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greenwitchfromthewoods · 3 days ago

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nymph. [part 4] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary: you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings: +18, smut, fluff, maybe a little bit of angst, gods and mythology are treated in a simple way

A/N: part 4. I secretly hope you'll be gentle with me. I'm very curious about what your thoughts will be after this chapter. Please remember that I'd love to hear your comments and ideas. And especially when it comes to the ending of this part… I'll leave you alone now. I send you all my love.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

"She's not from here."

Marcus raised his eyes and followed his old friend's gaze. They could see your silhouette between the trees. It was a beautiful, sunny day and you and Melitta were spending it in the garden.

The young girl had become your companion, although Marcus had often noticed the embarrassment and delight in her eyes almost simultaneously when she looked at you.

"No, she's not," he confirmed. "But would you believe me if I told you?"

Brutus smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "I'm old enough to believe anything." he said. "But please, Marcus. Don't tell me things you should keep to yourself. Here," he pointed to the General's broad chest. "Everything is safer here."

Brutus' gray eyes wandered back to the garden. He had known Marcus when he was a child, his father had been Brutus' friend, and after his death he had surrounded the young man with care. He had never seen a woman in his house before, and he certainly didn't know of any that Acacius would look at in such a way.

"You love her." He said.

He didn't have to ask. He was at an age where certain things were simply obvious to him. Like this.

"I do." Marcus sighed. "More than anything."

"That's good. You can't fight the whole world without someone close to you. But she's not from here. Is she free?"

Marcus's eyebrows drew together. "I didn't take her as a concubine or a slave. She's free, more than any of us."

"Her family?" he saw a shadow in Acacius's gaze. "I see. Don't explain it, Marcus. She shouldn't appear among people without a background. Let's think..."

A warm wind blew through the window, playing with the delicate curtains, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowers. Brutus took a sip of wine and cleared his throat.

"You should say that her parents died when she was still a child. It would be safest." he said, and Marcus fixed his gaze on him, listening carefully. "Later, some distant family member took care of her. It wasn't a significant family. You met and fell in love, simply. Don't mention her origins, don't pay attention to her. Some may gossip about you, but it will quickly die down."

"I'm not afraid of gossip, only of her safety." Acacius replied. "I am the General, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to ensure the safety of the one I love."

Brutus nodded his gray head in understanding. "The gods must be favorable to you if you found each other in this vast world. It's a good sign."

And he really hoped that his friend was right.

A dozen or so days at Marcus' house passed quickly. You didn't find boredom there. Melitta accompanied you every day, slowly becoming a close friend.

Antigonus, on the other hand, strived to ensure that all your requests, or at least those that General Acacius agreed to, were fulfilled. So although he sometimes grumbled something under his breath, he let you sit for hours in a room full of maps and writings, which you looked through, and then in the evenings you asked Marcus about them.

His duties to the Emperor and Rome didn't allow him to spend as much time with you as he would have liked, but the thought that he was coming back to you was something that kept him sane.

Never before had this house been filled with such conversations and feelings. Never before had he felt as if he was hiding the most precious treasure. You.

"If you knew the true faces of the gods, your eyes would turn white." You said one evening, turning in the sheets. The glow of the candles danced on your bare back, and your hair was in a sweet mess. "All those carvings in the temples, the paintings - poof! - nonsense. None of you have seen the true wrath of Mars or Jupiter. You have not experienced the grace of Venus."

"So what lies next to me if not a gift from Venus?" Marcus asked, leaning down and placing a kiss somewhere between your shoulder blades. "Or Mars? I thought I was the favorite of the gods?"

"Sometimes you are too sure of yourself, General." You replied sarcastically, but you sighed quietly when his hand tightened on your buttock. "The gods have their favorites, but that doesn't mean they can't get bored with them."

"I don't care." His hands grabbed your hips and quickly turned you around, your laughter filling the darkened chamber. "As long as I have you in my hands, I am not afraid of the wrath of the gods. You are my redemption."

A hand tenderly stroked his cheek, fingers slipping into the curly hair among which you could see silver threads. "Don't treat me like one of them, my beloved... I'm not worthy of this."

The brown eyes that were staring at you, however, said something else. Adoration and delight radiated from his insides.

"To me, you are above them all." he replied, spreading your thighs with his hand and placing himself between them. "I want to adore you every day. Praise the day when my eyes saw you for the first time. Fight for you, conquer for you, live for you."

"Marcus..."

His hard cock slid into you without a problem, all the way to the base. Still slippery, full of his seed. You had made love just a moment earlier, like almost every night. Almost, because you also appreciated those moments when you could just fall asleep in each other's arms, feeling the closeness of your bodies, feeling the steady beating of your hearts.

"I will adore and worship you." his voice was low, he whispered to you as if he was praying "Your body is a temple, your sweet moans are songs of praise..." you sighed feeling him move inside you, you tightened your fingers on his strong shoulders "I was a mere mortal when your grace fell upon me. You were the one who decided to stay with me, now I will give you all of myself."

Hot lips kissed your neck as Marcus thrust into you with increasing force. You already knew perfectly well his endless hunger for you, so you gave him what he needed.

Acacius was a generous lover. He gave you pleasure in every way he knew, and you fell apart in his hands, intoxicated by this feeling.

You never thought before that bodies could fit together so well, complement each other so much and give each other small deaths, while feeling that they were more alive than ever before.

"I love you..." his hot whisper reached your ears, you wrapped your arms around his neck, slid your hands into his soft hair "More than life, more than anything I know."

He hit exactly that spot, you couldn't say a word, catching your breath. His hot, sweaty body was pressing down on you lightly, but it didn't matter. Soon the pleasure spread through your body, all your senses and heart froze.

Marcus felt your delicate walls squeeze his cock, but he didn't stop. His prayers had to be finished. He lifted himself on his shoulders, eyes swept over your sweaty cleavage and breasts, wandering to the place where you were connected. He disappeared inside you a few more times, and then a deep moan escaped his throat as his seed spurted into you, filling you up again.

Tender hands touched his face again, pulling him into a kiss. Soft lips that he never wanted to leave, arms that were supposed to embrace him forever. The woman who was supposed to love him for eternity.

When Marcus told you that morning that you could go out with him and see Rome, your eyes widened with delight. You had been begging him to let you see the city for a long time, although you understood perfectly well why he refused to do so. Every decision had to be thought out, every move planned.

"We'll visit Brutus, it's nothing interesting." he said, but the smile didn't leave his lips when he saw the glint in your eyes.

Melitta had been trying to help you dress for several minutes, but you were so excited that you couldn't stand still.

"My lady." she sighed. "The sun will set before you cross the threshold. Please..."

"I know, I know..." you repeated once again "It's just so, so exciting."

"Rome is beautiful." Melitta draped the material over your shoulder "You'll like it. Although I prefer forests and meadows... Bathed in the morning light, with the grass still covered in dew."

You tightened your fingers lightly on her arm. "I'll take you there, I promise." you said quietly "Soon."

The door creaked and you both jumped as General Acacius appeared before you. Even though he wasn't wearing armor, he still looked dignified. He smiled at the sight of you and nodded towards Melitta.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes, my lord." she said curtsying.

"You did well." he praised her "You look wonderful, my love. I have something for you."

He took your hand and carefully slid a gold ring with an emerald stone onto your finger. He pressed his lips to your knuckles.

"It's for your safety." He explained seeing your questioning look. "Anyone who sees this ring will know who you..."

"...belong to." You finished for him.

He kissed your hand again and covered it with his. He wanted to avoid saying those words, but at the same time he wanted them. He wanted to know that you were only his.

Your eyes darted from one face to another, from one fruit stand to the beautifully dressed people you saw leaving the building. Conversations, laughter, the sound of horses' hooves, children running around. You had never been in a place like this before.

Marcus was close to you the whole time, observing your every move and gesture, noticing every smile and delight in your eyes. For a moment he regretted that he didn't see it all the same way you did.

Years of fighting wars, talking to politicians, worrying about the fate of the country, had made him feel tired and numb. To everything, except you.

"Thank you, beautiful lady! May the gods bless you!" a hoarse voice rang out behind him.

It was only then that he noticed that you had escaped his eyes. Something or someone caught your attention. An older man, in a tattered robe, who was sitting against the wall begging for alms. The closer to the gladiator fights, the more of them appeared in the city, of all ages, sexes, and in various states of health.

Something flashed in the man's dirty hand and Acacius realized that you had given him one of your rings. Not the one he had given you that morning, some other one. He felt a warm surge of affection for you, because he had already forgotten what or who you were before, that you thought differently than those he knew.

A strong hand gently grabbed your arm. "We should go."

You nodded and obediently followed Marcus.

"The Emperor expects your presence during the fights. You should be there." Brutus sat comfortably on a bench under a spreading tree and nodded to the young girl who handed him wine. "There will be no better opportunity for her to go there with you."

"I'm not so sure about that." Marcus replied. "The Emperor, these people..."

"You can't keep her at home forever, Marcus!" the man snorted "I know you want her safety, but someone will notice her soon. Besides, I heard that a few people would be interested in you finally getting married."

Acacius frowned and snorted at the very statement. This topic always appeared when he returned to Rome, that's why he preferred barracks and battlefields, soldiers didn't care about marital status.

Besides, marriage for people of his position was rarely connected with deeper feelings. It was about the arrangement, about position, about wealth, about creating a strong family.

Somewhere nearby he heard a familiar quiet laugh and noticed you with Aurelia, Brutus' wife, who was showing you around their house. His friend noticed how the General's face brightened at the sight of you.

"It gives me great joy to see you like this." he said warmly "I don't know what spell this girl has cast on you, but the gods are kind to you, since they allowed your paths to cross."

"I will be grateful to them for the rest of my life." Marcus said. "I feel like I knew her before my eyes first met her."

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know... Maybe it was just a dream." He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of sweet wine. "So be it. She will accompany me there." Brutus patted him on the shoulder happily. "You're right. There will be no better time, and I don't want to risk it."

"We will be there too. But warn her, Marcus. A viper's nest is a terrible place for beautiful creatures like her."

Acacius nodded. A strange fear filled his heart, but when he heard your footsteps, when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, it all flew away with the wind.

Something strange woke you up at night. For a moment you tried to understand what it was. Marcus was sleeping quietly next to you, his arm around your waist, his body as hot as the sun close to yours.

You felt it again. The scent that woke you up, so familiar.

Sage and other herbs, burning somewhere outside the window, in a garden immersed in darkness. You quietly and carefully got out of bed and threw thin robes over your naked body. The window was open and the gentle wind must have unconsciously brought the delicate smoke into the room.

You strained your eyes to see in the darkness the person who was not only burning herbs, but also...

Yes, you knew the words to this prayer. You had heard it several times in one of the temples, but not in the temple dedicated to Minerva. These were words addressed to Venus, and they were whispered quietly by someone you knew so well.

A prayer filled with regret, interwoven with quiet sobbing…

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist @picketniffler @tranquilty @psyched2b @jeewrites @tuquoquebrute @aotfantasmagorias

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #general acacius #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #general marcus acacius x reader #gladiator ii #nymph series

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1425fivefive · 2 days ago

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hi im feeling a little bold so

for the kink prompts, if you could something that ressembles multiple orgasms/overstim and/or inexperienced partner with norstappen I would be forever thankful,,, !!

I'd like to see what you come up with! (happy holidays?) <3

i... actually don't know what came over me while writing this. this is a grab bag of kinks from the list including: inexperienced partner, virginity, piercings, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation. also lando has a small dick for no reason (cw: inherent power imbalance because max is a king and lando's his consort in an arranged marriage) (for the kink prompt asks)

Max stops short as he enters Lando’s bedchamber, stunned by the sight that greets him.

Lando’s kneeling in the middle of one of the plush rugs, head bowed, the slim golden crown Max placed on him during the wedding ceremony that morning still nestled in his curls. Lando’s skin is scrubbed clean, glistening with whatever oils the servants rubbed on him, and he’s naked except for the gold metal bars through each of his nipples, a jeweled piercing dangling from his navel. Max knows Lando’s people think piercings are a mark of great beauty, almost unbearably erotic, but Max had foolishly assumed he wouldn’t feel any type of way about them. Seeing them like this, though, delicate and feminine on Lando’s slim, strong form, Max can already feel his cock hardening.

Max drags his eyes down between Lando’s legs, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of the small cock dangling there—smaller, probably, than Max’s thumb. Max knows small cocks are highly favored when selecting consorts, believed to be a sign that the consort will never pose a threat to the king, and Max is sure the advisors he sent to find his new spouse must have been delighted when they saw Lando’s tiny cock. Max has never cared all that much for old wives' tales, but his mouth waters at the thought of sucking Lando between his lips.

Like this, on his knees, naked and obedient, glittering and golden, Lando looks every bit the perfect consort.

But when Max takes a step into the room, Lando looks up, fear flashing in his eyes.

Max stops, cocking his head, studying Lando. Finally, Max asks, voice soft, “Are you enjoying your chambers?”

“Oh, I—” Lando trails off, blinking at Max with wide eyes. “Why do you care?”

That startles a laugh out of Max but Lando flinches, and Max immediately sobers, watching Lando carefully.

“Lando,” Max says gently. “You’re my spouse.”

Lando frowns, clearly confused. “But you’re—you’re the king.” His eyes drift to the floor. Max can barely hear him as he says, “I thought you would simply want to—fuck me.”

Max’s chest aches at the idea of mounting Lando like an animal, uncaring of whether Lando wants it, Lando’s pleasure. “No, Lando, I—” He frowns, trying to work out the right thing to say.

Finally, Max says, “I have many bed partners. If you do not wish to share my chambers, I will not force myself on you.”

It’s true. Max has never lacked for willing men and women to share his bed, and he’ll respect Lando’s wishes if Lando wants to keep their marriage purely political. Lando was only chosen, after all, because Max needed an alliance with Lando’s people. Max knows no one would look askance if the two of them did not share a bedchamber.

Lando’s looking at him with a stunned expression, eyes wide. “You would be alright with that? With not—bedding me?”

“Yes,” Max says, forcing himself to hide any disappointment he might feel. “You’ll have these chambers to yourself and be able to move freely about the grounds. You won’t have to see me apart from formal appearances.”

Lando blinks at him, mouth dropping open.

Max thinks about simply leaving, letting Lando clean the oil off himself and prepare himself for bed. But there’s something in Lando’s expression, something—hungry, that makes Max pause.

Max knows Lando has never been touched before. Max’s advisors informed him that Lando’s people selected him as a potential future consort to a king at age eleven, raised him in a secluded manor house along with a few other candidates. Lando was kept in a chastity belt—Max’s advisors confirmed that Lando’s never been touched, by himself or anyone else.

Max can’t help but wonder if Lando even knows how to touch himself. If perhaps he was never taught how to find his pleasure. Max would teach him. He would teach him gladly, show him exactly how much pleasure his body can feel. He wants to trail his hands over Lando’s sensitive nipples, get his mouth on Lando’s sweet little cock, show Lando how good it can feel to be fucked.

But Max needs it to be Lando’s choice.

“If you would like,” Max says, softly, carefully, “I could show you how a man takes pleasure in another man.”

Lando takes a shuddering breath and Max flushes when he notices Lando’s tiny cock starting to harden, still unbearably small.

“Would it—feel good?” Lando whispers, still on his knees, still looking up at Max.

“Yes,” Max says simply. “So good, Lando.”

Lando makes a small noise, almost a whimper. His nipples are puckered and hard, pushed out from his chest by their piercings, a bead of wetness sitting on the tip of his cock. Max wants to lick it off.

But he waits, watching Lando carefully. If Lando says no, he’ll leave.

Lando lets out a shaky exhale, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He blinks up at Max and whispers, “Show me.”

Max’s cock throbs in his trousers, and he brings his hands to his jacket, fingers shaking as he starts to undo the buttons. “Get on the bed,” Max orders, voice strained.

Lando goes obediently, stretching the long line of himself out on the sheets, watching Max carefully as Max approaches the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes.

When Max climbs onto the mattress, sliding between Lando’s legs, Max is stripped bare, his cock thick and hard.

Lando glances down at it, letting out a distressed little whimper, and whispers, “Big.”

Max’s cock throbs, but he laughs, softly. “It’s not,” he murmurs, because it isn’t. It’s perfectly average. “I think yours is just small.”

Lando flushes, opening his mouth to protest.

Max smoothes a hand over Lando’s thigh. “It’s alright,” Max says softly. “I like it.”

With that, Max bends down to suck Lando’s cock into his mouth.

Lando’s entire body seizes up, mouth dropping open on a silent cry. When Max drags his tongue over the head, lapping up Lando’s pre-come, a shiver runs through Lando and he lets out a sweet little, “Oh,” body twisting, hands flying up to grab at his stomach, his pecs, his nipples.

“You can come whenever you feel like it,” Max murmurs, pulling off, breath ghosting over Lando’s spit-slick cock. “Want to make you feel good.”

Lando whimpers, blinking down at Max. “I haven’t—I don’t—” He breaks off on another whimper, looking at Max with a helpless expression.

“Fuck,” Max groans, pressing a kiss to Lando’s little dick, startling a moan out of Lando. “You’ve never come before?”

Lando lets out a desperate whine, but he shakes his head.

“God, that’s—” Max doesn’t say anything more, just sucks Lando’s cock back into his mouth, dragging sharp little cries and moans from Lando’s shivering form.

Lando seems to be getting closer, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling, wetness spilling onto Max’s tongue.

“Max,” Lando gasps, and Max moans at the sound of his name in Lando’s mouth, at the sight of Lando coming undone under his tongue. “Max, please—oh—it’s too—” Lando breaks off on a gasp, hips fucking up, his cock so small that it’s still barely anything in Max’s mouth.

Lando’s crying out, shivering and trembling, face scrunched up. “It’s too much,” he whimpers, still thrusting frantically into Max’s mouth. “Max, I can’t, it’s—”

Max ignores him, just sucks hard on Lando’s cock, moaning when Lando’s whole body draws tight, his stomach shuddering, the piercing in his navel jangling with each panting breath.

“Oh,” Lando gasps. “Oh, it’s—” He goes utterly silent, back arching high off the bed, head tossed back. Max licks over the head of Lando’s cock, watching Lando closely, wanting to see the exact moment Lando falls apart for the first time, wanting to watch as Max is the first person to bring Lando to his peak.

Lando’s hovering right on the edge, silent and tight, brows drawn together, like he wants to come, needs to come, but doesn’t know how to find it. Max slides a hand up Lando’s stomach, up to his chest, and brushes a thumb over the dusky bud of Lando’s nipple.

Lando falls apart with a sharp cry of Max’s name.

Max moans at the taste of Lando flooding his mouth, whines at the sight of Lando shivering and shaking against the mattress, body writhing and twisting as he rides out his orgasm. Lando doesn’t seem capable of words beyond a desperate chant of Max’s name, his hands flying down to fist in Max’s hair, dragging Max tight against him, riding his orgasm out in Max’s mouth.

“Please, Max, I can’t—oh.” Lando breaks off on a moan, cock spilling a little more into Max’s mouth, and he trembles through it, thighs twitching like he wants to close his legs, push Max away, overwhelmed by the pleasure Max is dragging out of him.

Even after Lando finally stops coming, Max stays where he is, letting Lando’s cock soften in his mouth. He thinks he’d be content to stay between Lando’s legs forever, make Lando come over and over again on his tongue, learning all the noises of pleasure Lando makes.

Eventually, Max makes to pull away, intending to give Lando a respite.

But Lando’s hands tighten in Max’s hair, stopping him from going more than a few centimeters.

“Can you—again?” Lando whispers, looking at Max with a desperate expression.

Max realizes that Lando’s asking Max to suck him again, and Max gazes up at him, awed. “Most men need a break between orgasms,” he murmurs, pressing an apologetic kiss to Lando’s thigh. “It’s too sensitive usually.”

Lando whimpers, but he says, “Could you—try?”

“Lando,” Max breathes, huffing a laugh. He strokes his thumb over Lando’s nipple again, smiling indulgently up at him. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Lando flushes.

Max doesn’t say anything more, just brings his lips to Lando’s cock. Lando’s clearly oversensitive, whimpering and shivering, twitching toward and away from Max’s mouth. But he doesn’t ask Max to stop, doesn’t do anything except whine Max’s name and, before long, spill against Max’s tongue with a frantic moan. This time, Max doesn’t stop once Lando’s done, just keeps sucking him until Lando’s shaking like a leaf, coming for a third time with a pitiful whimper, spilling a tiny amount of come that Max swallows greedily.

Once Lando’s shuddering and begging Max to stop, hands shoving at Max’s head, Max finally lets Lando slip from his mouth. Lando’s little cock looks even smaller, soft and spent, covered in Max’s spit.

Max moans at the sight, but murmurs, “We can be done.” He presses a kiss to Lando’s lower belly, heat rushing through him when Lando whines Max’s name. “You’ve been so good,” Max adds. “Perfect.”

Lando takes a shaky breath, looking down at Max with hooded eyes. “Is there—I’ve heard that there is—more.”

Max laughs. “Yes, there’s lots more. But it can wait.”

But Lando shakes his head. “I want you to take me,” Lando whispers, looking terrified and determined all at once. “I want you to take me like a—like a king takes a consort.”

“Fuck,” Max groans, hips hitching against the mattress, cock throbbing at Lando’s words. “You would want that?”

“Yes.” Lando swallows, throat bobbing. “Please, Max.”

Who is Max to deny his consort?

Lando’s impossibly tight when Max slips the first finger in him, staring at Max with wide, shocked eyes. But Max takes Lando’s cock in his mouth again and soon Lando’s relaxing, letting Max slip a second finger in. When Lando starts moaning and whimpering, rocking back against Max’s fingers, Max knows he’s ready.

Max rolls them over, ending up on his back with Lando hovering above him, looking down at him with parted lips and lust-dark eyes. The crown’s long since slipped from his curls.

“Like this, I think,” Max murmurs, running his hands down Lando’s sides. “It will have to be your choice,” Max continues.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “Max,” he whispers.

“You will have to choose,” Max says softly, running his fingers up to Lando’s nipples, playing with the tiny buds, “if you want to offer yourself up to me.”

Lando moans, a jagged, desperate thing, and Max already knows what he’ll choose. Knows it even before Lando reaches behind himself for Max’s cock, knows it before Lando lines Max up, knows it before Lando starts sinking down onto Max’s cock, taking his own virginity, giving himself up to Max.

“God,” Max moans, watching Lando struggle to take him, sinking slowly down his cock. “Look at you.”

Lando whimpers, sinking down a little further. He’s still hard, Max notices, even as he bites his lip, eyes squeezing shut.

“Good boy,” Max breathes, and he rests his hands on Lando’s hips, helping him on his way. “That’s it, good boy.”

Finally, finally, Lando’s in his lap, Max buried inside him to the hilt.

“Move,” Max murmurs. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Lando lets out a desperate sob but he starts to move, riding Max hesitantly, carefully, barely moving at all. Max shuffles them up the bed a bit so that Max is sitting up against the headboard, upright enough that Max can free one of his hands to toy with Lando’s nipples, marveling at how sensitive they seem to be with the piercings.

“Max, please,” Lando whines, grinding on Max’s cock. “You have to—I’ll come.”

Max moans, cock twitching inside Lando. “Good, baby,” Max says, voice strained. “I want you to come.”

Lando sobs at that but he keeps fucking himself on Max’s cock, letting Max play with his nipples, the piercing in his navel bouncing as he rides Max.

“Max,” Lando sobs, rim going impossibly tight around Max's cock. “Max, please, fuck, I can’t—”

“Come, baby,” Max murmurs, leaning forward to press his tongue against Lando’s nipple, sucking the metal bar between his teeth.

It’s enough to have Lando stuttering to a halt in Max’s lap, crying out Max’s name. His cock spills a few meager drops of come onto Max’s stomach, rim fluttering weakly around Max, Lando sobbing above him as he comes for the fourth time.

Max doesn’t know how he hangs on, but the moment Lando’s finished coming he rolls them over, Lando on his back underneath Max, face wet with tears.

Max panics for a moment, starting to pull out, but Lando shakes his head frantically, wrapping his legs around Max.

“Please,” Lando begs, crying harder. “Need you to come in me, please, Max.”

Max groans and gets his hands on the backs of Lando’s thighs, pressing them up, fucking him hard and deep, watching Lando cry and beg underneath him. Lando might come again at some point, tensing up underneath him, but he’s been wrung dry, his cock twitching rapidly, nothing coming out. He’s too fucked out to even try to clench around Max, can’t do anything except lay there weakly, worn-out pants of Max’s name.

It’s the sight of Lando coming for a fifth time that pushes Max over the edge and he shoves inside Lando with a deep groan, coming so hard he’s dizzy with it.

After, he pulls Lando on top of him, pressing kisses to Lando’s curls, running his hand over Lando’s back, awed by the man in his bed.

“If you want,” Max murmurs, “we can still have separate bedchambers.”

Lando picks his head up, looking down at Max with an outraged expression. “Why?” Lando snaps. “Why would we not do this every night?”

Max barks out a shocked laugh. “Every night?”

“Fine,” Lando says, giving him a small grin. “Every other night.”

“Every other night,” Max agrees, and pulls Lando in for a slow, soft kiss.

#kink prompts #norstappen #i blame this on kpop fics

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shinysobi · 19 hours ago

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pretty u

summary: when joshua, your best friend gets engaged, you can't help but feel as though you're missing out on something important. jihoon, your other best friend, kindly offers to set you up with one of his many friends. chaos ensues, seungkwan is an observer who knows everything, and unfortunately, mingyu is a hapless victim.

pairing: woozi x fem!reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst, light smut

word count: 11k~ish (NOW YOU SEE WHY IT TOOK ME SO LONG)

warnings: alcohol consumption, general warnings apply,

a/n: this is the final chapter, a doozy because i dragged my feet instead of completing it. but i wanted to finish this for the new years, and so, here we are, a belated merry christmas present from me to you, and hopefully i can write more in 2025 a/n 2: comments and reblogs are always much appreciated, and i'd like to know your thoughts about this story heheheh

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter 4

Its funny, how easy it is, to slip into habits. Old habits, ones that have seeped into your routine over time. I wake up, check my phone for emails. I make coffee, check my phone for emails. I get dressed for work, check my phone for emails. On weekends, I do chores leftover from the week, read books I have to write reviews of.

I would most certainly not be taking a nap in the middle of a Saturday with Lee Jihoon. I would not be lying down in my bed, lying next to, nay, cuddled up with, Lee Jihoon. If anyone had told me, even a few hours ago, that I would be snuggled up with Lee Jihoon, my best friend since university. Wait. Can we even call ourselves friends?

“Jihoon.” I whisper, elbowing him in the ribs. “Jihoon.”

“Mm, five more minutes,” he mutters, “I’ll get up then.”

“Hey, wasn’t your meeting with the producers this afternoon?” I ask, “you’ll be getting in a world of trouble because you didn’t show up.”

“I won’t be getting in any trouble.” Jihoon replies, voice thick with sleep, “I’m the terrible child of the company. They’ll keep me around as long as I make good songs for them, they’ll change meeting times when I ask them to. They’ll do anything as long as I’m happy.”

“You’re taking advantage of your position,” I smile, shifting closer to him, “anyone would think you have a horrible work ethic.”

“It’s all okay when it’s regarding my—wait, what are we?” Jihoon sits up in the bed, still half-dressed, “are we still friends?”

“Depends. Do you kiss your friends?” I sit up, facing him, “then we’re friends. Otherwise, we’re not.”

Jihoon pulls a face, “I just imagined kissing one of the boys. Ew, no, never.”

“Then I suppose we aren’t friends anymore.” I smile, leaning in, “we’re something else, then.”

“Can I call you my girlfriend yet, or no?”

I laugh. From this angle, his face is soft, so soft it feels as though he’ll evaporate if I try to touch him, “depends. Do you kiss your girlfriends?”

Jihoon grins, pressing his lips to mine, “all the time.”

“M-hmm,” I smile, touching his cheeks, soft and pliable underneath my fingers, “Woozi, aren’t you being a little presumptuous? All the time? What do you mean all the time?”

He pulls a face, “I swear to god, if you start some bullshit again, I’m going to break up with you.”

“And we’ve been together for what, three hours? That has got to be a new record, even for you, Jihoon.” I say, laughing as Jihoon tackles me to the pillows, “not to mention you’ve been pining over me for the past what—six, years, since you went for your military service. Imagine liking someone for that long, and not telling anyone about it.”

“At least I had the decency to keep it to myself like a normal adult,” Jihoon replies, “you on the other hand, you were a wreck after a week. Imagine being that down bad over a man. You should be repulsed by yourself. What would Andrea Dworkin say?”

“And that’s it, we’ve had a good run, bye,” I begin, trying to get out of bed, but Jihoon stops me, “let me go. You said yourself that I should be repulsed because I like you.”

“Three hours and five minutes,” Jihoon replies, “not bad at all, given that two of them were spent sleeping.”

“Really, who the fuck sleeps after getting together with someone? It’s like, violating the first ethics of relationships,” I grumble, “imagine kissing your best friend, who’s now your boyfriend, who then proceeds to take a nap in your bed? Who would do that?”

“Were you disappointed?” Jihoon asks, his expression changing to sly, “were you expecting something else?”

I roll my eyes, struggling to get out of his grip, but unfortunately, all the hours Jihoon has put in the gym has now created a reality where I can no longer get out of his grip, “no, I wasn’t, I was just expecting you to not snore on me after kissing me in my living room.”

His face falls, and he is about to say something, when my phone rings loudly, making me jump, “what the hell? Why is your ringtone so loud?”

“It’s not!” I reply, “I just forgot to switch it back to silent after coming back home today. I had it set on full volume last night. And give that to me.” I swipe to accept the call, and soon enough, Jeonghan’s voice floats through the speakers.

“How are you two doing?” Jeonghan asks, and I stare at Jihoon, who seems to be equally confused as me.

“Jihoon said he was going to meet you, I figured that you two might have finally gotten your shits together,” he clarifies, “I’m not that old, nor do I have enough sense to stay out of your affairs.”

“Yes, yes, hyung, you’re the nosiest of us all,” Jihoon grumbles from next to me, “yes, we’re doing fine, thank you very much.”

“Great!” I can hear the barely-concealed glee in his voice, “Chan, tell the rest of the guys to pay up. I’m the only one who guessed correctly that they were going to get together by today.”

“Pay up—wait, hyung, you were betting on my love life?” Jihoon screeches, “why the hell would you do that?”

“I’ve seen and heard you pine over her for the past eight years, you nitwit, of course, I’m going to host a betting pool for when you finally get together. Not to mention, you’ve just made me an entirely obscene amount of money, which I’m going to spend happily.”

“Wait, if you knew Jihoon was going to come to see me, why did you take so long to call us?”

“I was being polite.”

“For what?”

“Well, if you two were having sex, I would not like to be calling in the middle of it now, would I?” he giggles even as Jihoon and I both let out twin gasps of surprise, “What? Did you not put years of sexual tension into use?”

“That’s inappropriate, hyung.”

“So, you haven’t.”

“Oppa!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Jeonghan lets out one final demonic cackle (still cannot believe I called him my angel once), “I’ll let you two lovebirds be together. Oh, and Soonyoung told me to tell you, Jihoon, that he’ll take care of the meeting today. You can take a day off once in a while.”

“Thanks, hyung, I’ll go back to sleeping,” Jihoon mutters, handing the phone over to me and immediately burrowing himself in the sheets to get some more sleep.

“I’ll make myself scarce then, shall I?”

“Wait, oppa,” I say, thinking very hard, “you did this on purpose didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I mean the whole situation. You were the one who kept telling me about how long Jihoon has liked me for, and you were the one who I called before Jihoon took the phone away from you and talked to me.” My voice takes on an accusatory note, “Yoon Jeonghan, did you manipulate me and Jihoon into confessing so that you could win a bet?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

“So, you did.” I stand up from the bed, ignoring Jihoon, who’s already snoring softly, “Yoon Jeonghan, you better give us a share of the pool.”

Jeonghan laughs on the other end of the phone, “fine, fine, I will. I’ll take you and Jihoon out for samgyeopsal this week. Cool?”

“Just so you know, while we both will be there, I still don’t appreciate this.”

“Come on, writer,” Jeonghan wheedles, “anyone could see that you were both circling each other for half a decade. It was exhausting to watch, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too!” he hangs up, and I go back to bed, sidling up to Jihoon, who hugs me in his sleep. Its nice, being this way. I can pretend that the world is just the two of us, in my bed, sleeping in the afternoon.

Jihoon doesn’t look lonely anymore. In fact, he looks happy, smiling even in his sleep. When was the last time I saw him like that? A memory floats up to my mind, of another afternoon, spent in Jihoon’s flat, after we’d all finished giving the final exams. Jihoon had a job lined up with a production company, and I was about to start working with an online fashion magazine. Joshua was in graduate school, and everything was fine. We spent that one afternoon watching trashy soap operas on Netflix, drank too much booze and smoked too many cigarettes, and finally, just before we went to sleep, I could swear I saw a ghost of a smile on Jihoon’s face.

Until a week later, when his enlistment notice came, and I never saw that smile again. But now it is there, and I can reach out and touch him, and I can see his face relax even more under my touch, as if Jihoon had been craving it, even in his denial. I probably have, even after so long. Years of wondering ‘what if’ and now, finally, it’s here.

“Jihoon,” I whisper, “Jihoon.”

“What?” he burrows further into the blankets, “I’m cold now.”

“Jeonghan kind of manipulated us both into getting together.”

“He did?” Jihoon mumbles, “good for him, I now have a girlfriend.”

—

Jihoon wakes up in the middle of the evening, and shakes me awake too, because he’s hungry and I have to cook for him.

“I’m the one who told you about this apartment, so you kind of owe me,” he says, perched on a stool, “and no ramen, please. I’ve been living on that for so long I know all flavours that are there, and the convenience store guy looks at me strangely whenever I go inside.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” I mutter, chopping up vegetables to put in a stew, “I don’t have anything in the house, so you’re going to have to be happy with a random stew of things I found lying in the fridge.”

“That’s fine.” He replies, “at least I don’t have to starve.”

“Yes, Mr Woozi, I appreciate the concern, now wash the rice.”

Lunch (dinner? Linner?) is kimchi stew, with old vegetables and things that were almost going bad, but he eats it like it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant meal. Jihoon is not really picky: I’ve seen him eat everything from day-old scraps to a croissant that was growing mould on it (the less said about that the better) but us eating in my kitchen, this feels strangely domestic to me, in a way that’s almost scary.

“Are you scared?” Jihoon asks, spooning up rice into his mouth, “don’t worry, I’m scared too.”

I stare at him, “have you become psychic, by any chance? Do you want to change your profession to shaman?”

“I’d be a shitty shaman either way,” he replies, “the only person I know how to read well is you. You have that look on your face, so I asked.”

“What look?”

“The look that you get when you’re terrified of something, but you also want to do it.”

“I don’t have a look.”

Jihoon stares at me, “You totally do, I know it; it’s the same look you got when you attempted to take that class on Psychoanalysis in second year.”

“I sucked at it.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, you were terrified, but you also wanted to do it, I know that look. You might think you’re fooling people, and you can, but the last person you can fool is me; Joshua, to an extent, but I doubt he’s made a hobby of reading your every expression over a period of eight years.”

I make a face. Jihoon notices, because of course he does, “that’s the face you make when you don’t like what the other person is saying, but you know that they’re right.”

“That’s unfair, Jihoon.”

“Is it? I’ve known you for so long, of course I should know about your expressions.” He smiles, before leaning over to kiss me on the cheek, “that’s the expression you make when your surprised.”

“Then don’t fucking surprise me!” I press a hand to my cheek, “what was the reason for that?”

“Nothing, just making sure I didn’t dream up the last few hours, and that I can really kiss you whenever I feel like it.”

“I have to want it too, you know. Also, when did you get so keen on physical affection? I’ve literally never seen you be this way with anyone before.’

He shrugs, “I wasn’t pining over those people for years, so that’s there, too.”

I don’t know what to say to this, so I just laugh at his words, “Jihoon, aren’t you being a bit hard on them?”

“On who?”

“The women you’ve dated. The people I’ve dated. Like it or not, they are a part of us. They’ve made us into the kind of people we are today.” I take a sip of the soup, “would you have asked me out if we were in university? Or after you came back from the military?”

He pauses to think about it, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of kimchi, “probably not.”

“And even if you did, we would have hated each other, and broken up in a week. So, let’s not talk about the people who have given a part of their lives to us.”

Jihoon nods, “understood. Does this mean you’re going to invite your exes to your wedding?”

I laugh, “not to that extent, no, but I will respect them for their time and affection that they gave to me because for better or for worse, they were a part of who I was, before I fell in love with you.”

“Fell in love?” Jihoon gasps, “are you saying you’re in love with me?”

“As if this was even part of the question. Of course I’m in love with you.” I take a deep breath, standing up to clear out the remnants of dinner, “I don’t know how to say this properly but, I’ve loved you all throughout the time I’ve known you. As a friend, as a lover, as my family here in Seoul. I’ve loved you all the time. At the risk of sounding cringe, there has not been a time when I haven’t been full of love for you. Even if it didn’t seem that way, I’ve loved you for years.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, instead wraps me into a hug, “have you been taking lessons on how to deliver a speech?”

“Why, yes, I have.”

He giggles, which is a rare sound coming from him, “I’ve always loved you too. Even if I didn’t show it, even if I didn’t express it well, I have loved you.”

I kiss him, “sorry for taking all this time to realise my feelings.”

He shakes his head, “no, don’t be sorry for that. The way you are, the way you will be, I’ll always love you.”

—

I text Eunseo in the evening, asking her to meet me for coffee. Joshua and Jihoon are both too busy for brunch, so I have some time to burn. Eunseo texts me back within minutes, eagerly agreeing to meet me. I text her the name of the same café the three of us go to for brunch.

“You look great,” Eunseo says as soon as I walk in, “did something great happen?”

I stare at her. She’s dressed to go out this morning, wearing a light green dress under a heavy brown coat. In comparison, I’m wearing my office pants and a white shirt. We’re dressed miles apart. Saying that I look good is almost an insult.

But Eunseo doesn’t insult anyone, even knowingly, so I take my seat and say, “you’re joking.”

“No, not at all,” she replies, “you’ve got this glow that I cannot really put my finger on. It seems as though something great happened in the past few days.”

“Well, I did begin seeing Jihoon, so,” I shrug, but Eunseo is already clapping her hands in joy, “what? What’s going on?”

“Wait, I have to tell Joshua to come meet us,” she chirps, “I’m not saying anything until he comes back, but I’m so happy for you, you have no idea.”

Joshua, who was looking at suits in the morning, comes to the café within minutes, by which we already have ordered a bunch of things. He comes in looking harried, and the first thing he says, “I thought this was an emergency! You texted me she was dying!”

Eunseo laughs, “that was the only way to get your attention, josh, I’m so sorry.” Her expression shows that she isn’t sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Joshua sits down on the chairs, “you’re not sorry at all, Eunseo.”

They share a sweet moment, and normally, I’d pull a face and call them cringe, but today, I just don’t feel like it. maybe it’s the hormones of being in a relationship, or maybe I’m finally growing soft around the edges, but I think, what would happen if I text Jihoon to come see us right now? He’d probably scowl and refuse, but I can’t help but imagine the two of us in place of Joshua and Eunseo, sharing a nice moment. This is it; I think to myself, this is the moment you realise you’ve gone entirely crazy because of a man.

“Anyway,” I say loudly, interrupting the two of them, “Eunseo called you here because I have an announcement.”

Joshua stares at the two of us, “is she dying?”

“No! What the fuck, Joshua, I’m not dying!” I say, irritated by this line of conversation, “as I was telling Eunseo, I’m not dying, I just began seeing Jihoon.”

“But you can see him all the time,” Joshua says, still clueless as ever.

“Romantically. Joshua, romantically. We’re dating.” I say, rolling my eyes.

Joshua stares at me, speechless for a whole ten seconds, before he starts laughing, “finally. Cannot believe I had to endure all those years of Jihoon pining over you and you dancing around him because you wanted to avoid your own feelings.” He turns to Eunseo, who looks equal parts disgusted and horrified, “they are probably two of the most obvious people in existence.”

I narrow my eyes, “you both knew about this? And no one told me?”

To her credit, Eunseo looks apologetic, “I just didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge that we all were aware of the dynamics between you and Jihoon; you seemed like you were still figuring it out, and Jihoon didn’t seem like he wanted anyone else to know. But he’s right, you know. You two were seriously the most obvious people in the world.”

I want the earth to split up and swallow me whole, right at this moment. What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world? “What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world?” I wasn’t even aware that Jihoon had feelings for me until a few months ago! “I wasn’t even aware of my own feelings until very recently.”

Before Eunseo can reply to my statement, her phone rings, and she makes a face before picking it up, saying, “it’s the realtor. He is supposed to meet us later in the week.”

Joshua pulls an identical face, and not for the first time since they started dating, I wonder why it is that all couples start to look alike after a few years of being together. However, for the first time, I also wonder how Jihoon and I would look like after a few years together. Would we be annoying, like Joshua and Eunseo? Or would we be one of those couples who always fought and broke up and patched up, all within the span of a week, like those people in university? But that would mean I’d have to spend enough time with Jihoon, becoming one of those couples.

“You’re putting on your thinking face,” Joshua says, bringing me out of my reverie, “it’s the expression you make whenever you’re imagining something.”

“I don’t do that,” I defend reflexively, but I know he’s true, simply because this is not the first time someone has told me about my ‘thinking face’. It is, however, the first time that someone has called me out when I was thinking about Jihoon. “What were you saying?”

“Eunseo just left to take the call from the realtor,” Joshua smiles, “I must say, I saw this coming from a mile away.”

I scowl, “what do you mean you saw this coming from a mile away? I’m not someone who’s that predictable, am I?”

“Well, it is true. You are kind of predictable,” Joshua shrugs, “you’ve been wearing the same clothes since university, you eat the same ten dishes all the time, and you even like the same kind of side dishes. You’re very predictable.”

I sigh, “yes, fine, I’m predictable. Still doesn’t mean you saw this coming from a mile away.”

“Have you seen the way you and Jihoon behave around each other? No matter how much you say that you can’t stand the sight of the other person, Jihoon cares about you the most. He drops everything at a moment’s notice to come to your aid. You do the same thing too, it’s just that you aren’t as forthcoming about it as him.”

“Was that why you were behaving weirdly on that night?”

“What night?” Joshua seems to have entirely forgotten that one Sunday, except it is ingrained into my mind like its just yesterday, “I don’t remember anything.”

“The night that you proposed to Eunseo,” I say, trying my best to not sound frustrated, “when Jihoon told you he was helping me hook up with people, you reacted really strangely.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Joshua looks sheepish, “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that, but it was very confusing for me.”

“Confusing?”

“Imagine one of your closest friends, who has been pining over another one of your closest friends, telling you that he is helping the girl he has had a crush on for the past six years, in getting her a boyfriend. How would you feel about that?”

“Um, well,” I pause on it, “I’d think my friend was stupid.”

“That’s it!” Joshua yells, “see how it was confusing for me? all throughout university I thought Jihoon had a crush on you, but all of a sudden, after years as your friend, he’s trying to set you up with other men? I thought he was being an idiot.”

“Well, I told him he shouldn’t be doing that,” I grumble, “he didn’t even listen to me and went and blabbed to you about how he was going to set me up with one of the boys.”

“You were the one who made that comment about Mingyu,” Joshua accuses, “I’d better not see you make any excuses for yourself. And what does ‘platonically motorboat’ even mean?”

“It means you would like to motorboat someone, but platonically, not romantically,” Eunseo says, walking into the café, “babe, the realtor wants to see us today, if we can.”

“Really? He wants to meet us today? After changing the date so many times?” Joshua groans, “never mind. We should be glad he’s meeting us poor people, who just want to buy a newlywed home.”

“You should be glad he’s meeting you at all,” I say, gesturing for the check, “if I ever saw a credit score as bad as yours’, I’d refuse to give you any credit, let alone show you houses.”

Both of them pull identical scowls, “yes, yes, showing off your excellent credit, go on,” Joshua says, “I just know you bragged all about it to Jihoon already.”

“You’re not wrong,” I reply, grinning, “but Jihoon said I should brag to others too, so I’m bragging to you.”

“Never mind her babe,” Eunseo puts her hands over Joshua’s ears, “she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The three of us walk out into the early winter morning, shivering in the cold. Joshua and Eunseo promptly set off in a taxi to go meet their realtor, while I make my way to my apartment, suppressing my urge to text Jihoon about his work. I’ve been endlessly curious about his process ever since university, but the only times he’s allowed me into the studio I’ve either fallen asleep within ten minutes of being there, or we had conversations about things that were not related to his music production. On the other hand, if I text him right now, badgering him about his work, I will seem like either a. an insane, clingy girlfriend, or b. a stupid, clingy girlfriend. In both cases, Jihoon is going to get sick of me so fast, he’s going to break a record with how fast he’s going to dump me.

In university, I was part of the journalism club, and on the first group outing, one of the seniors, drunk off of one too many soju cocktails, had taken the first-years aside and talked about how one should behave when in a relationship. “Now listen,” she had said, “never, I repeat, never, let him know that you’re into him, especially in the first few months of dating. The less he knows about your real feelings, the better.”

“But sunbae,” one of my freshman year-mates had raised her hand, “what happens if your boyfriend gets to know how much you like him in the first few months of the relationship?”

The senior had sighed, before saying, “you’ve got to understand why men like women. They don’t like the person we actually are; they like the chase. They like the person we pretend to be when we start dating them for the first time. Therefore, unless you’re absolutely sure that this is a man you want to keep around for a long time, you must not let your real self show around him.”

We had all nodded, as if we understood what she was talking about, and I had spent the last few years of my life earnestly following this rule. Never allowing my real self to be shown around the people I have dated. But now I’m dating Jihoon, who has been around for all of the embarrassing chapters of my life. How do I navigate this new change in dynamic?

My phone pings, and I look down, expecting a text from Joshua or Eunseo, talking about their wedding, but instead of the two of them, its Jihoon.

hoon: did you tell joshuji?

hoon: he just texted me btw

hoon: he also says that we have both been huge idiots

I pause in the middle of the road in my surprise, and narrowly miss hitting a pedestrian. I always knew Joshua was a snitch, but telling Jihoon not even ten minutes after I’ve left? That’s just low.

big dick (canon): cannot believe Joshua snitched

big dick (canon): actually no, I do believe it

big dick (canon): he and Eunseo ditched me after brunch so I’m now being forced to go back to my home

big dick (canon): my home that I love and adore

big dick (canon): but still, I don’t really want to hang out in my apartment all by myself

big dick (canon): it’s so boring

big dick (canon): I’m going to kms

hoon: you know, one of the many, many perks of having me as your boyfriend is

hoon: that you can come hang out in the studio with me all the time

hoon: and I won’t even get angry with you, unlike how I get with others

hoon: because I love you, and this is a perk I provide to my loved ones ONLY

big dick (canon): you have canonically told all twelve of your friends to fuck off from the studio, at least once in your lifetime

big dick (canon): and I’m not even including all the times you have told me no for an interview

big dick (canon): if I count all those times, its going to go to a hundred, EASILY

big dick (canon): and you’re telling me to come hang out with you

big dick (canon): this is HIGHLY sus

hoon: just come to the studio my god you’re so dramatic

hoon: don’t take this as a sign to stop being dramatic, I actually like it when you do that

hoon: if you tell this to anyone else, I’m going to deny it and kill you

big dick (canon): you won’t do that you like me too much

big dick (canon): anyway, should I bring something for you to eat

hoon: have I ever told you that I love u

big dick (canon): yes, u have

big dick (canon): multiple times, in fact

hoon: ugh so dramatic

big dick (canon): I won’t get you anything, then

hoon: get me some fried chicken

big dick (canon): I’m having it delivered to your studio. I’m coming in ten

By the time I enter Jihoon’s studio, the chicken has been delivered, and I open the door to see Jihoon munching on a drumstick. Unlike other days, the studio is messy, and he looks like he’s been through hell. Which, if you take Jihoon’s word for it, is not much, just three meetings.

“Shouldn’t you leave one drumstick for me?” I ask, shrugging my winter coat off, “fuck, its cold as hell outside.”

“Needed brain food,” Jihoon replies through a mouthful of chicken, “had a meeting in the morning, the sound engineers needed some changes to be done to Hoshi’s title track.”

“Sounds like shit,” I mutter, picking up a piece, “you’ve been working on that since the morning?”

“Not just that, but the girl group song too,” he replies, “they liked the first song so much that they want another song from me. I’ve been looking through the scratch files on my computer to find out what songs I can give to them that aren’t emo ballads I made after one too many drinks.”

“You know, some of us just vomit after getting wasted. Are you trying to brag to me that you become more creative when drunk?”

“I’m not bragging, some of these are actually atrocious,” he says, pointing to the icons on the screen, “this one is just called ‘I’m never going to be alive’. What does that mean? Why was I thinking about this at three in the morning?”

“Entertaining suicidal thoughts at three in the morning is something we’ve all done, actually.”

“This is just called ‘Love hurts’, and this one, I named it ‘Park PD is a bitch’.”

“I’ll go tell him you said that.” I laugh when Jihoon’s face darkens, “okay, okay, fine, I won’t, but why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him at all. he was probably getting on my nerves at that moment, and instead of talking it out like real adults, I chose to instead make a song draft calling him a bitch.”

I look closely at the computer screen, “Wait, Jihoon. All of these songs are love songs. To an extent. How many love songs have you written over the years?”

He takes a minute to answer that, “since university, I’ve either created existential songs or love songs, so, I’d say, about a hundred? Give or take, but I won’t put a number on it, since I’m not really sure.”

“You wrote about a hundred love songs?”

“Yes, I did, and they’re all in here,” Jihoon pats the external hard drive hooked up to the computer, “this holds pretty much all of my work.”

“Makes sense as to why you would guard it with your life.” I reply.

I go to sit back down, putting my feet up on the sofa, and Jihoon gives me a dirty look. I just smile in reply. He’s always a stickler for these kind of rules, but it’s funny to see him be so rattled. I’m not going to lie and say that seeing him be irritated is funny, because it is. An angry Jihoon is a cute Jihoon, I’ve learnt that back in university. Especially when he pouts like that.

“You still wear minion socks?” Jihoon says, stuffing his mouth with chicken, “I gave you that as a gag gift last year, you should have thrown them out as soon as you got them.”

“I like the socks. They’re comfortable.” I reply, shrugging, “who gave you the idea to give me socks as a gag gift?”

“Soonyoung. He thought it would be funny to give you cartoon socks.”

“Joke’s on him, I like having my feet warm.”

After Jihoon and I finish the chicken and clean up in record time, he goes back to his workstation, and I’m free to observe him as much as I want to. Seeing Jihoon in his element is always an experience. Even in university, I used to observe him when he worked. He has a singular focus on whatever he does, from eating to producing music. I’m also not going to lie to myself and say that he isn’t attractive when he works, because somehow his attractiveness gets turned up a hundred notches when he’s working. Or maybe, I like him too much and I find everything about him attractive. His eyes are laser-focused on his work, and the lines of his neck, disappearing into his shirt, is at odds with the Jihoon in my bed yesterday, peacefully sleeping as he held me for warmth. Before last night, I never knew that Lee Jihoon was someone who got cold even underneath a comforter, and liked holding someone else for warmth.

“You’re staring,” Jihoon says, breaking my line of thought, “I’ve been talking to you for the past ten seconds and you’ve been staring into space.”

“I was just looking at my handsome boyfriend as he works. Is that not allowed?”

“Stop saying that.” He mutters, going back to his work, but I can see him turning red. Jackpot.

“Jihoon.”

“Hm?”

“Are you blushing right now?”

He turns around to give me an impressive glare, “no, I’m not.”

“The back of your neck is red.” I grin, “were you getting shy?”

“No, I wasn’t.” he lies, his ears going red. At this rate, he might burst into fumes.

“Your ears say otherwise, Jihoon,” I stand up, walking over to his chair, “your ears and your neck is red. You’re getting shy, aren’t you?”

“What! No, I’m not—” he pauses for a moment, turning away from me, before grabbing me by the waist, “stop teasing.”

“I won’t,” I giggle, taking the opportunity to climb into his lap, “see! You’re going all red.”

His face is still turned away from me, but I can see the blush on his cheeks, “are you going to continue to lie to me, Jihoon?”

He pauses, before huffing, “you’re gonna regret teasing me, you know.”

“Pretty sure I won’t—aah!”

Unfortunately, my plan had but one singular flaw in it. I had underestimated how much he worked out on a weekly basis. Jihoon just glares at me, before picking me up and walks over to the sofa, my legs dangling around his waist. Seriously, how much does this guy work out?

“Really? I was working, and in the zone, and you had to tease me like that?” he grumbles, before unceremoniously dumping me on the sofa, “I shouldn’t have invited you over. Let me go back to work.”

“But you did,” I grin, my hands around his neck, “you invited me over. Lured me in, I’ should say. You lured me in, and now you should pay the price.”

Jihoon groans, before smiling, “is this how it’s going to be all the time?”

“Mm, I’m afraid so.”

Lying down on the sofa, I can see the lights on the ceiling, bright white, ones that Jihoon claimed helped him with his workflow. I hated them in the beginning, claimed that they hurt my eyes, but over time, I grew used to them, to the point where I can’t imagine there being anything else. Bright white lights. A comfortable sofa. Jihoon’s face obscuring my vision, so close that I can make out every individual eyelash. His mouth, full and open, insistent against mine. Jihoon kisses like he wants to do nothing else, I’ve realised. As though this was what he wanted to do all along. Anything is okay. I’m not afraid of falling, if it’s Jihoon. which is why I find myself doing strange things. Like allowing him to touch me, even if it’s in the middle of day, in a room where anyone might come in; like allowing him to undress me, even if I’m underneath harsh white lights. Because its him, because its Jihoon. I can touch him in return, slip my hands underneath the shirt he’s wearing, because I can press my mouth just as insistently against him as him.

“So, this is how it’s going to be, is it?” he says, unbuttoning my shirt, “wait. You’re not wearing a bra?”

I roll my eyes. Of all the things he can talk about, this is what he chooses to focus on? “No, Jihoon, its winter. I’m wearing three layers over this. Of course I don’t want to wear a bra. It’s too much work.”

“I wish it was winter forever,” he replies, continuing to unbutton my shirt, “good god, if this is the outcome, I wish it was winter all throughout the year.”

“The economy is gonna hate you.” I mumble against his mouth, “imagine a whole year of winter. The economy is gonna go haywire. And all because you’re horny.”

“It’s a proof of how much I’m attracted to you, that I’m still working on your shirt after you just started talking about the economy,” Jihoon finally manages to slip off the shirt I’m wearing, “total buzzkill.”

I scowl, yanking his shirt over his head in one go, “sorry I’m such a buzzkill, then.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Jihoon kisses my cheek, “you’re so beautiful. Have I told you that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Remind me to tell you this every day, then.” His hands are soft on my hair, stroking, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

“Even compared to Jeonghan?”

“Even compared to Jeonghan.” He repeats, “why do you have to bring him up now?”

“Just like that.” I smile, kissing him softly, “so, you like this?’

“Is this how it’s going to be now? For the foreseeable future?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Thank god,” Jihoon murmurs, his hands on the button closure of my trousers, “I can’t wait for the future, then.”

—

Being in this industry means you have to meet with a lot of people. When I say a lot of people, I do mean a lot of people. I’ve managed to keep my connections alive, but it has not been easy getting to this place. Not the least for someone like me, who had no one in the industry to rely on. In the beginning, when I was working at the fashion magazine, everywhere I went I would be marked as an outsider, and it was surprising how easily doors could get closed. I’ve always been resentful of those times, but now, now it feels like a moment in time that never called its name out for me, and I cannot bring myself to care.

These are the thoughts that I usually have in the mornings. But now, things have changed.

For one, Jihoon is sleeping next to me, his hands holding me close. Its strange, looking at him like this, peaceful instead of a permanent frown etched into his brow, a small smile on his face instead of the scowl that seems to have carved out its own position on his face.

Nowadays, I wake up before Jihoon does, and on most days, I spend some time looking at his face. He was always beautiful, but now, now he looks ethereal. It takes all my self-control to not run from this, because how can someone like me be happy? What right do I have to happiness?

“You’re thinking too much again,” Jihoon says, shaking my train of thought loose, “I can practically hear your gears turning.”

“Morning,” I reply, hoping it sounds smooth and easy and not like I’ve been consumed with depressing thoughts.

Jihoon hums, pulling me in closer, “you always think too much. Its time you stopped thinking so fast.”

“Hm? Do you have a way of doing that?”

That gets his attention, and he opens his eyes. Still sleepy, but fully awake. “You want me to do something about your overthinking?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, I have a thought on how you can change that.”

“And what is that?”

He smiles, half-awake, and kisses me, and my mouth eagerly opens up to let his tongue swipe in, mapping the inside of my mouth with as much ease as he does when composing music. its almost embarrassing how eagerly my body responds to his touch, my hands finding their way inside Jihoon’s shirt without missing a beat, bringing him closer to me as if it’s a dance we have practiced over a long time. It’s a good thing that Jihoon is just as eager as me, pressing himself against me roughly, hard from the barest of touches. If he wasn’t wearing his sweatpants, he would realise just how wet I was from his touches alone, how he managed to reduce me to a wet, moaning mess with only a ghost of his touch and nothing more.

“Mm, just so you know, you’re kind of fulfilling a dream of mine.”

“Which is?”

“Having my way with you in the morning.” Jihoon grins, sitting up to pull his shirt off over his head, and my eyes widen as large purple blotches come into view. God, what did I do—those look like the work of a feral animal, not a mostly sane woman in her twenties. He, on the other hand, looks composed, dragging my shirt up and adding it to the pile on the floor. Almost immediately, his mouth is back on mine, his large hands manhandling my breasts. He’s just as affected as I am, moaning into my mouth as his fingers pinch and twist my nipples, the two of us barely managing to not devolve into a moaning, screaming, mess.

“Have I told you,” he yawns, coming up for breath, “your tits are incredible.”

I scoff, “yes, yes you have, Jihoon, multiple times. I get it, you like them.”

“Like them?” Jihoon grins, shoving two fingers into my mouth before putting his on my nipple and sucking me hard enough to cry, “babe, I love them, they are perfect.”

Fuck. Jihoon’s obsession with my breasts means that he spent half an hour getting me off last night with his mouth and fingers alone, and I’m oversensitive to the point where his current ministrations are toeing the line between pain and pleasure. His fingers are in my mouth, long and deft, and I can remember where they had been the previous night.

“You gave me enough hickeys to last a lifetime, baby,” Jihoon mutters, still sucking roughly on my breasts, “it’s only fair I get to return the favour.”

Before I can even process what he means, he bites down on my nipple, hard enough that my back arches from the mix of pain and pleasure, and he can feel exactly how wet I already am. At this rate, he doesn’t even need to prepare me to fuck me, he can slide into me with ease, without even taking off his pants.

Jihoon is tired, sleepy, and so am I, the initial rush of waking up next to him fading away quickly as the early morning catches up to the both of us. There’s nothing rushed about the way he’s pushing in and out of me right now; it’s a slow embrace, something that I can hold on to for the rest of my day. Jihoon’s back is wide enough that I can’t really wrap my arms around him, and his mouth is slow against mine, insistent but not really pushing. It’s all Jihoon, and my brain is slowly going into overdrive because of how close he is.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Jihoon asks, after we’re both finished, lying in a haze of our own happiness, oblivious to the world around us, “if I haven’t, consider it an oversight I wish to rectify. As much time as it takes.”

“Are you—proposing to me right now?” I ask.

“Well, it’s not really a proposal yet, but I am going to. And it’s going to be with flowers and a grand gesture that you really can’t turn down.”

“Never took you for a romanticist, Lee Jihoon.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of dating me.”

—

Mr Hong is an impressive writer, which is perhaps why I have always been a little jealous of him and his work. It’s also not at all strange as to why he only agrees to interviews with me, given his prickly demeanour, which has not really improved in the years that I have managed to work with him.

But even with all my misgivings, work is work, and I make my way to the office to pick up my files for the interview, and Seungkwan offers me a warm latte, insisting that I should carry it into the interview. The drink is still warm in my hands, and I stare at him. he just shrugs, “what, you should take it to him, it’ll look nice if we bring him something to drink in an interview.”

“Seungkwan,” I say, trying my best not to laugh, “have you read all of Mr Hong’s interviews with me?”

“Yes, I have, why?”

“Then you should also know that he only drinks tea from a specific tea garden in India, right?”

Seungkwan stares back. “He’s that much of a tea snob?”

“He earns ten billion per year in book sales, he can afford to be a tea snob. He imports the tea himself. He doesn’t drink coffee, and he would also hate it if I offered him a drink. It makes him feel like he’s not being a good host to me.”

“She’s like a criminal profiler when it comes to him,” the Editor hands Seungkwan a file, “managed to get all this information from the one single television segment filmed at his house.”

“Kind of forced to, since there was no prior information on him,” I mutter, but Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and he grabs my hands, eyes shining, “what the hell are you doing? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“You’re so cool, sunbae,” Seungkwan says, almost giggling from his excitement, “can’t believe you exist.”

“Seems like her boyfriend cannot believe she exists either,” The Assistant Editor sets down a cup of coffee at my desk, “cute guy. Handed me the coffee and said I should give it to the Associate Editor.”

“Jihoon said that?” I ask, picking up the warm cup. It’s an iced café mocha, sugary enough for Seungkwan to cringe when he takes a taste of it. “Jihoon doesn’t really refer to me by my title.”

“He always does with us, though,” Seungkwan says, “in fact, he’s been quite besotted with you since your university days.”

“University? It took them that long?” Haewon tuts, “really, sunbae, you should have just gotten together by now.”

“He should be doing that more, if you ask me,” the Assistant Editor smiles, “how does it feel to be the author of one of the most popular columns in the newspaper? There are a couple thousand hits on it every day, and that’s me being conservative with the estimate.”

“They love that column,” the Editor pipes up, “we sure are a depressed country.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve just been giving a voice to the most depraved of our society,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder in what feels like a fourth time this morning, “Seungkwan, are you coming along?”

“Yes!”

Writer Hong’s house is in the same neighbourhood as Jeonghan’s, but he has been living in it since the 90’s and to my knowledge, there has not been a violent murder to reduce the price of the house. Not that he would complain about it, given his obsession with true crime and the lurid crime novels he had written in the 80’s under a pseudonym that I had dug out for him to agree for an interview; because while the television segment did help, it was nothing compared to the immovable force of Writer Hong’s refusal to be in the spotlight. Which is why I had to yell out one of the names of his books (written in the 80’s) before he could disconnect the call. It was the first month I had been working at the news desk, and I was different. Hungrier. For recognition, or for someone to tell me that leaving my comparatively cushy, but dead-end job at a fashion magazine to pursue a career in journalism (good journalism), but journalism that does not pay the bills, was a bad idea. It was my first scoop, and I still remember being congratulated around the office like I had conquered a country. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, something a young writer had accomplished against the better judgement of all the adults involved.

But then Writer Hong had gone and taken a shine to me. I like the way you conduct interviews, he had said, very short. Not like those other blithering idiots who only go on and on about how great my work is.

Which brings me and Seungkwan to this morning, standing outside his mansion—it’s a mansion, a house the two of us can only dream of buying one day—in the cold winter air, Seungkwan nervously clutching the file he’s kept holding on to ever since we left the office building.

I ring the doorbell, and Seungkwan whimpers. Whimpers. I give him a sharp look, and he manages to compose himself just in time for Writer Hong to open the door, grumpy and ruffled, but he opens the door and lets us in, and soon enough, we are sitting in the middle of a tastefully done room, waiting for him to serve us with expensive Darjeeling tea. Seungkwan’s foot vibrates at an almost supersonic speed.

“So,” he says without much of a preamble, entering the room holding a teakwood tray, “I should call you Writer now, instead of Associate Editor.”

Its difficult to stop the blush that spreads across my cheeks, and even Seungkwan lightens up at that statement. Writer Hong had always been someone who valued propriety and how to address someone properly above all else, a relic of the old age, even if he had hated it in his youth.

“I’m still Associate Editor to you, sir,” I reply, holding the porcelain teacup carefully, “the writing is just a column.”

“And one of the better columns I’ve read in the last few years,” he grumbles, “my wife made me read it, you know. And I thought it was nice. Better than what that hack Kim Hong-Sik has been getting up to in these past few days.”

“Did not think a column on unachieved dreams would be exciting to you, sir,” I say, with a small smile, and he guffaws.

“You should start writing properly, then,” he says, “if you think your column is not deserving of praise, going against the word of me, arguably the best writer Korea has seen in the past few decades.”

“That’s going a bit overboard, don’t you think, sir?” I say, and Seungkwan gasps, but Writer Hong just laughs ad laughs, “I mean, Han Kang exists.”

“Best Male author, then.”

The rest of the interview goes smoothly, and he even warms up to Seungkwan considerably, although he calls his way of peeling oranges ‘disgraceful to the flavour of an orange’. Its good, and it makes me feel accomplished, at noon, and before we leave, he even relents to take a picture with me, amidst his impressive collection of Korean art.

“That went very well,” Seungkwan says, as we flag down a taxi, “didn’t know he could be like that. He’s usually so—reserved. And grumpy. In all the award shows.”

“He’s big on privacy, but fame really got to that.”

“Privacy?”

“There was once a story about his daughter, who passed away before she turned a year old. He and his wife hated that article so much he stopped giving interviews.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I say, closing my eyes, and Seungkwan falls silent. He was probably too young to have read that article—hell, I was too young to have read that article, but its easy, to wield this destructive power if you have it, especially without any regard for how the other party might feel about it; most people in my line of work get drunk on it, ruining lives just for the sake of ruining them.

We pick up lunch at a corner store, and walk into the office building in silence. Seungkwan has been looking up old articles, and he’s upset, clearly, given how his mouth settles into a frown, one that doesn’t go away even after Haewon presents us with doughnuts from the cafeteria, a present, she says, from the Editor-in-Chief.

“They’re waiting for you in the Meeting room,” she tells me, and I frown, because why the hell would they be there?

“Ah, there’s the Associate Editor!” the Editor booms, his head poking out of the meeting room door, “come have a chat with us.”

Its normal, jovial even, but I approach the room cautiously, only to be greeted with wide smiles from the two men.

“There’s a book deal for you.” The Editor-in-Chief, a man of blessedly few words, says, as soon as I enter, “they like the column, and they want to publish it.”

“Of course, the legal team is going to establish your fees and how much of it should be going to the company—” they drone on, but all the words and thoughts have flow out of my head because holy shit I have a book deal now. Writer Hong’s words from this morning come to mind, and I smile and nod through the entire meeting, assuring them that while the company’s lawyers are sufficient, I should like to talk to my own lawyers about this, and that everything is okay, I would really like to go over the terms and conditions of the contract before signing it, and yes, I was reviewing it positively. While they hate that a column is possibly going out of circulation, they can’t help but think about all the extra money this is going to be bringing in, the extra money and the popularity, being known as the company that fostered a young author’s work. It’s a win-win deal, one that I would be stupid to turn down.

I leave the meeting room and call Jihoon, my hands shaking, and he picks up within three rings, his voice soothing and calm like it always is, “hello?”

“I’m going to be a writer,” I say, no other explanation or long-winded preamble, and Jihoon understands, “can you come pick me up from work?”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

I stand up, straighten my pants, and leave the bathroom, marching straight up to the editor’s desk, “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“The rest of the day?” he sputters, “wait, what about the interview?”

Seungkwan pops up his head, “I can write that. It’s just compiling all that was said.”

“I’ll check it, and Seungkwan needs to take point on a project,” I say, “besides, if you want me to focus on the column full-time, then someone needs to interview Writer Hong instead of me, right?”

“Still, you shouldn’t be leaving in the middle of the day,” he protests weakly, and the Assistant Editor smacks him with a pamphlet, “what was that for?”

“Clearly, she has someone waiting to pick her up, you buffoon,” she groans, “when will you understand? Just because your love life is barren, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same as you.”

Seungkwan winces, “wait, are you going home with Jihoon-hyung right now?”

I roll my eyes, “would you prefer to have the sordid details?”

“No, thank you.”

A peal of laughter follows me as I walk out of the office, and then the elevator and then Jihoon is standing in the lobby, flushed and wonderful, his nose red in the snow and biting wind. Because I’m a sane woman who is not given to theatrics, I merely walk up to him and tuck my arm into his, moving past the sliding doors onto the street. He’s wearing slippers, I notice, he must have come here straight from the studio.

“Very different from the feral woman who attacked me last night, I see,” Jihoon murmurs, strapping me into the seat of his car and kissing me for a tad bit (okay, thirty seconds) longer than what can be termed as an appropriate hello kiss.

“I was not that feral.”

“I have to wear a turtleneck for a week!” he exclaims, pulling down his shirt to show the extent of the damage, and I look away, embarrassed, “no! you don’t get to look away from me!”

“I like you in turtlenecks.”

That pleases him, and he smiles , “then I’ll wear them throughout the year.”

“Jihoon, you’ll suffocate.”

“I’ll have you.” He grins, “so, celebration?”

“I want to laze away today. Take a nap. Order shitty food.”

“I’m assuming there’s coitus involved. And not to mention, you dragged me out of work today.”

I wrinkle my nose, “do not say that word ever again, or else I’m kicking you out of my bed. And besides, what’s the point in being a famous producer if they don’t let you get home to your fiancée now and then?”

“What, coitus?”

“You’re no longer allowed into my bed,” I mutter darkly, and he just laughs.

The apartment building is mostly quiet this time of the day, but we pass a fair few old people who give us strange looks for coming back so early from work. Given that there have been multiple witnesses to me coming back at one in the morning, tired from overtime, and Jihoon walking into the elevator when the old ladies have finished their morning stroll, dark shadows under his eyes so pronounced he had to sleep for a week to get rid of them.

Jihoon presses the code to his home, and the two of us walk into the hallway, closing the door behind us to avoid the cold draught from chilling us to the bone.

“What should we get/” Jihoon toes off his slippers, scrolling absent-minded through his phone, “there’s a shop that delivers samgyetang, and I thought we could get some delivered, since you’ve been coming down with that cold for the past few days.”

“I’d like that,” I shake off my own shoes, sensible boots compared to Jihoon’s slippers, and kiss him again, for no other reason that I can and I will. He smiles against my mouth, “order me a whole chicken, Jihoon-ssi.”

“Two whole chickens,” he amends, “we can have the soup throughout the week. Shower?”

It is an innocuous enough question, but the way Jihoon’s eyes flash makes something shift inside of me, and I find myself returning his little smirk, peeling off the heavy coat, “you know there’s a water shortage.”

“Hmm. Its very bad. We should be conserving all the water we can.”

Jihoon pulls me close to kiss me again, and I laugh, leading him towards the shower.

—

My hometown is a quiet town. Sleepy, with neighbours that know everything about everyone. I used to hate them when I was younger, hated the way they always compared me to my sister, told me I had to be better in order for me to meet my parents’ expectations, as if nothing I did was good enough when compared to her. Nowadays, it’s a welcome distraction; reminding me of the fact that nothing in my town really changes, or will ever change. Not for the better, nor for the worse.

“Oh, are you here for the wedding?” the old man at the fruit shop says, as Jihoon and I walk out of the car, Jihoon yawning behind a closed fist, having slept half the way while I drove, “wait, you’re Yong-Hwa’s sister-in-law!”

“Yes, we’re here for the wedding,” I reply, as Jihoon shakes the falling cherry blossoms out of his hair, “just wanted to pick some fruits to take back to the house.”

That get’s his attention, and he spends an entire half-hour detailing to us every fruit he had at the store, and how good they would taste in season. In the end, we buy a box of strawberries, ones that he assures me are going to ‘taste like heaven’, and Jihoon is taking the driver’s seat for once, and we are speeding towards the house where I have spent my childhood and adolescence.

“Hasn’t been that long since I visited this place.” Jihoon says, turning a corner so that my home is visible, “this feels different somehow.”

“Yes, well, we weren’t together when you visited my mom. And its only a reminder of how much she wants me to visit, and I keep avoiding her requests.”

“But you’re here for the wedding.” He says, and I turn to look at him. Jihoon looks resolute, his mouth set in a line I haven’t seen for a long time, the light casting deep shadows on his face. My eyes move to the smooth gold band on his ring finger, its identical twin gleaming on my hand. He’s nervous, navigating this journey from being my friend to being my intended, meeting the family all over again, essentially.

There are flowers all over the house, bursting into bloom for my sister’s wedding, and I think to myself, this is how it usually is, huh. It’s a surprise that the usual dread that settles into me at the thought of getting married has been replaced with a pleasant anticipation, looking forward to navigating a lifetime with Jihoon.

“You’re here!” my mother shouts as we get down from the car, “they’re here!” she yells to someone inside the house, and soon enough, my father ambles out, looking every bit the disgruntles, emotionless father I had grown up with, looking at his youngest daughter and her partner. My mother envelops me into a crushing hug, but its my father’s gaze that I cannot return, because to this day I cannot live up to the ideal that he had had constructed for me.

My mother doesn’t notice the rings on our fingers, or even if she does, she doesn’t say anything, and we just haul the suitcases up into the house, where Jihoon has the guest bedroom, and I have my old childhood one. Settled in, I leave Jihoon to his devices, answering calls from the company about the new album, and walk down to the kitchen to help my mother with dinner.

“Is everything all right with Jihoon?” she asks, cutting carrots into tiny little pieces, “are you two finally together?”

I say nothing, just pour myself a glass of tea, “didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, the couple rings were too nice to not notice, actually,” she laughs, “its good. You two suit each other very much.”

“Now you’re saying that to take the piss,” I grumble, “you’ve never once approved of the people I’ve dated, whether I dated them or not.”

“That’s because you dated them to stop your mind from crashing and burning,” my mother says, gentle as ever, putting the ingredients for soup into a big pot, “you’ve always been headstrong that way.”

“As opposed to my sister?”

My mother sighs, a sign of a battle she’s already lost against herself, “I’m sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I wave my hand. It matters so much. “I was the problem child, I guess. Every family needs one.”

“You were not a problem child,” my mother says, “you were just out of our reach, at times. and when we finally thought we understood you, you ran away and concealed yourself from us.”

“That’s what I was taught.”

“And I should have taught you differently.”

“Never mind, mother,” I give her a quick smile, “you’ll be watching your daughter get married, and in a few years, you’ll be a grandmother, and that will give you enough happiness to tide you over for the next ten years.”

“I think about you too, you know.”

“Congratulations on that, mother.” I reply, walking out of the kitchen.

Jihoon is sitting on the bed when I open the door, hands clutched around a cup, “I wish we hadn’t come back.”

He raises an eyebrow, “this is your home.”

“I know, its just—there’s no one here that knows me, and even if they do, its only by association, as the sister, and my parents are all on eggshells around me, because I blew up in their faces about my childhood, and how much I hated being here, and its never going to stop, is it, I’m going to be this way, this festering, annoying, difficult, person, and I’ll never really be normal ever again—”

Jihoon wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug that’s at once reassuring and scandalous, “you’ll be fine. Your family are, well, they’re sorry, and they’re on eggshells because they don’t know how to approach you anymore. It happens. You can leave to Seoul and have your career, but they’re going to stay on in this town, and be reminded of the fact that maybe they didn’t do enough. Let them hover. It’ll put them at ease.”

“Fine.” I grumble, “I just came back because I love my sister. And Yong-Hwa. He needs to have a chance to run away before he hitches himself to her.”

Jihoon laughs, “would you say the same thing for me?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

He unwraps his arms from around me, fishing in his pocket, “wait, I forgot the ring at home.”

I gape, “you were going to propose to me?”

“Yes, but now that I forgot the ring, there’s going to be no proposal.” Jihoon grumbles, “stupid.”

“That’s fine, it would have been inappropriate for us to take away my sister’s spotlight,” I grin, pulling him back into a hug, “I accept, nonetheless.”

“Really?”

“I do expect a proper proposal back in Seoul.”

“As you wish, always.”

—

Jihoon proposes with a car full of balloons, and he enlists the help of the other guys to make the proposal truly memorable, a phrase that I’m rapidly beginning to attribute to him. its gorgeous, and everything I had never imagined when it came to a proposal. The wedding, however, is much my style, the two of us traipsing down to the courthouse to submit a form and being declared married by the clerk, who tells us darkly that there’s a divorce counter just in the next room. Jihoon laughs, and I laugh, before walking out of the courthouse to meet our friends (and family) for dinner.

It’s a new life.

—

To LJH,

For being my friend.

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bokutosbabe · 1 day ago

Note

hii <3 my top song was i miss u, im sorry by gracie abrams

NOW THIS IS A SONG I CAN WRITE ABT FOR HOURS

if your top song was i miss you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams, i'd pair you with...

oliver aiku

જ⁀♡⊹｡° nothing happened in the way i wanted

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event - masterlist - ** THIS EVENT IS NOW CLOSED **

♡ content — oliver aiku x gn! reader, gn! reader, established relationship, late night call, oliver misses reader BAD, mentions of alcohol

♡ synopsis — oliver aiku's been haunted by your ghost since you broke up with him, little does he know, you've also been plagued by memories of him

The apartment hasn’t changed much since you left.

It’s been months—maybe a year, he doesn’t really keep track anymore. The days blend together like the city lights outside his window, faint glimmers in the haze of a life lived too fast. But he can still feel you here, like you never really left.

Every corner of the place holds a piece of you. The couch still smells faintly like your shampoo. There’s a chip in the kitchen counter from that night you got too animated with a wine bottle, laughing so hard he almost forgot to stop you before you knocked it over. The bedroom—the one he hasn’t slept in since—is worse. It’s a mausoleum of all the things he lost, haunted by the warmth that used to fill it.

Oliver leans against the doorway, staring at the unmade bed. You hated when he left it a mess, and yet here it is, sheets tangled and pillows scattered like he’s still waiting for you to come back and fix it.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. How did he let it get this bad? How did he get this bad?

The answer comes like it always does: because he’s Oliver Aiku. The man who ruins good things. The man who knew how to charm you into his life but not how to keep you there.

He sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. The memories hit harder in the silence. The fights—god, the fights—play out like a movie reel he can’t turn off. Your voice, raised in frustration, asking him why he always had to pull away. Him, deflecting with a cocky grin or a dismissive comment, too scared to admit that you mattered more than he could handle.

“I miss fighting in your old apartment,” you’d said once, after one of those rare, quiet nights together. It was a joke, your way of saying you hated arguing but loved him too much to walk away. He didn’t realize then how close you were to the edge, how much it took for you to stay when he gave so little in return.

And now he misses it too. Misses you.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. For a second, his heart leaps—it’s a reflex, stupid and desperate—but of course it’s not you. It’s never you. He hasn’t heard your voice since the day you walked out, your face a mix of heartbreak and determination as you said, “I can’t keep waiting for you to grow up, Oliver.”

He still doesn’t know if he’s grown up.

The phone buzzes again. A text from a friend, probably asking him to hit the club. The thought makes him nauseous. He used to love the chaos, the noise, the way it drowned out everything real. Now it just feels hollow.

He picks up the phone, hesitates, and sets it back down.

You’re gone, but you’re still here—in the chipped counters, the unmade bed, the faint traces of your laugh that echo when he least expects it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever let you go, or if he even wants to.

Oliver stands, his silhouette framed by the city lights. The night is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below. He runs a hand through his hair, his chest heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved.

The phone buzzes again, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your name.

It’s been months. Long enough that he’d convinced himself you hated him. Long enough that he’d tried to hate you, too—but failed miserably.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His thumb swipes across the screen, and he presses the phone to his ear, unsure if he even remembers how to breathe. “Hello?”

For a second, there’s only silence. Then, he hears your breath on the other end of the line, shaky and uneven. “Oliver.”

Just your voice—soft, hesitant, laced with something he can’t quite place—is enough to unravel him. His jaw tightens, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. “It’s late,” he says, his voice low and careful, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.

“I know,” you whisper, and he can hear the faint hum of music in the background, the kind you used to play when the nights got too heavy. “I just... I don’t know why I called.”

He closes his eyes, leaning against the cold glass of the window. “Are you okay?”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, more like a sigh than anything else. “Do you really care?”

The question slices through him, sharp and cruel, even though he knows you don’t mean it that way. Of course he cares. He’s cared every single day since you left. But before he can find the words to say it, you’re speaking again, your voice cracking just slightly.

“I thought... I thought I’d hate you by now,” you admit, and he can picture you, curled up on your couch, staring at the phone like it’s something you wish you didn’t have to hold. “But I don’t. And that makes it worse.”

His breath hitches. He wants to say something, anything, but the words stick in his throat.

“I shouldn’t have called,” you say suddenly, a little sharper now, like you’re trying to pull yourself back together. “Just—forget it, okay?”

“No,” he says quickly, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. “Wait.”

The silence stretches, heavy and fragile, and he’s afraid you’ll hang up before he can figure out what to say. But then, softly, barely loud enough for him to hear, you whisper: “I miss you.”

His chest tightens, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you add before he can respond, your voice trembling but resolute.

The line goes dead, and he’s left staring at the phone, your words echoing in his mind.

He sets it down gently, his hands shaking. For a long time, he just stands there, staring at the city lights that blur and smear through his tears. He doesn’t leave the apartment that night. Instead, he sits in the dark, letting the memories wash over him like a tide he’s too tired to fight.

And for the first time in his life, Oliver Aiku doesn’t try to run from the things he’s lost.

i would fold immediately for him, but yk i made reader stronger than i ever will be

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #aiku x reader #oliver x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock #airy answers asks :)#airy writes for blue lock

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intimidating-fettuccine · 2 days ago

Note

Slenderman with a creative writing s/o who leaves little drabbles for him. Very dramatic ones. When they're upset they write about the world ending, when they're happy they write a lot of fluffy nonsense... Better when they're in a gossiping mood they'll write about the drama and make him guess who it's about before telling him the real deal. Just something cute where they'll even leave little notes around for him to find, including slipping some into his work when he's too busy to see them 🙏🙏

He loves it. This man fully adores you so much, and this truly just really adds to that on so many levels. Slender has always been a reader, so even if your stories could be incredibly short, or unusually long, he's always looking forward to finding the next one to read. He can't always be by your side due to the mountains of work he has to do on a regular basis, so it brings him very great joy to know you have a hobby you can keep up with, especially when it allows you to express yourself and vent your emotions in such a healthy way. I will say though, he did NOT get it at first, that you were leaving them specifically for him.

No, this poor man, he thought you were forgetting or losing your pieces of writing, and so he was just collecting and storing them for a little bit whenever he found them, before handing them back to you. "My dearest, it seems you've been improperly storing your writing. I have found them and cared for them for you, and so I'd like to return them to you." Cut to you standing there in confusion, an amused smile spreading on your face, before explaining to him that you had been leaving them out for him, and were wondering why he never mentioned his thoughts on them to you. He's a little flustered by the understanding, but then he proceeds to excitedly sit down and read through every single one, giving you his thoughts on all of them to make up for lost time. Following that moment, he starts collecting them again when he finds them, but he keeps them for himself (including the originals he tried to return to you), and he stores them in a folder so he can always look back on them and read them again. It really warms his heart, having a way to remember you and think of you when you're apart, and he fondly looks forward to the next ones. He does think it's a little silly where you end up hiding them sometimes.

He goes to make his morning coffee before the sun has even risen, and he finds a neatly folded story in his favorite mug. He goes to get dressed some mornings and finds them tucked away in shirt, jacket, or pants pockets, crinkling as he moves, chuckles leaving him as he already knows what they are before he removes them from his pockets. He adores everything you write, but he does also check in with you regularly depending on the contents. If he finds a particularly dark, depressing one on your sadder days he's quick to set aside his work and check in on you, visiting you and making sure you're alright, always reminding you that you can rely on him for everything. He cares so much for you, and he's learned to pick out little things in your writing that, even if not obvious to those who wouldn't know you as well, point to how you're feeling when writing. Although, much as he is loathe to admit it, he does love your gossipy ones. Especially when he's been having a rough day at work, and after signing another document he moves it to the side to find a piece of paper on it with a particularly juicy story scrawled across it. He's always down for tea, and you provide it so willingly for him, even if he'll never admit to being a gossiper. He also loves finding soft, fluffy stories the same way, though. If you notice he's the one having a rough time, leaving him little loving stories, filled with how much you love him, or reminding him of your favorite memories with him, slipped between his papers for the day. It does a lot to boost his mental health, and he appreciates it more than he can express. Eventually, he'll take after you, in turn leaving you his own stories and little notes hidden around for you to find. You'll both sit side by side with a warm drink at the end of the day, discussing your thoughts about the writings (and gossiping excitedly), and it makes him so unbelievably joyous to be able to have a lover who he can bond with like this.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #slenderman #slenderman headcanons #slenderman headcanon #slenderman x reader

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gazsluckyhat · 2 days ago

Text

The Set Up

Thank you @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for encouraging me to write this idea out. This was not how I originally thought it'd go. At all.

TW: dubious consent, sex acts, the works

Kylie didn't need a alpha. She was just fine without one.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Kylie was on her fourth book of the month. She'd stayed up late to finish the third last night. She didn't sleep much anyway. She was four chapters in, her tea perched in her hand when she smelt it. Alpha. She sat up a little taller, took her hair clip out of here hair so it covered her scent gland. Focusing on the ducks swimming in the pond she listened for a sign of someone. She'd picked this spot because no one came this way. It was quiet and calm. She didn't have to worry about the alpha's trying to court her or the screaming children. Whoever it was, was getting closer, the smell of timber and musk floating it's way into her nose. There were two scents, but she didn't feel like untangling them. Alphas were Alphas and she was not in the mood today. A migraine was crawling it's way up her neck.

"Hi." Kylie didn't wanna look up, the sun was bright today. But she was not rude. Two men. One was sun kissed, the other slightly darker. They were both bulky, clearly spent a lot of time outside. They were the same height, which towered over her.

"Hello." They were grinning ear to ear, like they'd just found hidden treasure. The one with the mohawk sat to her left while the other one chose her right. Both threw their arms across the back of the bench. Men and their audacity. "Can I help you boys?" The book closed in her hand, she took a sip of the tea.

"I'm Kyle, this is Johnny. We noticed you and had to stop and say how beautiful you look." Kyle smelt of verbena and lemongrass. Johnny was timber and musk. Both intoxicating. Both strong. The scent sent her head into a spin.

"Thank you, but I am in fact not interested." She hoped they could catch the hint. Johnny lent closer and took a deep breath in. He was pressing his face agaisnt her hair and the scent gland there.

"You're not mated, can't smell anything but you Bonnie." Kylie gave a firm push. This was out of hand. Forcing herself up she shoved the book into her bag and faced them.

"That is none of your business. In fact this is on the verge of sexual harassment." Kylie wasn't some tiny little omega who'd roll over for them. "Now if you don't mind, I'm leaving." Turning she stomped away. Not knowing that instead of deterring them away she'd given them a bone to chew on.

Done. Completely done. The pond had been abandoned, Alphas had invaded her safe space. Kylie had tried a coffeeshop. Sat in the farthest corner with airpods shoved in. A hours of nice and calm with a huge tea. Until the smell hit her. She didn't even have to look up to know who had slid into the seats before her. The next day she'd chosen the library. Two huge alphaholes would never been set foot in there. Until they did. Both smiling and fucking off. So done didn't even qualify to describe how she felt. She wasn't dumb though. She knew military when she saw it. She'd done her own research and happily found who their commanding officer was.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Candance was the omega everyone wanted. All pretty smiles and soft curves. "What about the police?"

"I'll be fine Candy. I'd rather not talk to the cops." The parking lot was slammed. Meaning everyone was on base. "I have to hop off. I'll let you know how it goes okay?" With a sigh Candy hangs up, Kylie shut the car off and puts her phone into her pocket. Getting in was gonna be the hard part. There were two soldiers stationed at the guard house. Forcing her face into a stern look she stopped in front of them men.

"Can we help you?" Kylie nodded.

"I need to speak with Captain John Price. It's about two of his sergeants." Kylie straitened her back. Men assumed she'd roll over and play dumb, but not her.

"Yeah? You another one of their little playthings?"

"Hah! Did they dump you and now you're all upset? Gonna cry to their daddy?" Red colored her face. A whore? They assumed she was a simple whore?

"I would never-" Their faces dropped as a shadow was thrown over her from behind.

"Don't think daddy would like to hear you talkin' 'bout the girl like that." Turning around Kylie was met with a black hoodie, she had to tilt her head all the way back before making eye contact. Brown eyes surrounded by a black mask. Her stomach dropped. Fear enveloping her bones.

"Sir! I'm so-" The man just nodded his head.

"C'mon, dove." He started to walk in front, before stopping and turning to see if she was following. "Don't stand there. Daddy wants a word."

Everyone watched as they walked across base. The tiny little thing following behind the big hulking soldier. Kylie was terrified. She'd had a whole plan but at the sight of, whoever, she'd forgotten it. Her hands were clammy and she couldn't think stright. He'd smelt like salt and orange. Her omega was going crazy. Three Alpha's who seemed to know her already so close? She was basically dripping. Coming across a door the man stopped to open it for her. As she went to walk through he stopped her, ducking his head to scent her.

"Boys were right." Coulda swore he said but he was already moving to allow her in. It was a housing area. Barracks, she assumed. The man was right behind her, he'd set a hand on her shoulder to guide her. She needed to get out. Couldn't help but feel like a trap. "Here we are." The door was cracked, a low light shining from inside.

"Captain, girl's here." Kylie was gonna throw up. Her nerves were rattled. Stepping in she smelt cigar smoke, and pine. At this point her omega was clawing it's way to the forefront of her mind. Basic needs begging to be fulfilled. Sat behind the desk was a middle aged man. He had a cigar balanced between two pink lips. Facial hair dotted his jaw to his ears. He was smiling at her. She couldn't help but feeling like a naughty child being brought to the principal.

"You must be the pretty little omega my boys have been telling me about?" Her cheeks darkened again, fear crawling up her spine. "What's your name, darling?" She was frozen in place, couldn't move let alone remember her name. He stood up and walked around the desk to tower over her.

"The guards were giving her a rough time. Scared the poor thing." A hand was rubbing her hair. Like a mother to a scared child. The Captain used two fingers to tilt her head even further back.

"Poor thing. Did they scare you Lovie?" He knelt down to her level. They were mocking her. Shame filled her head. Anger following right behind it. Shoving his hand away and stepping from the other man Kylie puffed her chest up.

"Get off of me. Neither one of you have permission to touch me. I've come here to file a complaint about your two sergeants, but maybe I should go higher up." Before she could step out she was pressed agaisnt the wall, two noses tucked right into her neck.

"Told ya' cap. She so pretty." Johnny.

"Smells like honey." Kyle. I'm were a goner. Her brain was melting from the heat on her skin.

"You boys did good. Getting us a pretty little omega to play with." She could see the captain watching from beside the tall one. They watched as Kyle and Johnny kissed and sucked on her neck.

"Please. I want to go ho-mmm" Pressure was forming along her pelvis, leading down between her legs. Her omega was whining.

"That's a good girl. Sound so pretty." Kylie couldn't think stright. Not with the continuing pressure and the added kisses to her neck.

"Now boy's, let Simon have a turn." With horror, Kylie watched as the boys parted to allow the giant of a man between her legs. Everything about him was large. Hands took up the width of her back, his hips pressed down into her to keep her still. He pulled her hair back into a fist to get a big whiff of her scent. The growl from the back of his throat sent heat to her core. Her omega wanted this, whatever this was. Kylie tried to pry him off her, tried to grasp the last of her coherent thoughts that told her to leave but it was no use. She was fully pressed agaisnt the way, Simon's hand latched to her flesh as his hot and wet tongue made a track across her cheek. What she thought was a whimper turned out to be a loud moan. It was like her senses had been turned up to ten. She was burning up. Simon was a thousand degrees and it was stifling. His mask was ripped off leaving behind a scarily handsome face marked by scars. He nipped at her jaw, forcing two fingers into her mouth.

"Neem 'em nice and wet dove, think you can do that?" Kylie moaned around them. Just like the rest of him they were huge and thick. She didn't need him to tell her what he planned on doing. With a wet noise he pulled them out, replacing them with his own mouth. His kiss was messy. All gnashing teeth and little nips. Kylie didn't have time to argue, he quickly shoved them inside of her, watching as she sobbed into his mouth. He could feel her jump a little, trying to get away from the intrusion.

"We need her nice and soft Simon." The captain was watching, sat behind his desk. She was fully wrapped up in Simon, his fingers working her open. Kylie tried to push him away, it was all too much. But someone was pinning her hands above her head. The Captain. "Now, be a good girl and hold still. We're gonna make you feel good, doll." He was pressing his lips into her neck. Simon was fully sucking her lips into his mouth.

"She's so fuckin' tight Price." The captain grunted in reply. The pain was turning into pleasure. Fast and hot and straight to her core. Her fingers were speeding up, she was close to breaking apart. Mumbling to try and get him off was failing. "She's close. Can feel 'er squeezing my fingers."

"Good girl. Just like that. Cum on Simon's hand." Price was whispering in her ear, licking the shell of it. "Need a bit more? Need daddy to play with your clit?" It was degrading, how he was talking to her. But it made the lava that much hotter. He slipped his hand between her and Simon's bodies. He found her dripping around Simon's hand, her clit engorged begging him to touch her.

"Fuck. She liked that." It was too much. The pressure inside her felt like it was gonna blow, she was gonna pass out. She could feel it. Price kept twisting and stroking and rubbing. Something was tightening inside her, like a string. Kylie was sobbing now. Sobbing from the intense pleasure.

"Look boys. Look at our good little omega. Gonna cum for us already." It snapped. White light seemed to wrap around her as she tightened every muscle she had. Simon continued to finger her, drawling out her orgasm to the last second. "That's enough Si. We still need her conscious." Kylie couldn’t feel a thing, she could hear voices and feel herself being manhandled then something hard agaisnt her back.

"Gentle Johnny, don't break her on the first go." She could feel something nudging between her lips, the ones between her legs. They brushed agaisnt her clit and she whined. It was still too sensitive. Something warm and wet wrapped around one of her nipples and she tried to pull away. "Now, now. C'mon doll. Don't run away."

"Too--much." A hand wrapped around her throat. The thing between her legs began to push into her, stretching her wide. The thing on her breast moved to the other one.

"You're gonna take it Bonnie. Every. Single. Inch." Each word was punctuated by the slam of his hips. The hand pressing harder on her throat causing her to go dizzy.

"Mmm. She so soft." Kyle whined as he bucked into her thigh. "Gonna blow my load watching you fuck her." Johnny laughed, he was repeatedly slamming into her, her head now hanging over the edge.

"Mouth open?" A pause then a grunt before Kyle was placing himself over her head and filling her mouth up. Kylie was completely gone. Her omega purring happily as the guys continued to fuck her stupid. She'd forgotten her reason for coming here in the first place. The intense pleasure was beginning again, but harder. It was happening quicker too. She tried placing her feet on the desk, was choking on Kyle's dick down her throat.

"Don't you dare knot her McTavish." The captain was grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. Kylie moaned around Kyle. Price met her eyes. "That's my job." Kylie's omega was mewling at the sound of that. Stright up begging to be knotted.

"Yes, yes captain." His hips were stuttering. He was gonna finish. With a muffled noise Kylie came, her lips tightened around Kyle, him finishing in her mouth. Johnny quickly pulled out and finished across her stomach. She was wore out. So tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. But they weren't done with her. Hand made their way up her sweaty and redden skin.

"Mmm. Can't." She couldn't properly make words out.

"Simon, hold her up for me." Then she was being lifted and held agaisnt a chest. Lips pressed agaisnt her ear. Simon was breathing loudly, it was hot and heavy on her skin. Her legs were lifted up and bent so her knees touched her shoulders, Simon looped his arms under her knees and locked his fingers. She was trapped agaisnt him. He had her pried open for Price to feast on.

"Look so pretty like this 'mega. Like a dinner, all laid out." His fingers strolled through her folds, her muscles spasming in Simon's hold. John pressed two into her, loving the sound of her whimpers. "I think you have two more in you, Yeah, Simon?" His lips moving agaisnt her ear.

"At least, Capin'." His fingers tightened. John's were removed and instead replaced with his cock. Leaking and thick as he pressed it into her. Loving the way she sucked him in. "Hmm. So hot taking the Captains cock, dove. Gonna fill you up, get you on his knot so you can't run." In the depths of her mind Kylie knew this was wrong. Knew that knotting her without her consent was the bad thing. But her omega was controlling things now. And she wanted nothing more than his knot.

"God doll, you're so fucking tight. Want you to cum arounds me. Want to feel it gushing." Kylie couldn't control the blinding pleasure that was licking it's way across her skin. Crying she shook her head. "Yes, be a good girl and cum for your daddy." Kylie screamed, loud and clear with a sob on the end. Her body went limp in Simon's arms, John continuing to pound into her, his knot catching. With one final and big slam he was locked in. Her body convulsing in their arms, one last orgasm pulled from her. Her eyes falling shut as her body finally shut down.

tags: @miss-vanta-likes-to-write

#call of duty #john price #call of duty smut #call of duty imagine #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #soap #gaz #price #ghost #poly!141 #alpha!141

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fuctacles · 16 hours ago

Text

Dude, That's My Ghost! - the smut

Ayo, the smut part of my gift for @hellfireloserclub is now up on Ao3! Tysm for the great prompts that made it happen :D <3 And thanks @steddieexchange for organizing! I love writing gift fics <3

First piece here, second below, or you can read it in full on Ao3

La Petite Mort

After a week of Eddie making him come before sleep, Steve finally asks:

"What do you get out of it?"

The hairs on his chest move gently with invisible fingers raking and tugging at it.

"...I like watching...well...that sounds bad..."

Steve laughs.

"Yeah, a bit."

"...it feels good...making you feel good...I always liked giving...and now it feels like..."

Steve waits, but when all he gets is quiet static, he frowns.

"Like what?"

".....like I have a body again...for a second...I can feel you against me..."

His eyes widen.

"Oh. I thought it was just my imagination."

"...what?..."

"When I come, it feels like you're here."

They ruminate in silence for quite a while, before the radio starts switching through stations, like Eddie's trying to grasp a thought. His thoughts must be going very far away, considering Steve stops recognizing the language of the stations he's catching.

"...la petite mort... "

Steve raises his eyebrows.

"The orgasm thing? Uh..." He knows Robin had mentioned it to him at some point. "The little death?"

"...oui..."

"Okay, come back to America, please," Steve snorts, and the stations start switching back. He hums in thought. "So it's like I die for a second? And our souls touch?"

"...that sounds... both sweet and disgusting somehow..."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles. "But do you think it's possible?"

"...dude...I summoned...a demon...everything is possible..."

"Fuck, you're right." He falls back against the pillows. "So when I die, will we fuck as souls?"

"...you proposing to me?..."

His next laugh is dry and humorless.

"I lost my soulmate, so might as well."

"...what happened?..." Eddie manages to ask softly despite the jarring sounds of the radio.

"I don't know," Steve shrugs, his mood plummeting. It's been half a year and it doesn't stop hurting, still doesn't make sense. "I met him and our marks just... disappeared."

"...wait!..."

"Dude!" Steve jumps, startled by the sudden peak in volume.

"...sorry, but... I saw your mark?...the little bird..."

"Ah," he smiles, genuinely this time. "It's Robin. I guess I was too greedy wanting two soulmates, right? She's my platonic one, but I was hoping the other would be The One, you know?" he sighs. "Still kind of cruel of the universe to dangle it in front of me and then just... yank it away."

"...what the fuck man..."

"I know."

"...I'd make a rebound joke... but that's just fucked up..."

They don't speak for a while, radio static being the only sound in the room.

"I mean, I still have Robin, and now I have you too," Steve thinks out loud, staring at the crooked ceiling. "I don't have a soulmate, you don't have a body, maybe it was meant to be."

"...you ARE proposing to me!..."

Steve laughs.

"Sure, why not? Wanna seal it with a kiss?"

It's fun, having Eddie around. Maybe the most fun he's had since high school. He doesn't tell Robin, afraid she'd try to psychoanalyze him, but she knows him too well and worries anyway.

"You never go anywhere."

"You stopped hitting on the babes."

"What about your bi awakening?"

So he goes out with her, meets new people and acts his best, thinking all the time how much better it would be in bed with Eddie, with the phantom touch of his hands and mouth. He can't get drunk with him, but maybe they could dance, somehow?

When he gets back, all the air is pushed out of his lungs as he's being pressed against the door.

"What the fuck, man?" he laughs.

"... I am...so bored..."

"Did you read through the books I brought?"

"...twice..."

An invisible mouth is assaulting his neck and he wishes it could leave marks.

"Jesus," Steve breathes out, "The library nerds will think I'm one of them—ah!"

He's suddenly pulled to the floor, his zipper flying open.

"You're that bored you need to suck cock?"

"...I always need... to suck cock...."

"Okay then, have at it."

It's only after he comes, ruining another pair of jeans, that he remembers his trail of thought from earlier.

"Do you want to dance?"

"...what...?"

"You can pick the song. I was at the club with Robin tonight, and I thought..." he trails off, shucking away his jeans and pulling up his boxers. It's quite an unorthodox dancing attire, but he doesn't know what his partner is wearing anyway.

The radio switches to something new. It's still heavy, the way Eddie likes it, but more suitable to embracing each other in a slow dance. A metal ballad. Something presses to Steve's front, grabbing his hips. He sighs.

"This is nice," he says, hands hovering before hopelessly falling at his sides. "I wish I could touch you."

His head is cradled towards an invisible shoulder. He can feel the pressure, but the comfort is barely there, and he wonders if this is all he's going to get until the day he dies.

They dance to a couple of songs before falling into bed, too exhausted for anything else. The presence of another person next to him lulls Steve to sleep.

Almost every day, he brings Eddie new books and newspapers, figuring it would do him good to be up to date with the outside world. Usually, he has nowhere to be, so he enjoys the scraps of companionship when he reads silently, while he pretends to be doing his coursework.

He's watching the pages of the local paper flip in the air, when suddenly, there's a slam on the desk they share.

"...HE...SHAVED...MY HAIR!..."

"Fuck!" Steve slams his knee against the wood. "What happened?!"

The newspaper slaps in front of him, on top of the books he's been half-reading through, and one of the photos dents under an invisible finger.

"...He!...Shaved!...My hair!..."

Corroded Coffin headlining at the Halloween Festival

"...He stole my body!...and my band!!!..."

"Eddie, please stop yelling," Steve winces at his ghost friend's volume. He snatches the paper to get a better look at the small, black-and-white photo.

"...Can't!..."

Eddie keeps trashing in his periphery, all the loose objects around them rattling like there's an earthquake. Steve swats him away, moving closer to the lamplight. He taps the face of one of the men in the photo.

"He kind of looks like that guy from the festival," he muses, turning both his head and the paper like it could make the photo clearer.

"...That's me!..."

"This," Steve points to the front-man with a shaved head and a guitar in his hand. "Is you?"

"...Yes...except...it's the demon!...and he cut my hair!..."

He stares at the photo.

"It was in May. I've talked to a demon. I shook hands with a demon." Then, a dreadful realization hits him. "Eddie," he chokes out. "What was your soul-mark?"

"...nail bat..."

"Oh my god..." He drops the paper and falls heavily back on his chair. "I saw it disappear." Involuntarily, he looks at the empty skin of his forearm.

"...What...was yours?..."

"A swarm of bats," Steve answers, tracing the space with his finger.

"...fucking love bats..."

He laughs.

"...why nail bat...?"

Steve hums. He doesn't like talking about it.

"I fought monsters with it," he gives the short version and Eddie, thankfully, doesn't pry.

"...that's badass..."

"Thanks," he smiles. "We're soulmates," he finally says out loud, then frowns. "Were soulmates?"

"...well...we both still have souls..."

"Right. But do you think he could have... fucked it up somehow? The bond?" Steve worries.

"...I still like you...and have no other marks...do you?..."

"Just Robin and you, apparently."

"...so..."

"So..."

"...soulmates?..."

"Soulmates." Steve smiles genuinely into the ether.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #steddie fanfiction #soulmate au #steddie soulmate au #ghost eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie one shot

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koolades-world · 2 days ago

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for the secret santa with @obeymeholidayexchange, i wrote something for Pen! (you can find them over at twitter and insta at PensAerts :)) i also uploaded it to ao3, which you can find here!

sorry this is after christmas! i intended to have it to you on christmas but i thought i lost everything thanks to an issue with the program i use to write. no clue what happened but basically everything recent just vanished. it eventually fixed itself, but by that point, i'd already restarted so i had two half finished pieces. i decided to combine them and just have it be longer. tried my best to get it to flow! i decided to go with the prompt of purgatory hall members decorate the common room together! really hope you enjoy <3

December First

While the sun never rose in the Devildom, Luke rose out of bed at what was presumably the crack on dawn on the first of December without an alarm. His internal alarm knew that the time had finally come. Without being so silent, he dashed around his room, getting ready for the day. Once he was changed, he flung open the doors to his closet, searching for one box in particular. Usually, he'd ask for help getting it down, but he didn't have time for that today. Not when he had Christmas cheer to spread.

So, he carefully moved the chair from his desk, and placed it near the shelf that held his special Christmas box. He had to stand on his tippy toes, but he was eventually able to reach the box. Luke placed it on his bed, and opened it with glee. He was so excited, that he didn't bother to return the chair to its proper place. The first thing he did was don the cute reindeer headband he'd dug out. He made sure each of the bells attached worked by ringing each one individually. He also tested the lights, and ran through each setting. The second thing he did was gather three more festive headbands for his housemates. If they weren't awake, they would be soon. They had a lot of work to do, after all!

He hurried off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He was in so much of a rush, in fact, that he had forgotten to take off his headband, and almost combed it in his haste. Once he was done there, he scurried down the stairs.

Good, he thought. He was the first one awake. That meant his plan would be much easier to execute. He knew his housemates were much less enthusiastic about decorating for Christmas as soon as December rolled around. He'd actually been ready weeks ago, but Simeon had asked him to refrain. This was one of the few times they openly disagreed. Simeon thought Christmas ought to be just for December, while Luke wanted Christmas to start as soon as Halloween was over.

Luke had always been very enthusiastic about celebrating birthdays. At least a month before someone's birthday rolled around, Luke was already planning exactly how to make their special day perfect. If you took a step back, Christmas was a birthday! So, really, he was just doing as he normally would. It just happened to be the birthday of his boss' son that he didn't personally know, nor would any of the presents or decorations be for him. A little odd, but he tried not to think about that too hard. He just wanted to enjoy the holiday.

The first step of his plan involved making a festive breakfast. How could you be in the true Christmas spirit without a hot chocolate? He dragged his little stool, which Barbatos had bought for him so he could reach the kitchen appliances, over to the stove so he could start preparing an entire pot. He expected all three of his housemates to partake, so he needed enough to share with everyone.

As he was pouring the milk into the pot, he heard a heavy sigh behind him. Luke jumped and slowly spun around with a guilty grin on his face. His headband jingled as he moved, making him feel like a little clown. He was greeted with a very exasperated looking Simeon. "Hello." Luke waved as if he wasn't standing over the stove at about six in the morning in a reindeer headband.

"Good morning, Luke." Simeon smiled knowingly. He didn't ask what Luke had been up to, but they both knew that the other knew what was happening.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" Luke weakly offered.

"Are you already preparing for the holidays?" Simeon already knew what his answer would be.

"Yes…" Luke hung his head, as if he had been caught doing something he knew was wrong.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Instead of giving whatever answer Luke had been expected, Simeon offered his assistance. When Luke's eyes sparkled, he couldn't help but let any stern facade that might have reminded slip away.

"Thank you!" Luke threw his arms around his mentor. With a chuckle, Simeon squeezed him back. "For breakfast, I was thinking confetti pancakes, but with festive sprinkles." Luke reached as far as he could to try and reach a canister of sprinkles that was sitting out on the counter. Simeon grabbed them for him, and read the packaging.

"Extra festive holiday sprinkles?" Simeon questioned.

"Is there something wrong with them?" Luke narrowed his eyes, feeling a little insecure about his choice.

"No, no. They're very adorable. Just what makes them 'extra' festive, though?" Simeon made sure to quickly dispel the younger angel's obvious worries.

"Oh. I'm not really sure." Luke furrowed his eyebrows. The pair bounced ideas off each other as to what made the sprinkles extra festive as they made breakfast. The pancakes turned out well, besides the fact that for whatever reason, the color from the snowflake sprinkles leeched out. Luke said it looked almost like snow had fallen on their breakfast, and Simeon much preferred to look at it that way over mulling over why that had happened.

However, by the time everything was ready, their other two housemates weren't awake yet. The idea of starting to eat without them made him feel guilty. He'd started making the breakfast with the intention of sharing it as a surprise. It was less of a surprise, considering Simeon had helped, but at the very least, it could still be a surprise for the other two.

"Should we go wake them up?" Luke asked. Each plate was set out, and the pancakes were set out on the table.

"Go see if they're awake." Simeon stepped back into the kitchen, waving the younger angel away.

"You don't want to come with me?" Luke gathered his remaining festive headbands. After a little debating, he decided to give the candy cane headband to Simeon. Candy canes were his favorite, after all. Simeon took it from him without a second thought, and put it on.

"I'm certain you and Mc are the only two that can safely interrupt Raphael's beauty rest." Simeon chuckled nervously. "Besides, I know Solomon will ask for bacon. Do you know if we have any?"

Luke wasn't sure if what Simeon was saying was true, but went along with it anyways. "I think we do." After that, Luke ventured off up the stairs in search of their other housemates. To his shock, he ran into Solomon in the hallway as he was exiting the bathroom.

"Good morning, Luke!" He exclaimed. In his arms was a damp towel, and a couple toiletries.

"Good morning! I was looking for you. Simeon and I made breakfast!" Luke looked between the two remaining headbands, and passed Solomon the one that resembled a Christmas tree.

"These are cute. You don't mind that my hair is still wet, do you?" Solomon paused before putting it on.

"I don't." With Luke's affirmation, he snapped the headband on.

"Thank you. I'll be down shortly then. I have to attend to something I was working on first." Solomon seemed eager to escape the conversation in order to get back to his room. Luke was left alone in the hall, wondering what could've been so important that he wouldn't rush to festivities. He could hear the door snap shut.

With a shrug, he continued down the hall the Raphael's room. He'd never been worried about waking him up in the past, but Simeon's aversion to doing so made him rethink his choice.

No, what was he thinking? Raphael needed to know about the festivities he had planned for the day, and he needed to know now. He gently knocked, and waited to hear back. When he heard no response, he knocked harder. "Raphael?" He pushed open the door slightly. He was astonished again to find that he wasn't in his room. His bed was neatly made, meaning that he likely wasn't there anymore.

What could he be doing at this time of day? Maybe he was out training? That seemed the most likely. But, he needed to find him to be sure. He started his search outside, but that turned up nothing. Besides, Luke would've seen him exit the house. Raphael must've stayed inside, then. He peeked into every room in search of him, and followed every noise in hope it would give him any clues. After about ten minutes, Luke felt as if he'd checked everywhere.

Luke sat down in the hallway with a huff. He felt his stomach rumble mid-thought. He wasn't sure where Raphael could've gone, but he needed to figure out fast. Otherwise, his stomach might start eating itself like he heard Solomon mention one time. This thought clouded his mind, but he still wracked his brain for any ideas. As he was doing just that, he heard the ceiling above him creak loudly, and a cloud of dust rained down onto him. Luke let out a loud sneeze, and moved out of the way, just in case it happened again.

The only possible origin of that could've come from the attic. The thought of going into the attic made him shudder. It was so dark and dusty up there, and it felt like something was looming in each dark corner. Behind him, one of the attic doors swung open, and the ladder fell down with a bang. Luke almost jumped out of his skin, and he promptly ducked behind the nearest hall table. He peaked his head from behind the table, observing to see if anything might happen.

There must've been a reason it opened as suddenly as it did. In his waiting with baited breath, he realized he hadn't checked up there yet. There was no reason to, right? The last thing he wanted was to check in the creepiest place known to angels. Who knows what could be up there?

But then he remembered the reason he had been looking in the first place. What if Raphael needed his help? What if something had dragged him up there, and he needed Luke's help? With the stakes in mind, he sucked in a deep breath and started up the ladder.

After he pulled himself up the final rung, he felt consumed by the darkness. "Hello?" He carefully stepped forward, and turned the lights on his headband back on. It wasn't much, but Luke needed all the help he could get. Behind him, he heard the shuffling of boxes. He whirled around, searching for the source of the sound. It was too dark to see exactly where it had come from, though.

"If someone is there, come on out." He bravely squared his shoulders and stood as tall as he could. A terrifying figure came out from behind a large stack of boxes. It was large, and was shaped like a spike. Various other spikes protruded all over. Luke couldn't even begin to imagine what that thing was. The Devildom was full of odd and dangerous creatures, but he'd never seen anything like this one.

He immediately froze. He hadn't expected anything to actually be there, or for his demands to be respected. He silently said his goodbyes to everyone he loved, and braced for whatever was about to happen. He took a step backwards, and nearly tumbled back down to the previous floor. The last thing he expected, however, was for this figure to reach out and snag him by the front of his shirt. He was yanked back up and towards the mystery figure.

"Luke. What are you doing up here?" Raphael asked, dusting him off gently.

"What are YOU doing up here? I thought I was about to die." He let out a deep breath, clutching his chest.

"I'm setting up the Christmas tree." After looking closer, Luke realized the spiky thing he'd been carrying was the pieces of their tree. "I figured you'd want the help, so I got a head start." He tossed the pieces down the opening on the floor, letting them clatter to the ground. The sentiment warmed Luke's heart, despite the fact that he'd given him a heart attack in the process

"I thought you were a monster." Luke admitted shyly. Raphael didn't respond, but Luke knew he was amused. "Oh, right! Simeon and I made breakfast. I was looking for you to tell you." He felt stupid for forgetting the entire point of his mission.

"Let's head down then. The rest of the decoration can wait until after" Raphael descended the ladder. Luke went down after him, and although he made it down safely, Raphael seemed ready to catch him again if needed. In return, Luke helped him carry the parts of the tree down the stairs and together, they staked out a spot to put it. Before they headed back to the dining room, Luke threw his arms around Raphael's middle.

"Thank you." Luke then put the last headband on Raphael's head, which was gingerbread themed, with a little help from Raph himself.

"For what?" After realizing that Luke wasn't going to be letting go, he hugged him back, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"For being in the Christmas spirit, of course! And saving me, too." Luke was grateful for him, and he felt like he didn't say it enough. "In general, too. You're always there for me!" Raphael seemed like he was at a loss for words, and when Luke looked up, he was silently smiling down at him. With one more tight squeeze, Luke let go.

"Breakfast has been getting cold for forever now! Let's go eat so we can put this together." Luke began to tug Raphael back towards the kitchen, where hopefully the others were waiting. Raphael followed without resistance.

Once they finally arrived at the kitchen, it felt like hours had passed. Simeon and Solomon were in the kitchen, like he'd hoped. The distinct, biting smell of coffee filled the air, cutting through every other scent with ease. Simeon was enjoying the homemade hot chocolate, while it seemed as if Solomon had made himself a coffee. When Luke finally came back with Raphael in tow, they could all enjoy breakfast together. Luke recounted the story, mouth half-full of pancake the entire time. He was glad everyone was so receptive to Luke brining Christmas to the Hall as soon as possible.

As soon as he was finished eating (which was at record speed), Luke popped out of his chair, washed his dishes, and moved his legs as fast as they would go to the living room. He and Raphael had decided the tree would look best in the corner of the living room. That way, they could enjoy it every time they sat there as opposed to putting it somewhere like the foyer. He did what he could until someone taller came to help him out. With the help of Solomon, they assembled the tree, and plugged it in. The lights glimmered a pale blue. While Luke liked it, he decided the tree needed much more color.

Again, with Solomon as an assistant, he headed back up to the attic. Together, they dug around before realizing Raphael had already done that for them. All the Christmas related box, labeled or not, had been sorted into a pile in the center of the attic. However, finding the boxes was only half the work. To get it out of the attic, Luke was able to kick back and relax as Solomon used magic to transport them back to the living room. Once they were there, they were able to sort through them. Once they found the garland, tinsel, and ornaments, the fun was able to begin.

Luke decided they'd be putting up extra lights on the tree first. Working as a team, they wound the tree up with lights. The process was repeated with a couple strings of tinsel in different colors, because they couldn't find anything that matched. Since Luke wanted to save the tree topper for last, they then worked to put all the ornaments up. Spacing them out proved hard for Luke and Solomon, while Raphael and Simeon watched on in amusement. It felt like no matter where they tried to put them, there was always something else too close. When Simeon helped upon Luke's insistence, he was able to place them perfectly every time.

Finally, it came time to place the star on top. While magic could be used, Solomon insisted Luke do it. Solomon said it was hard to ignore the grin that appeared on his face every time the star was mentioned. After Raphael placed him on his shoulders, Simeon passed Luke the star. He gently placed it where it belonged.

"How'd I do?" Luke asked as he was placed back onto the ground, barely keeping his excitement from creeping into his voice.

"It looks great. You did a superb job!" Solomon gave him a thumbs up. Raphael nodded in agreement.

"Yay!" Luke did a little jump for joy.

"Do we want to take a short break before we get to decorating the rest of the common room?" Simeon took a seat on the sofa, looking more winded than it seemed like he wanted to admit.

"This is the perfect time to tell you about our plans for the rest of the day!" Luke jumped at the chance to let them in on what he was doing. He'd made it with the intention with doing it alone but, he knew they'd help no matter what. It would be easy for onlookers to tell just how much the elder housemates cared for the younger one. It was clearly one big, happy family.

"We're listening." Solomon took a seat. Simeon looked at Luke like a proud father might at his son during a big moment.

"Before I do, I'd like to thank you guys!" Without further explanation, he caught all three of them in a hug. Solomon and Raphael seemed stunned, but Simeon was quicker to reciprocate. "I love you guys." Luke muttered.

"We love you too, Luke." Simeon was laughing, but Luke knew he meant it.

He'd never thought coming to the Devildom would mean so much love. But, going was easily the best choice Luke had made. He would've never met Beelzebub, Barbatos, Mc, or Solomon, nor would his bond with Simeon or Raphael grown that much tighter. Christmas was a time to spread the love, and he intended to make sure each demon, angel, or human close to him knew, starting with the three most important to him.

"I know it's only December first, but Merry Christmas you guys!"

"Merry Christmas Luke."

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #omswd #obey me solomon #obey me! shall we date?#obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me raphael #oneshot

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rahuratna · 1 day ago

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Court, firstly, let me say just how happy I am that you're finally taking your steps into writing. I just know that whatever you write, your creativity, scientific acumen and storytelling capability will take us on one hell of a journey. I'd love to take that journey with you as your reader.

This is such an explosive and imaginative beginning! The concept of the titular 'hollow angel' is such a fascinating one once you dive into the idea that she essentially is a curse driven by a never-ending emptiness, a literal black hole that requires constant feeding with the pain and loneliness of others. I also LOVE the visual aspect of her metal wings.

Going a little deeper with the wings, the visceral nature of their shape, the way they fuse with skin, their blade-edged surfaces, the fact that they can cause pain to both her and her opponent, is all so immaculately painted. The imagery of them was so vivid I could SMELL them, imagine that metallic taste in my mouth, hear the grating and screeching of their movement and clearly picture the pain they were capable of causing.

I also really appreciate Gojo's link to the past, your description of his thoughts and hers during their final battle. To him, she needs to be crushed completely, like all other curses he's faced, but at the same time, he also recognizes something other about her, something he probably refuses to acknowledge even to himself; that she has a very human way of thinking, expressing herself and feeling. To acknowledge such a thing in a curse would up-end the delicate balance between sorcerers and curses. Their world is a savage one, clearly demarcated, and to blur those lines is to lose your advantage.

There's also something so biting and raw in the way you describe her isolation, almost claustrophobic, but not, sort of like her entire existence is in a rapidly shrinking, mass-gaining sphere, the black hole that forms her technique, but also one that robs of sight, sound, sensation, and she lives like this, alongside the sorrow and pain she absorbs. It's like that ringing in the ears, that chemical taste when you're coming back to consciousness. I can recognise something in this, something familiar stalking me, the reader, in your descriptions, and its powerful.

I can tell, just from this first chapter, how much depth Satoru's character is going to have, how you're also going to explore his thoughts and perspective, and I honestly cannot wait for your take on that.

Bravo, Court. This is both gripping and beautifully conceived. 🧡🧡

hollowed angel

pairing: gojo satoru x reader synopsis: you, a former death angel curse, were exorcised by the hands of gojo satoru. but thousands of years later, you unexpectedly reincarnate into a mortal sorcerer's body. as you navigate your new life with your past executioner, you learn what it means to be both curse and human, and realize that perhaps the line between the two is not as clear as you once thought. tags: angst, fluff, romance, former curse! reader, high school! gojo satoru, canon-typical violence, depression and loneliness, black holes and physics, will update tags as chapters progress word count: 2.4k

masterlist

chapter 1: rebirth

The moonlight illuminated the full expanse of your wings, casting a gleam off their metallic surface. Blades were to be more precise, except they didn’t clang or scratch against each other when you walked. They moved together in one unit, fluid and seamless.

You were draped in a black silk tunic, the hem frayed to shredded ribbons as if caught and torn by your own wings. An opaque, black veil concealed your face, hiding features either too sacred or cursed to be seen. Above you, your halo hung, not golden or heavenly, but a black hole. Its event horizon glowed silver, encircling a pitch black singularity.

A man with matted, dark hair and fatigued lines etched into his face lied before you, half conscious and half buried in pain. A victim, but not in a simple sense. “Victim” implied someone who was in need of saving, and yet there was an agency in his surrender. What did he need saving from? Himself? The burden of his failures, or the world’s? Or perhaps you, a hollow figure of salvation, ready to strip him bare of what little light he clung to.

Stranded in the vast ocean of his problems, he could not conceptualize making it back to shore when there was no clear direction forward. And when the tides finally pulled him under, he hadn't fought the current. Instead, he opened his lungs to the saltwater, letting it fill him until gravity overcame buoyancy, until he was thoroughly poisoned by hopelessness.

But from beneath, he saw it. The silver light of her halo refracting and dispersing everywhere in the water. He saw hope. He saw her.

You knelt beside him. Dark, heavy fog crept in tendrils, not from the thick atmosphere of the forest, but from the body itself. Suffocating shrouds of cursed energy leaked steadily, like rain streaking through a dilapidated roof. A single talon traced the curvature of his forehead, the skin splitting and forming a thin line of blood. A halo of his own. The air around him rippled, cursed energy now seeping heavily from the wound. You drank deeply, drawing his pain into yourself. It was not just sustenance; it was essence. Pain marred so deeply into his soul that it had fused with his being. He had become his scars.

And when you drank his sorrow, you took a part of him that would never return. In his next life, he would be free from that pain, reborn anew, but incomplete. A blessing and a curse. But his pain was neither truly lost or destroyed. It simply transferred mediums, absorbed into your being and wove itself into the fabric of your existence. Every soul you consumed, no matter how disparate their pasts, shared a common thread: isolation. Their isolation became yours and had carved into you until you were no longer whole. You were never meant to be anything more than a hollowed angel, a vessel of pain, feeding but never filled.

The man stirred, a shallow groan escaping his cracked lips. His body convulsed, hacking violently until a single silver feather emerged from the pool of black bile spilling from his mouth. You picked it up and studied it briefly, before sliding it seamlessly into place in your wings. The remnant of a human turned hollow shell. Another piece added to your collection.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

It’s warm. The wordless thought drifted through you, your first in a millennium. Sunlight enveloped your body, coaxing you out of that suspended state of nothingness. Nothingness was not cold or numb; it was absence of being. You had stopped being. Consciousness and sensation vanished for an immeasurable amount of time. Now, the singular warmth that seeped into your nothingness became your everything. There was no struggle to catch it, to hold it close to your chest when being was the only thing you could manage to do.

“She’s here! We found her!” Voices shouted from a distance but didn’t quite reach your newly formed consciousness.

“She’s breathing. Her cursed energy is faint but it’s still there.” Too loud. You curled further into yourself, hoping you could return back to nothingness.

“Gojo was right. The energy’s coming off in circular wave patterns…” Gojo. The name rang like a bell snuffed short. A fleeting thought passed. I’m going to die again, aren’t I? It left as quickly as it came.

“Are you okay?” Now you could hear and think properly, senses returning slowly but surely. You can see me? The words died from your tongue. You stared up at the head looming over you. Bulky glasses didn’t quite fit his narrow, sharp face, but his eyes were earnest and concerned— a look you were unfamiliar with.

You wordlessly let yourself be guided to a… carriage? No, a car, some sort of vehicle you didn’t recognize, but your new body did. Stuffed inside with Glasses and a girl chewing the paper casing of a cigarette, you felt both cramped and overstimulated. You needed space to process the new world, people and technology. Not cages, cars, or anymore voices trying to dig out information that you didn’t have.

Cursed energy, barely there, thrummed faintly, nowhere near the levels of your previous form. It should’ve been only a matter of time before your wings regenerated, but they didn’t. Soon enough, you thought to yourself. Soon enough, you could put the person who tried to reduce you into something weak and powerless into their place. Soon enough, you could summon your halo and become restored—

Except there was no halo.

It had always been connected to you, a branch extended from the trunk of your very being. But now, that connection was severed. Gone. No signal, no pulse, no light. A void in and of itself.

This had to be some sort of mistake. You, a curse, trapped in some helpless, fragile human vessel? It was wrong, wrong, wrong. You didn’t belong in that other frivolous world of non-sorcerers. The whole notion was incompatible, an error of Mother Nature.

A choked gasp left your throat as if you had finally re-emerged from years underwater. Hands clenching and unclenching, you fixated on the crescents caving into your very human flesh. The skin yielded too easily, hot blood rushing to the surface. There were no wings to break free from this prison, no halo to signal your divinity, no powers to bend the world to your will. This was a human body— fragile, mortal, and unbearably real.

Instinct— or was it panic?— finally, finally awakened, bubbling, overflowing, and drowning out any and all thought. Not yet, not again, you barely had a chance to relish the fleeting warmth before it was ripped away from these oh-so-’righteous’ sorcerers. But to you, there was nothing righteous about it. It was terribly, horribly wrong. Hands flew up to the handle, frantically twisting and tugging, but the lock held firm. They trapped you, were going to lock you up, and—

“Sorry, Miss! I locked it so you can’t leave. And it isn’t advisable to jump out of a moving vehicle.”

“I could heal her,” the girl chimed in, her voice light and almost teasing. “But it would be rather inconvenient.” She tilted her head, watching you curiously as if you were a puppy pawing at the latch of its crate.

“Don’t forget that the real reason you came with us was to heal in the scenario that she was actually injured, Shoko.”

‘Shoko’ tapped her chin thoughtfully and nodded her head. “Yeah, you’re right. It was quite concerning that her cursed energy output was very low, even lower than yours.” He flushed bright red and glared while Shoko lazily smiled. You wondered if you were really what they said you were.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

As the car door swung open, sunlight flooded your retinas and made the dull ache in your head throb.

“We can treat that for ya. After we talk to Yaga first,” Shoko offered, holding out her hand.

Your nose scrunched in distaste, a small scowl tugging at your lips. Humans never offered anything without expecting something in return. It didn’t matter if they were sorcerer or non-sorcerer; they were all the same. They take and take, only to give as a means to take more. Nothing was ever free. There were always strings attached, invisible yet tying you to their expectations for repayment.

“Ehhh? Don’t be like that now,” Shoko drawled, yet slightly amused. “Let’s go meet some new people who can help you… though you may not like them very much.”

Before you could protest, her hand clasped yours, and she pulled you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath you. But Shoko steadied you, her grip firm and supportive.

She walked you through the gates, her arm linked through yours so you wouldn’t fall. Someone was waiting, had been expecting your arrival.

“Huh. So you’re the little shit that blipped onto my radar.” Your head jerked backwards, the voice all too familiar. Bells rang, distance couldn’t snuff them out. Harsh sounds, memories, and feelings reverberated, stirring something deep inside you, a visceral urge to detonate. Black fumed the edges of your vision. Smoke from the fire he flamed. There he stood, hands planted firmly on angled hips with that cocky smirk you couldn’t wait to claw off his face. You ripped yourself free from Shoko’s hold and lunged.

You were going to kill Gojo Satoru.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Wings slashed against the small infinity that divided you and Gojo Satoru, a ripple the only sign of impact. He sauntered closer and snatched the torn veil from your face. He dangled it above you with an amused smile and teleported back before you decided to vortex him into a black hole.

“Not the best fashion statement, but it gets the job done blocking out the light.” He ripped the fabric in two and tossed it behind him carelessly as if it were a dirtied napkin. “You’re kinda cute behind all those layers… surprisingly.”

He liked to do that a lot, you noticed. Liked to provoke you, get some sort of reaction you were hiding behind that damn veil. The worst part was that it worked. Your nose scrunched cutely, to Gojo at least, and he could admire how your cheeks were flushed red because you couldn’t put a dent on him.

Gojo hated how elusive you were, so unlike any other special grade curse he’s slaughtered before. He hated that instead of lashing out and destroying everything in your path, you pretended to be dignified when curses didn’t have dignity. He hated waiting for your next feeding cycle when you finally showed yourself after months of starvation since you knew he’d hunt you down. He’d relish tearing apart your ‘dignified’ front, cracking that flimsy shell and wrenching your soul out.

You laughed, which clearly startled Gojo. He’d never imagined it to sound so hollow, he didn’t know what to expect in the first place. He thought you, your exterior to be precise, was flimsy and spineless! But he didn’t comprehend the magnitude of years and souls sacrificed that solidified your armor. You already knew what he wanted, his plans for you, and you weren’t going to let him have it.

Sneering, you yanked razor-edged feathers from your mass, ignoring how they cut deep into your flesh. You closed the wound without a second thought, but even you weren’t resistant to your own lethality.

“Cursed technique lapse: Bypass.” Feathers shot forward, penetrating only the first layer of his barrier. And that was enough. Force compounded against the rest of Infinity, and the barrier caved inwards. A single point of impact, the weight of Infinity crashing directly into Satoru himself, like gravity collapsing in on its own star.

It was totally unfair how gracefully he tumbled down and quickly he picked himself up.

As another barrage of blades came in an onslaught, his eyes immediately dimmed to a flat blue-grey, Limitless shutting off. He side-stepped casually. You flicked two fingers left, and the feathers followed suit, turning a sharp 90. But Gojo was quicker. He disappeared just as the blades plunged through where he was standing.

You should’ve known it was coming, really. You just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Pain crackled along the limbs of your wings, nerves screaming in agony as they were uprooted into Blue.

“Still think you can fight me with those?” Gojo teleported behind you. His fingers traced the scapula where skin was seamed with metal. You staggered backward, flinching as a chunk of metal clattered and disintegrated on the ground. The rest of your wings sizzled and eroded.

“My wings—”

“—are a liability,” he interrupted. “They make you an easy target. You can’t hide anymore.”

Your wings were the reservoir of your power, the physical manifestation of the pain you had consumed. Your curse energy dwindled. You tried desperately to summon your halo, but there was nothing, the unyielding flow of energy now a stagnant void.

“You’re still standing,” Gojo smiled widely, ecstatic. “I’d love to watch you fall for me.” He already decided your fate: he’d make you crumble with his own hands.

A sickening snap.

Brute force wrenched your wings upward, metallic blades screeching like nails on glass. Pain erupted down your spine as he twisted the wing further. His grip was immovable, and he drank in the sight of hot and thick blood dripping and pooling onto the ground.

“You’re weaker than I thought,” he said calmly. He tore the wing free, sending shards of cursed metal scattering.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

A scream erupted from your lips.

A single phantom wing unfurled behind you as you lunged. It doubled the length of your arm, grey, opaque, feathers lacking the metallic sheen of your former power. Branching from the wing’s carpal, jagged claws dripped with an inky, viscous substance. It dissipated before it could hit the ground.

It went past Gojo’s Infinity, his entire body, without any resistance. There was no impact. Phantom. Then his chest caved under the force, muscles and bones cracking as the blow tore through him. His chest buckled and ribs splintered, as if his own body were being bent and broken from the inside. Phantom. There was no tangible entity that applied that brutal force. Your real wings were gone, demolished by the man standing tauntingly in front of you. But the invisible claws, dipped in cursed energy, had done the job. It was only a phantom.

You didn’t last to see the strongest sorcerer brought to his knees. The world tilted and came crashing to the ground. Vision blurring and your consciousness fading, you became phantom.

a/n: more character interactions coming in the future. planning to write a few chapters in advanced before posting. thanks for reading! @mysteria157 and @pmpmyread, now you have been tagged twice ;) taglist: @dreamingkitsunewrites @rahuratna @mysteria157 @pmpmyread @celestialceremonials @lov3vivian @lolitamermaid123 @fangirlingtod3ath

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