing heavily.

Your eyes are on your hands still locked, and your entire body warms, heartbeat racing as his thumb swipes over the back of yours and his eyelashes flutter when you moan at the tingle the contact of his skin leaves against yours. Like the good kind of heat from a bonfire, any closer and it’ll start to burn, and any further away you’d be too cold.

Static crackles in your ear, “Um…whatcha doing, killer?”

Eddie looks directly at your left earlobe at the sound, and it all snaps you back to attention. Your silver bracelet in your other hand quickly locks around his wrist in your grasp.

Eddie blinks at you, each drop and lift of his eyelids growing heavier by the milliseconds as his hand slips from yours.

“Fuck,” he laughs, like he’s a little tipsy, head knocking against the window behind him as he looks at you from under his lashes, smiling. “You got me, slayer.”

“Not,” you swallow, taking a larger step away from him while trying to fight the urge to take off the bracelet subduing him, “Not a vampire slayer.”

He hums, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe you as footsteps creak loudly on the stairs behind you and your partner’s winded breath calls out your name.

“You smell good,” Eddie mumbles as you pull him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder, his head falling into the crook of your neck makes your entire body freeze.

His nose drags along your pulse, his lips follow, and a chill races down your spine, skin on fire where he’s pressed against it and you have to stop your teeth from biting on your bottom lip too hard or you’ll draw blood and who knows what’ll happen then. Maybe he’d lick it off your chin, maybe he’d-

“Did I just witness what I think I just witnessed? Were you gonna let him-”

“Don’t,” you gasp as Eddie sighs against your throat. “Not another word, Harrington.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you wide eyed and with his mouth hanging open as you shove Eddie’s weight to him and right yourself, fixing the hem of your dress and yanking your stake off of the ground. Doesn’t say anything while you check around corners and you pretend to be three drunk idiots stumbling to a car in case any one sees. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie’s passed out in the backseat and you’re looking in the rearview for the third time in less minutes, wheels spinning against wet black top and taking you past the: “Now Leaving Hawkins!” sign.

“What the fuck-“ he starts to hiss.

“I don’t know. Just…don’t. Okay? He touched me and…and…” your heart starts thudding harder. “I choked or something. It happens to the best of us.”

Steve licks his lip before it prods at his cheek as you grip the steering wheel tighter and he looks over his shoulder.

“Compulsion?”

“Maybe?” You shrug, though not believing it one bit.

“Imprin-“

“Don’t. That’s a myth.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds and then Steve’s lips twitch.

“Horny?”

He laughs when you groan and swat at his chest. “Shut up. You’re such an asshole.”

Steve snorts, looking out the window, mumbling, “That wasn’t a no.”

You flick his eyebrow that time.

“If that is the case, I mean, there are plenty of us who’d love to help you out. You don’t gotta stoop to being sucked on by vamps if you’re feeling-“

“You want me to use the stake on him?”

The car swerves at the sound of his voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you return to the correct lane safely and see Eddie sitting up in the backseat in your mirror.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, holding his chest and facing the back now.

Eddie visibly winces at the use of the name and Steve perks up.

“Woah. That’s real?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, “Christ, Christ, Christ, Chri-“

Eddie’s fangs sharpen and descend and he starts to growl low from his chest, eyes flashing red. Steve’s lips twitch but he raises his hands in surrender when you hiss for him to knock it off.

“Of course,” he looks at you then the backseat, “I’ll stop bothering your little toy, honey.”

Your gaze slices over to him as Steve holds his silver stake over his chest, keeping his back to the dash and eyes on the now alert vampire in your backseat.

Eddie lifts his wrist up, “What the hell is this?”

Steve smiles. “That, is a Henderson original. Powerful enough to subdue even the strongest of ghouls, goblins, vamps and any other weird ass creatures we come across - quickly and temporarily in case of emergency. A smaller version of his version of that trap thingy and that gun thingy,” he snaps his fingers and looks at you, “What are they again? In Ghostbusters?”

“The Proton Pack”, you say as Eddie asks at the same time,

“The Super Slammer Muon Trap?”

Eddie clears his throat, adjusts himself in the back seat while rubbing his neck and your eyes return to the road after making eye contact in the mirror again.

“You, uh, you like Ghostbusters?” He fiddles with the rings on his fingers.

Steve’s lips twitch when you grumble to yourself though you know they both can hear it, “Of course I like Ghostbusters, what am I, a moron?” You frown as you sarcastically add on, “And nobody’s impressed by your use of the name of the trap from the video game. It’s just a ghost trap.”

It’s like you feel his laugh inside your own chest. Warm and flowing over you like sunshine on your face after a really long, gloomy day. You tilt your head into it, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yeaah,” Steve draws out the word, clears his throat. “Those. Cause she couldn’t really go in with the big, real deal. Good thing it worked on you though, fast, too. Hepburn here was about to willingly be your human juicebox.”

“I was not-“

“Hepburn?” Eddie asks as you start to protest something you’re not even sure you can. “Is that your name, slayer?”

“Not a slayer,” you clarify again.

“And that didn’t answer my question,” Eddie raises his eyebrows in the mirror, gaze on the back of your ear, your throat. If you couldn’t glance up and see where he was looking you were sure you’d be able to feel the heat of his stare anyways.

Warmth prickles at your skin, and goosebumps rise to the surface in a trail from your ear, down your throat, across your collarbone as you imagine his mouth following that same-

“Can we,” Eddie clears his throat, he pulls at his collar, “Can we open a window or something?”

“Did you…” your breath comes sharper, words caught in your throat before you can ask him anything about the sensation on your skin. You grip the steering wheel tighter when images of his mouth moving lower break up the two lane highway in flashes.

Steve’s lips twitch when your body shivers, and you beg through gritted teeth, “Steve. Put a second bracelet on him.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing, it’s you…I won’t hurt…” Eddie puts his head between his legs and groans, like he’s in the worst pain of his life, or like he’s in the best-

“Fucking hell. Sweetheart, relax. Your pulse is…”

Steve’s lips part as your head hits the back of the seat, your neck extended as your mouth falls open and your leg flexes when you swear you feel a prick on your neck and you whine.

The bright yellow lights of a familiar restaurant break up the dark sky and road and your speedometer drops quickly from the 90 it had climbed to as you signal your exit despite no cars being around, whipping the car onto the exit ramp.

“What are you…” Steve starts, stopping when Eddie sits up again and pokes at his teeth with his tongue, wincing as he grips the edge of the seat.

“Steve? That’s your name?” He gasps, blinking rapidly, “Put the second bracelet on me, man.”

The car slams to a stop in front of the Waffle House and you toss the burner that had been in the cupholder to Steve.

“Call Hop. Tell him he needs to send someone else to drive him or pick me up. Now.”

When you step out of the car and the cool Autumn air does nothing to soothe your skin that’s slick with sweat, you slam the driver’s door. The minute it closes, it’s like a switch is flipped and when you look in the backseat, Eddie’s shoulders visibly relax at the same time yours do.

Steve’s mouth moves, and you can’t hear it, but you know he said exactly what you’re thinking.

What in the actual fuck just happened?

thank you for the original request for "ghosts" with eddie - I know it's not *technically* about ghosts and the creel house is just barely a part of this, but I promise Jason and Eddie/reader/Jason things will be a theme in the full story

[beauttifullife]

The Wakeup Call

Agatha waited, her heart pounding with anticipation as she stood outside the door. A few moments passed in silence before she heard movement behind the door, followed by the soft click of locks being undone.   

The door creaked open, and there stood Rio, blinking against the dim hallway light, clearly still half-asleep.  

Agatha sucked in a ragged breath.  

She was wearing a pair of skimpy sleep shorts that revealed miles of toned legs and a deep green T-shirt that read “ Pawnee Parks and Rec Department .” Her dark hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and she rubbed at her eyes, eyes coming into focus on Agahta, before widening with shock.  

“Agatha ,” Rio sighed, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep as she looked down at her watch, then back up, raising a brow in exasperation. Her gaze was piercing, even through her disheveled, sleepy expression.   

“It’s seven in the morning— on a Saturday .”  

Agatha offered a sheepish smile.   

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”  

Rio ran her hands through her hair messy locks, and threw Agatha a look.    

“Well, I was sleeping,” she murmured, but Agatha didn’t miss the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the way her shoulders held a tension that said sleep hadn’t come easily to her, either.  

Agatha held up a coffee cup.  

“I brought you coffee,” she said, her voice softer than usual, knowing she would need this peace offering for the still surprisingly anti-morning Rio.    

Rio blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a moment, she simply stared at the cup as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Agatha’s as she took the cup, her touch sending a small thrill down Agatha’s spine.  

Rio looked down at the familiar coffee shop logo, her eyes widening in surprise.  

“You actually went into a coffee shop and ordered your own coffee?” she said slowly, as if she couldn’t believe the words coming out her mouth.  

Agatha rolled her eyes, though a faint blush crept into her cheeks.   

“Just because I have an assistant who usually gets my coffee doesn’t mean I’m entirely helpless.”  

Rio hummed softly, as if she didn’t quite believe Agatha’s words but was willing to let it slide. She brought the cup to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. Her eyes closed briefly as she savored the first taste, a quiet, appreciative hum escaping her.  

As Rio took another sip, her gaze softened, and for a brief moment, the guarded look faded from her eyes. She seemed to relax, her shoulders loosening, as if Agatha’s unexpected gesture had somehow dissolved a little of the tension lingering between them.   

In the soft morning light, with Rio’s hair tousled and her guard lowered, Agatha couldn’t help but think she looked beautiful in that moment.    

And then Rio’s gaze shifted from Agatha's face to the other thing in Agatha’s arms—a large, leafy potted plant, hard to miss.   

Agatha fought against the faint flush that threatened to creep up her neck as she adjusted the plant, holding it a little awkwardly in the crook of her arm before extending it toward Rio.  

“I… I got you this too,” she said, attempting to keep her voice casual, though she could feel her composure slipping just a little.  

Rio blinked, setting her coffee down on the small entryway table beside her before reaching out to take the plant. She looked down at it, her fingers tracing the elegant green-and-white leaves with gentle curiosity, her expression shifting to one of genuine surprise.  

“Where did you get this?” Rio asked, her gaze flicking back up to Agatha, equal parts touched and suspicious.  

Agatha gave a nonchalant shrug, though she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.   

“At a flower shop downtown,” she replied, trying to sound like she hadn’t just jumped through an inordinate amount of hoops to acquire it.  

“A flower shop that opens before sunrise— on the weekend ?” Rio said with disbelief clinging to every syllable, as she raised an eyebrow.  

Agatha hesitated, swallowing back her discomfort.   

“The daughter of a client owns it. I, uh… called in a favor,” she admitted, her tone more defensive than she liked, but she didn’t like being called out.    

Rio raised an eyebrow—and then, a faint smile curving her lips as she looked back down at the plant, then back up at Agatha, her eyes filled with something Agatha couldn’t quite place.  

“This is a Monstera Albo Borsigiana,” Rio said, the mouthful of a name rolling off her tongue effortlessly.  

Agatha blinked, momentarily thrown. She didn’t know the first thing about plants, let alone what this one was called. All she knew was that it fucking expense, and should be gold plated for what she paid for it.  

“Agatha,” Rio sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement in her tone. “Did you just buy the most expensive plant in the store?”  

Agatha felt her cheeks warm under Rio’s knowing gaze. She should have anticipated this reaction.   

With a huff, she threw her hands up in mild exasperation, gesturing at the plant.   

“Look, I don’t know anything about plants!” she practically exclaimed. “I figured I’d treat it like bourbon—the more expensive, the better it is.”  

Rio’s mouth quirked into a genuine smile, a small laugh escaping her. She glanced down at the plant, clearly touched, her fingers lingering on the leaves before meeting Agatha’s eyes again, softer now, and just a bit more open.  

Rio’s gaze softened as she looked at Agatha, really looked at her, as if trying to piece together what was happening.  

“Agatha—what are you doing? ”  

Agatha took a steadying breath, a sly smile creeping onto her lips as she leaned casually against the doorframe, trying to convey enough outward confidence that it convinced herself internally that she was doing the right thing.   

"Oh.  I am taking back my control,” she answered.  

Rio’s eyes went wide, surprise flashing across her face, as she looked at Agatha in shock.   

“You’re what?”  

Agatha offered a casual shrug, though beneath the surface, her heart pounded, her emotions a tangled mess.  

“I have feelings for you, Rio,” she admitted, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.  

She watched as the words landed, seeing Rio’s eyes widen slightly, her breath catching in a way that felt like a small victory.  

“And since both of us have been acting like complete idiots,” Agatha continued, a hint of determination sharpening her tone, “I’ve decided to take control of the situation.”  

Rio blinked, caught off guard, her fingers tightening at her side.   

A mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and something else— something vulnerable —flickered across her face.   

Agatha couldn’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at having left Rio momentarily speechless.   

“You’re taking control of the situation,” Rio repeated, drawing out each word with a smirk, before arching an eyebrow and giving Agatha a pointed look. “Just to confirm—am I the situation you’re planning to take control of?”  

Agatha’s lips twitched, fighting back a grin as her confidence surged. She took a deliberate step closer, her gaze locked on Rio’s.

“Yes, Rio,” she replied smoothly, her voice low and sure. “You are absolutely the situation I’m planning to take control of.”  

Rio’s eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and—thankfully—something darker, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she set the plant carefully on the table beside her. Crossing her arms, she leveled Agatha with a look, a flicker of defiance lighting her gaze.  

“You couldn’t have told me that last night?” she asked, a touch exasperated.  

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Agatha deflected, raising an eyebrow playfully.  

Rio narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. Agatha’s confidence wavered for just a second, and she took a breath, letting honesty cut through her tone.

“I was scared, okay?” she admitted. “But I went home, sorted out my shit, and here I am. And I even got you a pretty plant to make up for it.” She gestured to the monstera with a flourish.  

Rio raised a brow, her expression softening. “I didn’t need the plant, Agatha. I wanted you .”  

Agatha felt her breath hitch, Rio’s directness catching her off guard in the best possible way. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed this side of Rio.  

“Well, now you have me… and a plant,” she said, flicking her hands as if to say, You’re welcome. “Seems like a win-win to me.”  

Rio raised a brow, letting the moment stretch out as her piercing gaze held Agatha in place. Finally, she sighed, the sound equal parts exasperated and amused.  

“You are something else, you know that?” she said, shaking her head just slightly.  

Agatha’s smirk returned, the confidence in her voice unmistakable.   

“So I’ve been told.”  

[ladygojooo]

The shadows stain the snow (but darling, I want you anyway)

Synopsis: Betrayal, duty, and death - these were the only things the world of jujutsu had ever given you for all that you toiled. A twin of one of the fallen, you left it all behind in the hopes of carving out a small bit of uneasy paradise for yourself.

You should have known it never was going to work.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader

WC: 1.8k

Content: light angst, marriage proposal, marriage of convenience, soft!Gojo, fluffy ending, pre-Shibuya arc

A/N: raaaaah, I was so tired of having this in my drafts, and though I think it's utter trash, maybe one of y'all will like it, lol. Satoru Gojo, my beloved, the man that you are <3

There was white everywhere you looked.

Seven years after you left, and you still couldn’t think of anything but him when you saw the stupid color. At least the sky was covered in clouds today. Sure, it made you feel boxed in, but it certainly wasn’t blue.

You shut off the ignition in your car, not giving yourself time to prepare for the bitterly cold air that you’d step out into. If Japan hadn’t accustomed you to its winter lows, then the Yukon Territory certainly did the trick.

As you stepped out of the car, you watched with faint amusement as your exhales wafted up and away into the air around you. It was the one thing that brought you a bit of joy during the winter season - always reminded you of incense, for some reason.

The warmth of your home hit you all at once, and you couldn’t help the sigh that left your body as you unbuttoned your jacket and hung it up on the coat rack right beside the door. You could hear the ham and potato soup you’d frozen calling your name, and as soon as you shucked all our outerwear, it would be a matter of minutes before you could consume it. It was truly one of the best Western recipes you’d found while in Canada.

You walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, humming with glee when you saw the frozen soup sitting near the front. So focused were you on pulling out a pot and opening the container that you failed to notice the 6’3” man in black sitting at your kitchen table.

“You have enough for me?”

Over the rush of your heartbeat, you didn’t even realize that you’d thrown a knife from the countertop until you saw it floating a few inches out from his heart.

Gojo laughed. “Oh come on, is that any way to greet an old friend? I’m starving after all this travelling!”

You had two options at this point. 

One - you hadn’t seen Gojo in ten years. You could laugh with him like no time had passed, get out a bigger pot and some more soup, and catch up over dinner.

Two - you could take all the hurt, anger, and fear you were experiencing at that very moment and put it to good use. Maybe you’d even be able to turn him out of your house. Freezing to death would do him some good.

You chose the second option.

“What are you doing here, Gojo?” You hissed, not turning back to the stovetop quite yet. You didn’t trust him not to get up in your business and try to steal some food.

“I’m here for a nice, homemade meal,” he grinned, grabbing the knife, kicking his feet up onto your kitchen table, and lifting his hands up to rest on the back of his head.

You threw a spoon on the countertop at him for doing so, uncaring that his infinity would keep it from reaching him. “I’m insulted that you think I’m that stupid. This isn’t some wellness check.”

Gojo sighed and settled into the chair some more as the spoon clanged to the floor, dragging out each second just because he could.

“We need you to come back,” he said. “We’re in need of more sorcerers, and you’re a special grade.”

You were already shaking your head as you answered, “Absolutely not. I’m retired.”

“You ran away.” The subtle accusation screamed loudly, even as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Semantics.” You waved it away with the bigger pot that you retrieved from under the counter. “Besides, what does it matter? Not once was I needed for missions. Surely the higher ups would have sent out a search party to bring me back if they really needed me.”

“And just who do you think kept the higher ups off your back?”

And oh, how the temperature dropped, even if his voice remained chipper. Your hand froze where it was about to turn on the gas.

“You knew where I was this whole time?” You whispered, voice shaky.

In lieu of an answer, the chair Gojo sat on skid across the floor, protesting the movement. His footsteps moved closer to you, each one sending your heartbeat skittering faster. You didn’t remember shutting your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmured from right behind you.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Look at me,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around. Still, your eyes didn’t open.

“Gojo, you can’t-”

“Why did you leave?”

His insistent tone had you opening your eyes, only to find the bandana gone and cerulean blue staring back at you. Your heart, despite all the dates and failed relationships you’d had between then and now, fluttered just like it did back in high school. 

He was there, for the first time in a decade, he was there with you. You’d forgotten just how much you craved his attention, his presence, his very being until now.

You wouldn’t have the strength to leave a second time.

“Because my brother didn’t have the answers either.”

You felt him still, and for the briefest of moments, you thought the last thing you’d see would be a blinding purple. Hell hath no fury like a Gojo scorned, after all. You learned that shortly after the Sorcerer Killer’s death, when Suguru told you of the sheer power that Satoru unlocked.

“You know,” you whispered, eyes flitting down to the buttons on his shirt, “why I couldn’t have stayed.”

Gojo hummed. “You could have.”

“And where would that have left me, hm? Stuck between dangerous mission after dangerous mission or fearing when the higher ups would give me a fatal mission to finish me off? That’s not a life for anyone, never mind me.”

“And you don’t think I would have protected you?” He asked, the back of his knuckles brushing lightly over your cheek. Your breath stuttered, even as your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Gojo, we were barely adults! Between everything else going on, you couldn’t have shouldered my burdens.”

He chuckled. “You don’t think I’m strong enough, do you?”

You rolled your eyes and glossed over the parting words your brother left him with. “Satoru Gojo, I know your strength firsthand from our days in school, and I assume you’ve only improved since then. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He smiled warmly at your free admission and let his thumb brush over your cheek. “Come back with me to train the next generation of sorcerers, and I promise you’ll be safe.”

“Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?” You moved your head back the slightest bit. It certainly wouldn’t surprise you if Gojo let your arguments for staying away go in one ear and out the other. 

The white haired man shook his head. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said since stepping foot in the house. I just have solutions to each and every one of your protests.”

You moved to push him away, but with his infinity up, he still stood there, mere inches away. It was having an annoyingly dizzy effect on you, if you were being honest. It pissed you off.

“Oh, really? Pray tell, o wise one, how are you going to keep the higher ups from retaliating or marrying me off to some creep who only wants me for my technique?”

“By marrying me, of course.”

You sent him the most deadpan look you’ve ever conjured in your life, hoping that he wouldn’t catch the genuine shock that ran through your body. “That is the worst plan you’ve ever come up with. Absolutely not.”

He whined around the smile on his face. “It’s not! Think about it - you get protection from the higher ups through me, I get to bring you back to train the students, and based on how long it’s socially acceptable to wait to have children once married, we can work out a plan for divorce in plenty of time. After that, you can come right back here and live out your days in lonely solitude.”

“No, Gojo. I’m not coming back, what’s not clicking here?” You groaned in frustration, throwing your head back - anything to get away from his puppy eyes.

“One of the first years is Sukuna’s vessel.”

Your head whipped down to meet his gaze, eyes wide once again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope!” Gojo chuckled. “Pretty great kid too. You’ll love him.”

The entire conversation was giving you whiplash to the extreme. Gojo showing up out of the blue, wanting you back at the school, offering to marry you to keep you from the higher ups, and now Sukuna, the feared King of Curses himself, was alive and trapped in an innocent boy.

The man really knew how to sweep you off your feet, you’d give him that much.

“Satoru, why do you really want me back?”

His lips slowly fell from a smile, and he backed away to look out the window to your right. Silence curled around you both, growing more suffocating by the second.

“Something big is coming,” he spoke lowly. “I don’t know what it is, but something tells me that it’s time to get my affairs in order. I-” He cut himself off with a harsh sigh and turned back to you once more. “I have my regrets, sure, but I don’t want you - not being with you - to be one of them.”

Your body moved of its own accord, letting an arm slip through his before resting your head against him. You breathed him in, sandalwood and bergamot and him in the best way possible. The fabric of his shirt brushed against your lips as you spoke.

“Can you really love me after all that’s happened? All this time?”

You missed the tender smile on his face. “I never stopped.”

Your breath shuddered as you buried yourself in his chest. After the betrayal from your brother, Satoru being ordered to kill him, the brutal argument you two had in Shoko’s morgue, all of it - you ran away to be free of the memories, the love strangling you every way you turned. You ran away because how could Satoru see you without seeing his best friend in your face? How could you face yourself in the mirror when all you saw was Suguru staring right back at you? How could anyone at Jujutsu High stand to be near you when all you were was a walking failure?

“And you’re sure you want me?”

“Well, it was either you or Utahime, so.”

You groaned and let your head drop to Gojo’s shoulder, slapping his arm a few times. “I hate you with a burning passion.”

“That’s the spirit!” He cheered, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“You owe me so much kikufuku.”

“I’ll buy it all for you.”

“Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“This honeymoon better be at the beach.”

“Done.”

[illumiera]

a new moon rises

or: there is a loom upon which the fate of every mortal is woven, and she who works it is Azura's blessed and cursed all at once. pre-i fear no fate (for you are my fate), 801 words

Near a small island somewhere off the coast of Akavir, the sea glows as though brimming with a galaxy of drowned stars. Stepping onto its shores feels like stepping beyond time entirely, like yesterday and today have fallen away in favour of a breathless, everlasting tomorrow. It feels like a crossing-over, like a journey from death-touched to deathless, and Ilmarenya—Ilmarenya cannot be certain if the salt-haired woman climbing out of the little boat is still Ilmarenya, but she knows that she must try to be nonetheless.

Nerevar—silent now, but he will come if she calls, whether as sound or as a shadow—has never required it of her. Nor has fate, which cares nothing for the name or face she wears as long as she treads the path it unfurls before her.

But her son and his father can have no other, and so Ilmarenya she must remain.

Azura stands at the base of the island’s single mountain. All the art, the statues, the carvings Ilmarenya’s fingers have traced at every shrine—they depict her as the star-touched night with a string of constellations for her girdle, but the Prince of the In-Between is never quite the same. Sometimes, she comes as midnight given body, or the wine-dark of gloaming, or flame-streaked sundown, or the golden hour moving through the air like a dream. Now, at the end—or the beginning—of all things, she is as beautiful and terrible as the dawn, and her skin is lit from within beneath a gauzy gown dyed the precise pink of early summer roses.

“Are you ready, my Moon-and-Star?” Azura asks, and her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

Ilmarenya draws herself to her full height and meets the unblinking burning dusk-dawn of the goddess’ eyes. What passes between them is nothing short of a challenge: Remember our bargain, my lady. I will give you—give Morrowind—my whole body if I must, but never that which I formed within it, never my son. Only when Ilmarenya is satisfied does she at last permit herself a single nod.

“Then come, Ilmarenya Ara’dayn.”

The goddess’ hands are warm, soft, and yet fetter-firm as they close around her own. When the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn leans in and presses her mouth to hers, so too are her lips.

—past—

—present—

—future—

—past-present-future-past-present-future-past-present-future-past—

It beats in her heart, in her head, in her soul like a doom-drum, Il-ma-ren-ya to the thundering of her pulse, and with the taste of roses and crystal sugar on her tongue, Ilmarenya sees.

Sees the spinning of the Wheel, the never-ending weaving of the loom her own hands must guide. Sees the sevenfold stories carved out by the strides of the Brass Tower, the breaking of the dragon, the wandering of the Soulless One, the making and dying of saints and soldiers alike. Sees the many paths of the world, of the worlds, of Ilmarenyas whose disparate choices tangle like caught threads, of Nerevarines who bear another name and face and fate, and sees—

Lliryn.

The image of her son is a beacon, a lodestar amidst it all. Lliryn growing—and she will not be there—into a lanky-legged young man with her nose and his father’s crow-feather curls. Lliryn the wizard’s apprentice, a scion of House Telvanni through and through, and a ghost to a father who sees only her when he looks into his face. Lliryn leaving to find her, and Lliryn collared and chained and seared from the inside out of everything that was hers, and then the fire and the wrath of their ancestors and the wrath of Nerevar come again, and Lliryn in the heart of the blaze with his chin tilted up to the moons-and-stars in prayer, in thanks, and then—

—and then she sees the First with his crown of storms, or the thrice-blessed Last with a healer’s bloody hands, or perhaps both at once, and either way, she cannot see her son, cannot see past the mess of thread that a Hero leaves in their wake. Dead, alive, a thrall of another kind—she can see everything, but not the most precious thing, not the one thing she needs to see.

Ilmarenya does not break. Boethiah’s children know that they must break the world that seeks to break them, and she—she has always been the rock upon which the waves break. Still, she remains on her hands and knees at the shoreline until any mortal’s bones would ache, and the tears that spill to the starlit sand are a bright, liquid gold.

What rises in the end is the Nerevarine, but Ilmarenya Ara’dayn, but something altogether other. Ilmarenya’s eyes, burning with all sundown’s fire, lift to the summit and the loom that waits atop it, and she begins to ascend.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death on drums

Agatha was having so much fun.

Rio watched with a mix of frustration and delight as the woman she loved belted out some seventies covers of her murder ballad, arms spread wide, playing to her invisible audience.

She had not realized until then how much she’d missed Agatha singing. It had been a constant on the road in the days when they traveled together, Agatha always picking up new songs everywhere they went or simply making up her own.

“You’re welcome to join in,” she told Rio once, early on in their relationship.

Rio had only shaken her head. “I like listening to you,” she answered, already well on her way to realizing how madly in love she was with this beautiful, irritating witch.

She had more-than-liked it, Agatha’s voice raised in song on a road in the middle of winter, her breath puffing out in the cold air. She’d never had much of an opinion on music before, but now—

“That’s beautiful,” she said and then regretted it, because Agatha stopped.

She expected a cocky grin of the sort she would have gotten if she’d complimented Agatha’s skill at magic or in bed, but instead, Agatha looked away and gave a small shrug. “Passes the time.”

“Keep going.”

“We should focus on—“

“Agatha, keep going. I want to hear it.”

“Demanding,” the other woman complained, but Rio knew she wasn’t upset, Agatha loved showing off. And she had picked the song back up and it had, indeed, been a lovely way to pass the time.

Once she’d tried singing to Agatha, when the other woman had been fighting a bout of miserable illness.

“You’re terrible at that,” Agatha said, laughing weakly with her head in Rio’s lap. “Who knew Death was tone-deaf?”

Rio only rolled her eyes, preening Agatha’s hair. “…Don’t stop,” Agatha instructed. “It’s nice anyway.”

When she’d been feeling better, she’d tried to teach Rio, but Agatha was a terrible, impatient teacher at the best of times and Rio did not appreciate being condescended to, so after a couple of fights about it, they’d both given it up as a bad idea.

And then Rio had watched from the shadows as Agatha taught Nicky to sing, laughing at his mistakes, praising his natural ear, delighting in making up silly little songs with him.

She’d watched as Agatha weaponized one of those silly little songs, turned it into a lure for her hunger for power and also a hook to hang her grief on, a song sung by an innocent turned to single-minded, deadly purpose. She’d watched Agatha kill with that song again and again, gathered and guided the souls Agatha left behind.

Now Rio played the drums to fight a curse in someone’s fantasy of a place that never existed, listening to Agatha sing like all of their lives depended on it. And drums were a good choice, she liked having an instrument she could hit, because there was Agatha, a few feet away, and she was—

She was so beautiful. Her voice, of course, but also her, showing off, getting into it, secretly having fun. Agatha, enjoying herself as she hadn’t in centuries prior, when her song and voice had only been a means to an end.

Agatha, who had manipulated her only a few moments ago, teased her with promises of peace and one last, big adventure, and then thrown it in her face like she always did, playing with Rio for her own sadistic pleasure.

Rio was going to kill her.

Rio wanted, so badly, to kiss her.

Instead, she played the drums and didn’t point out what a terrible farce this whole thing was, didn’t try and stop whatever game Agatha was playing this time, didn’t take her knife and take what was hers here and now. She let it play out, play on, because she hadn’t gotten to see Agatha have this much fun in centuries and she couldn’t bring herself to ruin her beloved’s last big show. She would be content with watching and waiting until they reached the road’s inevitable end.

Want to read something else? Try the many husbands of Agatha Harkness for Agatha being a complete pain or the Ritual of the Rose for post-show shenanigans

[helpmeimblorboing]

It’s Gorgug. Keep going

[autailome]

-The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien