#you can saunter and amble

[foxghost]

English sure has a lot of words for "walk"

[solxamber]

Romance Clichés With: Azul Ashengrotto

Cliché: Objecting to a wedding (with a little twist)

Others: Leona ; Vil ; Kalim ; Idia ; Jamil ; Riddle

Azul sat at his desk in his office, pen poised, tapping thoughtfully as he contemplated what had become his primary preoccupation lately: how to tell you he was in love with you. It was strange, really, to be brought to such an embarrassing level of angst over something as ridiculous as romance.

He had been calm and calculated through all kinds of treacherous deals, survived the most unruly of contracts, and even faced the wrath of certain dorm leaders. And yet, here he was—totally, desperately, in love.

The problem, of course, was how to bring it up without appearing half as desperate as he actually felt. He could already hear Floyd’s teasing if he ever caught wind of it. Not that Azul would ever admit it, but he might be… hopelessly, pathetically desperate. A shudder of horror ran down his spine.

“Alright, Azul,” he muttered to himself, smoothing out his vest. “You’re a businessman, a negotiator—you can handle this.”

But he hadn’t factored in one tiny detail: you were so busy that week, you barely had time to look in his direction. Every time he thought he had an opening to finally confess, you would dash off on some new errand, looking distracted. Azul was beginning to think you might not even realize he existed.

One afternoon, when you came in looking particularly absorbed, he thought, Alright, maybe I just need to be patient.

But then you said, “Azul, can Mostro Lounge handle catering for a wedding reception?”

He blinked, entirely taken off guard. “A… wedding reception?”

“Yeah,” you replied, flipping through some papers as you looked at the lounge thoughtfully. “Also, can you do a big spread? You know, food for a few hundred people?”

Azul’s heart did an odd stutter as he absorbed your words. A wedding… Surely, you didn’t mean your wedding, right? Right? He felt his pulse quicken, but he nodded, doing his best to appear calm.

“Yes, Mostro Lounge can cater… sizable events,” he managed, his throat oddly dry.

“Oh, good,” you said, looking relieved. “Could you put together a sample menu sometime? I’d love to see what the possibilities are.”

You seemed distracted, almost… giddy. Azul’s nerves were fraying with each passing second, but he held it together. It’s just an event, maybe they're organizing for a friend. It doesn’t mean—

But then, the twins ambled into his office later that afternoon. Floyd sauntered over, that unnerving grin plastered across his face. “Shame, Boss. Guess they're tying the knot with someone else, huh?”

Azul’s blood ran cold. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Jade chimed in, eyes glinting with unholy amusement. “Our prefect is planning their own wedding. I heard them talking about the caterers—thought you would’ve figured it out.”

Azul froze. No… it can’t be…

“Yeah,” Floyd continued, clearly relishing his shock. “They’re talking about the reception, catering, the whole deal. Sounds like a big one, too!”

Azul’s brain short-circuited as he tried to process this bombshell. He’d thought… well, he hadn’t thought you would actually marry someone else. Suddenly, an image of you in a wedding with some faceless stranger standing beside you flickered in his mind, and he shot up from his desk, knocking his pen off the edge.

“Where… where are they right now?”

Jade and Floyd exchanged glances, a wicked grin growing on Floyd’s face as he pointed toward the lounge.

Without a second thought, Azul tore out of his office, heart pounding. He found you near the dining area, still sorting through event plans, and before he knew what he was doing, he blurted, “Wait!”

You turned around, startled. “Azul? Is everything alright?”

“No, actually, it isn’t,” he said, words spilling out in a rush. “I—I object to this wedding!”

There was a beat of silence before you blinked, baffled. “Wait… what?”

“The wedding!” he cried, nearly breathless from both panic and embarrassment. “You can’t just— I mean, I didn’t think you were… I mean, I thought…”

You raised a brow, looking both concerned and a little amused. “Azul, what are you talking about?”

He stared at you, realizing too late that he hadn’t exactly… clarified his feelings. The few bystanders who had overheard him began to chuckle, and Azul’s face turned the deepest shade of red you’d ever seen.

“Well,” you prompted, folding your arms with an amused smile, “care to explain yourself, Mr. Ashengrotto?”

Azul opened his mouth, then closed it, absolutely mortified. “I… I thought it was your wedding you were planning.”

He could feel himself spiraling into a pit of despair as laughter rippled through the lounge. You, however, just looked at him, touched and amused all at once. You stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he felt his pulse quicken.

“Azul,” you said gently, “I was planning this for a friend.”

Azul’s shoulders sagged in sheer relief. He let out a breath, and for the first time in his life, he genuinely didn’t care that people were laughing at him. Because you weren’t marrying anyone else, which meant—

“Oh,” he said faintly, face still red as a sunset.

You chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the moment far too much. “Did you really think I’d go through all that trouble to plan a wedding just for myself without saying a word to you?”

“I… I might have,” he admitted, glancing away sheepishly.

You laughed, stepping even closer. “You really think I’d do that to you?”

Before he could answer, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, leaving him in stunned silence as the last of his anxieties melted away. “I take it you don’t want me planning any weddings unless it’s with you, hm?”

Azul felt his heart lurch, and though every fiber of his pride fought it, he nodded, his blush deepening. “…Yes. That would be… preferable.”

“Well,” you said with a grin, “how about we just start with a date?”

He stared at you, relief and joy mingling into a grin that he just couldn’t hide. “I would… like that. Very much.”

Floyd’s cackling erupted from behind you both, and Azul shot him a murderous glare, but he couldn’t find it in him to care too much—not when he had just won the only prize he truly wanted.

Masterlist

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy

Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing 😭 do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.

You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.

Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.

Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.

They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.

You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.

"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"

"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."

"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.

He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."

Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"

"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.

"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.

The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."

As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."

Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."

The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."

"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.

"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.

You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"

"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.

Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."

"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"

"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"

"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.

"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"

"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"

You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."

He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."

You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."

"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.

There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"

Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."

"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"

"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"

"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."

Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"

"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"

"You're incorrigible."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"

"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."

"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."

It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.

And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.

And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.

"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."

You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."

"Not to Bucky, you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."

Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.

You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."

You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."

He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"

You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."

That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"

You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."

He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."

"I don't."

His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"

"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."

He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."

You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"

You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"

He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."

"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"

"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"

The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."

"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."

He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"

You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."

"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."

"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."

"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."

"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."

"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."

You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.

And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.

Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.

For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."

A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."

You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.

You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.

Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.

You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.

Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.

And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.

Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"

"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"

"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."

Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"

"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"

Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"

"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"

You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."

You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."

"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.

You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.

Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.

So that's exactly what you were going to do.

Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."

You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.

In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."

He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"

"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.

You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."

"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."

His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"

"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.

You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"

"Of course. Anything for my girl."

You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.

The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.

He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.

He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.

And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.

Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"

Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."

"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."

"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."

"Where does she live again?"

Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."

He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.

Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"

His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"

"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."

"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.

Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."

"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.

It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.

You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."

"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."

An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."

"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.

"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."

"Any other tips?"

"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."

It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"

You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Just relax. They'll love you."

As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.

Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.

Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."

"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."

She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."

"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.

"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."

"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."

Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."

As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.

As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.

"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"

"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."

As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.

"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."

"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."

"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."

"Mother," you sharply warn.

"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."

A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."

"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.

"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.

"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.

"In between courses."

"Courses?"

Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."

Your father snorts, "Really?"

You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."

"Any siblings?" your mother asks.

"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."

"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.

"Dad," you hiss.

Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."

Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."

"A man with a plan. I like that."

"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."

You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.

You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.

As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."

"You're welcome back anytime, James."

"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."

The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"

"He's a nice boy."

You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."

"You'll grow out of it."

Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"

"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."

"You don't know him."

"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."

You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"

"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"

You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."

You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.

The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.

He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.

This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.

Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."

"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."

"Bucky?"

He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."

"What?"

"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."

Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."

"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."

"Is that really what you thought last night was?"

"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."

"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."

"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."

You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"

"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"

"See what?" you demand.

"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"

"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."

His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."

"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

"Do you mean that?"

"Every word."

"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"

You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."

"I'll quit," he immediately replies.

"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"

"That surprise you?"

"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.

He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast-blog @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1 @double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky @roseproseposts @theoraekenslover @king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass

[phyx-m]

Little Runaway

You are a servant at the King of Curses shrine. You decide to run away one night. Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t tolerate such disobedience.

_________

As you run tirelessly, your bare feet slap against the damp, packed earth. The forest blurs around you, the details scrambling in your frantic pace. There was no time to put on footwear. You just needed to run—run for your goddamn miserable life.

Less than an hour ago, in the dead of night, you managed to escape from the King of Curses' shrine. For over a year, you have been a servant there, though it felt more like captivity, forced to stay and serve him. You've witnessed enough nightmarish scenarios to scar you for eternity. Now, you long for a new kind of freedom.

“Oooh braaaat,” a deep, disembodied voice calls out behind you, sending a chill through your heated skin.

The monster is coming.

You lift the hem of your cream-colored robe and scramble over a fallen tree. The soles of your feet are sore from maneuvering through brambles and twigs, and you're certain they feel cut, stinging painfully with each step. Slick hair clings to your face, and you constantly wipe your forehead as sweat drips into your eyes from the exertion.

You aren’t sure where you're running to. All you know is that—

“Brat! I’ll give you to the count of ten to get back here, or I’ll bite your tiny little fingers off,” his voice grows colder. He's furious that someone as insignificant as you dared to escape him.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t tolerate such disobedience.

“I won’t go back!” you call out to him, your voice ragged. He doesn’t respond, but you can sense his footsteps quickening in the brush behind you.

Ahead, there’s a rocky ravine. You scramble then slide down its rugged face, feeling scratches score your backside as you land roughly at the bottom with a soft oof. Without pausing to look back, you keep going.

A loud thud shakes the earth, signalling that he has dropped into the ravine behind you. Glancing back over your shoulder, you finally see him.

Illuminated by the moonlight, he appears utterly terrifying and devastating all at once. He saunters now, fixating his eyes on you. He's in no rush; after all, he enjoys playing with his victims.

"Hello, my little runaway," he says patronizingly, his eyes widening as he relishes the fear that flashes across your face.

As he sees you still running from him, a feral grin breaks across his features, contorting the tattoos on his face. The maw on his stomach mirrors his smile. Its tongue unfurls and laps at the night air like it’s trying to taste you.

You tear your gaze from the monster and pick up your pace, pumping your arms as you aim for the end of the ravine. It's the only escape route, as the steep walls prevent climbing back up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sukuna chuckles cryptically. But you ignore him.

Just as you reach the edge, something snags your attention. Initially, the massive, cursed spirit doesn't register, but as it ambles down the ravine’s walls and into your path, you skid to a halt and look up—up—up—at it.

Your heart plummets to your feet.

Its mouth opens, exposing needle-like teeth, and you're certain you see human flesh impaled on a few. The cursed spirit advances with a grotesque claw, causing you to step back.

Glancing over your shoulder, you spot Sukuna standing casually, his four arms crossed over his chest. His expression is pure delight as he observes the unfolding scene.

You're trapped—caught between two monsters.

You jerk your head back to the massive cursed spirit as it slowly closes in on you. The stench of its breath makes you gag.

"I did warn you," Sukuna scoffs from behind. You refuse to glance back at him, keeping your eyes trained on the curse while walking backwards in slow, measured steps.

The curse accelerates, its four legs scrabbling for traction as it maneuvers its immense body through the ravine toward you. Tiny rocks and pebbles scatter, forcing you to retreat another step.

Terror grips you as you face a crucial decision.

You glance at the curse, then back at Sukuna, eyes darting between the two.

Sukuna. Cursed spirit. Sukuna. Cursed spirit.

What's the right choice? Death or something else?

A heartbeat later.

You pivot, whirling around to face Sukuna. He's already aware of your decision. He slowly unfurls his four arms, spreading them wide with a wicked smile.

"Come here, idiot," he sneers from the other end of the ravine.

Behind you, the cursed spirit’s claws pound into the earth, urging you to flee. You run—straight toward the very monster you had been running from.

Sukuna stays rooted in place, waiting for you. His smile widens impossibly larger, his four red orbs practically glowing. Every muscle in his body ripples and tenses. His fingertips twitch anxiously, eager to grasp your soft, small frame to his.

"Hurry up, it’s gaining on you," he laughs callously, offering no help as you stumble towards him, navigating rocks and debris.

Finally, within reach, you hurl yourself at him. His four arms snap out and catch you midair, pulling you tightly toward him as he slams your body against his bare chest. Caught. His body doesn’t budge from the impact. He presses his face into your hair, inhaling your fear and sweat from the chase.

"Got you," he murmurs, his mouth pressed to the top of your head, his breath burning against your skull.

You strain your neck to look up at him. He’s massive, towering over you, and his immense presence makes you feel small. Swallowing hard, you meet his intense gaze. His four eyes burn, and you feel like you're drowning under those red pools.

Without averting his gaze from yours, Sukuna releases a hand from your trembling form and extends it toward the approaching cursed spirit. His index and middle fingers extend, and with a swipe through the air, the curse crashes to the ground and dies.

He grins wickedly. "Now, someone needs to be taught a lesson for thinking they can just up and leave their King." Quickly, he lifts you and throws you over his shoulder. The ground feels far away as you dangle in his grip. He adjusts your position so that your upper body hangs over his back, and your lower body presses against his chest, your backside against the side of his head.

Turning, Sukuna begins to walk back to the shrine, his prey caught firmly in his grasp. Tonight, he has plans for you—plans to remind you of who you belong to.

Tension fills the trek back to the shrine. Neither you nor Sukuna speaks. You hang there helplessly, watching the muscles in his back twist and coil with each step, his tattoos moving fluidly. You have to force yourself to look away and focus on the forest, which has gone eerily silent. There are no sounds of animals or insects, as if his presence has driven them all away. Naturally, they’re frightened of him. Who wouldn’t be? You pout and stare at the ground, your arms swaying with each of his movements.

After a while, Sukuna finally speaks. "Someone's sulking because they got caught," he huffs, placing a firm hand on your backside, causing you to turn your head toward him. "It was stupid to think you could get away." You give him your best death stare, directed at the side of his head.

"You aren’t subtle. I can see that," Sukuna says, shifting his lower eye to snap its gaze onto you. You quickly look away, feeling your face heat up. “Tch… idiot.”

Suddenly, a pair of hands snake up and around your ankles. Clutching them, he forces your legs open. Your eyes widen. You want to sit up but can’t because of the way he is holding you. One more hand slowly creeps up your leg, then thigh, then below your undergarment.

"Let's start with your first lesson for trying to run away from me." He keeps his head forward, not even glancing back at you as he walks. You can sense that this is just the beginning, a preamble to whatever punishment he has in store for you.

Pushing the fabric of your undergarment aside, he exposes your cunt to the evening chill.

“S-sukuna,” you stammer and begin wriggling on his shoulder. The hand that was on your backside draws up and then comes crashing back down onto your behind.

Smack!

“Ah!” You cry out from the sharp sting. Your rear is still tender from sliding down the rocky ravine, and now it’s throbbing.

“You ran away from me brat. I don’t pity those who disobey me. Now shut up and take it,” he says harshly, keeping his hand on your tender asscheek as he kneads it through the fabric.

You remain quiet, staring at the ground, trying not to shift under his forceful hand. He keeps walking, his strides so large that you know you'll be back at the shrine soon.

Still grasping your ankles open, you wonder what he will do next. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him raise a hand to his mouth and spit a glob of saliva onto his fingers. The sight of the sticky mess makes you shudder. Bringing his soaking digits back to where he had them, he yanks your undergarment away again.

“Let’s try this again.” His voice is gravelly as he smears his saliva-coated fingertips across your folds. You fight the urge to squirm, heart pounding against his shoulder, and you are sure he can feel it because his three hands tighten around you. Hard. Firm. He is holding you in place.

“You like that?” He muses as his massive fingers push your swollen pussy lips up and down and side to side in slow, torturous circles. “From now on, I want you in my chambers every night. And if you try to escape again, I will chain you up like a dog,” he hisses. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, Master Sukuna,” you say, panting at the treatment he is giving you. It makes you feel heated like your entire body is pulsating.

“Good girl. Now let me have my first taste of this sweet cunt of yours.” He drives one of his fingers past your outer lips, pressing deeply into your clenching walls. You moan loudly, hips bucking. Your arms shoot out, and you desperately cling on for dear life to his lower shoulder. Slowly, he begins to push the finger in, then out, in, then out as he stretches you.

“So fucking tight.” He runs his tongue across his teeth. “We’ll need to fix that for what I have planned.”

Stepping over a rock, you feel his body tipping slightly. The movement catches you off guard, and he uses that to push even deeper, making you a quivering wreck as slick coats your inner thighs. Pleased by the sounds you are making, he quickens the pace until you are writhing.

“Such a needy little thing,” he chuckles, sliding in a second finger.

“Oh! Fuuuck, please, no more,” you cry out. Ignoring you, he bullies the second one in deeper. He pushes until his knuckles graze your folds, then twists them in a circling motion before he pulls away, only to slam them back in. In and out, curling them occasionally, making you tighten around him.

“Ahh-ah! Sukuna!” You whine. He laughs mercilessly at how easy it is to get you all riled up. Your hips grind forward as if your body wants to increase the pressure.

“That’s a good girl. Keep showing me how pitiful you are.” He mockingly swats your ass a few times.

“Too much,” you moan, mouth dropping open, blood rushing to your head.

He chuckles again. “Oh, we are just getting started, brat.” He punctuates the last few words with a few forceful thrusts of his fingers, making you scream.

You were so lost in the sensations that you barely noticed him climbing steps, signaling your arrival at the shrine. The steps pass through your line of vision as you hang over his shoulder, reminding you that you're back at the place you tried to escape.

Pushing open the massive doors, Sukuna strides in with you atop his shoulder. You can hear a group of servants gathered at the main entrance gossiping about your daring escape. He’s still fingering you unapologetically so everyone can hear the sound of your wet squelching cunt. Your face heats in embarrassment as their chattering fades, and they turn towards their Master. You squeeze your thighs around his hand, attempting to halt his ministrations.

“Go back to your fucking rooms!” Sukuna bellows, and they scatter like frightened rabbits in the presence of a predator.

Huffing, he nudges your thighs apart and begins to stroll down one of the corridors, no doubt heading for somewhere private. You can see his enormous shadow cast on the floor by the lanterns, but you don’t stare long because you feel a third finger enter your sloppy heat, making your eyes slam shut.

“Oh, god,” you moan as he fills you up further, slick running down his hand. You are practically vibrating with need as he plunges deeper.

There’s a loud rumble from Sukuna’s chest. “You should be referring to me as your god tonight.” Another swat to your ass, you squeal.

Suddenly, you hear a door slide open with a loud bang, and Sukuna carries you into a dimly lit room. The door slams shut. Lifting your head, you see the overwhelming extravagance of the space—opulent wood furnishings and rich fabrics confirm that you’ve entered his lavish chambers.

After a few measured steps, Sukuna removes his fingers from inside you, and then abruptly, you feel yourself go airborne. The world blurs as you fly off his shoulder and crash onto the futon with a yelp. Fortunately, you land on a cushioned surface, sinking into its softness.

Without a moment's notice, he moves toward you. As he looms over you, you instinctively tilt your head to meet his gaze. His presence is imposing, and the way he stands so close casts a shadow across your form.

Raising his fingers glistening with your essence, he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“So sweet," he hums, licking up every last drop. You blush and clench your thighs together at the sight.

Surveying his fingers, he returns his attention to you. Splaying his hand across your breastbone, he shoves you onto your back, watching as your hair spills out and your anxious eyes dart up to meet his.

Leaning over your body, he puts his face directly before yours. "What was your plan if you had managed to escape?" he asks, moving his lower hands to your trembling thighs and gripping them tightly while his upper hands go on either side of your head, caging you in.

You swallow, taking a moment to let your brain catch up to the situation you’ve found yourself in. The King of Curses hovering over you, your juices staining his lips.

"… maybe going to a village. Starting anew, marrying a good man, and starting a family,” you say quietly.

Sukuna’s upper lip twitches. He glares down at you, clearly upset with your answer—no, he’s fucking fuming. 

Suddenly, his lower hands clutch your ankles, and you’re being yanked to the edge of the futon so your legs hang off.

He steps back.

“Start anew? Marry a good man? Start a family? Do you think you deserve those things?” His tone becomes colder, and he’s crossing his four arms over his chest.

“Well, I—”

“You don’t! You are nothing. Worthless. Now, take your fucking clothes off,” he demands.

Instantly, a knot forms in your belly. You want to refuse, but you know it’s futile. Sitting up, you scoot closer, eyes fixed on him, and your hands go to your obi. Unravelling it, you reach for the front panels of your robe, shrugging it off and onto the bed. Now, in your undergarment, you hesitate before reaching for them.

“Slower,” he interjects, as his upper hands move to his hakama, and pulls it down, allowing it to pool at his feet. Two monstrous cocks—hard and weeping with precum—eagerly spring forward. Biting your lower lip, you avert your eyes, lowering them and looking away.

“Ah, ah, ah. Look at me,” his voice rises as he gives you the command.

You return your eyes to him, taking in his naked form. You are transfixed by the sight before you. Despite his reputation as the King of Curses—a monster to many including yourself—he stands before you as the epitome of perfection, unmatched by any other in this world.

Grabbing both heavy shafts, he begins to stroke in slow, languid motions. You want to tear your eyes away, but you can’t. It’s so mesmerizing. His hand squeezing the swollen meat makes you clench around nothing.

“Go on then,” he hedges. His voice has become seductively lower as he grins viciously at you, waiting for you to reveal yourself to his hungry eyes.

Moving in what feels like slow motion, you gradually remove the last piece of clothing covering your body. Your eyes meet, and your face flushes as he drinks you in. Heated face, pert nipples, supple tits, soaking cunt. He already groped your ass on the way back, and he can’t wait to sink into it.

You are everything he wants.

“Look at you,” he rasps, increasing the intensity of his strokes. 

You watch him in awe as his balls start shifting forward, moving with the actions. It’s turning you on, watching him pleasuring himself to the mere sight of you. But suddenly, he stops, you pout. He gestures with two fingers directly at the spot on the floor in front of him.

“Get on your knees,” he gives the order, and your body unconsciously obeys. Before you even realize it, you find yourself kneeling before him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes out, “although your answer on why you wanted to escape needs to be addressed.”

A hand comes forward, and he inserts his thumb into your mouth, hooking it to your bottom lip and teeth. His other fingers go to your chin to pry it open.

“Open wide and say ahhh.”

You don’t even have time to because he’s already shoving his throbbing upper dick past your lips and deep into your throat.

You flinch, then strain and sputter to hold in his girth, feeling your mouth stretch as tears well up and begin to slide down your flushed cheeks. The satisfied groan that rumbles in his chest is so loud it makes your whole body vibrate.

“Fuck… just like that.” Sukuna hisses through gritted teeth, then steadily moves his hips back and forth. His eyes narrow as he watches you, trying to accommodate him.

Almost gently, he pushes your hair back to get a better look at your face. His crimson eyes stare down at you, making you want to shy away and lower your head.

“Open that pretty mouth wider for me,” he says reverently, running a thumb across your cheek and through your tears.

Obediently, you open your mouth wider until your jaw twinges. Sukuna’s eyes glimmer with satisfaction as he begins to thrust deeper and harder into your constricting throat. You moan as drool cascades in rivers dripping down to your chest, his cock, his balls, and then the floor.

“That’s it,” he groans, hips snapping until you are pressed to his navel, his cock sufficiently stuffed down your throat. Your moans grow louder, and Sukuna grunts from the vibrations, tilting his head back, his mouth agape. 

His thrusts slow once he is pleased with the mess you’ve made. He pulls out of your sopping mouth to look down at you on your knees. He’s so damn pleased to see you down there, he can’t stand it. Gripping his lower cock, he slides it into your wanting mouth for you to suck and lick at. He releases the upper one, causing it to hit your face with a wet slap, drenching you in your spit.

"You will be a disgusting mess when I’m finished with you. And after that, we will do it all again." He declares, voice growing deeper with lust as he runs the wet shaft along your cheeks while fucking your face with the other one.

You look up at him in a lustful daze, trying your best to keep up, gagging and choking your way through it. It turns you on the way he uses you like this, the way he is dominating you. And you know it pleases him to no end. The inexcusable heat that pools between your folds drives you mad, and Sukuna notices. He sees how your eyes have become heavy-lidded and your movements more sensual.

With one more thrust, he makes you gag a final time before withdrawing. Strings of drool connect the two of you, making you groan at the filthy sight. You take a moment to gasp for air and try to catch your breath as you prepare for his next move.

He breathes down at you, a sneer crawling across his face. "You want me. I can see it in your pathetic pleading eyes," he says, his smug tone almost shaming you, but you nod in agreement.

Sukuna reacts instantly, lifting you by your arms and throwing you back onto the futon. You squeal as you land on your back. You really should be more prepared for this kind of treatment.

Approaching you like a feral animal, he flips you onto your stomach, forcing you on all fours as he climbs behind you.

With the soles of your feet exposed, Sukuna touches the cuts and sores you acquired during tonight's chase. You feel him tense briefly, grumbling wordlessly before he goes quiet as if it had never been there.

You feel him lean closer to you. “Tell me what you want slut,” he growls, running a hand teasingly along your inner thigh and through the wetness that has leaked out. “Do you want to be wrecked by me? Is that what you want?”

His filthy words make you tremble with need. It’s a thick feeling, making your brain fuzzy.

"I... I, uh..." You hesitate, unwilling to tell him what you truly desire. How you want to be fucked into oblivion. To be held down by all four of his arms as he takes you. To forget all the reasons for wanting to leave this place, but you stay silent.

“Speak!”

“Fuck me!”

So much for staying silent.

He clicks his tongue, and you can almost imagine the smug, prideful, arrogant expression as he leans over your back—a true king.

He presses his mouth to the shell of your ear. "Then, my pretty little runaway, you will be fucked, stretched and filled so you can never leave this place again,” he whispers. Goosebumps pebble across your skin because of a few words.

Sukuna aligns the fat head of his lower cock with your wet entrance, gradually pushing in. As soon as the tip slips inside, he thrusts himself forward until you completely engulf him.

“Ryomen!” His first name flies from your mouth as he enters you, trying to suck in a breath at the sudden intrusion, but you love how deliciously full your pussy feels.

"That's right, I'll fill you up until you can't take any more. Your greedy body needs to be taught a lesson,” he murmurs as he begins thrusting, his hips moving like a piston. Your body starts to tremble uncontrollably. You have to brace yourself against the futon to keep from collapsing under his intense movements.

With each powerful thrust, his upper cock slaps against the seam of your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You can feel the precum spattering against you with each movement. The lewd sensation only heightens as the friction between your bodies increases. You can’t help but moan as he continues to drive into you, the sound melding with the slap of skin on skin.

Sukuna's movements slow down abruptly, his fingers digging into your hips. "It's time to take all of me," he growls through gritted teeth.

You can hear him spit, and then you feel a warm glob land above your ass, making you flinch. He massages it down to your unfilled hole and coats it with his saliva before slowly inserting his fingers inside. His movements are deliberate and sensual, savouring the sight before him.

“Ahhh,” you moan, rocking your hips back and forth as he slides his fingers in and out of your asshole before removing them and pressing the blunt head against it.

Bracing yourself, you prepare for his second cock to enter you. Your body tenses up with nerves, and you grip onto the sheets. The pressure builds at your entrance as he begins to penetrate you.

It builds and builds. Until a sharp pain shoots through your body as he pushes it in. 

“It hurts,” you let out a low whine, unable to hold back the discomfort.

"Shh, you will take it," he says with a dangerous tone, ignoring your protests and continuing to inch forward.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally manages to work it past the rim. With one final shove, he forces it in all the way. The sudden stretching sensation is intense, causing your mouth to drop open and drool to spill uncontrollably. The pain subsides quickly, replaced by a deep throbbing that spreads throughout your entire being.

You are completely filled by the King of Curses.

“Hmngh, fuck, yes,” You can't help the throaty moan that breaks loose from you. You are too far gone now as you rock back against him, desperate for him to start moving inside of you. “Fuck me,” you plead.

He doesn’t move. He wants to torture you some more.

“Look at that,” he murmurs. His lower hands run reverently across the curve of your ass as he admires the sight of you bent over and fully impaled on his dual cocks. "This is how it will always be. Every fucking night. You and me. This." he growls aggressively.

Pulling back all the way until you feel just the tips inside of you. He pauses, leaving you tense, before thrusting forward with full force. The impact scrambles your mind, and you fist the sheets before the moans and screams start tumbling out.

The rhythm he sets now that your snug holes are swallowing him is relentless. You can feel yourself being driven towards the edge. There’s the sound of grunting. It’s either him or you. You can’t even be sure. Everything is just a daze, making you babble incoherently.

Splat!

You feel a rough, slimy tongue glide across your lower back as his stomach maw emerges. It explores around your tailbone, sending tingles up your spine and causing you to writhe uncontrollably. Your reactions, please, Sukuna. He breathes harder, and he increases his thrusts, driving himself into you with more vigour. As a result, drool from his maw splatters onto your heated skin and drenches the sheets. He had warned you that things might get messy, and he wasn't exaggerating.

“You like that? You like being pummeled by me?” You can barely hear him through the sounds of your fucking.

“Yes,” you moan out, hoping that’s what he wanted to hear.

He roughly grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you back, causing your spine to arch. From this angle, you can catch a glimpse of his profile. He continues to thrust into you forcefully like an animal, and as your eyes meet his, he places a hand on your throat, fingers tightening as he applies pressure until you struggle for air. Your body goes limp in his hold, arms dangling helplessly at your sides.

He’s like a monster coveting a prized possession. It feels good—almost too good—being treated this way by him.

He leans in, his rough breath tickling your nape as he nips and licks at it. You can feel the roughness of his mask grazing against your skin, and despite yourself, you can't help but enjoy it. You can only imagine his view of you submitting to him like this.

"Tell me who you belong to," he whispers gruffly, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts in and out, dull nails poking at your flesh.

“You! I belong to you,” your needy voice reaches his ears.

Smack!

His hand comes down hard on your ass.

"Louder! Tell me louder, who do you belong to?"

Your eyes roll back. You can feel yourself getting closer to climax.

"You!" You scream, feeling like a wild banshee. "You! My King! It's always been you!"

Smack!

Another painful slap lands on your ass, causing tears to well up in your eyes from the pleasure and pain.

"Yes! Fuck me harder!" You cry out, urging him on as he picks up the pace.

“That’s right,” he hisses as he tries to maintain his rhythm, but it becomes increasingly erratic. He's losing control now. He’s never one to lose control.

You notice him shifting his leg, placing one foot closer to your upper body for better leverage. He thrusts into you with more force, his hands gripping onto you as he takes what he wants: your complete submission.

"Cum for me!" He commands, tightening his grip on your throat. He wants to see you cream all over him. Wants to feel you clench onto his cocks like your life depends on it.

He pushes your face down onto the futon, and the hand around your throat moves to your cheek, tilting it to the side so he can witness every expression on your beautiful face.

He's hitting all the right spots inside you from this new angle. It's intense, almost too much to handle. The maw’s tongue suddenly swipes up your back, making your body tremble. That’s it for you. The heat is building up, coiling in your belly. You know you're close to release. All you can do is look at him as his thrusts become more forceful, his thumbs digging into your hips, and you feel his cock hit against your cervix.

"That’s it. Cum for me," he grunts, urging you on as he keeps pounding into you.

He fucks you so brutally it seems as though he pushes you to the brink of despair, almost abandoning you, before pulling you back like the sweetest salvation.

You scream out in ecstasy, begging him to go harder as you watch him, watching you reach your peak. Your walls clench around him, drenching his lower cock in your juices.

“M-my King!” You scream until your lungs are sore and abused, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in him.

He grins evilly, his face twisting with pleasure as he thrusts inside you. "Look at me," he demands, wanting your undivided attention. You open yours and lock eyes with him, feeling his two members throbbing inside you as he gives you a few final thrusts before slamming down on you with all his weight.

"Let my cum fill you up," he groans, and the intense heat that fills you is like burning lava. His release is unlike anything you've ever felt, seemingly endless as it fills you to the brim. Over and over. And you eagerly take it, writhing beneath him and moaning as your body milks him for more.

"Sukuna!" You cry out desperately, not wanting this sensation to end as your body twitches and shakes beneath him. But eventually, his seed stops showering your insides, and he slows.

"Good girl," he smirks, looking down at your exhausted form and the cum leaking out from between your used holes. He pats your face condescendingly before pushing you off his members.

Your body jerks forward as Sukuna pulls away. You make a small keening noise at the loss of his touch. His naked form abruptly retreats from you and leaves the room, making you frown at his sudden absence and the loss of his warmth. You fall back onto the futon and turn over, staring at the ceiling as you try to steady your breathing and heartbeat.

You hear him return moments later, carrying a small water basin and cloth. He places them on the futon, grabs your ankle, and reels you closer to him.

Lifting your foot, he examines the cuts and sores on your soles. A tiny crease begins to form above his nose—subtle, but you catch it. Then, with practiced efficiency, he dips the cloth into the water and gently cleans your wounds.

"Why the hell weren’t you wearing footwear this time, you little shit?" he asks, his tone tinged with irritation.

The game between you two is officially over.

You sigh, relaxing. You had noticed him trying to hide his concern about your feet all night, and knowing this makes your heart thump.

Lying there naked on your back, you look at him hulking over you, holding your foot delicately between his firm hands.

"I was too excited," you huff and shrug. "I forgot to grab ‘em."

He stares at you as if you were a child while the warm, damp cloth glides along your foot. You try not to pull away from the tickling sensation as little droplets slide down your leg.

"Oh, you were excited. You forgot to grab them, was it?" he mimics, admonishing you as he squeezes your calf hard. "Footwear next time.”

You roll your eyes. "I’m not the only one who should be in trouble here. What about that cursed spirit you almost let kill me—"

"If you honestly believe I’d ever let anything happen to you, then you're even more of a fool than I thought," he snaps, his eyes flashing with intensity. "I would never allow my wife to be in danger… idiot." His voice softens slightly as he carefully cleans both of your feet. Then, suddenly, he tosses the damp cloth onto your face.

It slaps against you. “Ay!” you exclaim, pulling it off and flinging it at him. He catches it with impressive reflexes, drops it into the basin, and sets it on the floor.

Your husband crawls next to you, pulling you into his chest, four arms encircling you.

Caught.

He presses his face into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of musk from your brutal fucking, and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

You stay quiet and still as you relax in his arms, your mind replaying the night's events. You remind yourself to return the servant’s robe you borrowed for this.

Sukuna shifts suddenly as if agitated by, gods know what.

“What you said about leaving, starting anew, finding a good man—I would hunt you down, you know,” he pauses momentarily, considering his words. “Then I would fuck you in front of him and rip his spinal cord through his mouth and drag you back here,” Sukuna growls, his lips brushing against your skin with soft kisses.

Your heart tightens. The jealousy over some imaginary man you mentioned is almost sweet.

"Hmm, I know you would," you say, settling against him even more.

You know you would never leave him because you have everything you need right here. He is the only one who can satisfy your perverse desires, and you might be the only one who doesn't see him as the disgraceful monster he truly is.

You both lie there together, your bodies aching in ways you never thought possible.

Finally, you break the silence. “When you threatened to chain me up like a dog… were you serious?” You ask, trying to mask your true intentions.

“Princess,” he says with a patronizing affection, “when am I not serious with my threats?” You can hear the smugness in his voice as he weaves his fingers through your hair and gazes down at you.

A smile spreads across your face as you look up at him.

“I think I have an idea for our next game.”

_________

If you're interested in more Sukuna x Reader (smut, slow burn, forced marriage) content, I'm much more active on Ao3: Beneath The Silk

[luna-azzurra]

Some tips to help you improve your writing style:

1. Read widely: Reading a variety of genres and authors exposes you to different writing styles and helps you develop a broader vocabulary and an understanding of various sentence structures. For example, if you want to improve your descriptive writing, read books by authors known for their vivid imagery like J.R.R. Tolkien or Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

2. Write regularly: Like any skill, writing improves with practice. Set aside dedicated time for writing, whether it's a journal entry, a short story, or an essay. Consistency is key. By writing regularly, you'll become more comfortable expressing your ideas and develop your unique voice.

3. Be mindful of your audience: Tailor your writing style to suit your target audience. Consider their level of familiarity with the subject matter, their interests, and their expectations. For instance, if you're writing a scientific paper for experts in the field, use technical language and provide in-depth analysis. On the other hand, if you're writing a blog post for a general audience, use accessible language and relatable examples.

4. Use active voice and strong verbs: Active voice makes your writing more direct and engaging. It emphasizes the subject performing the action rather than the action itself. For example, instead of saying "The ball was thrown by John," use "John threw the ball." Strong verbs also add clarity and power to your writing. Compare "He walked slowly" with "He sauntered" or "He ambled."

5. Vary sentence structure: Experiment with different sentence lengths and structures to maintain reader interest. A mix of short, medium, and long sentences can create rhythm and flow. For example, a series of short, punchy sentences can build tension or convey urgency, while longer sentences can provide detailed explanations or set a contemplative tone.

6. Use precise and vivid language: Choose words that convey your meaning precisely and evoke vivid imagery. Instead of saying "The flower looked pretty," you could say "The delicate blossom bloomed in vibrant shades of crimson and gold." Specific and descriptive language brings your writing to life and engages the reader's senses.

7. Edit and revise: Good writing often requires multiple rounds of editing. After you finish a draft, take the time to review and revise your work. Look for clarity, coherence, and grammar errors. Consider whether each sentence contributes to the overall message and whether the organization of your ideas flows logically. Don't be afraid to make significant changes if they improve your writing.

8. Seek feedback: Share your work with trusted friends, colleagues, or writing groups. Constructive feedback can help you identify blind spots and areas for improvement. Consider their suggestions while maintaining your unique voice and style.

[captainheartcollector]

Doubts

Alastor x Reader

A/N: Hello, everyone! Here is my first (and probably only since I’m not really a writer) attempt at an Alastor x Reader. I don’t know why, but I got inspired to write a scenario involving the day after having relations with Alastor the very first time. It doesn’t go into detail. Being on the ace spectrum myself, maybe this was just my way of coping with things. This was very self-indulgent. Story is all from Reader’s POV, whom I kept gender neutral. I’m sorry if Alastor is super ooc. I don’t have any clue on how to capture his personality. But I hope that you can enjoy the story nonetheless!

CW: suggestive themes, excessive use of pet names

Word Count: 1,144

Last night was the first time Alastor and you made love. Why he decided to be so generous, you couldn’t say. But you weren’t going to complain. When you awoke the following morning, you awoke to an empty bed. His spot beside you was cold. He had undoubtedly been up hours before you were. Realization set in. Did last night really happen? Was it a dream? No. The evidence riddled all over your aching body proved it. You eventually found the strength to sit up. Was he upset with you? Did he regret his decision to go all the way? Is that the reason he didn’t stay? You hadn’t pressured him, but you were the one who really wanted it after all.

Brushing those dangerous trepidations aside, you washed up and got ready for the day as usual. It was your day off, so you took things easy. However, you couldn’t help but notice that Alastor was nowhere to be seen within the hotel. Was he avoiding you? Surely, he was out on business, attending to his duties as an Overlord or brainstorming ideas for his next radio broadcast. Maybe he was just taking one of his daily strolls, chatting with Miss Rosie. Would he tell her?

Sure, Alastor was a schemer, but at this point, it felt far too late to start doubting him now. So, you tried your best to push those feelings away and keep yourself preoccupied, aiding as much as you could with the daily tasks around the hotel.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was hours before he finally returned. You glanced at the clock—it was nearly midnight. He sauntered through the front doors like all was right with the world. Once he detected your presence, he ambled across the lobby over to you smoothly. “Good evening, (y/n),” he chirped melodically with a flourish and a gleam in his eye. “I trust that you’ve caught up on your beauty sleep?” He sounded as pleasant as ever. So, you were clearly on speaking terms. Maybe that meant he wasn’t angry, or…

Despite your reservations, you couldn’t contain the eager smile creeping its way onto your face as you admired him. “Sure did,” you answered casually. “How was your outing today?”

“Frightfully illuminating, I must say. Thanks for asking!”

He acted like he was in a good mood. Therefore, you weren't going to sour it by prying further on the matter—especially when you could discern that he didn’t want you to. However, you needed to know the answers to the questions plaguing your mind. “Alastor,” you murmured, “do you think that we could talk…privately?” The last word was a whisper.

“Certainly, sweetheart.” That was easy. “Meet me in the library in ten.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

And that’s where the two of you were now—in a secluded, quiet corner of the library. You made sure no one else was around beforehand. Though why would there be at this hour. He sat next to you on the plush camelback sofa. You stared down at your hands which were fidgeting in your lap nervously as you spoke. “Alastor…you’re not upset with me, are you?”

He studied you silently for a moment before responding. You could never tell what was running through that demented head of his. Suddenly, he chimed, “Not at all, dearest. What reason would there be for that?”

Did he really not get it? Was he just pretending to be oblivious? Or was he truly unbothered by what happened?

“You know…Last night. You’re not mad?”

You felt his slender, clawed fingers cup your chin, forcing you to look at him directly. His smile was genuine and warm.

“Of course not, darling. It was consensual, was it not?”

“Yes, but I would never want you to do those things if they make you uncomfortable…or, if you just plain don’t want to.”

“I did want to. I wanted to because I knew you wanted to.”

What? That was so uncharacteristically thoughtful to hear him say. His thumb caressed your cheek in reassurance while his lidded gaze never faltered. It felt as though he was completely unperturbed.

“Wow…That’s so sweet of you, Alastor.” So sweet, you almost didn’t know how to process it. “But,” you interjected, “I want you to be able to enjoy it, too. Otherwise, I can’t—”

One of his fingers grazed over your lips, effectively shushing you.

He let out a low hum as if in brief contemplation before continuing. “I did enjoy it… More than I thought possible,” he admitted, seemingly in spite of himself.

You couldn’t fight back the hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “So…you don’t regret it?”

“Au contraire,” he beamed as he leaned in closer, mischief glinting in those gorgeous crimson eyes of his. “One could easily grow accustomed to seeing all those pretty faces you make while chanting my name more often.”

Immediately, an intense heat began to scald your cheeks as you hid your face in embarrassment, swatting him away playfully. “Don’t tease me!”

He chuckled heartily at your expense. “No sense in acting shy now, darling!”

“Ah, Alastor, stooop!”

His laughter continued briefly before he wiped a gleeful tear from his eye and conceded, “Very well.”

As soon as the silly little incident died down, you mustered the confidence to behold his eyes once more. He appeared absolutely pleased with himself. And yet again, you couldn’t help but return his contagious, everlasting smile. He was so beautiful—beyond just his face or form. You knew he was a menace, but there were beautiful aspects to his personality, too. Well, when he wanted there to be. Being able to make you smile—sincerely smile—was just one of them.

“Y’know,” you said finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “I’m glad.”

Alastor’s toothy grin somehow grew even wider as he leaned down close to you like he had before. His hand crept along the back of your neck affectionately as he placed a tender kiss gently upon your forehead. Even after he carefully pulled away, his deft fingers continued to brush lightly through your hair and along your scalp. You could have melted right there and then.

“That’s wonderful news, (y/n.) Let’s try and keep it that way, shall we?”

You nodded in agreement as you happily slid into his arms, wrapping your own around his lithe frame, never taking for granted how freely and frequently he allowed you to touch him during these soft and confidential moments. “I love you,” you sighed contentedly, nuzzling against his chest.

However, it was his unexpected reply that left you feeling giddy for the rest of the night.

“I know, my dear. I am…quite fond of you, too.”

And that was enough for you.

[bxwitched]

To Be With You

Warnings: Mature, 18+ only. Fluff, workplace flirting, verbal sparring, angst, vulnerability, self-doubt, anxiety, swearing, pining, old school romance, sexual tension if you squint.

Character Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: Hangman takes a shine to the Admiral's new aide.

A/N: This is my first attempt at fluff in a while so please be gentle, I also know absolutely nothing about the US Navy and how it operates. As always, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You haven't been at North Island for long, having transferred when your previous admiral retired but you've come to love the sea views and the sandy beaches. Waking up to the soft crash of the waves and the fresh ocean breeze is certainly a welcome change from the hot, dry suburbs of Lemoore.

You've found that Admiral Simpson is an intelligent, respectful man, firm but fair and most importantly, he treats you well. Like all military men he's disciplined, but he's also in high demand and with such a hectic schedule and high level of responsibility he can often become stressed and lose track of things.

That's where you come in. You manage his ever-growing email inbox, file all of his reports, arrange all of his meetings and supply him with a steady flow of strong, dark coffee to keep him functioning. You've established a routine with him and with that, his days run smoothly.

Your mornings are methodical; you shower, dress, have breakfast and then make the drive over to base. You shrug off your jacket as you reach the office and flip the switch on the coffee machine as you pass it, before settling down at your desk to make a start on your emails.

Beau enters ten minutes later and mumbles out a good morning as he passes, ambling towards the door of his office. He looks tired, you think as you pour him his usual black coffee.

"Good morning, Sir." You follow him as he moves into his office and hand him the steaming mug. He thanks you as he accepts it gratefully, taking a long sip and making a sound of relief as he sinks into his chair and swallows the rich liquid.

"Ok. What's the damage today?"

It's just after midday when a knock sounds on the door and breaks the silence, startling you. You frown as you glance at the clock on the far wall, Beau is scheduled in and out of meetings for the whole day and he hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors to you this morning. You straighten in your chair, slipping your phone away into your desk drawer before calling out.

The door opens promptly and in strolls a man you haven't met before. He's handsome; all perfectly styled blonde hair and sunkissed skin and you find yourself shifting in your seat nervously as he saunters towards you with an air of confidence and a dazzling smile.

"Afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon-"

"Lieutenant Jake Seresin." He leans in closer to your desk, holding out a hand for you to shake and you oblige, offering him your name in return before taking his larger hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. The name does sound familiar but you can't quite place it.

"It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" His eyes narrow then and his lips quirk up at the corners, putting the dimples in is cheeks on full display. You don't miss the way that he eyes you, his pretty greens flickering down to your left hand before locking with yours once more.

"Pleasures all mine. I have some mission reports for the Admiral." It's then that you notice the collection of the manilla folders tucked against his side and you take them from him carefully, setting them down in a neat pile on the corner of your desk.

"And-" He drawls, his Southern accent as smooth as honey. "Maybe I wanted to see for myself if the rumours were true."

You falter, your brows lifting in confusion. His expression is teasing and his lips are curved into a grin, exposing his pearly whites. Anxiety swirls in the depths of your stomach and you eye him wearily, feeling defensive.

"What rumours?" He leans down even closer, into your space and you catch a whiff of his cologne; a heady mix of cedar and amber that makes you feel dizzy.

"About how gorgeous the Admiral's new aide is. Have to say sweetheart, they don't do you justice."

He winks at you and you scoff, heat filling your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment. You've never been good with men and now that this very attractive man is in front of you, flirting with you, you feel completely out of your depth. You clear your throat awkwardly, opting to try and remain professional rather than make an idiot of yourself.

"Careful Lieutenant, you could be written up for that." His grin only widens and your eyes narrow suspiciously. That horrible voice of doubt in the back of your head is screaming that this man couldn't possibly be attracted to little old you, that he must just be messing with you for the rise.

"Please, call me Hangman."

"Hangman?" You frown and he lets out a laugh at your bemused expression, it's deep and warm and you fidget in your seat as your stomach knots at the sound.

"My callsign, I'm a pilot." His finally straightens up and his chest practically puffs with pride, his mossy eyes gleaming down at you.

It's then that the light bulb flickers in your head, you've heard the moniker several times, whispered amongst the administrative staff, accompanied by knowing smiles and girlish giggles. You've also heard it from the support crews on one of your recent trips to the hangers along with some pretty choice vocabulary.

You think back on the meeting you had attended with Admirals Simpson and Bates a few weeks ago with Captain Mitchell, discussing his newly formed-now permanent Dagger Squad and it's members. Including the one stood before you now.

"I've heard plenty of rumours about you too, Lieutenant." You don't miss the way that his cheek flexes when you ignore his request and instead address him by rank. You feel a rush of satisfaction at having put a dent in his ego but it doesn't last and his smile turns impish as he calls your bluff with a raised brow.

"Do tell." His self-assurance starts to grate on you and you shrug absently as you lean back in your chair, your eyes falling to the multitude of ribbons pinned to the left of his chest.

"They say that you're good." He makes no effort to hide his delight as he stoops down and places his palms flat on your desk, invading your space once more. He surveys you with mischievous eyes, they fall to your lips and you fidget in your seat as heat begins to creep up your neck.

"I am good darlin'. I'm very good." You inhale sharply and his grin widens further, thinking that he's won this verbal sparring match of yours. You fold your arms across your chest defiantly, levelling him with your best glare as you recall some of his notorious exploits.

"They also say that you're an arrogant narccisist with no care for anyone but himself."

His pleased expression drops in an instant, his confidence slipping before you. He opens his mouth to retort but abruptly stops when the door to your office opens and his attention is taken away from you.

You exhale as the heavy air around you dissipates and silently thank whichever higher power has sent Sarah from finance early with her weekly budget report.

"Thank you for the reports, Lieutenant."

Sarah looks on, curious at the situation she's walked in on and Hangman nods to himself, his expression unreadable before he snaps right back into that infuriatingly cocksure demeanour. He throws you a wink as he backs away from your desk and makes his way to the door, ignoring the appreciative look that Sarah gives him as he passes her and leaves.

You're three quarters of the way finished with one of your reports when there's a rap at the door and you groan under your breath, knowing that you're not going to be finished with your task as quickly as you had planned.

"Come in."

You frown as Lieutenant Seresin slips into the office, wearing a broad smile whilst carrying a stack of paperwork in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. You nod curtly as he approaches and he tilts his politely in return.

It's been a few days since he visited your office last and whether you like to admit it or not, a part of you was terrified that you had gone too far and successfully managed to scare off one of the single most attractive men you've ever met. You clear your throat awkwardly.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I have some more reports for the Admiral." You nod in understanding and take the bundle of papers from his outstretched hand, careful not to brush his fingers with your own.

You turn your back on him as you move to the filing cabinet in the corner, sorting through the top drawer until you find the correct section and deposit the files. You return to your desk then, the comfortable barrier that separates you both.

"Thank you Lieutenant. Will that be all?" He tilts his head and flashes you a coy smile as he extends the takeaway coffee out to you. You eye it warily, confused by the unexpected gesture and he watches, studying your reaction.

"Call it an apology." Your eyes narrow as you accept it hesitantly, your eyes flickering between his face and the white cardboard cup as you cradle the warmth of it between your palms. You choose to remain quiet, giving him room to expand on his words.

"The other day? I was out of line and I wanted to apologise. I meant no offence." You study him carefully, looking for any sign of ulterior motive but he seems genuine and the longer that you stare at him, the more his warm smile makes your insides twist.

"Well, thank you Hangman. I appreciate that." His green eyes light up as you finally concede and address him by the moniker, his lips pulling up into a broad smile.

"Of course." You raise the drink to your lips, taking a long sip in an effort to hide your smile. Your eyes widen as the liquid warmth hits your tongue; it's from your favourite cafe and it's a million times better than any of the standard issue you have on base, but what shocks you is that it's your exact order.

"How did you?-" You throw him a questioning look but he already knows what you're going to ask him. His expression is roguish and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he grins at you, before he turns towards the door and walks out.

Can you believe that he's interested in her?

I don't get it either!

Who?

You hear your name once, then twice, before you step into the room and the chorus of chatter dies. You stop in your tracks, feeling as if you're intruding and the collective of women all turn to look at you; some of them have the decency to look guilty at having been caught while one or two simply walk away, unbothered.

You feel mortified and you grit your jaw as you carry on to your office, ignoring the feeling of eyes boring into your back as you go.

Brenda from HR catches you as you pass by and you soften slightly when the older woman flashes you a kind smile. It's almost reassuring, but then she says 'Don't worry sweetie, they're just jealous.' and your confusion deepens.

Your brows furrow as you turn away and wrap your hand around the brass knob. The gears of your mind turning as you close the door behind you with a click.

You still as soon as your eyes land on the beautiful bouquet and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. It's not the first unexpected gift that you've discovered on your desk in the last week but it's by far the most extravagant.

At first it was little just things, more cups of your favourite takeaway coffee, then a pastry or two from that charming new bakery in town. Then as a few weeks passed it became a box of fine chocolates, followed by the bottle of wine that definitely cost more than ten dollars and now, a gorgeous mix of flowers and foliage all tied up in pretty ribbon.

You feel conflicted as your eyes scan over the accompanying card, on the front of it is your name, on the back, the gentle cursive that spells out his callsign. It's the kind of romantic gesture that you read about in your crappy romance novels, the type of affection that you've always wished for, and yet at the same time it all feels too good to be true.

You think about the tales you've heard; details of the drunken escapades and the one night stands, the lengthy trail of bitter women and broken hearts that he's left in his wake. The thought of becoming just another notch in the aviator's bedpost makes your stomach churn and amongst it all, the same question remains.

Why me?

Your heart wrenches as you wonder whether he may have been put up to it, whether it's some kind of bet. These men were competitive at the best of times, but he wouldn't go to all this trouble to win some twenty dollar wager, would he?

That negative voice niggles at the back of your mind then. He would if it meant getting underneath your clothes.

You startle as the door opens behind you and Beau ambles in, uttering his usual greeting as he passes. He stops when he notices the flowers, a stark pop of colour amongst all of the beige.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" His expression seems slightly panicked as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and the bouquet. You smile softly and shaking your head.

"No Sir."

"Anniversary?" His frown deepens then.

Unlike some of your previous employers, Beau didn't like to pry into his staff's private lives more than was absolutely necessary. He didn't ask you about your relationship status or what your vacation plans were, only that you were ok and you strongly appreciated that.

"No Sir." Beau's expression hardens then.

"Did someone die?" Your eyes widen and you stumble over your words in your haste to cover

"Oh! No, no! They are uh- from a friend, Sir."

"A friend?"

He eyes you suspiciously but he doesn't press the subject any further as you shift on your feet and wring your hands, uncomfortable at having to provide an explanation.

"You are to report to me if you have any concerns. Is that understood?" His voice bleeds authority as he looks at you sternly. If you were unfamiliar with the man you might've been scared but you've come to know his ways and you feel a sense of gratitude as you process the hidden meaning in his words.

Are you ok?

"Yes Sir, understood." He nods once, acknowledging your confirmation.

"Good. The last thing I need right now is another HR nightmare." He disappears through to his office, he mutters away to himself and you just about manage to suppress a snort as you catch him grumble 'horny bastards' before the door clicks shut.

It's later in the afternoon and Beau has been summoned to a high priority meeting at short notice, one that you don't have the clearance to attend.

You've finished all of your reports, filed away your paperwork and refreshed your emails three times. The boredom creeps up on you as the clock ticks obnoxiously in the background, marking each passing second, taunting you.

It's then that you find your eyes drifting back to the pretty blooms, perched atop the mahogany in an old vase you'd managed to dig out of a cabinet.

Whilst you appreciate the Lieutenant's interest in you, the awkward encounter with your superior is enough for you to realise that you need to talk have a talk about the propriety of it all.

You've worked hard to get where you are and you don't want this man's attentions, honest or not, to give anyone the opportunity to question your professionalism.

You haven't seen him around, but you know that he's going to be flying today, you'd seen his name on the approved roster. You take a deep breath as you shrug on your jacket, knowing that you just need to grab the bull by the horns and get it over with, no matter how uncomfortable.

You take the long way around base; around the administrative buildings, then the barracks, past the mess until the hangers finally come into your view.

You can hear the rush of linemen on the tarmac, the heavy thud of of their boots and their shouts as they prepare for the landing of the four F-18's you can see on the horizon. A part of you wonders how otherworldly it must feel to be up there in the skies whilst the other, more rational part is absolutely terrified by the thought.

By the time you reach the tarmac they've already landed and the pilots have exited their aircraft; the group stands off to the side, making conversation amongst themselves as the linemen carry out their post-flight checks.

You notice a shorter brunette, the only woman in the group, she looks mildly irritated as she converses with a tall head of blonde hair and you feel a pang of empathy as she rolls her eyes at him. You can tell it's him from a mile off, even with his back to you.

As if on cue, she catches your stare and a curious look laces her features, she mutters something and points a nod in your direction, urging him to turn around.

Hangman's green irises lock with yours and his lips curve up in a pleased grin. He watches as you take him in; all sun kissed and sweaty from a hard day's flying, wrapped up in that obscenely well-fitting flight suit with the sleeves turned up to expose his strong forearms.

He makes his way over with confident strides, ignoring the questioning looks from the unnamed female pilot, as well as the three males who have taken notice of his departure and are watching the scene with interest.

You shift on your feet, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny of their stares.

"And to what do I owe this nice surprise?" His tone is warm, teasing, as he sidles up to you and your stomach knots as he looks at you fondly. You shrug, trying to play it cool as you lean back against the hanger door.

"The Admirals' been called away and I'm at a loose end, I uh-I wanted to talk to you." His mossy eyes narrow then, something unknown dancing in his irises.

"Is that right?" He plants a hand against the hanger door, close to your head and leans into your space. Whilst you're thankful that he's somewhat shielded you from the prying eyes of him team, you falter under the weight of his heavy gaze.

"Why don't you come on and take a closer look?" He jerks his head in suggestion and your mouth falls open slightly, although you see the F-18's from a distance all the time you've never had the opportunity to get up close and personal with one.

"You're not serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"But- won't we get into trouble?" On instinct, you glance around nervously and he chuckles. You can't help but appreciate the deep timbre of it as it rumbles in his chest.

"The engines' not on and the wheels aren't gonna leave the ground, we'll be fine. Besides-" He leans in closer, looking conspiratorial as he whispers close to your ear. "What Cyclone doesn't know can't hurt him."

He gestures an arm out in the direction of the flight line and you quickly oblige as your excitement gets the better of you, falling into step with him.

"Hey Hangman! Who's your friend?" Jake ignores the moustached man's taunt as you pass the group, his focus solely on you as he asks you about your morning. You catch the moment the brunette aviator jabs her elbow into his ribs and he groans out a complaint, rubbing at his side.

She offers you an apologetic smile and you return it before you refocus and realise that Hangman has come to a stop.

His face beams as he presents his aircraft to you proudly, like it's his firstborn child. You hesitate as you reach out to touch it, feeling the smooth metal underneath your palm, running it along the panel until you get to the part with his name on it.

"Is it weird that I think it's pretty?" He laughs, moving in closer to you.

"She's very pretty, but not nearly as pretty as you." The way that he's looking at you makes feel warm all over, heat creeping up the column of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh and look away.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Actually, no." You sigh, turning to face him head on.

"Listen, Hangman-"

"Jake." He insists.

"Jake-" You stumble as he interrupts you, moving in closer.

"Did you like them? The flowers?" You notice that his expression is serious now, almost apprehensive. You bite your lip as a smile threatens to split your face and everything you had planned to say goes out of the window.

"I did, very much. Thank you." He smiles broadly then, putting the dimples in his cheeks on full display. Your gut twists as you speak your next words. "But why?"

His brow furrows deeply and he looks at you like you've just told him that the sky is green. You elaborate for him.

"Why all of the wine and chocolates and flowers when we've barely spoken to each other? I don't understand?" His face is perplexed as he stares at you with those mossy eyes.

"Because, I think you're beautiful and I'd really like to take you out."

You frown, feeling taken off guard by his answer.

"Look, Jake. I know about your reputation and I'm not going to get involved with someone who's just going to break my heart and move on."

He breathes out a sigh, scratching a hand through his short hair nervously.

"I'm not gonna deny the past happened because it did, but believe me when I tell you I'm different now. I'm older and wiser and when I look at you? You make me want things I never thought I'd want. After I messed up with you the first time, I knew that I needed to do things right, the old fashioned way."

You open your mouth to speak but he doesn't give you any time to interject as he rambles.

"You're beautiful and kind and smart, you don't fawn over me just because I'm a pilot and you sure as hell don't put up with any of my shit. You're different and I like that, a lot."

"But you don't know me, Jake. I don't know anything about you."

"I'll tell you anything you wanna know, sweetheart."

You shake your head as he takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, even through his flight suit.

"Look, I know that you work hard and you're damn good at what you do. I know how you like your coffee, that you like to sit on your porch in the evenings and watch the ocean and that at the weekends you spend time tending to your garden and taking long walks on the beach. Maybe I don't know what your favourite meal is yet, or colour or song, but I'd love to find out. If you'll let me."

You're left dumbstruck by his admission, devoid of all thought except one.

"You know where I live?" He blinks slowly then and exhales a laugh.

"Sweetheart, we live on the same street. I noticed you as soon as you moved in and I see you all the time." Your mouth falls open a little, your expression one of confusion as you try to figure out how you've never noticed him before, especially as handsome as he is.

Jake just grins, completely enamoured with you.

"And my coffee order?" He gives a shrug, his face coy as he admires the flush that's bloomed across your cheeks.

"I may have had to charm it out of a barista named Jenna." You dip your head as you laugh in an effort to hide your face, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

He stoops slightly, his pretty green eyes searching your face until you concede and finally look at him once more.

"So will you let me in, sweetheart? Let me get to know you?"

That little voice in the back of your mind rears it's head and screams no! That it's a horrible, terrible idea. But what if it's not?

You swallow, summoning all of your courage as you nod slowly. Jake's face lights up, his expression is almost euphoric and you can't help but match it, your lips splitting into a grin.

You feel hot all over, your chest tight as your heart threatens to burst out. The level of emotion that you feel is both frightening and exhilarating but as you gaze into those his bright eyes of his, looking at you with so much adoration, you know that it's right.

"Alright. We can start with dinner."

[pin-k-ink]

matters of the heart // ukitake jushiro & kyoraku shunsui (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ suggestive content, implied threesome, love triangle but not really, strong sexual tension, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, mild angst

wc ⇢ 2.3k

part one | part two | part three

"Ukitake, you really need to get a handle on yourself," Kyōraku chuckled, sauntering into the room. "Your spiritual pressure is all over the place, I could feel it down the hall."

He shot a pointed look at you where you sat perched on the edge of Ukitake's bed, one hand resting gently on the sickly captain's arm. Despite your casual closeness, Ukitake's face was adorably flushed, eyes widening at Kyōraku's teasing observation.

"Wh-What are you implying, Shunsui?" Ukitake managed, attempting to gather his dignity despite his deepening blush. "We were just talking about the upcoming training schedules."

"Mmhmm, I'm sure," Kyōraku laughed easily, waving away the excuse as he ambled closer. "And I'm sure it had nothing to do with our dear friend leaning over you in that delightfully distracting way."

You arched an eyebrow at the two men, decidedly unoffended by the banter. As someone who practically grew up with them over the centuries, you were quite accustomed to their cheekiness. If anything, you enjoyed leaning into their flirtations on occasion.

"Why Shunsui, are you jealous?" you purred teasingly. "I assure you, I'm more than happy to come lean over you as well if you're feeling left out."

You punctuated the words with a sultry wink. Ukitake immediately dissolved into a fit of embarrassed sputtering while Kyōraku let out a rich belly laugh.

"My, my! At last, the delightfully bold honesty I've come to expect from you, my dear," the gregarious captain chuckled deeply. "Though I'm afraid leaning may not be enough to satisfy an old dog like me."

"Kyōraku!" Ukitake managed, tone somewhere between scolding and pleading as the flush crept down his neck. You simply grinned, reveling in flustering the usually unflappable captains.

With an effortless playfulness born from centuries of camaraderie, you rose from the bed and sauntered over to Kyōraku. You reached up to blatantly straighten the fall of his shirt, letting your hands linger a beat too long while holding his gaze brazenly.

"Perhaps another time then, Captain," you murmured in a voice meant to carry. "Wouldn't want poor Ukitake's heart to give out from overexertion, after all."

You threw a wink over your shoulder at the sputtering white-haired captain as you sashayed from the room, leaving the two men in a state of cheerfully ruffled bemusement in your wake.

Kyōraku watched you depart with an appreciative chuckle, eyes twinkling mischievously as he turned back towards Ukitake. The pale-haired captain was still blushing furiously, mouth working soundlessly as he struggled to reassemble his frazzled composure.

"You know Ukitake," Kyōraku began conversationally, a teasing lilt entering his rich tone. "One of these days you're going to have to stop looking like a lovestruck schoolboy every time our ravishing friend graces you with that wickedly delicious attention."

Ukitake shot him a halfhearted glower, finally finding his voice. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come now, don't play coy!" Kyōraku tsked, settling himself comfortably at Ukitake's bedside with a lazy grin. "It's painfully obvious you're still carrying that self-same hopeless torch you've been nursing since our Academy days."

A fleeting look of mingled fondness and melancholy flickered across the worldly captain's expression. "Why, I can still vividly picture that first time you completely lost your words after taking one look at our lovely friend. A new student positively radiant with promise...who somehow instantly rendered the Regent Genius himself into a speechless sapling."

Ukitake's flush now had shifted into more rueful territories, his expression softening with the warmth of nostalgia. "Yes, well...she did make quite the striking first impression, I'll admit."

"That she did," Kyōraku agreed with an indulgent smile. "Almost incomprehensible grace and elegance housed in such a tiny slip of a thing. Utterly captivating in a way none of us young bucks could resist."

A weighted pause stretched between them as memories of those long-gone Academy days resurfaced - hazy recollections of playful flirtations and burgeoning attractions flickering in the spaces between words. Ukitake's throat worked minutely before he dragged his gaze up to meet Kyōraku's knowingly.

"You weren't immune to her charms either, old friend," he murmured, holding the other captain's stare levelly. "If I recall, you became quite the shameless flatterer whenever she was around."

Kyōraku's wolfish grin returned full force as he reclined back with a careless shrug. "Well of course I did! I may have been young and foolish, but I wasn't blind." His expression softened slightly as he let nostalgia bleed into his words once more. "Though we both know where your focus truly lied even then, Ukitake. It was painfully, endearingly obvious you were a gone cause from that very first moment."

Ukitake's only response was a soft huff of laughter as he settled back into his pillows, expression distant as the decades and centuries blurred together into an endless tapestry of affectionate longing. Kyōraku watched him descend into those bittersweet recollections for a long moment before continuing in a quieter tone.

"And that same hopeless ardor has only bloomed more magnificently with each passing era, hasn't it?" His dark eyes glinted with a strange melancholic intensity. "Even now, after becoming captains, growing into the full bloom of our power...you've never wavered from that steadfast yearning for something more with our dazzling companion."

Ukitake was quiet for a heartbeat, digesting the profundity of Kyōraku's observation. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a rasping whisper edged with deeply buried embers of profound emotion.

"There are some affections that transcend the temporal constraints of a single life, Kyoraku." He lifted his gaze to lock with his old friend's, a universe of unspoken longing and tender fealty burning behind the banked jade fires there. "She is...and always has been...the lodestar of my devotion. My truest reason for persevering through each waning era, always burning brilliantly on the horizon of the next."

Kyōraku held that blazing regard for an endless, weighted moment. Then he twisted his expression into a small, rueful smile and inclined his head in a subtle nod of understanding and acceptance.

"Well then," he murmured at last. "I supposed that settles matters rather definitively."

With an inscrutable look flickering behind his eyes, Kyōraku rose fluidly and started towards the door, pausing briefly with one hand resting on the frame.

"For what it's worth, my friend...I don't believe anyone could have hoped for a worthier recipient of such profound fealty than our dear Captain. She has always represented the very soul of the Gotei's honor and nobility, after all."

Then, with a final indulgent smile cast back over his shoulder, Kyōraku took his leave - surrendering the still silence of the chamber to the blazing truth of Ukitake's interminable yearning.

You sauntered into the dimly lit officers' club, eyes instantly landing on Kyōraku's unmistakable silhouette slouched in a corner booth. A lazy grin tugged at your lips as you made your way over, the lingering stress of the day's duties already dissipating.

"Well, well, getting started without me I see," you drawled, sliding into the booth opposite the shameless layabout of a captain. "Though I can't say I'm surprised."

Kyōraku's eyes danced with mirth as he pushed an already filled sake cup across the table in your direction. "You know me, my dear - I simply couldn't resist getting a head start on this week's well-earned debauchery."

"Mmm, debauchery indeed," you hummed in agreement, scooping up the proffered drink and firing off a saucy wink. "Does that mean I should expect a reprisal of the good old Academy days tonight, Shunsui?"

You punctuated the teasing lilt with a meaningful pause, watching realization slowly dawning across Kyōraku's roguish features. His grin stretched wider as an undisguised heat flared to life in his dark gaze, dragging appreciatively over your lithe form.

"Well now...I'd almost forgotten what a deliciously incorrigible tease you can be when properly motivated," he purred, voice taking on a silken rasp. "Tell me - are we talking about those drunken nights when a few too many drinks inevitably led to wandering hands and sloppy kisses galore?"

You barked out a bright laugh, knocking back the sake as flashes of tangled limbs and swapped caresses flitted through your mind's eye. "Don't play coy, you insatiable lech. We both know it went well beyond just kissing by the time the three of us got sufficiently inebriated and curious."

Kyōraku made an indulgent rumble of agreement low in his throat. "So it did, so it did. Do you suppose poor, sweet Ukitake even remembers just how thoroughly we indulged our baser urges with one another back then?"

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, practically leering at you over the rim of his cup. You scoffed, though you couldn't deny the frisson of heat uncurling low in your belly at the blatantly salacious turn in conversation.

"Are you kidding? With how easily Jūshiro blushes even at the mildest insinuation these days?" You snorted inelegantly, reaching for the sake decanter to refill your cup. "I'd bet my haori that prim and proper act is just a front to cover up how vividly he recalls every scorching caress and indecent proposal from those wild nights."

A wicked gleam entered Kyōraku's eye as he leaned across the table with wolfish relish. "Is that so? Well then...perhaps it's high time we endeavor to pry those delectable memories from our sweet Ukitake's repressed subconscious once more."

You matched his lascivious grin with one of your own, anticipation curling hot and insistent in your core.

"I'll drink to that," you murmured throatily, clinking your cups together as fresh sparks of delight danced between your heated stares.

After all, if anyone could tempt that dishearteningly innocent veneer from Ukitake and resurrect glimpses of his Academy self's wild indulgences...it would surely be the two of you.

The drinks flowed freely as you and Kyōraku descended into increasingly risqué reminiscing about the wild indulgences of your days together. With each cup emptied, the heat between you seemed to ratchet higher - burning glances, lingering touches, and blatantly suggestive remarks growing more and more brazen.

By the time you finally stumbled out into the cool night air, thoroughly buzzed and flushed with residual desire, the atmosphere had taken on an unmistakable charge. Kyōraku's arm was slung low around your waist, thumb tracing idle circles against the jut of your hipbone in a way that made your breath hitch.

"You know..." he rumbled as you meandered aimlessly down the path towards your quarters. "We never did quite get around to recreating some of those more...intimate recollections in explicit detail tonight."

His voice was a smoky rasp against the curve of your ear, one calloused palm drifting with clear intent along the swell of your hip. You shivered at the naked suggestion, unconsciously leaning into his solid heat.

"Is that so?" you purred back, tipping your head to graze your lips in a featherlight tease along the sharp line of his jaw. "What a terrible oversight on our part, Shunsui. We really ought to rectify that..."

A low groan reverberated through Kyōraku's broad chest as you pressed closer still. His hand slid purposefully lower to cup your backside, pulling your bodies flush in a way that left no ambiguity to his interest. You could feel the rigid line of his arousal through the layers of clothing and felt a molten thrill zip down your spine.

But even as heat flooded your veins with liquid desire, a small, persistent voice in the back of your mind rang with gentle warning. Reminding you that however intoxicatingly tempting Kyōraku's familiar body and lascivious attentions were in that hazy moment...he wasn't the one you truly longed for on the deepest level.

Before you could fully process that prickling sense of reluctance, Kyōraku stiffened almost imperceptibly against you. Then, with what seemed like a monumental force of will, he drew back slightly - leaving a hairsbreadth of cooler air between you that managed to clear some of the lust-fogged haze.

"We should stop," he rasped out in a strained tone, features taut as he visibly fought to rein himself back under control. "As much as my baser urges are screaming otherwise... I know your heart lies elsewhere, my dear."

You blinked up at him owlishly, thrown by both his words and the abrupt check on the thick undercurrents of desire that had been steadily spiraling higher between you all night. Kyōraku's gaze smoldered into yours, rich brown irises blazing with veiled emotions that had your breath catching somewhere low in your belly.

"There are...certain lines that perhaps shouldn't be crossed, no matter how alluring the indulgence," he continued gruffly, calloused thumb tracing a maddeningly slow path along the line of your hipbone. "Especially not when affairs of the heart are involved."

You felt your expression slacken in stunned realization as the implication of Kyōraku's murmured confession sank in like a lead weight. Of course...this was about Ukitake and whatever profoundly tangled yearnings your oldest friend harbored for you.

Something hot and bittersweet twisted in your chest as you studied the naked vulnerability flickering in Kyōraku's gaze. Your throat worked convulsively as you attempted to process the magnitude of what he was trying to convey without words.

You opened your mouth, not quite sure if you meant to protest, question, or simply surrender to the pregnant silence stretching between you. But no articulation seemed adequate - or necessary - in that fraught instant.

Because Kyōraku was already moving again, ducking his head to claim your lips in a scorching, openmouthed caress flooded with infinite regret and unspoken apologies. You inhaled sharply, feeling your body bow against his as the clash of tongues robbed you of breath.

As abruptly as the devastatingly intimate kiss began, it was over. Kyōraku drew back, taking the scant inches of distance between you like a physical blow. His gaze searched yours with a blazing intensity one final time before he turned on his heel and strode away without another word.

You were left standing there, chest heaving and skin still tingling from the brand of his kiss, feeling as though the world had tilted irreversibly off its axis. Because in that singular moment of connection and unequivocal rejection...

...you realized that Kyōraku's resolute fealty to Ukitake's yearning desire for you may ultimately prove the more exquisite and lancing intimacy of all.

[stellamancer]

obligatory (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: haha. the valentine's fic. it's funny i still have to post halloween fic. maybe i'll finish this week since i'm off work. uh anyway, for those who say my posts, i'm kind of hesitant to post this for two reasons: 1) it's removed from context— like you can still get a feel of what is going on, but there's no explanation as for why and 2) due to reason 1 it's tonally different than usual, at least according to my beta reader. my eternal gratitude goes to @momodita who helped me workshop this fic and continues to demand i write more gojo fics despite denying being a gojo fucker.

contains: implied f!reader (no pronouns), the return of gojo's pov (a little less whacky this time lmao), jealous gojo (because those who know me know i can't get enough), light angst or whatever the hell is going on there. additionally, for those who don't know giri choco is chocolate you give out of obligation to your coworkers and honmei choco is chocolate you give to someone you have romantic feelings for. part of the infinite loop verse.

wc: 1.8k

“Here you go.”

Satoru graciously accepts Shoko’s offering: a thin, delicately wrapped box of Valentine’s Day chocolate. Naturally, it's giri choco; Satoru is well aware that Shoko would be caught dead before even thinking about giving Satoru honmei choco. That said, it looks like she's given more thought to her gift this year— the last few years she's just handed him a gourmet chocolate bar from some high end chocolatier. Actually, the last time she'd given him something wrapped up like this was…

“There better not be any liquor in this,” Satoru says in a petulant tone reminiscent of his high school days.

Shoko merely laughs. “As if I'd waste something like that on you.”

There's no way she’s forgotten how sick Satoru got the one time she did give him liquor filled chocolates. Not only had it made him sick to his stomach, it'd given him the worst headache of his entire life. If it were up to Satoru, liquor filled chocolates wouldn't even exist. “Welllll, thanks for the chocolate. I'll be sure to get you something good next month.”

Shoko gives him a relaxed smile. “Looking forward to it, Gojo.”

Knowing Shoko, she'll want liquor as usual. Maybe the same bottle of shochu that he got last year? She liked that, but then again, the same gift twice would be boring and Satoru is not about that. Whatever it is will be a little pricey, but Satoru doesn't mind it one bit— anything for one of his oldest friends.

Having given Satoru her yearly offering of chocolate, Shoko shoos him away so she can actually get to work. Satoru considers ambling around for another hour or two, but Ijichi will probably have a heart attack if he delays his mission briefing any longer. The sooner he does it the better, he guesses. Satoru starts sauntering toward the assistant managers’ office to find Ijichi, pulling at the ribbon on the box he received from Shoko as he goes. Inside are two rows of perfectly round chocolate truffles and Satoru picks one at random and pops it into his mouth. It's filled with a sweet raspberry cream that practically melts on his tongue. Shoko really went all out this year, but no matter how good these are they'd never match up to anything homemade.

Though, when he thinks about it, Satoru supposes he won't be getting anything like that this year.

When he gets to the assistant managers’ office he easily finds Ijichi, who, for once, is not bent over a mountain of paperwork, and with him is—

You.

Handing Ijichi a box of chocolates.

For some reason, Satoru suddenly feels very, very annoyed.

“Well, well, well,” he says, the volume of his voice louder than intended, but he doesn't care. “What do we have here?”

Ijichi whirls around and lets out a squeak, his face red as can be. He starts to blubber and it almost feels like Satoru's caught him in the middle of something more illicit than receiving chocolates. If Satoru weren't feeling so annoyed, he'd find the whole sight rather funny.

You, on the other hand, are far calmer, indifferent even, as a slight frown mars your features. Something about it makes Satoru's blood burn hot.

“Did I just interrupt a heartfelt love confession?” Satoru asks dryly and Ijichi starts to freak out even more, and while Satoru notices the slightest twitch of your eye, you remain impassive.

“I hope you like the chocolates,” you tell Ijichi, outright ignoring Satoru and somehow that makes Satoru's blood run even hotter. “I kept in mind what you said about last year's so they're not as sweet.”

“Thank you!” Ijichi squeals and you give the man a sympathetic smile before you head toward the door where Satoru's standing. He knows he's blocking the way, but he doesn't move.

Will you say something to him?

You don't.

Instead, you keep your head down and squeeze past him. Or try to. You brush against his side and Satoru doesn't miss the way your body jolts when you make physical contact with him. But it only lasts a second, and when that second ends, Satoru tries to ignore the feeling of bitterness rapidly spreading throughout his chest.

He means to say something, anything to you, but the words get caught in his throat.

By the time they free themselves, you're already gone.

Satoru sighs and saunters over to Ijichi, who's been taking deep breaths to calm down after Satoru's little bout of teasing. He leans against one of the desks and crosses his arms. “So, you had a mission for me?”

“Right! Yes!” Ijichi squeaks again and takes a deep breath before he starts to explain. Satoru only half listens to the briefing, his attention more focused on the little box sitting on Ijichi’s desk. The mere sight of it spurs a complicated set of feelings. He doesn't understand. You've been giving Ijichi chocolates every Valentine's ever since you moved to Tokyo and it's never bothered him before so why now?

“Um, Gojo?”

“What?” Satoru almost snaps.

Ijichi doesn't answer right away, instead he clears his throat and then says. “It's giri choco.”

Satoru scowls. Of course it is. It's not like you'd give Ijichi honmei choco. You don't see him like that. “I know that.”

Ijichi swallows thickly. Nervously. “Just making sure.”

Then he falls silent, the air between them now terribly awkward.

“...do you want some?” Ijichi asks.

“It's your chocolate.”

“I don't mind sharing,” Ijichi says, reaching over and opening the box to reveal your homemade chocolates. They're nowhere near as perfectly round as the ones Shoko bought for Satoru, but he can tell you put effort into making sure they looked presentable. “Help yourself.”

Even Satoru isn't terrible enough to steal an entire box of chocolates meant for another man, but he does grab the nicest looking one and tosses it into his mouth.

It's bitter; a mix of dark chocolate and black coffee that's not only completely unpalatable to Satoru, but disturbingly reminiscent of the bitter feeling that's now threatening to eat him whole. He almost wants to spit it out.

But he doesn't.

Satoru swallows it all.

The mission is uneventful, absurdly easy even, though Satoru took a little longer than he needed to by toying with the curses a little prior to exorcising them. Some would consider it a touch cruel, but Satoru doesn't care. Anything to rid himself of that pesky feeling from earlier.

If it were up to him, he would have headed straight home afterwards, but Yaga had asked him to come back and do some paperwork. Satoru had tried to reason with him, tell him he'd just do it tomorrow but the principal was insistent.

Satoru trudges to his office and throws open the door. Inside, someone lets out a surprised yelp.

It’s you.

Again.

Both you and Satoru stare at each other in surprise. Given that you've been avoiding both him and this entire corridor like the plague for the past two months, you're the last person he’d expect to find in his office, hovering over his desk. And yet…

You look away from Satoru, your expression awkward. This isn't like your encounter in the assistant manager's office earlier; you can't just walk out of his office without an explanation of why you're there.

Well, you can try, but it's not like Satoru will let you.

“Weren’t you supposed to be out on an assignment?” you finally ask. Satoru thinks you mean to sound annoyed, but your tone is watered down.

“I was, but it was so easy I could have done it blindfolded.”

Normally, you'd just roll your eyes or snap back about how he's a show off or his jokes are shit, but you remain quiet. He shouldn't be surprised, but it still makes him feel weird. Almost sad. Almost empty.

“Principal Yaga asked me to leave some paperwork on your desk,” you say, sounding uncharacteristically meek.

Satoru frowns a little. Yaga, huh? He never pegged him as a meddler. Satoru approaches the desk to look at the paperwork in question; he grimaces— it's a whole freaking stack.

You start to shuffle away from Satoru and toward the door as Satoru flips through all the papers. “Anyway, if you'll excuse me—”

“Wait a sec.” Satoru says and you glance back at him in confusion. There's something peeking out from under the stack of papers. Satoru gingerly fishes it out, revealing a familiar looking box. He holds it up and adds, “Did you leave this too?”

A myriad of varying emotions flashes across your face before you settle on an awkward sort of embarrassment. “I… did.”

It's weird. Satoru didn't expect you to be so straightforward given that under normal circumstances you always choose to be as obstinate as possible. Which Satoru doesn't mind in the slightest; it makes things exciting. There are few things more fun than prying the truth out of you with whatever means necessary. Answering him so readily like this… almost feels wrong.

“I accidentally made too much,” you explain.

Satoru stares at you. It’s not an excuse, not a lie. Honestly, adjusting the amounts to account for one less person probably slipped your mind until it was too late. You could have done anything with the extra chocolate, given more to each person, eaten it yourself, but instead…

You still chose to give it to him.

Satoru tries to ignore the strange feeling stirring in his chest.

“Anyway, eat it if you want, toss it if you don’t,” you add, almost hurriedly as you move closer to the door. You give a quick bow to excuse yourself and before Satoru can say anything else, you run off.

His eyes remain glued to the empty doorway where you were just standing for a second before looking back at the box of chocolates you left for him. Carefully, he unties the ribbon and pulls off the lid. Just like Ijichi’s chocolates, the ones in his box aren’t perfect, but something about them looks nicer than the ones Ijichi got. Satoru wonders if you consciously put in a little more effort when you’d realized you had extra. The thought makes him chuckle a little.

He delicately plucks one from the box and pops it into his mouth. It’s sweet, infused with a hint of strawberry and vanilla that makes Satoru crave even more. As soon as he’s done with the first he shoves another into his mouth, and then another. With each chocolate he eats, the painful feeling in his chest grows, but he ignores it.

Before he knows it, the chocolates are all gone. Satoru licks his lips, hoping for one last taste of that strawberry vanilla sweetness only to find nothing. All he has left is the empty box and an aching heart.

if you read this whole thing, thank you and i hope you enjoyed it.

also yes, shoko got chocolates (tomo choco) too. they were similar to ijichi's, but with liquor instead of coffee.

[freeuselandonorris]

💛 Oscar/Lando for the ask game :)

tysm anon! 💛 reunion kiss / relief

In retrospect, it had been a terrible idea to start sexting at 11am. 

It had been fun at first. Naughty, like. Got him hot just thinking about, drafting out the messages in his head before sloping off to the bathroom to write them. Sauntering back into the meeting room and smiling innocently across the table at Oscar, face bright red, phone angled conspicuously into his chest as if he was afraid Randy was going to lean over and start reading from the screen.

But then Oscar had started replying. Sat here talking to Tom and all I can think about is how good you look when you’re getting fucked. Lando had read that one out of the corner of his eye while he was trying to have a serious conversation about tyre deg and nearly choked to death on the mouthful of water he’d just guzzled out of his bottle. Then, a few minutes later: The way your eyes roll back, you look so good taking it.

That had been three hours ago. The briefing meeting had been followed by another, this time on comms strategy, which was then followed by an updated seat fitting. Even the rough touch of the composites engineers was enough to have him biting his lip. 

He grabs Oscar by the elbow as they’re walking out to lunch. “Osc. Got a sec?”

Oscar flinches like Lando’s given him an electric shock. Nods and follows him down the corridor to the room they’ve unofficially adopted as their ‘office’, usually more of a dumping ground for their bags.

He’s so fucking calm, ambling in behind Lando and shutting the door with a quiet click. There’s a brief beat while they stare at each other. Oscar’s eyes are fixed on Lando’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Lando says, throat tight with desire. “Thought that was never gonna end.”

In the end, it’s Oscar who moves first. His mouth is cold and sweet from the can of Coke he’d been drinking, and he kisses with a focused intensity that tells Lando just how desperate he’d been, sitting in those meetings with his phone buzzing at his side and his cheeks stained pink. 

Lando allows himself to sag against Oscar, warmth spreading through his body as the tension of waiting dissipates, replaced by a different kind. When they finally pull away, he feels borderline delirious with it.

“Kinda makes it better, doesn’t it?” Lando breathes, before he can vet the words for traps. “When you have to wait.”

Too late, he realises what he’s said when Oscar’s gaze sharpens, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Oh, yeah?” Oscar says, and steps back until Lando’s out of his grasp entirely. His smile gets wider. “I’m game. We’ll see who breaks first.”

[kiforditom-szetszedem]

Hey bro I'm wondering why you repost Trump shit like it matters to you like you're an American citizen or something of that matter but you're not even from my land you're not from America you're not a citizen of my land so why do you care about the politics and stuff that goes on over here like it's part of your fucking bubble or something like you have any say in the matter of it? #FuckinAutisticRETARD

Dear FuckinAutisticRETARD,

Thank you for your kind letter, which, I can assure you, found us in good health and prosperity, the likes of which we wish upon you too.

As always, we, on the editorial board of the @kiforditom-szetszedem microblog, pride ourselves on a diverse list of topics of interest, which were made possible by the sheer fact of not having our heads up in our asses and actually looking at what happens in the world around us.

We appreciate your interest in the decision-making process we apply to the diverse topics we post about, reblog, shitpost, and shit-reblog, however, we are afraid that we are unable to fulfill an in-depth explanation on the exact reasons some concrete posts were made at some time in the past.

Your chances of getting an actual answer were immediately hampered by you not using our official language (Hungarian) in your ask, because as you should know by now, Hungary is a sovereign state and the official language of Hungarian Tumblr (Humblr) is by far not English.

So, we are patiently waiting for you to educate yourself in all kinds of historical matters and our beautiful language. Btw, did you know, that although English only has one word for going: "to go", in Hungarian we can express ourselves in more distinct ways, in Hungarian one proceeds, wooshes, trudges, ambles, treads, saunters...

Think about this next time you invade other nations' Tumblr.

Wishing you some less up-tight days,

The Editors

[pinkysberg]

thinking about charles smith avoiding camp during parties because he's not into all the noise and doesn't have a whole lot to say, plus he likes his alone time anyway. so he volunteers for guard shift and ambles about the perimeter, listening to all the drunken camp songs from a distance.

but then im also thinking about arthur having a couple whiskeys and getting all warm in the chest, suddenly wondering where charles is. he looks around briefly to see if he can spot him anywhere, and when he doesn't immediately see that familiar grey hoodie floating in his field of view he's on the move. he snoops around the camp, maybe he asks someone and eventually he spots charles on the perimeter of camp, sauntering with a rifle in hand.

of course, arthur thinks. charles would be finding some menial task to take up over getting loose with this lot. he can't necessarily blame him, but that doesn't mean he can't still enjoy the night as well, right?

so arthur snags a couple more whiskeys and approaches.

"enjoying the party?" arthur jokes.

charles looks over his shoulder as he shrugs them. he seems to grasp the teasing tone and half smirks. "someone has to do it." he raises the rifle slightly.

"coulda made bill," arthur suggests, "couldn't hurt to take a night off."

"i don't need a night off." charles responds.

"nah, i meant bill and the booze." that earns arthur a laugh, low and warm. arthur holds the whiskey out, "you could use one too, though."

charles glances down at the drink and then up at arthur, his face dusted pink - clear even under the low light of the moon. be it from the alcohol charles can't be sure (it's not). he looks back down at the whiskey and away from those shiny blue eyes that peer curiously at him in a way that makes his heart flutter.

as charles hesitates with his answer arthur quickly offers, "i can let you drink it on your own, if you'd like."

a quick shake of the head, charles answers "no, stay," with a little more haste than he'd have liked to. after a quick clear of the throat he takes the whiskey.

a wry grin breaks across arthur's face, along with a a blooming heat he's sure is all the more visible. "alright."

[adhdnursegoat]

Arkhamverse

cw: Crack fic!

word count: 1.4k

Halloween in Gotham is never just a simple evening of candy and costumes—it is an opportunity for chaos. And if anyone knows how to throw a party with just the right mix of madness and flair, it’s the Gotham Rogues Gallery.

Your hideout is transformed into a grotesque wonderland of cobwebs, flickering orange and purple lights, and an array of jack-o'-lanterns that sneer from every dark corner. You have somehow been wrangled into organizing this party, and while the task is daunting, it’s also oddly thrilling. With every carefully hung spiderweb and suspiciously sharp-looking prop, you brace yourself for what will undoubtedly be an evening of madness.

Riddler, ever the stickler for puzzles, insists on an elaborate amenity that takes up most of your industrial warehouse home: a haunted maze of riddles and false doors designed to confuse even the smartest of guests. “It adds to the ambiance,” he says smugly, as you roll your eyes. Naturally, he’s the first to show up, his Rick Sanchez costume bringing you to a fit of giggles.

Scarecrow arrives next, dragging in a fog machine that belches thick, eerie mist through the hideout as he walks, creating his own dramatic entrance. To your curiosity, he is dressed in attire not too far from his brown tweed suit, though you tilt your head with amusement when you see the symbolic fez and sonic screwdriver of the Eleventh Doctor. He nods to you in a rare show of camaraderie, setting up his corner of “terror,” complete with real bones (where does he even get those?) and jars of questionable fluids. “Just in case anyone wants a truly haunting experience,” he murmurs ominously before retreating into the fog.

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn burst in together, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls planning mischief. Ivy, dressed as a fairy with wings that glow with bioluminescence, brings a tray of “special” brownies. “They’re organic,” she winks, setting them down on the table. Harley, dressed as Jinx, immediately bounds over to the sound system, flipping through tracks until she finds something upbeat and sinister. “Let’s get this freakshow started!” she hollers, cranking up the volume.

Two-Face ambles in next, flipping his coin as always. In a surprisingly elaborate costume with wings that nearly touch the floor, he is dressed as a half-angel, half-demon. And, while the concept seems a little unoriginal, in your opinion, the execution is flawless. “What’s this party missing?” he muses aloud, eyeing the spread of snacks. “Ah, of course.” He reaches into his coat pocket, producing a flask that you can only assume holds something incredibly strong. “Liquid courage, for those who dare,” he offers with a lopsided grin, depositing it immediately into the punch bowl, not really giving much of an option.

Mad Hatter skips through the entrance, making you do a double take. He’s dressed as Alice with a blonde wig, blue dress, stockings, and all. “Time for tea, my lovelies!” he sings, placing each cup meticulously on the table. You know better than to drink from any of them, given Jervis’s proclivity for mind-controlling and mind-warping substances, but it adds to the table’s chaotic aesthetic, nonetheless.

Then comes Penguin, hobbling in with a bicorne hat, a military uniform à la Napoleon Bonaparte, and a stuffed penguin under an arm. “A toast!” he barks, grabbing a glass filled with...well, no one is sure what, exactly. “To mischief, mayhem, and madness!”

And finally, as if he’s been waiting for the perfect moment, Joker saunters in with a maniacal grin stretched across his face. And you never knew he could up the creep factor anymore until you see him dressed as Pennywise with sharp teeth, an old-fashioned clown outfit, and a red balloon in hand. “Oh, now this is a party!” he cackles, spinning around to take in the scene. “Where’s the main event?” he asks, eyes gleaming as they land on you. “Surely, you’ve got something up your sleeve, toots!”

You stifle a laugh as you take in the diverse group. It’s the closest thing Gotham has to a twisted family reunion, and you, somehow, have become the unintentional ringmaster of this carnival of chaos. “Alright, you lunatics,” you call out, grabbing everyone’s attention, “we’ve got games, treats, and enough bad decisions waiting to happen. Let’s make this a Halloween to remember—or forget, depending on how it goes.”

And the night descends into utter madness.

Riddler can’t help himself, challenging everyone to a "riddle off" where the loser has to take a shot of Mad Hatter’s questionable teas. This, of course, devolves into a series of slurred and increasingly convoluted riddles as the night goes on.

Scarecrow sets up a mini-scare experience in one corner, using his fog machine, which he infuses with his fear toxin in a small dose. Harley dares everyone to go through it, only to burst into peals of laughter when Joker emerges, eyes wide with exaggerated horror, screaming about bats.

Ivy ropes you into dancing, twirling you around the room with surprising grace. “I swear, if one of these fools steps on my dress, I’m ending this party early,” she warns, though her smile betrays her amusement.

Meanwhile, Penguin has commandeered the makeshift bar, mixing drinks that are more flammable than consumable. At some point you hear him explaining his costume to Two-Face – “March of the Penguins!” But you don’t get it.

Later, amidst the chaos, you stand, leaning against the nearest table, drink in hand. You smirk, watching as Harley dances with Jonathan, leading the poor man through a lively samba. When she dips the good doctor, making his fez fall to the floor, you cannot help the eye-watering laughter that bubbles up from your throat at the endearing antics.

Beside you, Edward saddles up, swaying just a little on his feet from the alcohol (inadvertently looking more and more like Rick Sanchez). His hiccups draw your attention, laughing, calming to an amused chuckle when you take in the sight of him, a little slouched, eyes glassy, and a warm flush on his cheeks. He gives you a cheeky, dazed grin, stumbling into you as he tries to clasp a hand on your shoulder. You jump to keep him from falling, taking his arm over your shoulders. He leans in close with a goofy smile. “Having fun, my dear?”

“More than I should, probably,” you reply, grinning as you help him find his bearings.

“I find myself more intrigued by how you’ve managed to get this madhouse organized.” He hiccups as he invades your proximity once more. “You’re quite the little ringleader.”

“Well, someone has to keep you rogues in line,” you laugh, flicking his nose playfully. His dazed face scrunches up, nose twitching and eyes blinking at the sudden intrusion, the alcohol making him a little slower than usual.

Finally, he pulls away with a sigh, resigning to lean against the table while you hop up to sit on top of it. The both of you watch the scene unfold.

Harley and Jervis are in a heated argument over who gets to dance with Jonathan, tugging his arms in opposite directions. He’s caught in the middle, looking like a particularly disheveled scarecrow being fought over by two crows. The sight is amusing, especially since Jonathan has no clue how to defuse the situation and unsure how he got here.

Nearby, Ivy has had enough of Joker's antics and has him strung up by a vine, his mouth wrapped tightly to muffle his ceaseless chatter. A brief moment of peace settles in the room as everyone relishes the Joker's silence. Ivy, now munching one of her “special” brownies, looks smug and thoroughly pleased with her handiwork – both with Joker and the fun treat.

At the makeshift bar, Penguin and Two-Face are deep in a bickering match over drink choices. Penguin squawks and flaps his hand dramatically, insisting that Harvey should try something new for once in his life. Two drinks sit on the bar in front of Harvey, both equally appealing to him. He glares at Penguin, who gestures grandly for him to choose without consulting his coin. Harvey's eyes flicker nervously between the glasses, his hand twitching as he almost reaches for one, only to pull back at the last second, muttering something under his breath that only he and Penguin can hear.

“Hell of a Halloween, wouldn’t you agree?” Edward drawls beside you, nudging you with his elbow as you both observe the scene. He hiccups again.

“Yeah.“ You can’t help but grin, cheeks hurting from all the smiling and laughing you’ve succumbed to throughout the night.

Feeling a warm glow settle in your chest amidst the chilly air of the hideout, you observe your eclectic friends. Voice soft and full of amused admiration, you mutter,

“Hell of a Halloween.”

[slayingfiction]

Vibrant Alternatives for Movement Verbs

Writing a novel involves more than just crafting a compelling story. The language you use plays a critical role in engaging your reader and enriching your narrative. A common pitfall for many writers is the repetitive use of verbs like “go” or “went.” To help you diversify your vocabulary and add depth to your writing, here are some dynamic alternatives:

Travel

Perfect for describing journeys, whether they are short trips or long voyages. It adds a sense of adventure to your narrative.

Move

This versatile verb can be used for physical movement from one location to another, adding a general sense of action.

Proceed

Ideal for continuing action in a story, especially when moving towards a specific aim or along a set path.

Advance

Use this when you want to evoke progress or forward movement, adding a dynamic layer to your storytelling.

Specific Movements: Walk, Run, Jog, Dash

Each of these offers a clear picture of the speed and style of movement, allowing you to create more vivid scenes.

Modes of Transport: Drive, Ride, Fly, Sail

When characters use vehicles or animals to move, these verbs can specify the mode of transportation, enhancing clarity and immersion.

Depart

This implies leaving a place with purpose, which can be particularly useful in scenes of separation or transition.

Head

A casual yet descriptive way to indicate direction, often used in spoken language within dialogues.

Journey

For a grander scale of travel, “journey” implies a significant undertaking, enriching the narrative with a sense of scale and importance.

Wander

To wander is to move without a fixed path. It’s great for scenes where characters are exploring or lost.

Migrate

Useful in stories involving large-scale movements or seasonal changes, especially in historical or environmental contexts.

Meander

When you want to describe a leisurely or aimless path, “meander” evokes a gentle, wandering pace.

Trek

This suggests a challenging and lengthy travel, often on foot, perfect for adventure or survival stories.

Roam

To roam means to move freely, ideal for characters that are free-spirited or in expansive settings.

Leisurely Paces: Stroll, Saunter, Amble, Perambulate

Each of these terms paints a picture of a calm, relaxed walk, adding a poetic touch to your scenes.

Using these verbs can transform your narrative from mundane to vivid, providing your readers with a clearer image of your characters’ actions and settings. Don’t hesitate to experiment with these alternatives to find the perfect fit for your story’s tone and pace.

Happy Writing!

For more fun content, visit our Slaying Fiction website!

[yestrnight]

slime brainrot anon, back again with another, shorter rot for ya. bc the first one got too long

shrinking yourself to tag along with alhaitham to work! cw for: dubcon, exhibitionism, kink discovery, i do not know how his job works so i just guessed lol

at first, you simply chill in his belt-pouch thing (it's a fanny pack but mihoyo won't admit it), sit on his shoulder or head, or roll around on his desk until you eventually get bored and slide down into his pants.

he tries his best to get you out, but sticky and slippery as you are, you persist, so he eventually resigns himself to his fate. it's going to be a long day when each step of his makes you shift around his cock. at least his belts and sashes cover up the evidence.

in an unfortunate turn of events, alhaitham is forced to walk much more than usual that shift. while he usually sits at his desk, he now has to pace laps around the archives sorting and organizing tomes.

and to make matters worse, you've escalated from simply wrapping yourself around him, to actually moving and teasing him.

the poor scribe is trying his best to keep the shaking of his legs, and the noises that threaten to slip out to a minimum. but after some time, he's stumbling as he walks, using the walls and shelves for support.

eventually, he gets oh so close, having to stop and lean up against a bookshelf, gripping the shelves while he tries in vain not to buck his hips into nothing. and alhaitham bites his lip, breathes in, and out, tries to keep level, but he can't help the quiet, low, breathy moans that slip out, and the way his head tips back and his eyes roll up into his skull.

luckily, the archives are usually quiet. unluckily, one of his superiors has ambled in, looking for a specific file.

and alhaitham can't decide if it's luck or unlucky that you've slowed your pace, but not stopped.

his self control is almost, almost strong enough to keep from breaking. hey, he made it pretty far into the ordeal, you have to give him that.

alhaitham's not exactly the religious type- far from it, but he thanks all of celestia that the unknowing sage is turned away, absorbed in the sound of their own one sided conversation. and that he's able to keep quiet enough when he cums in his pants, only letting out one, hitching intake of breath as he grips the shelves so hard he almost dents them, mouth open in a silent moan, convulsing, nearly collapsing.

for a sage, his superior is pretty stupid. chalking up the scribe's somewhat debauched appearance- his flushed face, labored breath, and slight tremble to fatigue, recommending him a cup of tea and a break before sauntering out.

he does end up taking a break, watching you gurgle happily in slime form while you bounce around his office, and he just doesn't have it in him at the moment to discipline you.

because he's too busy thinking about why in the hell being secretly fucked in front of one of his bosses felt so good.

extras!! cw for: implied dom character (but it's vague enough,) mild objectification, slime cum, aphrodisiac

letting one (or several) of your masters actually be in control for once, by using you as a fleshlight

it's obvious that fucking them brought you some level of enjoyment, but were slimes actually capable of bona fide sexual pleasure?

apparently, they are. and your masters are drinking up your adorable reactions to having your slime gspot? prostate? erogenous zone??? massaged by their cocks.

and apparently, slimes can also cum. if this sweet smelling, viscous material you're gushing counts.

in a moment of poor impulse control (some might claim scientific curiosity), they find out that it tastes as sweet as it smells. and- ah, they'd be regretting that decision if their minds weren't clouded by an almost unbearable desire for more.

their judgement may be a bit skewed right now, but perhaps a few more rounds wouldn't hurt... actually, fuck it. they need more.

it's bound to be a long day, and night, for the both of you.

isn't it always though? hey, at least this time, they might actually be able to keep up with you.

super excited for part two of the series :)

actually feeling really horny for slime reader so i'm gonna satiate myself with this masterpoece in my inbox <3

ahhh haitham being fucked wide open in front of his boss <33 and subby slime reader being used as a pocket pussy for their masters :(( they're so cute fr

[amethystfallenangel]

soda (pilot kelson x reader)

You groan, swatting the fly away from the counter. It's too hot behind this counter, you've been working long hours at this gas station. Customers are rude, impatient and in a rush. And you're stuck here, forced to be professional and patient. You've even gotten bored of your phone, so you dash it onto the counter, huffing and leaning against the boxes behind you, opening one button of your t-shirt because of the unbearable midday heat.

Suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine outside and the squeak of tires. Here we go again, another frustrating customer to make this infernal wait even worse than it already is. You pay no attention to the two customers who saunter into the shop, laughing obnoxiously, but as they stumble to the counter, you grin slightly. They're quite young, around your age, if not one or two years younger. One of them has a shaved mullet and wild eyes, with a loose tank top and a stupidly wide grin. He's busy checking out the bubble-gum selection, commenting aimlessly on each flavour. His friend, however, seems unbothered, his downturned blue eyes staring at you softly. He has messy hair, the brown strands sticking out weirdly. He fiddles with the zipper of his bomber jacket, offering you a crooked smile. He speaks to you in a slurred, clumsy voice, as if completely faded.

"What soda do you recommend?"

You sigh, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, I don't know. Fanta, maybe."

He leans over the counter, clasping his hands, lifting his bushy eyebrows and gazing at you with his puppy-like eyes.

"You like citrus drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." His attempt at making conversation is terrible, but it's cute. You glance quickly at his friend, who is still rambling on to himself about the flavours of bubble gum.

"Citrus drinks suck. I prefer Coke, or Dr Pepper."

You nod blindly.

"Uh, yeah, we have Coca Cola too." You point to the fridges where the cold drinks are.

He narrows his eyes playfully, and then ambles off curiously, promptly returning with three cans of soda.

One Coke, one Dr Pepper and... a Fanta?

You tilt your head at him, a question in your eye.

His friend, who you later learn is called Jack, interrupts, still grinning.

"That's his way of asking you to hang out with us. Oh, I'll have the strawberry bubble gum too. Thanks, sweetheart." He places a 15 dollar bill on the counter, but before you can hand him his change, he skips away, whistling, back to the car, with his Dr Pepper and his bubble gum.

You're left with the droopy eyed young man, still leaning across the counter with a playful smirk. And of the soda, obviously.

You chuckle, twirling a piece of your hair from under your cap, as you lean across the counter yourself, your shirt a little too revealing for the young man not to smirk a little wider.

"So, soda boy, what's your name?"

"Why, you wanna buy me a drink?" he teases.

You chuckle lowly, glancing at your Fanta and his Coca Cola. Good come back. He's quite witty, clearly. And playful.

"Thanks for the soda, by the way," you hum. "I'm still on duty, though. I'm not sure I can hang out with you guys. I appreciate the offer, of course."

"We're in the nearby town till tomorrow, though," he croons, edging closer to your face. You shake your head, amused.

"That so? Fine, then. I could use a night out. You guys aren't serial killers or thieves or anything, right?"

He giggles, popping open his can and taking a sip.

"Would that make us more interesting?"

"Not exactly the word I would use. You still haven't told me your name by the way."

"Pilot. I'm Pilot Kelson" He holds out his hand comically.

"Pilot? That's an interesting name." You go to shake his hand, but instead he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back, looking back at you with a loud laugh.

"You're very bold, Pilot. Or maybe just completely high."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't mind. Pick me up at 6 tonight, soda boy." You grin and then place a quick kiss on his cheek. His jaw drops in a cheeky grin, and he winks as he walks away.

Your shift was boring. Two more smug faced truckers came in for a few beers, nothing special. When your shift ends, a car is already waiting outside, and as you leave the shop, jamming the door for the next person to start their shift, the car headlights are flashing wildly, Pilot and Jack waving their arms frantically out of the windows. You giggle at them being unnecessarily noisy, wondering what on earth you've gotten yourself into. Your Fanta is still in your bag.

"Hey soda boy," you joke, as you get in the back of their messy car. His friend turns his attention to you, eyeing you up and down greedily, but somewhat respectfully.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he says, his eyes sultry.

"Nice to meet you, Jack."

You drive to a lively, crowded bar. Inside, there are road stop signs and buffalo skulls as decorations. It smells strongly of whiskey, tobacco and steak pies. There are multiple coloured jukeboxes, pool tables, booths and flickering warm overhead lamps. You know this bar well, you used to come here with your old man way before he became a trucker. You smile to yourself as you lean over the sticky, heavy oak counter and greet the bartender. Jack already seems to be in conversation with a cute blonde in a leather skirt. The pair choose a bluesy rock song on one of the jukeboxes. You order drinks and Pilot follows you eagerly to a table, leaving his friend with the girl.

"So," you say, biting your lip in amusement, "why'd you ask me to accompany you guys anyways? And why are you leaving so soon?"

He chuckles lowly.

"Actually, Jack was caught screwing some guy's wife in Las Vegas. We're basically just on the run, cus' the husband was a raging psycho who sent some guys after Jack. Oh and I asked you cus' I find you hot. And funny."

You snicker, almost spitting out your drink.

"Talk about be bold."

"Yeah, Jack works as a pool cleaner, so he didn't really care about leaving his job."

"And you tagged along? That's wholesome. What do you do?"

He scoffs, seemingly lost for words, before chuckling again.

"I'm technically a drug dealer."

Your eyes go wide. Well, this sure is an eventful day.

"Oh."

He leans back into his chair, flinging an arm around the back of your chair. You can feel one of his fingers brush your back and it sends a chill down your spine. He's starts to draw lines and circles on your back with his finger.

"You don't think less of me, though, right?" he coughs, gazing at your soft features with his lazy eyes.

You turn your head to face him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your demeanour is calm, but you're a little flushed.

"No. I mean, you guys are a bit too wild for me, but I don't think less of you, no.

He smirks, the hand on your back sliding up to the back of your neck, to gently guide your head closer to him.

You playfully poke his stomach and he pulls back, groaning in annoyance, as he rolls his head back. Then, without a thought, you climb up onto his lap, so that you are straddling him. His head shoots up eagerly, his hands almost just as quickly moving to your hips.

You cup his cheeks as your noses almost touch.

"You're an interesting guy, Pilot."

"You mean 'soda boy'?" he laughs, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours.

You gasp slightly, widening your eyes at him.

"Okay, soda boy," you tease, "show some restraint. We're in public, remember."

He leans in close.

"Then let's go back to the motel," he grins.

Leaving the car with Jack, both of you rush out of the bar, walking with incredible speed to the grimy motel where the two troublemakers have been staying for the past two days.

You both stumble into the motel room, as you slam him into the door. His hands finds the hem of your skirt as he tugs as it. You giggle, throwing you bag onto the carpeted floor. You both almost tackle one another onto the floor, rolling around, unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He manages to pry open the rest of the buttons of your t-shirt, as his body presses flush against yours. As he is peppering your neck with hot kisses, he kicks your bag, and your unopened can of Fanta rolls out. Pilot turns around to look at it, with an amused smile, and with his head buried in your chest, he mumbles "I might have to help you finish that drink."

"I thought you didn't like citrus drinks," you manage to say, between passionate kisses.

"I wouldn't mind trying."

You tug at his messy hair and he groans, although not in annoyance this time.

This is by far the most interesting one-night stand you will ever have.