#Crease Protector

[creasebeasts]

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[shoegrcleaners]

Why crease defenders are a must-have for Nike AJ1 & AF1 | Guide by SHOEGR

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[creasebeast9]

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[comrademango]

why are sneakerheads so fussy about their sneakers creasing like isn't that part of wearing sneakers

[creasebeastsport]

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[akeaaan]

If Only...

Jinu X fem.Reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is my fourth fanfic of jinu and I'm going crazy someone stop me please. Also I'm losing ideas so if you have any request please do drop a note. I still have another idea of angst until I make some soft happy endings lol

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ If Only...

It was never supposed to happen.

You weren't supposed to feel this. To hesitate.

But fate — cruel, laughing fate — had always toyed with you, over and over again. And here you were, caught in its trap once more.

Your scythe had cut down hundreds of their kind. Demons had crumbled into dust at your feet, your blade unflinching, your heart colder each time.

But now?

Now you couldn't kill even one.

Why him?

You didn't belong in the spotlight. You hated it — the blinding lights, the staged smiles, the never-ending swarm of paparazzi. The fake interviews, the forced poses, the soul-sucking brand deals. You hated being told to be perfect.

So you stayed in the shadows, right where you belonged.

You let Huntrix shine in the public eye: Mira, Rumi, and Zoe — the idols, the faces, the voices. They danced in the light, while you hid behind soundproof glass.

You were their producer — the faceless fourth. The one who stayed up late tuning tracks, patching lyrics when writer's block hit, and crafting every beat that sealed away the honmoon. You wove magic into the melody, just like the ones before you.

Because this was tradition. Always three on the stage. Always one in the dark.

You were older than them — not by much, but enough to feel responsible. You were their unnie, their protector. You had more battle scars, more stories, more secrets. That's why they never worried when you went on solo missions.

And that was your greatest weapon: anonymity.

The demons thought there were only three.

There had always only been three — as far as they knew.

But behind every generation of Hunters, there was someone else. Someone offstage. Someone who wrote the songs, not to climb the charts, but to trap the shadows lurking in the echoes.

You didn't need powerful vocals.

You had powerful visions.

And now... your power betrayed you.

Your mind spiraled. A million thoughts screamed inside your skull.

Should I let my heart keep listening? Up 'til now I've walked the line—nothing lost, but something missing...

You had everything, didn't you?

A found family that never let go. Best friends who would die for you. Your parents—alive and well. A career that others only dreamed of.

So why... why did your chest ache like something had been carved out of it?

And then—you saw him.

That's when it clicked.

What you were missing wasn't something. It was someone. It was love.

The kind that doesn't knock politely—it breaks the door down and stands in your ruined threshold.

You cursed yourself, quietly, for saying yes to Bobby.

"Come on," he had begged, "You've got the lightest schedule. Just help us set up the fan sign?"

And because you were you—softhearted, capable, and impossibly easy to guilt-trip—you agreed.

Even went the extra mile.

You planned the whole event. Stayed up finalizing logistics. Then told the rest of the staff to clock out early and go home to their families.

Now here you were. Alone in the quiet morning, taping up last-minute signage outside the venue.

You were halfway through unfurling a tarp when you spotted them—four bundled shapes huddled in sleeping bags along the curb.

"...Idiots," you muttered, frowning. Fans like these were rare and reckless. Sleeping outside just to be first in line for autographs?

You shook your head and kept working—until one of them stirred. One pulled back his hood and stood, dusting off the creases from his shirt.

That's when you saw him.

Eyes still puffy from sleep. Hair a soft, tousled black. That calm, unreadable face framed by the dawn's early light.

Back then, you had no idea who he was.

You'd been off the grid for days. Locked in the studio producing songs for idols you barely knew. Huntrix had been hunting without you. You hadn't checked socials in a week.

So when he stepped forward and said—

"Uh... can I use the bathroom?"

—you didn't even blink. Just sighed, rolled your eyes, and jerked your head toward the venue.

"This way."

No thanks. No recognition. He simply nodded and followed.

You didn't think much of it. You were too busy—back to climbing a wobbly stool to hang the tarpaulin behind were the girls will be sitting .

Balancing on tiptoe, gripping the thin banner with cold fingers.

Until a quiet voice called behind you:

"You know, that thing's totally uneven."

You didn't have to look to know it was him.

"And you're going to fall if you keep shifting like that."

You gritted your teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he said flatly. "At least let me help."

You finally glanced down—and your heart skipped. He was already walking toward you. Calm. Composed. His face unreadable, but his hand was outstretched, palm open like he already knew you'd take it.

You didn't.

And in that split-second—of course—you slipped.

"Shit—" you hissed as your balance gave out and gravity claimed you. The ground rushed up too fast. You braced, eyes squeezing shut, waiting for the sharp slam of wood against your back—

But it never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall mid-air like it was nothing.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you cracked one eye open—then the other.

There he was.

Smug. Too close. Too confident.

That crooked smirk on his lips practically screamed "told you so."

His dark eyes flicked over your face, glittering with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. The hold on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in his grip.

He was close. Too close.

You could feel his breath against your mouth. Hear the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart. And yours—yours was stammering like it didn't know what to do with itself.

He tilted his head a little. "You always this stubborn?"

You swallowed hard. "You always this annoying?"

His smirk widened—but his eyes softened, just barely. "Only when I'm right."

Later that afternoon, the event hall buzzed with energy—fans lined up, banners waving, cameras flashing. But your focus narrowed sharply when your eyes caught a familiar face.

Him.

He was back, but not alone this time. He stood upfront at the signing table with a few others you recognized from earlier—those same guys who'd been in the sleeping bags back at the entrance. And now they were freshen up, styled, and posing as if they belonged.

The Saja Boys.

You stood stiffly near a concrete pillar, arms crossed, trying to keep your face neutral. Rumi, Mira, and Zoe exchanged less-than-thrilled glances. No one had told you this was going to be a joint fan sign. The Huntrix event you had personally organized—put your own hours into, from venue to logistics—was now sharing space with a brand new K-pop boy group?

Your eye twitched.

You caught sight of him again, seated right next to Rumi. They were speaking quietly, heads close. Something about the way he leaned in, relaxed but confident, made your skin prickle.

"Do they know each other?" you murmured to no one in particular.

You flagged down one of the event staff, your voice firm. "Who approved the seating chart? Who is that?"

She gave you a sheepish smile, clearly overwhelmed. "Oh—uh, that's Jinu. He's the leader of the Saja Boys.

Your stomach dropped.

Leader? Of course he is.

As if on cue, Jinu glanced up from the table and locked eyes with you across the venue. Recognition flickered instantly in his gaze—and then he smiled.

That same maddening, devastatingly charming smile from earlier. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn't bother looking back.

The moment you stepped off and slipped behind the black curtains marking the backstage area, it was like you could finally breathe again. The air felt less heavy away from the flashing cameras, squealing fans, and—most of all—him. You paced for a second, then stopped by a corner to scroll through your phone, pretending to be invested in it. Anything to not think about the way your stomach twisted when he was near.

The distant noise of the crowd faded just enough for you to hear footsteps. Lazy, heavy, tired ones. You looked up.

It was Jinu—of course it was. He stood a few feet away, sharp eyes unreadable beneath dyed bangs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, the rest of the Saja boys passed by in a blur of exhaustion—Abby tossing his bouquet dramatically into a trash bin, Mystery yawning, Baby leaning heavily on Romance's shoulder as they all disappeared toward the van.

But Jinu? He was the only one who didn't just throw the bouquet in. He placed it gently—deliberately—on top of the pile. A folded piece of paper stayed clutched in his other hand, something he didn't discard. A letter from a fan, maybe. Or something else.

You glanced back down at your phone. He didn't leave.

"So what are you to them?" he asked, voice smooth, slightly amused. "Their manager? Event organizer?"

You looked up again. He was staring at you, head slightly tilted, brows raised in quiet challenge. The others were gone now—just the two of you. You squared your stance.

"I'm their producer," you replied flatly, folding your arms. Cool. Professional.

Jinu's lips tugged into a half-smirk as he slowly folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "And you planned the fan event too? Damn. All in one, huh?"

He took a few slow steps in your direction, casual but not aimless. Calculated.

"I'm a perfectionist," you said simply, holding his gaze.

"Mm. Figures," he said, voice lower now as he closed the distance just a little more, eyes scanning your face. "You've got that look. Like nothing ever passed by you."

There was something in the way he said it—less teasing, more observant. He didn't mean just the event.

You looked away first.

You always did.

And ever since that day, your lives kept tangling—deliberate or not. Jinu always seemed to be just a few steps behind you. Or ahead of you. Or waiting.

There was something about the way he smiled—just a little too slow, a little too soft. The way his eyes held yours longer than they should've, almost as if memorizing the shape of your face each time. And then there was the way his gaze would flick down to your lips before rising back to your eyes, like a secret only he knew.

It wasn't just glances. It was tension. Thick and charged, like static before a storm.

The day he reached out—his hand resting on your waist to move you gently aside in the crowded idol common room—it felt like something clicked into place. The contact lingered. Not enough to raise suspicion, but just enough to make your breath catch.

Then there were the late-night run-ins. The 24-hour convenience store closest to your apartment, where you'd both pretend surprise even though you frequented it around the same hour. That time he "accidentally" found you working late in the studio, hunched over your laptop, trying to produce a new track under deadline.

"I didn't know anyone else was here," he'd said. But his voice didn't match the words. It was too calm. Too knowing.

Neither of you made the first move right away. But one night, you both stopped pretending.

Your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, then hungry. The kiss tasted like everything you'd both been holding back. Like the first breath after drowning.

And somehow, it felt like more than just a kiss. It felt like a beginning. A fragile, burning beginning.

You were falling for him. And he was falling too.

But then you heard it.

A conversation behind closed doors—Huntrix voices lowered in warning, laced with urgency. Jinu's name. A word you weren't meant to hear.

Demon.

Your heart plummeted like it had been cut loose from your chest.

Enemy.

And now, here you stood—frozen in place, suffocating beneath the weight of everything you knew and everything you felt. Love, twisted with betrayal. Warmth, laced with danger.

I can't decide what's wrong, what's right... Which way should I go?

The lyrics echoed in your mind, torn from a memory you couldn't quite silence. A song that once comforted you—now mocking your indecision.

Your scythe's blade hovered dangerously close to Jinu's neck. Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from fury barely contained. Your jaw locked as your blurred vision clung to the shape of him. The boy you used to trust. The demon he became.

Jinu didn't move. Didn't even raise his eyes to meet yours at first.

The wind whispered across the rooftop ledge, catching the hem of his jacket and brushing through your hair like some ghost trying to push you apart. He let out a slow breath, and when he finally looked at you, it wasn't with defiance.

It was guilt. Heavy. Real. Like he'd been carrying it for lifetimes.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said quietly, voice low and raw.

Your grip tightened on the scythe's handle. The curved blade shimmered under the moonlight, inches from his skin.

"You lied to me," you hissed, each word heavy like it cost you something to speak them aloud. "All this time. You were one of them."

Jinu lowered his gaze again. "Four hundred years is a long time to regret something."

"Don't you dare make this poetic," you snapped. "You could've told me. You let me care about you—trust you—when you knew what you were."

He didn't defend himself. Just stood there, letting your anger land where it may.

"I'm still me," he finally said, barely louder than the wind. "Even if the past is monstrous... I never stopped being me when I was with you."

Silence stretched. Your blade didn't waver, but your heart did

You didn't know when the tears started to fall—only that they burned on the way down.

All this time, you thought he was your safe place. The quiet in the chaos. But now... now he was the very storm you'd been trying to survive.

Jinu stepped forward—slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew one wrong move would shatter everything.

"You're right," he said softly. "I should've told you. I should've let you hate me from the beginning. But I didn't want to lose you before I ever had the chance to keep you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, half-choked and broken. "So instead you let me love a lie?"

He flinched.

The scythe dropped from your hands with a metallic thud against the rooftop. You couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't hold anything anymore. Not the rage. Not the love. Not the grief curling inside your ribs like fire.

"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you," you whispered.

Jinu looked like he wanted to speak, but the words never came. Maybe there weren't any left that could fix this.

And maybe... that was the point.

You turned away from him, the wind now at your back. The skyline blurred through your tears, the city below indifferent to the war inside your chest.

Behind you, Jinu didn't move. Maybe he knew chasing you would only make it worse.

Maybe he knew he'd already lost.

Your voice broke the silence one last time, barely above a breath:

"If only I knew what my heart was telling me... Don't know what I'm feeling, is this just a dream?"

And then you were gone— leaving Jinu standing alone beneath the stars, with nothing but regret and the sound of your fading footsteps.

[ikeukiss]

〔 𝒾 〕 You always knew Jake would be an incredible father, but in practice is much different—and far more beautiful—than on paper or in your wildest dreams.

𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 𝓍 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 565 ⋮ gen audiences ⋮ fluff, parents au, marriage au, girl dad!jake, slice of life au, pet names ᯤ 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈: sweet pea — amos lee

"Papa, you can't put the teacup there!" Hyunmi says with a squeal, stealing the plastic cup from her father's hands. Jake goes bug-eyed at her command. He's unsure what he's done to offend his daughter in such a way, one second changing her mood from excited to exasperated.

"I was just setting it down, sweetie," he murmurs. He turns to Layla for guidance, dumbfounded. The pup just wags her tail, a tiara sitting on her head to commemorate her title as "Crown Princess Protector." In Layla's eyes, she's just following protocol Jake was too lost in thought to remember, even if she has no drink or food to speak of.

"Not on the table! On the plate, papa. Like the princesses do." Hyunmi rolls her eyes and sets the cup filled with imaginary tea back on its saucer.

Jake sees your personality in Hyunmi with every scrunch of her face, the child a rotating wheel of expressions. Especially now, when she looks like she could smack Jake upside the head if she was tall enough.

Like clockwork, Hyunmi's plastic oven goes off with a shrill ring just as you enter the house in your work attire. You walk in with heavy shoulders and fatigue creasing the lines of your face, but seeing your husband and daughter in the throes of a tea party makes your heart seize up.

All the worries of your world disappear in that instant when they both cheer that you're finally home. It's easy to care little for the stresses of work, all long-forgotten as you watch Hyunmi boss her dad around like it's her destined profession and Jake looks at you like the first time he said he loved you.

Your daughter is fire and brimstone, but she's also built of flowers and the sweetest dreams. Her father could not be a better person to tame her storm, even if he lets her get her way ninety-nine percent of the time.

"How's my little lady?" you ask when she attacks you with a big hug. Her little arms barely wrap around your middle, but the five-year-old tries with all her might, anyway.

"We're having a tea party, mama! I made blueberry cookies," she whispers in your ear with a flourish. "Your favorite."

"Oh really? How did I get so lucky?"

"Easy. I'm the lucky one here," Jake butts in. He walks towards you, planting a kiss on your cheek when you're finally in arms-distance. "Missed you, sweetheart."

"Missed you more," you reply, snuggling deeper into your husband and moving your face to kiss him on the lips. It always feels like the first kiss, no matter how many years go by. Jake still has the tendency to make your heart race like the muscle isn't well-accustomed to his charms.

"Now that the queen is home, shall we continue with the party?" He dramatically bends as he extends a hand, making Hyunmi giggle from below. You accept the royal escort with a smirk, Hyunmi's hand in your other palm as you all make it to the living room table together, Layla immediately running over to give you welcoming kisses.

In this world, there is no place you'd rather be than with your family, your castle filled with only love and happiness. And it's all because of Jake, the king who holds the greatest treasures he could ever ask for.

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@lovetaroandtaemin @filmnings @innocygnet @jaylaxies @xylatox @xomakara @gyubookeries @tinycatharsis @prkhaven

© 𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗨𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌!

[crimsonspring]

sylus was his own protector, always has been. growing up in such a way has made him become a capable and dependable man. but at the same time, over time, it had naturally built a wall of defence around him. always on guard, always strong.

but it feels like sylus has ran out of his strength today. it's barely midnight (and that's practically morning for him) yet both his mind, body and soul are begging him for some rest. it's been an exhausting week full of deals and meetings (some successful, some not - the latter taking the bulk of the percentage). he was tired, disappointed and truth to be told, upset.

she senses something is wrong immediately when sylus wordlessly slips into bed next to her, immediately nuzzling her back against his own broad chest. there was no quip about her wearing the same sleep shirt two days in a row, nor was there a snicker about how her glasses were resting too low on the bridge of her nose as she scrolls through her phone. like clockwork, she presses herself even closer against him, his warmth immediately coaxing a contented sigh out of her.

she hears him sigh too, yet his was laced with some unsettledness, most definitely contrasting her blissful one. locking her phone, she shifts her neck a little to face him, a quiet yet simple question lingering in the air as she whispers, "you okay?"

he barely responds, a low hum all that he could muster. he was awfully quiet today, and she knew exactly what that meant. and he didn't have to explain further. she knew he felt a responsibility to constantly play the part of the fearless provider - he'd never share with her his own worries and troubles. ask him, and he'll agree. she was already burdened with so much of her own life events and bothers, many of those he oathed to carry off her shoulders. why would he let her learn even a glimpse of his troubles - why would he tarnish the reputation and image she has of him. he was her protector, her confidante, her rock - not her burden.

but she knows him better than he thinks she does. throughout the time she's known him, she's learned about his little quirks that to her, are a tell all. when a man full off snide comments suddenly falls silent, she knows it's a man in need of some love.

she hums back in response and a second later, she's turning in his arms to face him. she watches the wrinkle in between his forehead, signalling his deep in thought, stressed, despite his eyes shut. ever so gently, she presses a kiss to said crease before pressing one to his lips. "can i try something?" she asks.

his crimson orbs finally come into view, though very a limited one at that, as his eyelids open halfway. curious, he raises a brow. "try what, kitten?" he asks, bulky arm still draped across her waist. she meets his eye, and shoots him a small smile before using her hands to push his forearms off her. she then pushes his shoulders away, resulting a displeased grunt to escape his lips. "trust me." she reassures him.

his body molds against the movement of her hands, and soon enough, their positions were switched. sylus's brows are furrowed even deeper, his mouth gaping slightly at the very foreign position. (well, foreign to him.) "sweetie, what are you doing?" he grumbles out, body stiffening as he cranes his neck to meet her eyes.

like carrying a scared cat in your arms for the first time, she hushes gently into his ear, but holds him firmly. "just relax, sy." bewildered, sylus is still unable to settle in this new position. with a hand over his chest, she rubs the area soothingly. she decides not to make a comment about the rapidness she feels. "i just want to hold you like this tonight, my love." not exactly a lie, she truly does. but she knows she's doing it more for him, than she is for herself. and knowing sylus, he'd never admit that he'd need his girlfriend to baby and spoon him like this.

though not immediately, sylus slowly (and very slowly) relaxes, though the confusion on his face remains. he's confused indeed. confused as to why she wants to hold him this way. confused as to why this feels so nice.

sighing grumpily (he thinks) he eases his body into her and feeling him slowly but surely melt into her arms brings a smile to her face. she wonders if he can feel the smile playing on her lips as she presses a kisses to the back of his neck. her hand continues to rub his chest soothingly, and sylus swallows the lump that begun to form in his throat. this feeling was so foreign. to be held, to be comforted - he was sure he had never felt this way ever before. grappled with emotion that he tries to lock away, his large palm reaches back to hold onto the back of her thigh, squeezing it in silent gratitude.

so this is intimacy, he wonders to himself. it wasn't as though the fear and stress for tomorrow's troubles have dissipated completely, yet he knows that this was exactly what he needed to calm his racing mind. even if it was just for tonight. tomorrow, he'll take care of the matters. tonight, he's getting taken care of.

"i'll bring you shopping tomorrow, how about that, hm sweetie?" he suggests. it almost felt like he had to return the favour, taking care of big bad sylus - surely it came with a price right? it felt like this angel's kindness for him must be repaid. chuckling, she shakes her head, pressing another chaste kiss against the warm skin of his neck. "we don't have to, sy. how about we cook dinner together tomorrow, hm? you said you'd teach me how to make that pasta thing you made the other week."

"i'd like that, sweetie." he responds, fully relaxed now in the safety of his lover's arms. "i'll make sure to remind the twins to get the fire extinguisher ready this time." he chuckles, and while she'd usually smack his arm in annoyance, she simply smiles in response, grateful she senses that he's feeling a little better now that he has it in her to tease her.

"hmmm.. i'm going to put extra chillies in your food." she playfully threatens, but the squeeze her arms give around his body tells him that she loves him. and if it doesn't, she tells him anyway.

"go to sleep, sylus. we'll do tomorrow together when we wake up, okay?" she whispers quietly, pressing one last kiss against his shoulder. "i love you very much."

she hears him sigh once more, but this time it mirrors her contented one earlier. wordlessly, she grabs onto one of her hands, bringing it to his lips as he kisses her each one of he knuckles in thanks. "okay. i love you, kitten."

sylus thinks he is determined to change his sleep schedule if this is how safe falling asleep at midnight was going to be like.

[phemiec]

A Mouthwashing (and How Fish is Made) fansong, unfortunately from Jimmy’s POV mostly, sorry. 🐴 Music and lyrics by me, PhemieC

NOTE: this is my first fansong in five years, and sad to say but my voice has been decimated by illness in the last few years, so please don’t go into this expecting it to sound the same as my old stuff.

That being said, I have released an instrumental version, and I would LOVE to hear covers from other vocalists! Feel free to post and sell if you make a cover as well. <3

LYRICS UNDER CUT

[verse 1] Momma bird sleeping and her nest is empty Pretty and clean I feel the crease of envy Cutting a line right through the sky above me Healthy and green just like a good tree should be Momma bird leaving now her eggs are lonely Out from the underbrush I creep so slowly I’ll lay my own, her home is sound and safe, he’s Grey like a stone among her round blue babies She’ll never tell if she’s a few shells lighter Quick cracking clever comes my little fighter  Babes that feel safer they hatch so much slower Thrown down below then by my own fast grower Momma returns to feed her only child he Smells like a stranger and he cries so loudly Drinks of his fill while I look up on proudly Picking away at the discarded bounty 

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 2] Thing crawling thirsty, shared flesh, a blessing Drink of my stagnancy, the taste refreshing Carry a part of me and keep on climbing  Top of the ladder’s just a place for dying Dread in your gullet, ignore it, buddy Lead in the bullet, it’s harmless, mostly Let me consume you, let you defend me Curling protector, my friendly fresh meat Im in control now and I like the feeling I’ll play the role of every wound you’re healing Follow the leader was always my thing Swallow your pills and lay still, unwrithing Master of puppets is my one objective Real apex predators can be selective Relay your message, it won’t stop the spread if I replace your tongue when I open your head up

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite keeps you alive To feed their growing appetite 

[verse 3] My stress relief, she keeps asking questions I can’t believe she thinks I’ll learn her lesson Nothing outside of me will ever get in No mocking birdie with an unblinking grin Four beating hooves, I hate to hear them thunder Trample the metal tomb I’m buried under braying beast, neighing in the womb inside her Breaking its legs to glue you back together

[chorus] What hides inside has the skill to thrive Do you have the will to decide to survive? A parasite needs you alive To feed their growing appetite…

[lambilegs]

art by susan ryder

SEVIKA | PROTECTOR OF ZAUN | FIERCE FIGHTER | UNBREAKABLE STONE LOYALTY

headcanons/messy litany of thoughts:

sevika x feisty!reader headcanons

sevika x feisty!reader headcanons pt. 2

best friend's older sister!sevika headcanons

best friend's older sister!sevika headcanons pt. 2

sevika going crazy over little gestures reader does

gf!sevika who is your college rival

roommate!sevika who's trying to make you jealous

how sevika would celebrate your birthday

sevika shopping in miniso with you

grouchy but simpy husbutch!sevika

blurbs:

best friend's older sister!sevika getting jealous

sevika being the first woman to fuck you <3

soft and sleepy dry humping

having shower sex with best friend's older sister!sevika

sneaking with best friend's older sister!sevika

shotgunning with best friend's older sister!sevika

longer fics:

a secret surprise

striking a deal

getting acquainted with the dildo: attempt #1

1K drabbles: the crease of your elbow, felt against my mouth

1K drabbles: whelve, sweven, incandescence

royalty!au wedding night with sevika

drench through my chest, the image of you imprinted in my brain.

an amorous kiss with the once enemy

[shoegrcleaners]

Shoe crease prevention: Hacks, myths & must-haves

There’s nothing quite like that moment when you unbox a brand-new pair of sneakers — flawless stitching, pristine soles, and most importantly, that smooth, crease-free toe box. But fast forward a few wears, and suddenly those annoying lines appear across the front. Whether you’re rocking leather classics like Air Force 1s or ultra-modern Yeezys, creases are one of the most common and frustrating signs of wear. Read our full article to know about the prevention of creases and crease defenders:

[colorfulrook]

i saw you opened a request…

if possible can you write Mafia Jin-woo x reader?

Like sunshine and sunshine's protector

loves your writing ❤

The light in the shadows [SJW x Reader]

[A/N]: Hello love! Thank you so much for your ask, I really enjoyed writing this!! Also I want to take the chance to say that I almost reached 100 followers, which I find so fucking cool, I am so grateful! I was thinking about doing something special to celebrate! Stay tuned my loves - Rook

(fuck me I almsot forgot the title)

Genre: Mafia AU | Romantic with a sprinkle of my usual angst. Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader Lenght: 2.6K words, i let myself gooo

"A kind bar owner unknowingly becomes entangled with Sung Jinwoo, a mysterious and dangerous man from a hidden world of power and violence"

The first time you saw Sung Jinwoo, it was definitely memorable. Maybe because it was in the back alley of your bar—oh and covered in blood too.

The hot summer air clung to your skin, thick and humid as you pushed open the back door, a heavy garbage bag dragging behind you with a dull scrape. It was an eventful night at work and you decided to keep the bar open for another hour, now after hauling sack after sack you were starting to question your own choice.

On your way back inside, your foot caught on something—someone. Not a corpse, thankfully, but a very much alive body slumped against the wall, breathing ragged and stained in blood.

He didn’t flinch when you yelped, nor when you fumbled and dropped the garbage bag, contents spilling across the pavement. Instead, he blinked up at you slowly, like you were the one who’d interrupted his night.

"Sir! Are you okay? What happened? Wait here I'll call the am-"

“...Sorry,” he muttered, halting you from taking another step, voice low and hoarse. “Didn’t mean to scare you, please don't call the ambulance I'm fine"

You stared at him, unsure if you were more concerned or confused. Fine wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for a man who had splotches of blood on him. Your eyes darted on the gun holsters hung under his arms, thought devoid of any weapons.

His left side glistened red, soaking through the fabric like an abstract painting. And yet, somehow, his expression was calm. Stoic. As if this wasn’t even the worst part of his day.

You crouched a little closer, keeping your distance, hands out in front of you like approaching a wounded dog. “You’re bleeding,” you said gently. “A lot.”

“I’ve had worse.” His head tilted slightly, dark eyes meeting yours. Despite his condition, there was a sharp awareness behind them. Watchful. Dangerous.

Yet something about him pulled at your chest. Not fear. Something softer. Something stubborn.

“Well, you can’t stay out here.” You rose to your feet. “Look, I won’t call an ambulance, but let me at least get you inside. Just for a bit, okay? Maybe I can help you out".

With gentle hands you helped him up and brought him inside.

You managed to sit him down on one of the chairs, first aid kit in hand as you examined what could you do to help, thankfully it looked that not all of the blood was his.

You tried not to stare at the way his shirt clung to the lean lines of his chest, the hint of muscle beneath as you peeled the fabric away from the wound. Your hands moved carefully, fingers brushing his skin like he might shatter if you weren’t careful.

“This might sting,” you warned, though your voice was as soft as the cotton pad you pressed to the jagged cut.

He didn’t so much as wince.

Jinwoo looked at you then—really looked at you. For a moment, his eyes lingered, taking in the gentle crease of concern in your brow. You were pretty, he thought, like warm rays of sunlit peeking from the curtains at morning, quiet and comforting.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” you asked, gently cleaning around the wound. Your fingertips barely grazing him. He was warm, a living contradiction of how he was in his field of work—quiet and dangerous, and yet sitting so still under your care like he belonged there.

“Not much to say,” he murmured, voice low.

"I guess you won't tell me how did you end up like this, am I right?"

“You’d be right,” he said, his voice still that quiet gravel, though something in it almost sounded amused. “It’s… complicated.”

You gave a small smile as you finished wrapping the last bit of gauze, hands steady despite the thrum of curiosity dancing under your skin.

“I figured,” you replied, gently pressing down to secure the bandage. “People don’t end up bleeding in alleyways behind quiet bars because of simple things.”

He let out a soft sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. Just a breath, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Most people would’ve run, called the cops, shut the door and pretended he wasn’t real. But you—sunshine in human form—you helped him.

"Is your home near?" he asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the back hallway of the bar.

You blinked, caught a little off guard by the question. “Upstairs actually, it's uh... It's convenient. Plus, the rent’s unbeatable when you’re the one running the bar.”

He nodded once, then shifted, testing his weight. You reached out instinctively to stop him, your hand pressing gently to his chest. “Hey, you probably shouldn’t move too fast. You’re still bleeding under that shirt.”

His breath hitched just slightly at the touch, and so did yours when you realized how close you’d leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips for a heartbeat, but he didn’t say anything.

"Ah! Sorry, please don't move around so quick, I tried to patch you up but you still be gentle"

He shook his head. “No. You’re… fine. More than fine.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Honest. Quiet. And somehow heavier than they should’ve been.

You tilted your head, smile tugging at your lips again. “You sure you’re not concussed?”

That earned you a real smile. Small. Lopsided. The kind of smile that felt like seeing the sun rise after a long, cold night.

“I’m Jinwoo,” he offered suddenly. “Sung Jinwoo.”

You blinked. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“I know, but I wanted to." He said before vanishing in the midnight breeze, leaving you hoping for another encounter.

———

He started coming back.

Never uninvited. Always after hours. Sometimes with bruised knuckles and a stitched brow, sometimes just to sit in silence in the dim light of your bar’s back room. You started keeping an extra plate warm. Left a bottle of water near his usual seat.

He never said what he did and you had never asked.

But you weren’t naïve.

The way he moved—sharp, alert, a predator even when relaxed. The clipped tone of his voice when he answered hushed phone calls near the back exit. Sometimes you caught glimpses of ink beneath the cuff of his rolled sleeves—faint lines of tattoos that whispered of something far more dangerous than his calm smile let on.

And then there were the new patrons.

They came late—never drunk, never loud. One of them, tall and still like a statue, always sat at the same table near the window. He read classic novels in silence, rarely speaking unless it was to quietly compliment the taste of the whiskey you poured. His name, or at least the one he gave after he started being a regular, was Igris

The other? A bit harder to forget.

He slouched across chairs like he owned them, spun bottle caps between his fingers, and flirted harmlessly with the jukebox. His laughter was easy, strange—but never quite reached his eyes. You once saw him fold a coin in half with nothing but his thumb. Said his name was Beru, with a grin sharp enough to draw blood.

They came in just before midnight and always left before closing. Never caused trouble. But something about the way they watched the room—watched you—felt intentional.

You didn’t press, you weren't stupid.

And still, they never brought trouble to your doorstep. Never stayed too long, never made any demands, and never pushed for anything more than a polite chat and a glass of something strong. But there was always something a little off—a lingering sense that they were keeping track of more than just your bar.

You caught a glimpse of them once, after you began closing the bar, as they met Jinwoo as he was coming for your now usual night talks. The way they looked at him and bowed politely was something more than a simple greeting.

You didn't know what kind of relationship there was between them, because at the end of the day Sung Jinwoo to you was just Jinwoo.

The man who fixed your broken liquor shelf without being asked. Who stood behind the bar with you one night, sleeves rolled up, silently drying glasses while the rain poured against the windows. Listening quietly as you spoke about the day. Who once crouched in the alleyway for over an hour when your neighbor’s dog ran off—and brought it back with a quiet, proud little smirk.

You were sunshine, people told you. Too soft for this world. Always laughing, always gentle, always making the regulars feel like kings.

And Jinwoo?

He looked at you like you were something from a better world. Something untouched. Something he wasn’t supposed to reach for, especially now that you were getting closer to him.

"You shouldn't be so close to me" he said one night, it was late after your shift, the bar was closed to all except you and Jinwoo. You wanted him to try a glass of your new drink, peach liqueur and gin, just the way he hinted that he liked.

"Why not?" You looked at him a bit confused at first, doe eye shifted to him.

“My world… people like you usually don’t last in it.”

You felt the words settle in the air like ash, bittersweet and familiar. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you walked around the counter slowly, closing the space between you and him with soft, steady steps.

And then, with gentle fingers, you reached up and fixed the crooked collar of his coat—tugging it straight like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Then maybe your world needs someone like me,” you said softly. “Maybe it needs something warm. Something that doesn’t come with blood on its hands.”

Jinwoo’s breath caught.

He looked at you like he’d been holding it for years—like he didn’t know what to do with something so kind, so real. His eyes flicked between yours, searching for doubt, fear, anything that said you didn’t mean it.

But there was none. Just you. Bright and unwavering in front of him.

He didn’t touch you. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he murmured. “Ruin you.”

You gave him a sad little smile, like you knew he’d say that. Like it hurt, but you understood.

“You won’t” you said, your voice like honey, a quiet, hidden sadness was present in his eyes as he looked at you.

———

You didn’t see him for a while after that night. You told yourself not to worry, that he was just busy with his work,

But worry crept in anyway—every time you passed the stool he always sat in, or found yourself making an extra drink out of habit. You even thought about calling the number he scribbled on a napkin once, but you didn't. You felt as if trying to keep him close you managed only to make him push you away and that hurt, a lot.

Tonight was one of those night where you were mulling over calling him or not, dejected once again you were ready to go upstairs when the front door of your bar shattered open.

Gunshots. Screams. A flash of steel and snarled voices yelling your name made you cower in fear.

You dropped behind the bar, ears ringing and your hand firmly pressed on your mouth. You didn’t know who they were—just that they were looking for you. Tears began to form as they kept yelling for you.

Looking for Sung Jinwoo weakness.

You.

You barely had time to think before the lights flickered—then died, leaving you alone with the darkness and the pack of strangers.

And then came the sound of boots. Dozens of them, sharp and sure, stomping through the chaos like a storm.

They didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. They didn’t need to "To be quick and silent" was their only order.

They moved with lethal precision—tactical, silent, devastating. A dozen men in all black, armed to the teeth, swept into the building like a wave. You heard bodies drop. Heard cries cut off mid-breath.

And then—

“(Y/n).”

His voice.

You looked from behind the counter, his voice was a magnet.

Jinwoo stood in the middle of the wreckage—calm, bleeding but alive. His black coat was dusted in smoke and gunpowder, blood on his collar, his dark hair tousled from the fight. Around him, his men—the ones who called him boss, who’d kill for him without hesitation—secured the room.

They looked so efficient and loyal, like shadows in human form.

Among them you recognised your recent new patrons.

Igris tall and regal in a black tactical coat edged in deep crimson, eyes sharp like blades—a contrast to his mundane self, with all of his books. His loyalty radiated like armor. He didn’t look at you long, but when he did, it was with silent acknowledgment: you were safe

Beru on the other side was a bit more chaotic—hair tousled, smile sharp, a slight twitch to his fingers like he missed the sting of combat. His eyes saw you crouched and trembling, he holstered his weapon and gently extended a handkerchief to you, he had the same warm smile as when he picks a song on your jukebox.

“Boss gets angry when you're hurt,” Beru said, in a voice far too smooth for someone with blood on his boots. “And you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

Then Jinwoo was there—arm outstretched, fingers stained in red but steady. Waiting for you like he always would be, eyes flickering with concern.

You took his hand without question.

———

Later, after the bodies were gone and the cops looked the other way like they were paid to, you sat behind the bar, curled up in the corner booth with a glass of something warm in your hands. Your knees still shook, your ears still rang. You were safe now, but that didn’t mean your body believed it yet.

Jinwoo stood near the doorway like a ghost unsure if he was allowed to stay.

“I should’ve kept my distance, I'm so sorry dove” he said, voice hollow, blaming himself for this mess. “I knew they’d come for you sooner or later. I knew what I was putting you in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “But if you had stayed away, I’d still be behind that bar. Dead. Don't you think so?”

You looked up at him then, warm but sure.

“I’m not scared of you, Jinwoo. I’m scared of a world without you.”

He blinked—like he hadn’t considered the possibility of living in his world with you safe at his side. Like he’d spent so long convincing himself that anyone who touched his world could only ever be consumed by it. That you, warm dove in his tainted world, would be better without him.

You stood and walked to him, taking his hands in yours, fingers quickly slotted together like you timidly done so many times before. They were rough, strong, stained by what he had to do to survive. But they trembled when you held them.

“I care about you,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Whether you’re running an empire or just sitting in my bar at 1 a.m., it’s you. That doesn’t change.”

Jinwoo leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours like a vow, breath uneven against your cheek. “I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “From everything. No one will touch... my angel”

Your heart beat faster at the way he said it—but there was no fear. Only warmth.

“Then let me protect you too,” you whispered back. “Let me be your peace.”

That was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, reverent. Like he finally allowed himself to fall—and knew you’d be there to catch him.

———

After that night, the bar changed.

Not in ways your regulars noticed—though they seemed to swear the place felt safer, warmer, untouchable. The type of place even the worst trouble wouldn’t dare step foot in.

But you noticed.

You noticed Igris quietly sitting near the front window most nights, sipping espresso and reading a book. Never saying much, but always watching.

You noticed Beru, spinning a barstool playfully and asking customers for riddles, but standing like a loaded gun the second someone raised their voice.

And you noticed Jinwoo.

At peace, for once.

He still wore the crown of shadows. Still ruled an empire. But when he walked through your door now, he smiled—genuine, rare, something only you got to see. He touched your waist like he was afraid to wake up. Kissed your temple like a man who finally knew what home was.

And the world?

It no longer tried to tear you away from him.

Because the King of Shadows had made it clear:

You were his light.

And nothing in this world—or the next—would be allowed to dim you.

[stillmonsterz]

you know i'm down

pairing: jay x reader

genre: smut

summary: it's march 2020 and you're stuck in the house with your stepfather during lockdown. can the two of you keep it together?

warnings: stepcest, unprotected sex, swearing, dubcon, panty-sniffing, virus mention, COVID implication (?),

word count: 3.8k

--

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, things are getting crazy, but try to keep your head up, yeah? You’ll be safe,” Jay said into his phone, his forehead creasing as he spoke. His newly wedded wife had taken a trip to visit her mother shortly after their marriage, but now the government was advising that she stay where she was. The news was scaring her, and it scared Jay, too, but he couldn’t let her know that. He was her steadfast protector, her bastion, and so he reassured her that everything would be okay.

“And you’ll take care of her too, yes?” she asked firmly, referring to her daughter.

“Of course, honey. I’ll take care of her like she’s mine,” Jay said, rubbing his forehead. “I promise.”

“You’re so good with her,” his wife said. “You know, she really likes you, right?”

“I really like her, too,” Jay said softly, and it was the truth. His wife and her daughter had moved in with him three short months ago, and neither of them had caused trouble. On the contrary: Jay wished that he could see more of her daughter so they could be closer. He wanted to be a good stepfather, but she was always holed up inside of her room.

They exchanged goodbyes, I love yous, and promises to stay safe, and then Jay was alone on the couch with his own thoughts. If he sat there for too long, stewing in fear, he would lose his mind. Jay turned the television on and checked the news. They were strongly advising people to stay put for at least two weeks, and Jay made a mental note to coordinate with his employees about this in a few hours. No point riling people up and forcing them to worry about work so early in the day.

Jay was sitting on the couch with lips set in a line when you had tentatively crept down the stairs, worry etched on your features. He turned the television off and assessed you carefully. You were so similar to your mother in stature and facial features, but Jay doubted that his wife would ever don the dolphin shorts and hoodie combination you were so fond of wearing. Of course, you made it look cute. You shuffled over to him, wringing your hands. 

“Mom really can’t come back?” you asked, hovering near the other end of the couch.

Jay nodded, setting his phone on the side table. “Yeah, they really want to curb the spread of the virus,” he said, smoothing his hands down his legs. “She’ll be okay, though. There’s a lot of food at her mom’s house, and she won’t be alone. It’ll only be two weeks.”

Your lower lip trembled, and you looked away from Jay as you tried to calm yourself down. You rubbed your hands along your arms, and Jay could see that you had goosebumps. “You don’t think she got it, do you?” you asked in a wavering voice. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jay said quietly. “Look at me.” When you refused, obstinately staring at the ground, his voice became firm. “Look at me.”

You lifted your head, and he spread his arms and gestured for you to come to him. He wrapped you in his embrace, rubbing your back. You leaned on him, kneeling in between his legs as you hugged him tightly. “There’s no way that she caught it,” Jay said soothingly. “She’s been with her family the entire time. She hardly went off their property.”

“I’m just so worried. I’ve never lived through anything like this before,” you said falteringly, pulling away so you could look at his face. Jay knew you were looking at him to check for chinks in his armor, a sign of doubt. He pulled his features into a convincing mask of resoluteness and confidence. 

“It’ll all be okay,” he said, running his thumb along your cheek. “Look on the bright side, you won’t have to commute to school for two weeks.”

You chuckled, looking down as you smiled. “You’re right, Jay.” Jay liked that you didn’t try to call him Dad or Daddy. When he had first met you after a few months of dating your mom, he had been pleased to find that you weren’t the archetypal bratty stepdaughter. Instead, you were sweet and intelligent, and you hardly asked him for a thing. Jay stroked your hair comfortingly and kissed your forehead. 

“You wanna watch a movie together? Would you like that?” You nodded your assent, and Jay reached around for the remote and went on Netflix. He put something lighthearted on for you, and shortly after the movie started you rested your head on his chest. Belatedly, Jay realized that it might be somewhat inappropriate to hold you like this, with you curled up in his arms, kneeling between his legs. But you were so worried, and you needed a guiding figure there, so what else could he do?

Jay continued to rub your back as you watched the movie together. At some point, though, Jay’s attention permanently moved from the film onto you, and he studied your features closely. His wife was a very pretty woman, and started to realize that her daughter was a very pretty girl. 

Maybe this lockdown wouldn't be so bad, if he could get closer to you.

–

The next day, Jay took stock of everything in the kitchen. Thankfully, they tended to bulk-buy, so he didn’t think that they would have to go shopping for two weeks. Yesterday, you hadn’t eaten dinner, blaming your nerves for curbing your appetite. He decided to surprise you with a pancake breakfast. He smiled as he imagined you eating pancakes. You’d look so adorable with full cheeks…

As he started to gather the ingredients, he heard footsteps padding on the tiled floor. 

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly. Jay turned to face you, and his breath caught. You were rubbing your eyes, looking around the kitchen, and you were so cute. Jay swallowed thickly and returned his attention to the array of supplies in front of him. 

“Just making breakfast,” he mumbled. “Pancakes.” 

“Can I help?” He heard you come closer, and he could smell your body wash. It was fruity and playful; something from Victoria’s Secret or Lush, a store like that. It went so well with your natural fragrance, Jay had to resist the urge to sniff the air.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jay replied, kneeling down to find where the pans were stashed. It was his house, but his wife had reorganized the kitchen to her liking, so he had trouble finding things. 

“I want to help,” you said, and Jay looked up at you. A mistake. How could he refuse those earnest eyes of yours?

“Yeah, sure,” he said, hoping he came off as nonchalant. He gave you some instructions, well-aware that his voice was somewhat strained. Jay watched you bustle around the kitchen, shamelessly checking you out. Guilt nipped at him, but he reasoned that it was just looking. There was nothing wrong with looking. And when you wore little shorts like that, you were asking to be looked at, really. 

Jay snapped himself out of it and returned his attention to cooking. He flipped the pancakes without using a spatula, and you clapped. “I wish I could do that,” you said. 

“Here, I’ll show you.” Jay wrapped your hand around the end of the pan and covered it with his own. “You have to utilize a certain flick of the wrist, but put pressure on your index finger, your middle finger, and your thumb…” When you successfully flipped a pancake with his help, you giggled, and he felt warm. Like a proud father, he thought. Just like a proud father.

As you two ate breakfast together, he could see your happiness returning. You must have been so worried about your mother, and he was glad to see you shoveling pancakes in your mouth and laughing about some video your friend had sent you. 

“You’ve got syrup all over your mouth,” Jay said, smiling. Before you could wipe it yourself, Jay wet his thumb and wiped it off, relishing in the opportunity to touch your lips. “I bet you were such a messy kid,” he murmured.

“I was,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh. “My mom was always running after me with Wet Wipes.” 

Jay chuckled at the thought, retracting his thumb. “I’m sure she didn’t mind. You were probably a cute kid, too.”

You groaned. “I was so cute. I have no clue what happened.”

You got pretty, Jay thought. 

“You think I’m pretty?” you asked, a smile playing on your lips, and Jay realized that he had carelessly complimented you. 

Jay cleared his throat. “Of course you are,” he said, desperately trying to center himself. “You look just like your mother.”

You nodded, still looking pleased with the compliment, and Jay could feel his heart racing out of his shirt. You were going to be the death of him.

–

The next day, after dinner, (another collaboration between the two of you), you had announced that you would do the laundry. Jay shook his head and handed his plate to you. “You do the dishes,” he said, smiling slyly. “I’ll take care of the laundry.”

You begrudgingly took the plate and stacked it on top of yours. “I hate doing the dishes.”

Jay laughed and ruffled your hair as he walked past you. “Doing things you hate builds character,” he called behind his shoulder. 

As soon as he got upstairs, he made a mad dash to your bedroom to retrieve your laundry basket. He didn’t have a lot of time. Jay opened your door and bent down to examine the white hamper. Pawing through your clothes, he shakingly retrieved a pair of your panties. It was painfully conservative. Weren’t girls your age supposed to be wanton little sluts? He held it up, examining it closely. Common sense told him to put it back, morality told him to put it in the hamper, and his own conscience was screaming at him to just drop the fucking panties. But something stronger compelled him to hold the panties to his nose and sniff them deeply. Your scent was intoxicating, and he sighed. Jay took a few more deep sniffs before he dropped the panties back into the hamper and walked down to the laundry room. 

It was lockdown, he concluded as he set the basket down. Lockdown was driving him crazy, turning him into a libidinous beast. Never mind that it had only been three days - three days was enough. Three days of being forced to watch as your stepdaughter pranced around in shorts that just barely hid her tight little ass, of having to smell her, of knowing that there was pussy that he couldn’t get to…that would drive a monk to drink. As long as he didn’t act on it, Jay reasoned, he’d be fine. 

-

Over the next week, you and Jay had fallen into a routine. You ate breakfast together, then you dispersed to your separate rooms- you had to do online school, and Jay had to navigate running a business over Zoom. You would eat lunch together, discussing the virus, your problems, or just comfortably sitting in silence. 

Then you squirrel away back to your room. When that happened, Jay would generally do two things in an interchangeable order. He would either retire to his office and read a business management book or go over his emails, or he would rub his dick raw in his ensuite bathroom to the thought of stepdaughter pussy. Pornography wasn’t necessary; he could just close his eyes and imagine you in those stupid shorts, imagine you taking them off and crawling towards him, imagine his hands groping your forbidden body.

 After that, he would cook dinner for the two of you, and you would watch a movie together. You liked to rest your head on his shoulder, saying that that’s how you and your mother would watch movies. So Jay would wrap his arm around you, his other hand clenching the armrest of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white as he tried to fight off his basest urges. After that, you would go to your room, and Jay would go to his room and edge himself for half an hour. 

Then, he would text your mother and tell her that he loved her.

–

A week after the lockdown had been announced, Jay checked his appearance in the mirror in the living room and frowned. He had a meeting in an hour, but he noticed that he was developing a unibrow. Normally, his wife would help him pluck the hairs.

You walked downstairs and noticed Jay scowling at himself. “What’s wrong?” you asked, standing next to him. By now, just your scent went straight to his cock, making it stir, and Jay sighed.

“Your mom’s not around, so now I’m turning into a caveman,” he said, pointing at his eyebrows. 

Your face brightened. “I can pluck them for you!”

Jay’s face fell, but he quickly put on a mask of indifference. “Oh, you don’t have to, I can figure it out,” he said, waving his hand.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Please, Jay? It’ll be so fun. It’ll be therapeutic. Please?”

You were the devil, he decided, the devil cloaked in the vestments of a college student. “Fine,” he relented, and you cheered.

Jay wearily stood next to the mirror as you sprinted up the stairs to get your tweezers. You bounced back down shortly, opening and closing the tweezers with the steeliness of a surgeon. 

“Sit down,” you ordered, pointing at the couch in the living room. Jay obeyed, sitting down on the far end of the couch. You straddled his waist.

“What are you doing?” Jay asked, his voice somewhat panicked.

“I have to get close to you,” you replied. Jay realized that his reaction was unwarranted and he was doing a shit job of acting like he didn’t want to fuck you, so he nodded. 

As you plucked his eyebrow hairs, Jay rested his hand on her waist to stabilize you. He stared at you as you worked; you were so lovely when you focused. Jay decided not to fight it, just for now. He languidly rubbed a circle around your waist as you plucked his eyebrows, and his other hand rested on your knee. If Jay tried, he could almost forget who you were. He could just pretend like there was no relation, that you were a stranger, that it wasn’t wrong to feel like this.

“Done!” You put the tweezers on the side table and examined his brows by tilting his head this way and that. Jay continued looking at you. He leaned back so that he was resting fully on the armrest, and your chest pressed against his due to the slight shift in position.

Jay’s voice was low and rough. “How does it look?” His hand still caressed your waist over your hoodie, and he noted that you made no move to get up.

“Very nice,” you replied, both hands still on his face. “You look very handsome now.”

Jay smiled slightly, looking you up and down. “Yeah?”

You looked in his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

Jay wasn’t sure who had leaned in first, but he did know that he was the one who deepened the kiss. You tasted incredible, and you weren’t a bad kisser, either. Your lips were soft and you took your time; your hands still cupped his cheeks. Jay’s hand slipped from your waist and worked its way up your hoodie, resting on your stomach. His other hand crawled up your leg, and he was endlessly grateful that you wore those dolphin shorts all the time. 

You were the one who probed your tongue at the entrance of his mouth, and you were the one who ran it along his teeth. He stroked his tongue along yours, tilting his head even further. Your hands slipped from his cheeks to rest on his shoulders.

Strangely enough, as he made out with his stepdaughter, Jay felt no qualms. All he could focus on was how good it felt, on how warm your little mouth was, on the way your body tensed as he ran his hands over you. Jay brought his hand higher, from your stomach to your ribs, until it was resting just below your breasts. He waited for you to pull away, to tell him to stop, but when you didn’t, he continued. Jay’s hand cupped your breast, and he briefly broke the kiss.

“You didn’t wear a bra?” he asked in an accusatory tone, kneading your breast. 

You shook your head.

“You wicked little minx.”

You shrugged, placing your hands behind his neck. “I normally don’t wear bras around the house. I mean, it’s just you and me in here.”

“No,” Jay whispered. “It’s not ‘just’ me.” Jay leaned in to kiss you with renewed fervor. His other hand slipped up into your shorts, fondling your upper thigh. Gently, Jay began to push you down onto the couch, until he was resting his full body weight on top of you. His hand groped at your chest, and he used both of his hands to pull your hoodie off. Finally, finally, he would get to see your body without a massive piece of fabric hiding it.

Jay moaned as soon as he saw your naked torso. He momentarily stopped kissing you to suck your tits. Both of his hands ran up and down your thighs, and he relished in your little gasps and whimpers. Jay took his mouth off of your breast and looked up at you. “You like that?”

You nodded, your face contorted in pleasure. “I like it, Jay.”

You had all but given him the green light to do whatever he wanted to your body, and almost without his knowing he began grinding his hips against yours. After leaving sloppy kisses all over your breasts, Jay kissed you again, sucking your tongue over and over again. 

He continued to rut against your clothed pussy, the friction assuaging the painful stiffness he felt in his cock. Jay knew he was pathetic. He knew how degenerate, how desperate, how sick he was. Only a freak would dry hump their stepdaughter on the couch. He didn’t even last an entire week. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully care, let alone to stop. Jay ground his crotch into yours, pressing you deeper into the couch, and he groaned in your mouth. 

His hands were all over you now, stroking your back, your chest, your stomach, your thighs, and he was dimly aware of your own hands snaking up his shirt. 

Jay broke the kiss again, sweat dripping down his nose. “You can’t tell anyone,” Jay said frantically as he began to unbuckle his belt. “Got that? Not your friends, not your classmates, not your mom. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely, your lips already swollen. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Jay tossed his belt to the side and tugged his jeans down. “Our little secret, right?”

You shimmied out of your shorts. “Our little secret.”

Jay slid your panties down your legs and parted your legs, pushing one up the couch and leaving the other to hang off of the side. He glanced at you as he worked his cock a few times. “Are you a virgin?”

You shook your head. 

“Good.”

“Why?”

“I’d never fuck a virgin the way I’m about to fuck you,” Jay said. Your eyes widened in apprehension, and Jay smiled.

He pushed himself inside of you roughly. As soon as he felt your pussy tighten around his cock, its warmth enveloping him, he swore. “Oh, fuck.” Jay kept your legs pushed open as he inches himself into you. At first, he shallowly thrusts into you with about half of his length. You’re already shuddering like a whore, whining and shaking, but you aren’t wet enough for his liking. Jay reached his hand down and stroked at the area above your vagina lips, eventually finding your clitoris. He rubbed it, just enough to get you nice and sopping wet. It didn’t take long, either; you must have been as pent-up as he had been, judging by the way you were gasping. Even just a few inches had you stuttering out some words that would make your mother blush.

He pulled out of you slightly, swirling his hips, before slamming his cock into you again. You moaned, a sound so gorgeous that he had to continue. Jay pounded your pussy mercilessly, his hands keeping your legs split open. His balls slapped against your thighs almost painfully as he kept up his pace. 

“Should have done this at the start,” Jay huffed. “Should have been inside you the second lockdown started.”

You opened your eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

Good question. Why hadn’t he just fucked you like this when you had come running to him for comfort? Why had he bothered waiting? For propriety? For politeness? None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock. 

Jay smiled slightly as he imagined how your mother would react to this: her daughter splayed out on the couch, her tits bouncing up and down, her hand covering her mouth so her moans won’t echo all over the house, and her stepfather in between her legs, fucking her ruthlessly. The scary thing was, Jay didn’t think he could stop even if your mother had walked in. Your pussy felt too good, too tight, too warm, too inviting. 

You were so wet that Jay could hear it, his cock making obscene noises as it ravaged your hole. Jay pulled out of you, breathing heavily. He dragged you from the couch and laid you flat on the rug. 

“On all fours,” he said raggedly. “Now.”

You were weak, but you obeyed his instructions, displaying your red, aggravated pussy for him. Jay mounted you and fucked you like a dog, chasing his orgasm. His hands groped around your chest and he grabbed your tits while he pounded you. He leaned his head back and let out a primal moan.

Soon, your arms gave out and you collapsed onto the floor. Jay didn’t pull out of you, couldn’t pull out of you. He braced his arms on either side of you and slammed into you, pressing his entire body weight onto you. 

He felt his orgasm approaching, and he sped up, grunting and groaning. Jay felt like he would die if he didn’t cum, and he fucked into you mindlessly. When his orgasm hit, he let out a strangled scream. He could feel the pleasure from his cock all the way to his fingertips; his hairline tingled as he emptied himself out in your pussy. 

Jay didn’t know what he would do next. He didn’t know how you would act around each other. But he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had to do this again and again with you.

[violetdoestarot]

♡₊・₊✧ A Prose Of Your Essence *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Basically how I would write about you/your essence from the eyes of a lover or as if I were in love with you! P.S feedback is appreciated :)

✴︎˚｡⋆ Pile 1 ➛ Pile 2 ➛ Pile 3 ✴︎˚｡

Pile 1

I yearn for you, like a gilded poet in a golden cage. I’m rotting in here, lend me a taste? Oh lover, wherefore art thou, my lover? A bite in my cheek, the taste of blood in my tongue would be less metallic than this. You are charismatic, magnetic, and a fearless leader. I always knew I wasn’t the only one to know that. But lover, put your eyes only on me. Rest those electric conductors of your soul onto me. I’m begging. A sharp tongue but soft on mine. A purveyor of words and a knight of the eclectic mind. But oh, I know you love so thoroughly and so generously. You think you are inept at love but sweetheart, who is love for but the fool? Let me be the only receiver of your naivety. Don’t push yourself away from me. Come to me, for you beckon me with your intellect. Others manipulate with honey but I know your honesty tastes sweeter like cinnamon. You detach as quickly as metal, hot and cold, oh, but I know who you are. The core of your soul builds a home for you and me. With sharpened rocks at the bed you know, always remember a warm sheet for you at mine. With cyanotic lips of yours from the blizzard you knew, always know I’d revive them with mine. Every single time, with my heart at my throat hoping you’d feel the beat at your tongue. Let yourself love. Let the hearth at your chest warm up again. For I know lies there a golden heart extinguished by vicissitudes of life. We’re both in tattered rags and gluttonous eyes looking at church windows looking for a scrap of divine love, without knowing we have it right here—in each other’s embrace and tapestry of luxury. So slow down, my love. I fell in love with your passion but feel no need to be restless. Hold my hand, I’ll be the anchor to your raft adrift at an unforgiving sea.

(Damn, Pile 1, y’all got me yearning for you lol)

Pile 2

The light flickers at our place, violent like a police alarm. Still, it feels like home. Maybe it’s the warmth at your touch, the creases from your fingers as they hold my cheek and the calluses that caresses every fiber in me. I feel so soft and safe in your embrace. Like you’d shield me from the world and lift the curtain at the same time. Your eyes are like a yolk of sunlight at sea. So warm, loving, and just—yellow. If I were a fisherman of the myths, I’d wake up at dawn to catch such rarity at the surface of the waves. Maybe even travel to wherever the sea and sky kisses and intrude upon the lovers just to catch a material of your essence. Let the historians speak of your geniality and how you’d catch everyone’s favor with your smile, and poets of my being enslaved because of it. As you trace the night sky’s Cassiopeia, Cepheus to the north and west, Andromeda to the south—let me trace the pores of your skin in the same loop. You’re vulnerable, so let me be your protector in return. I promise I’ll keep you safe. Show me your shadows, the bones deep in your closet that’s webbed and never to be seen again. I don’t care. Whether you tame, placate, or let loose your inner beasts does not matter. I’ll embrace them with open arms even if the lion gnaws on my flesh. I’ll treat my skin bones as steel when that happens. So generous with your heart and patience, my love. Is it too selfish to wish it could only be directed at me? You can accomplish anything you desire, I only hope I am one of them. Let me be the one to stand beside you as you celebrate your wins with that enchanting smile and be the one to make a sanctuary inside the closet full of secrets you’ll seal your lips shut for. Do not tempt me in if you have no intention to keep me. Who knew the devil spoke no malice but of whispers of strength and promises of love?

Pile 3

If you’re the jack of all trades, I’d be the ringmaster of your fabric to let everyone know my lover is the headliner of every act. How does it feel to light up a room when you walk in? It’s as if the gods carefully crafted a wreath around your head so everybody’s attention is on you. You’re the hero of every epic and the valiant savior of every fairytale. I’d inject your halo into my veins if I could and get high on it. I’ll follow you, wherever you are. Like a shadow warning you of danger, the bane of enemies who wish for your downfall, and a companion in case you decide to step out of the armor you call protection and I call pride. Maybe the tree you climbed up in was more hollow than you thought. Maybe when you planted it, you didn’t realize insects were already infesting on it—the bark rotting inside silently. But that’s okay, I’ll be the pile of leaves beneath ready to catch you when you fall. What’s the burden you carry in your heart, darling? Let it go. Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand as the kerosene overpowers the rotting smell. And I’ll interlace my fingers with yours as you set the lifeline you built on fire. Let hope be the stalemate of despair.

I am in forever awe of your imagination. Let me into your world? Don’t just let me have a taste or a fraction, let me feast on it. Let me cherish each word borne from that diamond mine like scripture. Let me be your muse even as you become a poet like me’s nightmare. I’ll shed my skin raw for your carnal pleasure, for I know you’d wear it on your sodden form like victory.

[purebarnes]

WHAT SIDE IS RIGHT?

SYNOPIS. an argument between bucky and reader ends them breaking up

TAGS. Angst. Small fluff.

PAIRINGS. Thunderbolt! Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

NOTE. My babies. Marvel is getting my therapy bill atp anywayss please send requests ya guys have/want!!! i love hearing what you guys would like to read and also if you want to be be on a tag list lmk cause im up to create one

You weren’t exactly sure what had happened to you in the last year, to be exact the last 14 months when everything went so wrong. After the whole catastrophe with Thanos and losing many people in the process, you sort of didn’t have an idea on how to cope with that loss. You didn’t have anyone after Tony died.

He was like a brother you never had. But then you had Sam and Bucky, you thought that was enough. You didn’t need anyone else. Things were running smoothly, stable. It was you three.

Sam was your best friend.

Bucky was everything.

You deeply cared about both men so much, you all had lost people and gone through hell in your lives. But in this line of work, you understand what it meant to be a protector and people needed you.

So you had to make a choice. Even though it hurt you to even consider to get between them, you knew what it had to be.

Sam was the right choice. Right?

Sam had told that Ross had wanted him to re build the avengers. Past you would had many flaws and comments about that but it was Sam that would lead them. You knew he would be great. He obviously asked if you’d join his team and you of course obliged.

Then as he told Bucky, you only came to realize that he would be joining a new team called the “New Avengers.” Oh how that stinged.

Sam was distraught and betrayed by his best friend. Ross showed you the media report as he told you two that extreme measures needed to be taken. You groaned internally at this ‘War’ that it would create between each side.

So there you were, on the hard floor laying down. Just gazing up on the ceiling, biting your bottom lip slightly but enough to feel a little blood from your nerves that were pumping.

You felt the steps of a certain someone. He took a seat down on the floor and laid the same way, turning his head to see your face.

“This is about to turn to shit. You know that?”

Sam nodded, his face not changing.

He let out a loud sigh, his brows slightly raised. He understands what was about to happen but he couldn’t help but feel so hurt by Bucky.

“Well, i got you. Don’t I?”

Your mouth slightly raising, “Yeah, always.”

Sam leaned in and gave your cheek a quick kiss, watching him leave to go do business with Joaquin.

Bucky was a mess.

You left him. You couldn’t do it anymore, he made his choice pretty clear and so you needed to do the same. If you chose Sam then that meant you couldn’t be with Bucky anymore.

You were a nervous wreck that night..

You stood in the elevator, waiting for it to ding to show you were there but you were honestly happy that it was taking forever because you didn’t know if you were going to be able to go through with it.

Your heart was pumping, your left hand feeling a little numb. But that was just your nerves and they were shit.

You had a little liquid courage. Maybe that would help. Probably not.

The elevator doors opened and dinged and you saw that it was empty, you took a step forward. Bucky who was standing in front of the island, making a drink for himself as it looked since he was alone.

Sliding the alcohol, he drank it.

His eyes met yours as he licked his lips. He sort of relief seeing you, “Hey, doll.” He whispered gently looking at your emotional presence, your smile faded, eye lids heavy and just looking so exhausted.

“What’s wrong?” Reaching over to grab your hand but you refused him to hold you. You backed up, “Don’t.” You muttered, looking down to refuse to meet his gaze.

Bucky’s brows creasing, a slight frown appearing. Confused, “What?”

“I can’t do this. We need to break up.”

Your lip already quivered, you felt the tears already forming but stay on the bottom of your eyes clearly refusing to fall.

“No. What are you saying? Did Sam put you up-”

“No! You jerk. This is all me, I can’t be with you if you are going to do this. You hurt him.” The tears already streaming, making your vision blurry.

Bucky shook his head. “Please. Don’t do this.”

“You made your choice. You choose others over us. Your family?”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

You wiped the tears with your palm, “I hope they are worth it. Goodbye Buck.”

With that, Bucky grabbed you with all force and smashed his lips onto yours. Pure desperation, he couldn’t let you leave over something like this. The kiss full of lust. For a second, you cave in and started to kiss back with the same desire but you couldn’t do it. You shoved him back,

“No.. no. Stop.”

The second your lips parted, you let out a breathy sigh, earning for him back but you came here to do something.

“Tell me what to do..” He begged you, his eyes glistening with some sense of hope.

Your lips parted, waiting to say something. “If I said to leave, would you?”

“I can’t leave them. Bob needs us..”

You frowned at the older man, “We needed you. You said we were your family, we were there for you.” A permanent absence memory clearly.

“It’s different-”

“Bullshit. Everything I’ve done was for you, I nearly lost Tony just for you.” You seethed, a sob threatening to escape.

“Then I lost him and I had no one. Then I got you both and now I’m losing you again.”

Deep down Bucky knew the right answer. If it was for you then he’d do anything for you, you knew that but everything changed when he went back to New York.

“Please..” He voice faltering,

“Goodbye, Buck.”

You spoke finally and he just stood in place, not knowing what to say to you to help you or himself. There was no fixing what had broken, it was more then just Sam.

You started to walk the other direction as you met the eyes of 5 other people. Sensing they were the new team, your gaze turned into a unrecognizable stare.

You shook your head, that betrayal was worse then anything.

A final farewell, “One last thing. When it comes down and it will. This is a fight you won’t win and I don’t care who I hurt.”

The blonde and Brunette stepped forward, “Don’t worry. We got each other." Giving you a hard glare.

You chuckled incredulously, “How sweet.”

“You don’t have to do this.” John Walker spoke to you, a sort of understanding that he knew.

“See ya. Whenever that is..” you spoke before stopping and seeing one person, “And who are you?”

He looked up, nervously pointing. “Uh, me? I’m Bob.”

“Bob. Huh, see ya Bob.”

lifting up, you soon vanished away.

All eyes now turned to Bucky who had gulped down another glass of his choice of liquor.

Bucky, Yelena, John and Ava all walked out back in the new Avengers tower, “But we are the Avengers. The government said so.” Yelena spoke out.

“How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield.” Bucky replied.

“I have a shield also.” John stated.

“It’s not a shield.” He retorted.

“It is a shield- It’s a shitty shield.”

“Great shield, Bucky.” John added before rolling his eyes.

Yelena groaned, “Okay. If he,” pausing before saying your name slowly, “put together a team then they call themselves the Avengers. Then who are the real avengers?”

Ava shook her head as Bucky eyed her since he still was dealing with losing you. It had been so difficult without you.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking. And judging by the nasty memes I’ve read.. they don’t think it’s us.” John sighed sadly.

Yelena turned back to Bucky, “Weren’t you going to talk to him?”

“I already did.” He blankly spoke.

“And?”

“It went poorly.”

“And did you try to talk to her?” She gently asked.

“Yeah, she wants nothing to do with me. Nothing I can do.” Bucky blinked. Averting his eyes towards the floor.

“Great going.” Ava replied, “If you two didn’t have to say anything then she’d probably-”

“She thinks I chose you guys over her and I kind of did.”

“Do you regret being on our team?” John added hesitantly.

“No. I just miss her, like alot.”

Getting many sympathetic looks his way as he looked away, John nodded quickly.

“Look. I can help you find someone- I don’t want anyone.” He seethed shoving him harshly.

“Your track record is pretty awful.” Ava spoke truthfully.

“Shut up. I hate you all.”

Right in came Alexei, wearing an atrocious outfit like he was a nascar driver or something. “Hello, team.” Grinning at them.

Bucky groaned at his outfit, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“I heard about Wilson and your not girl anymore. They are dumb.”

“But, me, I’m smart, I’m smart man. I have smart solve.”

Yelena opened her mouth in disbelief.

“A-V-ENGER-Z! Avengers with a Z! There is no copyright.” Looking to see the approval from the team but no one liked it at all.

“Look- Feel. Like a baby seal.”

Bucky got up abruptly, Yelena looked up.

“Where are you going?”

“To go fix this.”

Bucky had not gotten far clearly as he saw you in the hall. Face clearly upset from possible tears you had fallen,

“Bucky..”

“Doll..”

You ran directly towards him as he opened his arms openly, you wrapped your arms around his neck . You both stayed there until you were forced to move. You couldn’t do it anymore, you were so alone and he was your light.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in his neck.

“No, I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry for making you feel the opposite.”

You sighed, “I don’t want you guys to fight. I love you both.”

He nodded, “I know, baby. I know.”

You leaned back, “Can you please just try to talk to him? He agreed to hear you.”

“Yes.”

You smiled, in response you leaned in immediately peppering him with kisses, on his nose, many on his cheek, jaw, forehead.

“Thank.” Kiss “You.” Kiss. “I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.”

Bucky chuckled at the many kisses and gave you a long and passionate kiss. We’ll make out session as she brought you in a supply closet that night.

-

“Huh. You think they made up?” John asked.

There you were laying on top of Bucky, his breathing easing you up each time. Snuggled up together, Bucky having his arm wrapped around your back as you sighed happily in your sleep.

“No shit.”

“Aw, they are adorable.”

“Shut up. You are gonna wake them.”

“Just one picture-”

“No- my bad.”

You woke up to the shutter noise and started to groan at the loss of sleeping and your man’s warmth.

Bucky groaned. “You got 20 seconds.”

“What- wait Bucky. Too late.”

Bucky then had gotten up and chased them as you sat up and saw Bob who was reading his book.

“Hey Bob.”

“Heyy.” Waving at you so innocently. Oh boy.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Honey, I'm Home

Pairing: Dad!Gojō x Mom!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is home.

Warning: spoilers

Word Count: 889

9 of 9

The fall of the jujutsu society reminded Gojō Satoru of a lot of things.

As honored as he might be, throughout heaven and earth, he is as susceptible as any man.  Maybe even more.

Gojō has too much to lose.  The time when he was fighting for himself and for glory was long forgotten after his heart was held captive by you, and in return, you gave him a home, a family, a reason to win.

Gojō Satoru is a protector, a husband, and a father.

When he was being trapped inside that cube, he could not care for the discomfort of the place, the mortification of seeing his best friend’s body being used and tainted, or the humiliation of having been caught in the enemy’s clutches.

His head was only filled with a picture of you.  How you will be worried sick as Gojō does not think that he will make it home that night.  His son, who refuses to eat his puréed food unless it was his father feeding it to him.

And when he finally made it out.  The first thing he wanted was to have you in his arms.

But that cannot be.  Not yet, as Megumi, the boy he took in and thought of as his own, has his body overcome with Sukuna.

Gojō was careless in that fight.

Or he was just afraid.

He was afraid of hurting Megumi.  Doing damage that cannot be undone. 

No matter how old that boy got, he was still the same brat that asked for chicken nuggets takeout after school.

The price that Gojō paid for such sentiment was great.

Almost too great.

It cost him his life.   

But Gojō was reminded that day that he was not alone.  He no longer has to depend on himself alone.  And for some reason, his soul refused to take that flight to heaven.  His body was dead, but he was never gone.

The thought of you and Satoshi kept him clinging, refusing eternal farewell with every passing second until somebody healed his body enough to become a vessel for his soul once more.

A lot of Gojō’s questions for the metaphysical was answered that day.  Perhaps there really is a greater being up there, looking out for him.

With efforts from hands that were not just Gojō’s, Sukuna was defeated.

But with the loss the jujutsu society suffered from, it was barely called a victory.

Overtime, the school was reestablished.  Multiple young sorcerers in training arrived at the doorstep of the school.  To learn.  To be stronger.  To not suffer from the same helplessness they felt.

But Gojō was done with teaching.

He figured it was time to focus on his clan.  Not that he no longer responds to calls for help.  But most of his days were spent inside his estate house.  Sitting through meetings with the clan elders.  Gojō wanted to smooth out every crease before he passed the title to his son.

Satoshi, his pride and joy, demanded to start his training the day after his sixth naming day.

Gojō oversees his training at times but it is difficult to do when you come waddling with your rounded belly to pinch at his ears for going too far with his strikes.

And there’s your toddler, her wails of wanting to join in on the training was always piercing Gojō’s ears, eventually relenting, he allowed her to join by sitting on his shoulders as she babbled away at her older brother.  It always made her laugh when Satoshi sticks his tongue at her, the sun bouncing off her hair that she got from you as her tiny hands clap messily, her crystal blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

And just as frustration starts to get in the way of Satoshi’s performance, you come with a tray of tea and pastries, your kimono with embroidered blue roses dragging behind you, making you look regal and otherworldly.

This distraction is always welcomed.  Both by father and son.

As Gojō picks up a taiyaki, he watches his son act out his fight, trying to impress you.  Your daughter tries to steal your attention by feeding you with manju and you open your mouth to accept as your hand caresses your stomach.  A smile makes its way to Gojō’s face, his eyes crinkling at the sight.

Had he told himself ten years ago that he would be living this life with you, he was certain that his younger self would believe that the six eyes had finally decayed his mind.

But this is what Gojō wanted him to see.  His childhood home with happy and well-loved children running around, a wife that always had the most lovable of smiles, just sitting under the great oak of your garden to share sweets and stories.

He would love to have blue roses planted there someday too.  And he would task his children to take care of them.  And the children after them.  To see to it that they prosper throughout the years.  Perhaps the Gojō banners could use a bit of redesigning as well, roses would certainly add an appeal to it.

He wanted it known that even Gojō Satoru was only a man.  A man capable of baring his soul to another.  That he loved beyond comprehension and received her love in return.

Where the Blue Roses Grow