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emonaculate · 2 months ago

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Looking Out for You

Modern AU!

Pairing: Teenage!Satoru Gojo x Black!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Y/n is awkward and painfully unaware of her crush on Gojo, Gojo is SMUG, mentions of grief, miscommunication, Gojo is pining so bad lol, Black cat x Golden retriever trope, SUPER CLICHE, found family trope, ANGST

Plot: Yn is grappling with the humbling experience of being gifted kid burnout, burdened by family turmoil, and the weight of her inner demons. Just before her senior year of high school, she's reluctantly roped into volunteering as a counselor and teacher at a winter camp. There, she formally meets Gojo Satoru—an aggravatingly handsome hockey player with an ego to match his skill, all charm, smirks, and know-it-all energy. Y/n doesn’t realize that beneath Gojo’s confident exterior lies a storm of his own—wounds he’s hidden just as deeply as she has.

Chapter Synopsis: Y/n’s resolve is slowly but surely shifting. What started as a reluctant stay at a winter camp she never wanted to be part of has begun to spark something deeper. After a hidden moment on the ice where old instincts awaken and memories blur into motion, she remembers why she’s really here. Not for the camp. Certainly not for the kids. And definitely not because of the irritatingly charming, white-haired boy who watches her like he knows a version of her she hasn’t met yet. Y/n is determined to uncover the truth about her father—piece by piece, story by story. And if that means stepping into a role she never asked for, then so be it.

The week leading up to the kids’ arrival had been more or less a big blob of events and activities. For someone who spent their time and energy avoiding people and making connections like it was the plague, to say the past few days for Y/n had been hell on earth would be a total understatement. She was exhausted—and just when she thought she was finished with one task, another would pop up like some cruel game of emotional whack-a-mole. Yet, amidst the madness, something unexpected had begun to take root. Choso.

Y/n wasn’t sure how it had happened—if it was the way he always seemed to be nearby without forcing his presence, or the quiet way he spoke to her like he wasn’t expecting anything in return. But somehow, in the slivers of downtime carved between mandatory bonding sessions and endless counselor prep, she found herself drifting toward him. And he never made her feel like she had to earn her space. It was nice... calming even.

Choso, with his low voice and warm, slow blinks, talked to her about small things: how he wanted to be a tattoo artist, the best snacks to sneak from the pantry when Shoko wasn’t watching, or how the moon looked best when reflected over the frozen lake. He listened to her without pushing, and spoke like silence didn’t bother him. For a girl whose walls were always up, Y/n found herself resting easier when he was nearby. It surprised her how fast it became natural—this quiet friendship with the boy who felt more like a shadow in the best way possible.

And still, even with that fragile connection forming, she couldn’t shake the pressure of the coming storm—of kids arriving with expectations, of being called “Counselor” like she had earned it, of skating lessons she still felt unworthy of giving. That gnawing anxiety drove her to the ice rink every night after lights out, hoodie zipped up and skates slung over her shoulder.

The first few nights were painful. She fell. A lot. The sting of cold against her skin became familiar, the bruises blooming across her knees like angry warnings. But she kept going. She practiced turns and footwork in clumsy, crooked lines, and every time she got it wrong, she took a breath, cursed like a sailor, and tried again. What she didn’t know—what she never would have guessed—was that someone else was watching.

Satoru Gojo leaned quietly against the edge of the dark viewing platform, his silhouette lost in shadow. He never said anything, never moved to make himself known. Not once. But he was there. Every night. At first, it had started as pure coincidence. He’d gone to check on the rink out of habit, bored and curious. Then it became routine. He told himself it was just for amusement. Watching the same girl who rolled her eyes at every camp tradition stumble and curse her way through pirouettes and backward glides was admittedly entertaining. But the more he watched, the more the humor slipped away.

There was something about her on the ice, it was so different from the usual 'i can't be bothered to care' attitude she walked around camp with. She came alive out here. Her movements, once clunky, were becoming fluid. Confident. And when she skated just right, with the wind catching the loose strands of her hair and the moonlight carving out soft curves across her focused face, she looked... pretty free.

Her usual aura was nothing other than dim, withdrawn, heavy with some invisible burden, flared into something radiant and infectious, like a spark too long buried finally meeting air. Gojo, against his better judgment, slipped on his prescription glasses, the ones he rarely wore unless he wanted to really see something. And he did. Every sharp turn, every gentle landing. The furrow in her brow as she concentrated. The way she’d laugh softly and cheer to herself when she got something right, like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

All he could think was wow. He didn’t understand it, not fully. Not yet. But something about the messy, dry, and perpetually indifferent girl with bruised knees and a too-small hoodie was starting to take root somewhere in the back of his mind.

That morning, as the camp woke to the smell of breakfast and the distant crunch of frost outside, Y/n sat at a corner table in the mess hall, toying with her spoon as her thoughts spiraled. Today was the test. The skating evaluation that would decide if she was fit to instruct children on the ice. Choso sat across from her, already halfway through his miso soup. He didn’t speak at first, letting the silence stretch until it no longer felt suffocating. He simply watched her, the way her brows drew tight with worry, the subtle way her leg bounced beneath the table.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he said finally, voice low but clear.

Y/n blinked, looking up like she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“I’m... just nervous,” she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s one thing to skate. It’s another to be responsible for teaching it.”

Choso tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and reached out—his silver decorated fingers brushing gently against her temple as he tucked a stray strand of her thick hair behind her ear. The gesture was soft. Intimate. Y/n stiffened for a fraction of a second, caught between the comfort of it and the unfamiliar warmth it stirred in her chest.

But Choso’s expression didn’t waver. He simply said, “You’ve been practicing literally every night. You’re ready. You just need to remember to breathe and you'll be fine.”

Y/n swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Her throat felt tight.

At the counselor table across the room, Gojo’s chopsticks paused mid-lift. His eyes were locked on the quiet interaction, a look of something sharp flickering beneath his usually playful gaze. His usually bright azure eyes narrowed into a steely, cold blue as he glared at the unknowing pair.

“Someone’s getting real cozy,” Shoko murmured around a sip of coffee, following his line of sight without missing a beat.

“Mm,” Geto hummed thoughtfully. “Didn’t know Choso had it in him.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a scoff that was too casual to be real. “It’s breakfast. He’s brushing hair, not proposing.”

Shoko arched a brow. “You jealous?”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just popped a piece of tamagoyaki into his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes never leaving the pair by the window. Back at the table, Y/n gave a small nod and finally took a bite of her toast.

The mess hall emptied, but Y/n remained for a moment longer, staring into the remnants of her now-cold tea. Choso’s words lingered like warmth in her chest—You’ll do great. Simple. Steady. Exactly what she needed. She muttered a quiet goodbye to him as he stood, watching him disappear through the doors like a calm tide rolling back out to sea. Alone again, she exhaled through her nose, clenched her fists for a second, then rose from her seat and headed toward her cabin. Each step felt like she was walking further into something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

By the time she got to her room, her hands were shaking. Pull it together, Y/n. The door clicked behind her, sealing her off from the outside world filled with uncertainty. She paused, eyes scanning the quiet, dim space before slowly walking toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back—puffy-eyed, tired, curls flattened beneath the hood she hadn’t taken off since the night before.

She swallowed hard. If you’re gonna do this, do it right; go big or go home. Right? Dragging her stool over, Y/n sat in front of the mirror and stared herself. Her fingers hovered over the drawer before finally yanking it open and pulling out every neglected hair product that had been provided. They really had thought of everything. Leave-in. Curl cream. Oil. Denman brush. The holy grail lineup of hair maintenance that she hadn’t bothered with in too long to admit.

The routine took time; a really long fucking painful time. She spritzed water section by section, working the moisture in gently with her fingers. As the knots gave way to soft spirals, her frustration melted with them. One curl at a time, the image in the mirror softened. The brush glided through her hair with a satisfying rhythm. She worked in the curl cream and sealed it with a bit of oil, watching as each strand began to bounce, come alive, frame her face. By the end, her arms were sore. But her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that sat like a crown on her head, rich coils springing from the band and falling in elegant rebellion around her face and neck. Loose curls kissed the tops of her cheekbones and the base of her neck, escaping the slicked-back sides.

Next came her outfit: the black flare leggings she trusted to hug everything in place, paired with an oversized off-the-shoulder olive green sweatshirt. It teased just enough—a peek of her black bra strap at her shoulder—to remind her she was still her, still sharp under the softness. She checked herself once more in the mirror. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Y/n actually looked like someone who gave a damn.

Y/n laced up her skates and slung them over her shoulder. With one last breath, she stepped outside, letting the door click behind her as she made her way to the rink. The walk was muscle memory for her at this point. As she neared the open-air rink, the familiar burn of nerves returned, climbing up her spine like a second heartbeat.

She saw them before they saw her—Nanami standing stiffly, clipboard in hand; Utahime and Shoko chatting beside the equipment table; Suguru adjusting the edge of a barrier. Mr. Soraoka stood tall at the center, his arms folded, face unreadable. But one face stood out. Satoru Gojo. He leaned casually against the railing, messy white hair ruffled by the wind, that damn grin already on his lips as she stepped closer. His eyes caught hers—hidden behind prescription glasses today (the glasses only amplied his charm somehow)—and the smallest flicker of something unreadable passed over his face.

Before she could pass by, he pushed off the railing and fell into step beside her. His long legs taking single digit strides to close the gap between them.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, voice low enough not to carry. "I'm a little shocked by how much I actually miss the fresh out of bed look you love to rock.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t answer, too focused on the ice and the people waiting for her to let herself be fully baited. Satoru didn’t seem to mind. He leaned in slightly, walking backwards now, effortlessly keeping pace with her.

“Hey.” His tone shifted slightly—still playful, but with an edge of sincerity. “Don’t let the stares rattle you. You’ve got this.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“What makes you so sure?”

He smirked, eyes glinting behind the lenses of his glasses. “Let’s just say I’ve got a good eye for talent. Especially the kind that sneaks out every night to practice like no one’s watching.”

Y/n blinked, a rush of heat hitting her cheeks before she could stop it.

“You—? Were you watching me?”

Gojo just turned with a wink, hands in his pockets as he strolled away toward the others.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. I'm called Six Eyes for a reason, short-pint.”

The rink loomed in front of her like a frozen stage. Y/n stood at the edge, the cold air biting at her nose and ears, her skates already laced but her knees wobbling in quiet rebellion. Just breathe. You’ve been practicing all week for this. The others watched from the sidelines: Shoko leaned back on her elbows beside Utahime, Geto stood with his arms crossed, and Nanami scribbled something on a clipboard with his usual meticulous attention. Mr. Soraoka stood near the center, waiting. And a few feet back, almost half-hidden in shadow, Satoru stood—hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts (did he ever wear pants??), ever-still, ever-watching.

Y/n stepped onto the ice… and immediately slipped forward with a sharp intake of breath. Her leg flailed before she barely caught herself, gripping the barrier with both hands. Laughter erupted from somewhere to the side—probably Geto, his mean ass—and Utahime hissed something sharp at him. She didn’t have to look to know Gojo was already grinning.

“I—sorry,” she muttered.

Mr. Soraoka raised a hand calmly. “No need to apologize. Happens to the best of us. Take a moment.”

He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice carrying clearly across the ice. “This evaluation is not about perfection. We’re not asking you to perform professionally. What we’re looking for is confidence, balance, and your ability to command the ice. The children will need a teacher who is steady, engaging, and most of all, patient—with themselves and others. Understood?”

Y/n nodded slowly. Confidence. Steady. Right. But she couldn’t find her footing. Her body felt stiff, like her limbs didn’t belong to her. She’d done this every night for the past week, hadn’t she? So why did the pressure now make her want to melt into the ice and disappear?

Mr. Soraoka stepped forward just slightly, his voice softer this time. “Don’t think too hard. Feel it. Let the ice meet you halfway.”

Y/n stared ahead. The world had gone too quiet. She closed her eyes. And then… she moved. One foot pushed off, and the other followed, gliding her forward. Slowly. Cautiously. But with a familiarity she hadn’t expected to return so easily. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but with each push and turn, her limbs loosened. Her arms moved with her torso, gently shifting to maintain balance. The sound of blades cutting into ice was her only companion—until it wasn’t. Because suddenly, there was something else. A memory.

Her father’s voice spoke clearly in her head “You lead with your heart, not your feet.”

His laugh echoing from behind her. “Come on, sweetheart, you got it. Just like that.”

And his hand, steady, warm, guiding her lower back, pressing with the gentlest of touches. She felt it again now, like a ghost trailing her spine. Y/n’s form shifted, blossoming into something elegant. She bent one knee, twirled outward, and spun once—twice—landing smoothly into a backward glide. The cold danced against her neck as her arms extended, catching the wind with an instinctive grace. She weaved across the rink in arcs and ribbons, her breath syncing to the rhythm of her motion.

A deep spiral. A toe loop. A clean spin with her head tilted back, curls flying out behind her like fire unraveling in the air; her hair band had snapped from the sheer force and speed of her movements. So much for a secure ponytail. Curls bounced freely against her face as she continued to move. Suddenly, she was that girl again. Not the tired, irritable, indifferent Y/n everyone had met. But the version her father once believed in. The girl who could fly when her feet were on the ice. To her right now, nothing else existed. She didn’t hear the murmurs from the edge. Or see the wide eyes. Or notice Utahime frozen mid-sip of hot cocoa. Or Geto’s mouth hanging open. Or Nanami lowering his clipboard, stunned. She didn’t even see Mr. Soraoka, who had stood up halfway through and was now clapping—no, applauding—like a proud father who couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Only one person didn’t look surprised. Gojo. His glasses had been pulled down to the bridge of his nose, his crystalline eyes following every motion. His grin was softer now, curved with something that felt like reverence.

“...Amazing, isn’t she?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

Y/n’s skates slowed gradually, one leg extended behind her as she coasted to a stop at the center of the rink. And for a moment, she stood still—chest rising and falling, curls sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, arms relaxed at her sides. She hadn’t realized she was finished. She hadn’t heard the clapping. Or noticed the echo of stunned silence following the applause. She blinked, finally meeting the wide, teary-eyed gaze of Mr. Soraoka.

He nodded, still clapping. “Absolutely incredible.”

Y/n’s lips parted, confused. “...I-I did okay?”

Mr. Soraoka laughed. “You did far more than okay, young lady.”

From the sidelines, Geto finally spoke, breaking the stunned silence.

“Dude,” he whispered. “What the hell was that?”

Shoko, arms crossed and smirking, added dryly, “Ice skating this year is about to be interesting; that's for damn sure..”

And Gojo? He just smiled, watching her as if he’d seen it all coming from the very beginning.

The moment Y/n stepped off the rink and unlatched her skate guards, a wave of counselors swarmed her.

“Yo, that was insane,” Geto said, his usual aloof composure completely cracked. “You’ve been hiding Olympic-level skills from us this whole time?”

Utahime gave her a once-over before smirking. “I thought you hated this place. You looked like you were born out there.”

“I… didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” Y/n muttered, cheeks flushing from the barrage of praise. Her hands fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, pulling them down over her palms. “It was just muscle memory or something…”

“Don’t be modest,” Nanami cut in, sliding his clipboard under one arm. “You executed three different mid-level competitive tricks. I’ve only ever seen that during actual competitions.”

Shoko sauntered up beside her, nudging her with an elbow. “Guess all those late-night vanishing acts paid off.”

Y/n blinked, eyes darting. “You knew I was sneaking off?”

Shoko snorted. “You think any of us don’t notice when someone’s creeping through the cabin halls at 2 a.m. with skates over their shoulder?”

Y/n pressed her lips into a tight line, looking at the floor. Compliments never sat right with her. It was like trying to wear a dress that didn’t fit, awkward and uncomfortable, no matter how well-intentioned. She felt exposed.

Mr. Soraoka clapped his hands together, regathering the group. “Alright everyone, now that we’ve had our moment of awe—let’s refocus. Monday, the kids arrive. That gives us three days to finalize preparations. You’ll each receive your assigned task lists by tomorrow morning. For now, enjoy what little freedom you have left. Sleep in. Relax. Because once those little demons—I mean angels—show up, it’s over.”

Laughter rippled through the group before they all started to shuffle out in pairs and clusters, leaving the cold rink behind with the warm chatter of voices echoing down the corridor. All except Satoru. Y/n stood frozen for a second, her heartbeat finally slowing, the adrenaline finally ebbing. He leaned against the wall just near the rink’s edge, arms folded, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Gonna pretend I haven’t been watching you practice every night?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

She rolled her eyes and groaned, “God, you would be the type to spy on people skating alone like a damn cryptid.”

“Hey,” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest, “I wasn’t spying. I was appreciating. It’s different. Classier, y'know?”

Y/n gave him a slow side-eye. “Appreciating? That’s what we’re calling peeping now?”

“You’re the one sneaking around the rink like it’s a forbidden temple. I was merely protecting camp property from potential trespassers.”

Y/n barked a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m not wrong,” he grinned. “Besides, I finally saw you drop the whole ‘leave me alone or I’ll set you on fire’ act today. And I gotta say—kinda adorable.”

She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t fight the twitch of a smile on her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“No promises.”

They slipped into a rare, quiet pause. The kind that didn’t need filling. The silence stretched comfortably between them, like shared breath.

Gojo glanced sideways at her, his voice softer now. “Seriously though, that was... amazing. You’re a completely different person out there.”

Y/n looked down at her skates, suddenly shy again. “It’s easier on the ice. I don’t have to talk, or think. I just... remember. I used to skate with my dad, back when things weren’t a mess. It’s like he’s still with me, guiding me.”

Gojo studied her, his teasing smirk fading into something thoughtful. But before the silence turned heavy, she nudged him playfully with her elbow.

“So,” she said, shifting gears, “what’s this I hear about you being a hockey hotshot?”

“Oh?” Gojo perked up again immediately, eyes twinkling. “Thinking about switching teams already?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, tone dry, “you owe me a crash course. If I’m gonna be the Ice Queen, I might as well know how to play with sticks too.”

He laughed. “Careful, Y/n. That almost sounded like a flirt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gojo.”

“Oh no, you teasing me is already more than I ever thought I’d get from you. I’m gonna savor this. Might even write it down later.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it.

“Fine,” she said with a mock sigh, “I’ll show you a few of my tricks. But only if you can keep up.”

He arched a white brow. “Challenge accepted. But just so you know, I’ve been skating since I was six, and I never go easy on beginners.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Perfect. Neither do I.”

They stood there for another minute, the cold forgotten, the empty rink behind them echoing with the faint ghost of blades on ice.

The next day Y/n had found herself taking Gojo up on his offer regarding hockey. It was only because she was curious about the sport.. no other reason. AT ALL. The air still held the soft hum of applause from the previous day as Y/n and Gojo stood at the rink entrance. The other staff had cleared out, their chatter fading into the distance, but the quiet between the two wasn’t awkward—it was anticipatory.

“So," Gojo said, leaning over to snag a pair of sticks from the rack, twirling one like a baton before tossing the other to her. "Ready to learn from the best?"

Y/n caught it with a skeptical look. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

He grinned. “Impossible when you have a voice this sexy. But lucky for you, I'm also devastatingly skilled.”

They stepped onto the ice together, gliding with mismatched grace. Y/n, though better on figure skates, still wobbled slightly in her new borrowed pair. Gojo, smug and sure-footed, looped around her with ease.

“Alright, Ice Queen,” he called teasingly. “First rule of hockey: stance. You gotta look like you mean business. Bend your knees. Stick down. Don’t make that face.”

“This is my concentrating face.”

“It looks like you’re trying to calculate taxes in your head, short-pint.”

Y/n huffed and tried again, but the stick wobbled in her grip. Gojo skated up behind her before she could protest.

“Here,” he murmured, voice lower now, wrapping his arms around her to adjust her hold on the stick.

Y/n froze. His chest brushed her back, the warmth of his body bleeding through their layers. The scent of his cologne—cool mint, something slightly spicy, like cedar and clean linen—washed over her. It shouldn’t have made her nervous. But it did. Her brain blanked.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’re holding it like a sword. This is finesse, not battle.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re not the one being hovered over like a damn hawk.”

He chuckled, the sound soft near her ear. “Maybe I like hovering over you.”

Y/n tried to ignore the flutter that stirred in her chest. She tried harder to ignore the feel of his large hand sliding down from her forearm to settle on her waist. A gentle, firm touch that guided her stance as he slowly moved them forward.

“Okay,” he whispered, their steps in sync, “now glide. Small push. That’s it.”

She nodded mutely, hyperaware of every place their bodies touched. Gojo, meanwhile, was grinning like a fool. He wasn’t sure when teasing the grumpy girl with sharp eyes and sharper wit became the highlight of his day—but being this close to her? It made his pulse skip. Her hair, which was styled into two low puffs, smelled like something sweet and soft. Her tanned skin was warm beneath his gloves. It didn’t make any sense. She was chaos personified. Always biting, always sarcastic. And yet��

He barely realized she was slipping until her skate twisted.

“SHIT—!”

He caught her in one fluid motion, one arm braced around her lower back, the other still holding her wrist. She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath caught in her throat. They were too close. She could count every silver lash framing his pale eyes. He could feel her heartbeat against his ribs. If Gojo stared long enough, he could make out the beauty marks on her face and how the placements of each one combined could appear to look like a constellation. Neither of them moved.

Until Gojo tilted his head and whispered, grinning, “You fall for me already?”

Y/n groaned and shoved at his chest, nearly slipping again. “You’re impossible.”

He laughed and let her go, skating backward. “So I've been told.”

Y/n’s breathing was finally starting to steady, her limbs no longer trembling from the rush of skating under pressure. But now? Now she was in Gojo’s world.

He backed away a few paces, twirling the hockey stick effortlessly between his gloved fingers before lowering his tinted goggles over his eyes. His trademark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, now that you’ve shown me how pretty you are on the ice,” he drawled, “let’s see how tough you are.”

Y/n raised a brow. “Tough?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “First to five. You win, I’ll be your assistant for ice skating classes. I win…” he paused, tapping the blade of his stick against the ice as if thinking, “you owe me hot chocolate duty for a week.”

Y/n snorted, “That’s it? Sounds like you’re going easy on me.”

“I figured I’d save the real stakes for when you actually win something,” he teased, gliding backward effortlessly. “Game on, hotshot.”

And then—just like that—he was gone, a blur of white and navy as he bolted toward the puck.

Y/n blinked and scrambled after him.

For someone who avoided attention like it was contagious, there was something exhilarating about trying to keep up with him—like chasing a spark that kept darting just out of reach. Gojo was in his element: eyes sharp, reflexes perfect, every turn smooth and confident. His tall figure weaved across the ice like it was second nature, and Y/n found herself staring more than once, nearly crashing into the boards because of it.

But she was a fast learner. Her legs burned, lungs heaved—but damn it, she was determined. Maybe to win. Maybe to impress him. Maybe both.

They clashed over the puck, sticks meeting with a sharp clack that echoed in the empty rink. Gojo easily stole the first point, gliding past her like wind. “That’s one,” he called over his shoulder, smirking. “You blinked.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

She came back with surprising force, faking him out with a turn and scoring. Her triumphant cheer echoed through the rink. Gojo gave a slow clap, skating lazily toward her. “That was almost convincing.”

Almost. The way he said it made her cheeks flush beneath the cold sweat. Y/n was drenched in sweat. The grey cropped sweatshirt she wore, now clung to her like a second skin, and her two low ponytails had all but fallen apart—curls bouncing wild around her flushed face. She was gasping for breath, legs burning, lungs on fire… but she wasn’t backing down. Gojo, on the other hand, barely looked winded.

He skated backwards lazily in front of her, twirling the hockey stick in one hand and flashing that infuriating grin. “What’s the score again?” he asked, all faux innocence.

“Four to two,” she growled.

“Right, right. My bad.” He gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Only one more point and I win.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the stick. She was fast, but Gojo was something else. Watching him move was like watching poetry in motion—lean, fluid, unshakably confident. She hated how easily he made it all look. Even more, she hated the giddy little thrill crawling up her spine every time his hand brushed her back or when his too-pretty mouth curved around a cocky tease.

“You ready?” he called out, puck already at his feet.

“Drop dead.”

He lunged forward. Their blades clacked. She pushed harder than she thought she could, nearly knocking into him—but he barely flinched. He stole the puck, only to skate slow circles around her.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

Gojo glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Am I?”

“You are. You could’ve scored five minutes ago.”

He pivoted smoothly, skating backwards in front of her again, lowering his goggles with one finger so she could see the glint in his cerulean eyes. “Maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

Y/n flushed and looked away.

“Or maybe,” he leaned in closer, the words brushing her ear, “I just like watching you try so hard.”

That did it. She growled, barreled toward him with everything she had—but he dipped low, spun around her, and gently bumped her hip with his own. She stumbled slightly, and his large hand instinctively shot out to catch her by the waist, steadying her with infuriating ease. The heat of his palm burned through her layers. Y/n froze. So did he. Their faces were close. Too close. His breath ghosted over her cheek, warm despite the rink’s chill. Her hands were gripping the front of his hoodie, and neither of them moved. For a second, the world was silent, just the hum of the rink lights and the pounding in her ears. Then Gojo let out a breathless chuckle and straightened up, smoothing a gloved hand through his messy white hair.

“Well,” he said, tone light, “if you wanted to fall for me, you could’ve just said so.”

Y/n shoved him with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he pointed his stick toward the puck, “you keep showing up.”

She skated past him, grabbing the puck with a quick pivot, and before he could react, she actually got within scoring distance—but he caught up fast, laughing as he stole it right back.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, “let’s wrap this up. I’ve got hot chocolate to claim.”

He moved, swift and lethal, and tapped the puck into the goal with a flick of his wrist. The sound echoed.

“Five.”

Y/n let out a sound between a groan and a growl. “You toyed with me.”

Gojo slung an arm lazily across her shoulders. “What can I say? You’re fun to mess with, short-pint”

“You’re evil.”

“But handsome.”

“Debatable.”

He laughed—full and genuine—and Y/n tried not to smile. She really did. She failed. She felt like a mess, standing beside him, flushed and sweaty. Gojo, in contrast, looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. His hair was perfectly tousled, his hoodie clinging just enough to hint at the body beneath, and his grin—smug, bright, and infuriating permanently fixed in place.

“You’ll get better,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Especially if I’m your coach.”

Y/n tilted her head. “You offering private lessons now?”

Gojo winked. “Only for you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring that flutter in her chest that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey. The sun had begun its slow descent behind the trees, casting the trail in long, golden streaks that filtered through bare branches and made everything glow with winter’s hush. The cold air bit gently at their cheeks, their breaths curling in soft clouds as Gojo and Y/n walked side by side along the winding path skirting the edge of the camp.

Gojo had insisted on the walk as a “cool down,” but if anyone had been watching, they would’ve thought it was a casual stroll between two longtime friends—except, maybe, for the way their hands kept brushing unintentionally. Or the way Gojo’s eyes flicked to her face every so often, like he didn’t want to miss a single expression.

He talked the whole time. Animated, expressive, teasing—Gojo filled the silence with tales of past camp years, of prank wars between counselors, of kitchen disasters and winter bonfire mishaps. Every person they passed on the trail: staff, counselors, even shy teenage volunteers—was greeted by name and with a radiant grin, some of which came with high-fives, a ruffle of someone’s hair, or a fist bump.

“Yo, Aiko!” he called out to a petite girl dragging salt bags toward the cabin steps. “Don’t forget to stretch after that or you’ll end up walking like Nanami.”

The girl giggled and waved, cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Gojo-senpai!”

Y/n watched from the corner of her eye as Gojo moved through the camp like a star in orbit, drawing others in effortlessly. Every kid seemed to adore him. Every counselor seemed to either admire him… or want to be him. And Y/n—messy, quiet, guarded Y/n—couldn’t help but feel the knot of something unfamiliar twist in her chest. Jealousy? No. Envy. Not of the attention he received, but of how easy it all was for him. How natural it seemed to connect with people.

“People love you,” she said, not quite realizing the words had left her mouth.

Gojo turned to her, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Do they?” he asked innocently.

She shot him a dry look. Now you know damn well..

“Okay, maybe they do,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “But I can’t help being ridiculously lovable. It’s a curse.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, hiding her smirk by tugging the collar of her sweatshirt up a little. Gojo chuckled but let the silence stretch for a beat as the trail curved around the back of the ice rink, the lake barely visible through the trees. It was quiet now—just the crunch of their boots on snow and the occasional chirp of a bird lingering for winter.

Then Gojo asked, far too casually, “So… you and Choso.”

Y/n blinked. “What about us?”

He kicked a chunk of ice off the trail. “You two seem close. Breakfast buddies. Hair-touching level of close.” His tone was light, but his eyes… sharp.

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She just stared straight ahead, then shrugged. “He’s… easy to be around.”

Gojo’s brows rose. “Easy, huh?”

“Not like that.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “He listens. Doesn’t push.”

“Sounds like a catch,” Gojo murmured.

Y/n stopped walking.

He turned back, surprised, as she looked at him, the wind brushing stray curls into her eyes. “Are you asking because you’re curious,” she said slowly, “or because you’re jealous?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, Gojo didn’t have a ready quip.

He took a step closer, smirking just enough to play it off. “I’m just making sure my hockey protégé isn’t gonna ditch me mid-season for a guy with darker eyeliner and moodier playlists.”

Y/n huffed, lips twitching at the corners as she kept walking. Gojo fell into step beside her again, hands shoved into his pockets.

“But hey,” he added, peeking over at her. “For what it’s worth, I like that you’re starting to let people in. Even if it’s not me.”

Her steps faltered just slightly, the compliment landing softer than it should have. She didn’t reply, but this time, it was Gojo who stayed quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, smile faded but gaze still warm.

They walked the rest of the trail in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor of her cabin, a mountain of papers fanned around her like a storm had hit her clipboard. Her brows were knit tight, lips twisted to the side in concentration as she tried—and failed—to make sense of the week’s schedule. Behind her, Choso sat calmly on the edge of her bed, long legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands as he watched her silently unravel in real-time.

“Okay,” she muttered, flipping one sheet over and holding up another. “So, if I’m on ice-skating lessons in the morning, and Satoru’s running hockey drills right after, that means we need a break period between activities. But if I take lunch shift on Monday, I have to move the first-aid refresher to Tuesday morning. Unless—shit. Wait, no, I already have water safety Tuesday morning.”

Choso blinked slowly. “...Did you sleep last night?”

Y/n didn’t answer. She mindlessly twirled a loose strand around her finger and grabbed another paper. Her fading red curls were already frizzing at the edges, strands falling out to frame her stressed face.

“Y/n.”

“I’m fine.”

Choso didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he sat up a little straighter, resting his forearms on his knees as his eyes followed her getting up and pacing around the tiny cabin. The air was thick with tension (hers— not his). He remained still, calm as a quiet lake, while Y/n muttered to herself about supply checklists, allergy forms, emergency contacts, and bunk arrangements.

“You know,” she said breathlessly, hands on her hips, “you’d think they wouldn’t just hand me a whole group of kids like I have the slightest idea how to do this. But no. Apparently if you can stand on ice and not die, you’re qualified.”

She flopped back onto the floor with a groan, landing in the middle of her paperwork. Choso’s lips twitched.

“Want me to take over ice safety briefing?” he offered softly.

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I already memorized the handouts. And you’re spiraling.”

She huffed a half-laugh, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m not spiraling. I’m just... underprepared.”

“You’ve gone through the schedule six times,” he said, voice patient and even. “You’ve got this.”

She peeked at him between her fingers. “You sure you’re not just saying that to calm me down?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Choso replied without missing a beat.

That silenced her for a moment. The stress still curled in her shoulders, tight and tense—but there was something grounding about his presence. Something solid in the way he didn’t rush her or try to fix everything. He just sat there. Existing in her space. Listening. Letting her panic quietly.

“You’re weirdly good at this whole support thing,” she murmured, sitting back up and scooping the mess of papers back into a semi-organized pile. “You’d make a great therapist.”

“Too much school,” Choso said simply, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/n chuckled and got to her feet again, papers clutched to her chest. She glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on the skates at the foot of her bed before refocusing. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. Not when I finally feel like I’m doing something that matters.”

Choso nodded. “You won’t. Just breathe. You’ve already done more than most people would.”

Y/n turned to face him fully now, her expression a mix of gratitude and nerves.

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

He stood and moved toward the door, brushing past her lightly—barely a graze of their arms—and paused before stepping out. “Let me know if you need help setting up later.”

“I will,” she said, smiling faintly.

As he left, closing the door softly behind him, Y/n finally exhaled. Her eyes dropped back to the scattered papers. She was gonna be okay. This was fine.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the snowcapped treetops, casting long golden beams through the canopy and painting Camp Jujutsu in a warm, fleeting glow. The air buzzed with an odd cocktail of nerves and excitement—tomorrow the kids would arrive, and everything would change. The camp wouldn’t be theirs anymore. The quiet would be swallowed whole by laughter, screams, and chaos. But for now, it was still, and everyone was busy.

“Nanami, do we really need laminated chore lists in every single cabin?” Gojo called out from where he stood atop a wooden bench, hanging a directional sign pointing toward the mess hall. “We’re not running a military operation.”

“We are,” Nanami replied dryly, clipboard in hand. “And if you’d read your assignment sheet, you’d know you’re also late for inventory check.”

Gojo frowned slightly, before coughing into his hand murmuring something under his breath. “Killjoy.”

Utahime rolled her eyes as she hung fairy lights around the rec cabin with Suguru, the two of them forming an efficient, quiet team. Shoko strolled by with a cigarette in one hand and a bundle of name tags in the other, muttering under her breath about needing a drink stronger than coffee (Mr. Soraoka refused to bend his rules further for Shoko). Y/n was outside the main bunkhouse, kneeling in the snow with a bin of sports equipment in front of her, organizing helmets and shin guards with growing intensity.

“Hey,” Choso’s voice cut through her hyperfocus. “You’re doing it again.”

She blinked, looking up. “Doing what?”

“Organizing like your life depends on it.”

She sighed, brushing a curl away from her face. “It feels like it does.”

Before Choso could respond, a loud whistle pierced the air. Nanami, standing near the staff bulletin board, lifted his hand.

“Everyone—gather up,” he called, voice firm but calm. The counselors slowly drifted into a loose circle, all of them dusted with snow, paint, or glitter depending on their assigned prep task.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Nanami began, “and we’re as ready as we’re going to get. Good work today. We’ve done what we can. If anything explodes after this point…” He glanced sideways at Gojo. “...it’s probably not worth trying to prevent.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gojo grinned, resting his chin on Shoko’s shoulder. She elbowed him off.

“To celebrate our final night of peace,” Geto spoke up, voice smooth and relaxed, “we’re hosting a bonfire tonight. Hot cocoa, marshmallows, music. You know, all that classic cheesy camp stuff.”

“It starts in two hours,” Utahime added. “Dress warm, don’t be late.”

“Mandatory?” Shoko asked, speaking for everyone.

“No,” Nanami said, “but if you don’t show, we assume you’re dead and send a search party.”

Y/n bit back a grin, tucking her frozen fingers into her jacket sleeves. Around her, the group started to buzz with renewed energy—plans were made, side glances exchanged, a few people already deciding who was on cocoa duty.As the crowd began to break apart, Gojo fell into step beside Y/n, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets. Cold enough for a jacket but still not cold enough for him to wear pants... what a weirdo.

“You coming to the bonfire?” he asked, voice casual.

“I mean… yeah. I guess,” she replied, still thinking of the to-do list she hadn’t finished. “Kinda seems like I have to or risk being declared legally dead.”

“I’d mourn you,” Gojo teased. “A little. Maybe. Depends on who inherits your skates.”

Y/n gave him a sideways look, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’re a menace.”

He gasped, mock offended. “You wound me. That’s the second time today.”

“Guess you’re not as universally adored as you think.”

“Oh, I am,” he grinned. “But your approval? That one’s just more fun to earn.”

Before she could come up with a reply, Gojo winked and veered off, calling something to Suguru across the field. Y/n stood in place a moment longer, watching as the camp glowed under the late evening sun, flickers of excitement starting to burn through the stress in her chest. A bonfire; the final night of quiet before the storm of tiny humans descended. She could handle that, probably?

The camp looked like something out of a postcard. The bonfire blazed tall at the center of the open clearing near the lake, its golden glow licking at the falling night and casting warm, flickering shadows across bundled-up teens and counselors scattered around its radius. Smoke curled into the sky, mixing with the crisp bite of the winter air, and the scent of toasted marshmallows, pine, and something vaguely alcoholic from the “punch” filled the space like an invisible fog.

Y/n stood at the edge of it all. Her bleach-faded, baggy jeans sagged just enough at the hip to look intentional, the ends fraying where they met her well-worn boots. The navy and black quarter-sleeve shirt clung to her just enough to reveal the curve of her waist beneath the number 67 emblazoned across the front, a sliver of her stomach exposed when she shifted too much. The layered grey vest and black zip-up hoodie gave her a bulky warmth she appreciated, and the navy blue beanie over her head completed the look. Her curls were parted into two sleek low ponytails, and silver clips adorned the sides of her head like little snowflakes, holding the shortest pieces out of her face.

Shoko and Utahime had practically dragged her into their cabin, forcing her to sit while they plucked, brushed, and styled her like two chaotic fairy godmothers. And while Y/n had protested at first—loudly—she couldn’t deny how… good she felt when she finally saw herself in the mirror. Presentable. Warm. Her fingers curled around the red cup in her hand, the liquid inside suspiciously fizzy and tart. She grimaced after taking a sip, unsure if it was a fruit cocktail or just cleverly disguised jet fuel.

As she scanned the bonfire crowd, her eyes landed on him. Gojo. Satoru stood near the fire, practically glowing under the firelight with his usual magnetic charm turned up to eleven. A girl stood next to him—tall, pretty, maybe older than her—with long lashes and flirty confidence in every move. She laughed at something he said, hand trailing too comfortably down his arm, lingering near his wrist before rising to smooth nonexistent lint from his sleeve. Again. And again. Y/n tried not to stare. Tried harder not to care. But that sour taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the drink.

She didn’t want to be annoyed. She barely knew him. Still—something about the casual, intimate way that girl touched him, leaned in close like he was hers to touch—it made her grip the cup tighter. She tore her eyes away before the ugly jealousy curdled into something visible on her face. No. Not tonight. She had made so much progress especially with how much she had learned regarding her father. So why did she feel like lashing out? She needed to get it together. She needed.. Choso. Where was—

Ah. There he was. Further off, his usual calm posture softening ever so slightly as he stood beside her. Yuki. His longtime crush, the one he only ever mentioned when his voice dropped half an octave and he pretended not to care. She was radiant in the firelight, smiling warmly, her body angled toward him in a way that made Y/n’s heart soar in happiness for her friend(?). She took a slow sip of the suspicious punch. Nope. She wasn't interrupting that.

Head down, Y/n weaved her way back through the crackling warmth and idle conversation until she spotted two familiar faces lounging near the firepit’s edge—Shoko, puffing on a vape pen she snuck in under her coat, and Utahime, wrapped in a scarf and aggressively roasting a marshmallow with laser focus.

“There she is,” Shoko drawled, exhaling a thin plume of vapor. “Finally decided to rejoin the rest of us humans?”

“Was that jealousy I saw brewing on your face earlier?” Utahime asked without looking up, her tone innocent but her grin sharp.

Y/n flopped down beside them, arms crossed over her chest, doing her best to look indifferent. “I was just looking for somewhere not drenched in hormones and desperate flirting.”

“That sounds like jealousy,” Shoko said around a smirk, eyes half-lidded. “We should take your temperature.”

“Don’t start,” Y/n muttered, tipping her drink back.

But she couldn’t lie to herself. Not really. Because despite the fire, despite the music, despite the girls by her side, her gaze flicked back to Gojo. And it burned her more than the flames ever could.

The fire crackled lazily, painting everything in a soft amber hue. The buzz of teen voices and distant laughter floated through the night air, carried on the scent of roasted marshmallows and pine. Y/n sat cross-legged on a log between Shoko and Utahime, hands wrapped tightly around her half-empty cup of overly sweet, suspiciously spiked punch.

She watched the flames dance, her face blank but her eyes flickering restlessly. Her lips were drawn in a thoughtful line—like she was chewing on words she didn’t plan to say aloud.

Utahime passed her a freshly toasted marshmallow sandwiched between two chocolate squares. “You okay?” she asked casually, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

“Hm? Yeah. Just thinking,” Y/n replied, voice flat, distracted. She didn't look at them, but they saw the way her gaze kept drifting across the fire—toward the noisy group where Gojo stood, holding court like usual.

Specifically, where she stood beside him. The girl. With her hand on his arm again. Y/n’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Shoko raised a brow, following her gaze. “Lot of touching going on over there,” she murmured, tone light.

Utahime leaned forward, trying to peek discreetly. “What, her?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, she seems like the type to laugh too hard at his bad jokes.”

Y/n didn’t respond, choosing instead to sip from her cup like it had something deep and philosophical to offer.

Utahime nudged her gently. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Y/n blinked. “About what?”

Shoko hummed lazily. “Nothing specific. Just wondering if a certain ice queen might be feeling a little... warm?”

Y/n furrowed her brows. “You two are so weird.”

“We’re weird?” Utahime echoed with a grin. “You’ve been zoning out ever since you got here.”

“I’m just tired,” Y/n said, brushing a curl behind her ear. “And the punch is disgusting.”

Shoko let the silence sit for a beat before she tilted her head. “Mm. Maybe. Or maybe someone’s realizing they do enjoy company after all.”

Y/n side-eyed her, suspicion blooming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Utahime said, drawing out her words with a teasing lilt, “you might want to admit that you're not as unaffected by tall, loud, white-haired men as you pretend to be.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the tips of her ears were a traitor.

“He’s just…” She paused. “He’s a lot. And kind of obnoxious.”

“But funny,” Shoko offered. “And sweet when he’s not being a menace.”

Utahime nodded. “Plus, you’ve been stuck to his side every chance he gives you.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s not true.”

Shoko smirked. “You sure about that?”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue—but instead sighed and looked back toward the fire, where Gojo was laughing about something, all teeth and charm. She didn’t watch long. Just enough to frown and turn away again. Utahime gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.

Y/n bit her lip, then mumbled, “I don’t know what you guys are trying to say.”

Shoko leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. We’re just watching the story unfold.”

Y/n blinked. “What story?”

“Yours,” Utahime said, smiling into her cup. “Whether you realize it yet or not.”

They fell into a quiet moment after that, letting the warmth of the fire speak for them. Laughter swirled in the air, and the music picked up in the background. Y/n stared at the orange glow, her features unreadable, but her fingers tapped restlessly against her cup. She didn’t look again—not at him, not at her, not at anything but the fire. But Shoko and Utahime just exchanged a glance over her head, the kind two friends share when someone is still a few steps behind their own feelings. And they didn’t press her. They just stayed with her. Letting her catch up in her own time.

The bonfire blazed brighter as the night deepened, casting a warm glow over flushed faces and echoing laughter. Music pulsed low in the background, blending with the sounds of crackling wood and the occasional pop of pine sap in the flames. Y/n had somehow wandered from her quiet spot with Shoko and Utahime, the cup in her hand refilled once... twice… maybe three times. The punch had gone from "questionably sweet" to suspiciously smooth, and now the warmth in her chest had spread to her limbs and made her brain feel like it was wrapped in cotton. She found herself beside Geto, who sat comfortably on a log near the fire, legs stretched out and cup lazily dangling in one hand. Y/n leaned into him with surprising ease, her head wobbling slightly as she spoke more freely than usual.

“I just think,” she said with a soft slur, “that squirrels aren’t real. Like—think about it. They're too fast. You never see baby ones. And they look like spies.”

Geto, always the picture of calm, blinked at her before letting out a soft chuckle. “That’s a new conspiracy.”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbled, turning her bleary gaze to the fire. “If a squirrel ever looked me in the eye I think I’d die. Like spiritually.”

From across the fire, Shoko and Utahime burst into giggles. Utahime had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, while Shoko openly laughed, clearly enjoying this rare glimpse at unfiltered Y/n.

Geto raised a brow and turned to them. “Okay, seriously. What the hell is in this punch?”

Neither answered. Shoko just waved her hand innocently, still laughing.

Y/n sighed and tilted her head against his shoulder, blinking slowly. “You smell like... incense. And sandalwood. That’s weirdly comforting.”

Geto looked down at her, surprised. He wasn’t used to Y/n talking this much—let alone offering observations that sounded suspiciously like compliments.

“You're way more talkative like this,” he noted with a small smile.

“I never talk,” she agreed proudly, pointing to herself. “Very mysterious. I’m like... an enigma.”

“An enigma that just gave a five-minute rant about undercover rodents.”

Y/n snorted. She wobbled again, and this time Geto instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. She sagged into him without protest, warm and loose-limbed, her cheeks tinted from the heat or the alcohol or both.

“You’re not gonna throw up on me, are you?” Geto teased lightly.

“Noooo,” she slurred. “I’m good. I’m just... bonfire drunk. I think that’s legal.”

“Debatable.”

Y/n turned her head lazily toward him, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “You ever feel like... like everyone else just gets it? And you’re just kind of watching everything happen around you?”

That, more than anything, caught Geto off guard. He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the sudden depth in her tone.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “More often than you'd think.”

Y/n nodded solemnly, as if he’d just confirmed a great universal truth.

“Don’t tell Gojo,” she added in a whisper. “He’ll make a joke. He always makes jokes.”

Geto chuckled again, softer this time. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

From across the fire, Shoko leaned toward Utahime and whispered, “He’s gonna have to carry her back to her cabin at this rate.”

Utahime giggled. “She’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow.”

They both smiled fondly as Geto kept his arm around Y/n, steady and patient, letting her talk until her words slowed into silence, the warmth of the fire and the buzz of the night lulling her into drowsy quiet.

Gojo's laugh was half-hearted at best as the mystery girl continued clinging to his arm, her hand sliding down to lightly graze his. Her fingers toyed with the silver rings that adorned his hand, but he barely noticed. Because across the fire, he finally spotted her. Y/n. Tucked into the crook of Geto's side like she’d been there a thousand times. Her head rested low against his shoulder, face hidden in the hollow of his neck. She wasn’t just tipsy—she looked completely at ease. Comfortable. Soft in a way Gojo had never seen firsthand. The kind of softness that made his pulse throb in his ears. His brows knit briefly before smoothing out into a practiced expression of amusement. His eyes didn’t leave the sight in front of him. Geto's hand was at her waist, fingers splayed against the hem of her hoodie like they belonged there. That hand should not look that natural there. Gojo’s teeth clicked together behind the stretch of his smile. His fingers twitched at his side, and the laugh that passed his lips was strained and hollow. His chest burned with something unnameable, bitter and hot.

The girl beside him tugged gently at his sleeve. “Satoru?” she asked, watching his profile.

Without glancing at her, he suddenly grinned—sharp and bright.

“Hey, wanna get out of here?” he said smoothly, finally looking at her with a tilt of his head.

Her eyes lit up. “Like… now?”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, letting his voice dip into something lower, more playful—but unmistakably suggestive.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, watching her expression carefully. “I know a place… a little quieter.”

She nodded eagerly, flustered, and Gojo looped an arm around her shoulders like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Because when he led her away from the firelight, his eyes flicked back—one last time—to Geto and Y/n. She hadn’t even noticed him. Didn’t see how his gaze lingered on her. Didn’t see how he tightened his jaw the moment she laughed at something Geto said. She didn’t see any of it. But maybe that was better… because even Gojo wasn’t sure he wanted to understand what this feeling was. All he knew was this: if he saw her in someone else’s arms again, he might not be able to keep pretending it didn’t matter.

Geto chuckled lowly, one brow raised in amusement as Y/n tried to wiggle from beneath the weight of his arm. “Whoa, where are you going?” he asked, his tone gentle, his grip attempting to anchor her in place.

Y/n huffed and half-laughed, cheeks flushed from the fire—or maybe the punch. “More juice,” she muttered, determined, brows furrowed in a mix of concentration and rebellion.

“Y/n—” Geto began, clearly unconvinced that she needed more of whatever was in that infernal bowl. But she’d already slipped from under his arm with a surprising burst of resolve. She stumbled a little as her boots met the uneven ground, but her focus didn’t waver.

Her solo cup dangled from her fingers, the last few drops swishing near the bottom as she made her way across the fire-lit clearing. It was only once she got to the table, however, that she noticed. Gojo was gone. She blinked at the empty space by the edge of the fire where he’d been not ten minutes ago, still hearing the echo of his too-loud voice and the way he’d cupped his hands to shout something at the DJ. Now? Vanished. And so was that girl. Y/n’s eyes swept the crowd, scanning the dancing silhouettes, the half-drunk counselors swaying to the beat, laughter rising like smoke. No sign of his stark white hair, his ridiculously long limbs, or that cocky grin.

Something buzzed in her chest—low and instinctual. Unsettled. Clutching her cup, she wandered further past the ring of firelight, steps guided by something that felt more than just tipsy curiosity. Her boots crunched softly over the pine-needle-strewn ground as she veered off the main path and into the shadows beyond. That’s when she heard it. A low, breathy laugh. A soft moan muffled into someone’s jacket. Y/n froze just as the clearing came into view. There—on a wide tree stump, nestled between two half-fallen logs—was Gojo. His arms were wrapped lazily around the girl from earlier, her fingers twisted in his hair, their mouths pressed together with the kind of ease that only came from practice… or too much punch.

Y/n couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t meant to find them. She hadn’t even known where she was going. But now, standing just within the tree line, half in shadow, she couldn’t look away. Her fingers tightened around her cup, the plastic creaking beneath her grip. It felt like her stomach had been scraped clean. The haze of alcohol cleared in an instant, replaced by a cold clarity that hurt worse than any hangover ever could. She stared a moment too long. Long enough to see the way Gojo’s hand slid down to the girl’s hip, how he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and tug him closer. Y/n stepped back. Her foot crunched a dry branch beneath her boot, and the sound jolted her enough to finally drop the cup. It landed with a soft thud, rolling into the dirt, forgotten. She didn’t wait to see if they noticed. She turned on her heel and walked back the way she came, head down, hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. The bonfire was still glowing in the distance behind her, laughter and music still echoing through the trees like nothing had changed.

The walk back to her cabin felt longer than it ever had. Maybe it was the way the music from the bonfire grew quieter with every step she took, swallowed by the hush of the forest. Or maybe it was the ache in her chest—dull, but spreading like wildfire. She didn’t cry. Y/n didn’t cry.

Her hands stayed shoved deep in her hoodie pocket, fingers curled into trembling fists. Her boots thudded dully against the worn path, the cool night air biting at her cheeks as she kept her gaze locked forward. When she reached her cabin, she didn’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness felt safer. The door closed behind her with a soft click. That was the only sound. She stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, eyes slowly adjusting to the familiar shapes around her—her unmade bed, the mess of clothes by the dresser, the skates still drying by the heater.

Then she moved. Her hoodie came off first, followed by her vest. She peeled her clothes off with robotic precision, tossing them aside carelessly before collapsing onto the edge of the bed in nothing but her tank top and sweats. She sat there, hunched over, elbows resting on her knees, fingers dragging through her hair—undoing the neat little ponytails that Shoko and Utahime had helped her with just hours ago. The clips clattered to the floor.

It hit her then. Not all at once—but slowly, like the way frost forms across glass. Cold, creeping realization. She had no right to be upset. She and Gojo weren’t anything. Not really. There’d been banter. Teasing. That stupid smirk he wore whenever she tried to act unimpressed. The way he stood too close, talked too loud, paid attention like she mattered in a way most people never did. But that was just… him. Right?

She let out a shaky breath and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic blur. It wasn’t just the kiss that hurt—it was how easily it happened. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she was just another observer in the story he already knew how to write. Her hands found the blanket and clenched the fabric tightly. Why did it bother her so much? Why did it feel like something had been taken when nothing was ever hers to begin with? Y/n rolled over, burying her face into the pillow to stifle the soundless frustration clawing up her throat. The punch had worn off, but the haze it left behind was replaced by something worse. Clarity, and it hurt like a bitch.

Outside, laughter echoed like ghosts she couldn’t escape. But inside the cabin, Y/n laid still in the dark—wondering why it was so much easier to push people away than admit how badly she wanted to be wanted.

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orchidyoonkook · 7 months ago

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To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started.

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will.

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them.

And you claimed it suckered you in every time.

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season.

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer.

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window.

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.”

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started.

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it.

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.”

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.”

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him.

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens.

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these.

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes.

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant.

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction.

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out.

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do.

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care.

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something.

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you.

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat.

Definitely a brownish-gray.

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system.

The sight relieves him.

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match.

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm.

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too.

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you.

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it.

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him.

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does.

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow.

Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease.

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back.

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told.

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you.

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back.

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you.

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire.

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles.

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you.

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand.

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration.

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly.

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back.

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again.

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster.

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand.

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament. You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw.

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice.

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took.

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth.

You don’t think you need to say more.

He knows.

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask.

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek.

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment.

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard.

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told.

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice.

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie.

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest.

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags.

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?”

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media.

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego.

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification.

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new.

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions.

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries.

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t.

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that.

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too.

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private.

You wonder when that happened.

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes.

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle.

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking.

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues.

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot. “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.”

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex.

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself.

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you.

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm.

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t.

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls.

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered.

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough.

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above.

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa.

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are.

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock.

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite.

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook.

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at.

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker.

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle.

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful.

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out.

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence.

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops.

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave.

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell.

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly.

“Me too,” Jungkook says back.

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement.

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep.

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer.

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents.

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh.

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them.

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow.

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you.

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.”

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical.

He remembered.

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist.

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care.

It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove.

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.”

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

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abbysimsfun · 1 month ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 189 (Brindleton Bay Picks a New Mayor)

Growing up, Alexander Goth dreamed of becoming Brindleton Bay's first real mayor in decades. After high school, he got involved with No Sim Left Behind, marrying his teenage sweetheart, Lydia Kim-Lewis. Now, they had two amazing kids - son Jagger and toddler Carina. His family was the light of his life, but he'd always been drawn to activism and politics.

Once George Brindleton met his end while wintering in Sulani, Alex could finally push for an election - and for a while it looked like he might run unopposed. Brindletonians were used to joking Heather Gordon's Tuxedo cat, Mayor Whiskers, ran the town, but just before the deadline, Bay Landgraab Security director J Huntington III entered the race. Alex hadn't run a campaign since he won student council president at Deadgrass Isle High - a real mayoral contest excited him!

Hazel Nesbitt was one of his wife's oldest friends, and she eventually moved to Brindleton Bay to be closer to both Lydia and her elder sister, local vet Heather. With her experience working for Henford's Mayor Varner before her divorce, Alex enlisted Hazel to manage a clean campaign focused on meeting locals and telling them his plans for the town in detail. It was the best way he could think to counter J's populist tough-on-crime agenda.

Alex wanted to clean up every shoreline, revitalize tourism, and make Brindleton Bay the kind of place families stayed for generations. That meant jobs, recreational spaces, and total commitment.

His ambitions were high, but his perseverance was higher. Voters saw a young, enthusiastic leader, and on election day, they rewarded him with a significant victory.

Brindleton Bay's often rainy spring weather couldn't dampen his excitement as he thanked his supporters for their faith in him. He was already raring to go - not even mud puddles in the rain could stop him from making Brindleton Bay a world class town!

(The 'energetic speech' option borders on aggressive but it made me laugh. Go Mayor Alex, you won! Since Mayor isn't actually a level in the political career in-game, he's a high-level politician and I changed his first name from Alexander to Mayor Alex. Officially.)

Alex's proud mother, Bella, threw a party at home to celebrate his electoral victory. His proud big sister, Cassandra, arrived with her husband, River, and their sons, and Cass headed straight for the piano as soon as she walked into her childhood home.

The Nesbitts' two-story cottage in Henford was more garden than home, with no room for a piano. But Cassandra took lessons as a child, and with gentle music humming from the ivory-coloured keys, guests gathered happily around the grand instrument.

"Isn't this the piano Conrad possessed when Bella made him that cocktail?" wondered Heather. "It's so big! I can't believe he made this thing float!"

Bella and Dexter prepared food for the guests in the kitchen, with Bella adding her secret spice to the superfood salad for an extra kick. Conrad grinned as he spray-cleaned the kitchen sink to prep it for dirty dishes. "I don't know how you do it, Mrs. Goth. Everything you make is impeccable."

"Oh, you know me." She laughed as the salad bowl seemed to shimmer in her hands. "It's just a little touch of magic, I guess."

"Ash said he's sorry he couldn't make it to the party, but he's having a sleepover with his friends tonight."

"Don't worry about it. Ash is growing up. He'll be a teenager soon; of course he wants to spend more time with his friends!"

"He's more ready to grow up than we are. Doesn't seem that long ago he was in diapers."

"Well, we can't stop time forever. Only Reapers stay the same."

"How are things with you and Grim?"

"Never better! It's still very casual, you know. It's impossible for us to live like a normal couple, so we don't. He's reaping tonight, but he might stop by once the party's over."

The hostess had also extended an invitation to the losing candidate and his family. Alex wanted to have a good working relationship with the guys at Bay Landgraab Security; for better or worse, they were important to the town.

In another room, Alex found J obsessively consulting a future cube and interrupted. "I wanted to make sure there's no hard feelings after the vote," he said. "As mayor, I want safety and security in the bay as much as you do, and I want to work with you to ensure the best for everyone in town."

J scarcely looked up from his cube, smiling as the toy revealed a positive fortune. "No hard feelings," he insisted. "I only ran because some suits at Landgraab Corp. said I should and paid the registration fee. If I won I'd be indebted to them, but this way I can say I tried so they don't punish my guys for my non-compliance. But between you and me? I voted for you, too."

J's lookalike fourteen-year-old son, Caiden Huntington, had joined his parents, approaching Lavender as she chatted with her cousins, Michael and Sammy, in the living room. "Have you been practicing your double stops?" he asked.

Lavender grinned at the teenager who'd recently become her violin teacher. "I have been. They almost sound good now."

"It always sounds better than you think it does, Lavender."

"If you say so!" She didn't really believe him.

Of all the guests at the party, Mortimer Goth was perhaps most proud of his son's mayoral victory. He wasn't a resident of the town and couldn't vote for him, but seeing him succeed meant the world.

"Another great Goth tale to add to the family archives," he mused, wrapping the oldest of his sons in a hug. "As a kid there was a simulation game I played, and I always made the sim designed for me become the president of the world. But you might actually go out and do it. I couldn't be prouder, Alexander."

Dexter scoffed from a nearby chair. "You were into video games? But Dad, you're so old!"

"It's not like I'm a hundred years old, Dex. Karl and I both like to play video games sometimes. We've got a console at the villa in Willow Creek."

"Are you any good?"

"You'll have to come to Willow Creek to find out," he chided.

After a special week for his family in Brindleton Bay, Mayor Alex Goth was ready to get started fulfilling his promises to the town. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Caiden elected himself Lavender's violin instructor when he took one of the Huntington pets to the vet and randomly idled like this. ⬇️ I was already looking for more ways to involve him in the main fam's plotlines though he and Ash aren't friends, and this surprised me because he doesn't look like a violinist - but, for me, that's what works about it! In my head Heather offered to pay him to teach Lavender after she heard him. (Heather 'likes violin,' which is sweet, because Lavender's playing makes her happy.)

NOTE 2: For those who like townie updates and gossip and for those who don't know, Alex's wife Lydia is the younger sister of Olivia (Kim-Lewis) Watson and Heather's close friend, Spencer Pancakes. She and Alex met after the Goths' old cat had kittens; River was already dating Cassandra, so he took Hazel and her friend Lydia to adopt one. Victory moved back to Brindleton Bay with Lydia once she and Alex were married.

In the bottom right photo before the cut are the parents of Avery Harms, who's the girlfriend of Bella and Mortimer's youngest son, Dexter in the posed pic before the cut. Hayes Harms and his wife Abby started life as the randomized Henford grocer and creature keeper after I made Michael Bell and Kim Goldbloom playable. They're parents to Elliott, Avery, and Isaac. Hayes is also the biological father of former Brindleton vet tech Emi Kudo's twin sons (including young ballet dancer Charlie, who's been teased enough and makes his debut May 27th!). Charlie and his brother, Oliver, are younger than Elliott and Avery, but older than Isaac. Currently, Hayes and Abby are aware of the affair twins but know nothing else by choice; Emi has stayed out of their way ever since she first left town, and Avery and her brothers are in the dark about the whole thing.

WCIF Poses Used: Three poses used for the top two photos - Special Day by @beto-ae0, Big Family by @traveling-sims, and Siblings by Katverse.

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potatoplace · 10 months ago

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You Can Have It - Chapter 4

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 3 | chapter 5 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, nothing else I don't think

Words: ~7.4k

Author's Note: it's heeeereeeeeee aaaahhhhhhh RHYS AND FEYRE YESSS I hope you guys all like this chapter! And I can't wait for more cutesy lil interactions with them, all to start come the next update ☺️

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The past month and a half had passed so swiftly, you could hardly believe it. Your days were filled with overseeing a few details of construction, and picking out every last piece of furniture that would be in your bakery, apartment, and garden. You and Mor went on lunch dates every Thursday, and most your other lunches were spent with Rella and sometimes Arana after shopping, or with Marcus between stints of supervising the construction.

Your dinners you spent alone most of the time, dedicating yourself to cooking every last recipe in your Night Court Favorites cookbook, enjoying your love for cooking as well.

The time you spent in your hotel room was either passed by reading the Healer of Time series that Gina had recommended to you, or creating your menu pamphlet for when you are finally prepped and ready to open your bakery.

It was completed already, and sent off to the printers for a custom metal press to be made. You had decorated it with a drawing of your bakery on the front, and the name Sparaiya Bakery. The rest of the pages were filled with drawings of your pastries, with the ingredients and, in some cases, added benefits next to them.

Construction had gone by quickly, and you could hardly believe it when finally, your large custom pink marble tub was flown onto the second floor of your bakery by three very strong Illyrians. It was a foot wider than your wingspan, and deep enough that you could float in it, and it also had pretty good veining done on it at your request. It was by far the most expensive piece of furniture on your second floor, coming in at 1,175 gold marks. But you didn’t care, you wanted your dream tub.

The most expensive thing in your bakery by far were your ovens, each one coming in at 2,000 gold marks with a lifetime warranty, and in a soft, pale blue. You have ten stoves in total, seven of them were against the wall separating the kitchen from the front room, taking up the expanse of it. Each are on an elevated platform so that you could see inside of them without needing to bend over. The other three were against the back wall of the building, slightly smaller oven sizes but with a stovetop on each of them, so that you were able to make the filling that some of your pastries require.

The kitchen was completely done at this point, as was the front room of the bakery. Your kitchen was decorated with the pale blue stoves as well as matching cabinetry with silver handles, and white marble countertops with silver veining. The wide window you had took up half of the wall in the center of it, allowing for more cabinets, as you would likely need them for all of your bakeware and ingredients.

The kitchen was exactly how you’d imagined it when you had envisioned it a month ago, as was the front room.

You had the cedar logs of bakery and it’s furniture stained slightly darker, wanting it to have the cozy feeling of a darkened cabin in winter. The log chairs and benches all had different shades of pastel cushions attached to the seats, and the backs of the chairs. The tables were beautiful as well, the carpenter, a kind beta named Oren, had done a fantastic job on all of the wooden furniture you had.

And the display cases Arana had made for you were lovely, two on each side of the wooden counter Oren had also made for you. Arana had made them of matching wood, with a glass dome on one side, and sliding glass doors on the back facing where you would be standing. The shelves were also made of glass, and you’d had Rella enchant them to be unbreakable, just in case.

There was also a counter running along the back wall of the front room, matching the counters in your kitchen, as well as having the same cabinets below.

Your fireplace- it was exactly what you had wanted, made of different shades of grey stone, and positioned on the left wall, even with the midpoint of the dining area.

Your front door had yet to arrive, but the artist working on it was bringing it by in the next week.

The upstairs was nearly finished as well, your bathroom, personal kitchen and bedroom were all fully decorated. Your bathroom and kitchen were both done in a soft, baby pink color, matching the marble of your tub perfectly. You had a small round dining table, perfect for four, made by Oren in the same stained wood as everything else. In front of your fireplace on the right hand wall, you had a matching couch placed parallel to it, and two chairs placed of to the sides and slightly in front of it, with end tables on either side of the couch.

And your bedroom was absolutely perfect, your nest filled with blues of nearly every shade, with white and silk thrown in every now and then. So many pillows, you have so many pillows. Back in Winter, you had been so focused on your grandmother that you hadn’t even truly settled back in, and your nest was one of the things you had consistently neglected.

But not anymore. From now on, you would honor your omega’s wishes, perhaps even find an alpha who would treat you right in the next few years.

You had a few bookshelves lining a wall of your room as well, and you were determined to fill them all in the next three years with books you’ve read while living in Velaris.

Everything about your apartment upstairs was perfect, you couldn’t have been happier with any other turn out.

And truly, the main thing left for you to do before you could declare your bakery’s construction complete is your garden. The enchantments are complete, including ones to keep the planters waterproof to avoid any possible leakage, as well as keeping the air crisp and humid for your soon-to-be plant babies. You have yet to fill the planters already in place with dirt, or pick up the plants from Winter though.

But that was your main goal for the next week.

You had finally moved in the night before, after Marcus had given you the all clear. Your bill with him came out to be 120,000 gold marks, and every single one of them was well spent, as you had your perfect bakery and perfect apartment.

You had woken up this morning and made tea for yourself in your kitchen, and stared out at the lovely view you had from your massive window. There were a few younger fae out already, skating along the Sidra. It had yet to unfreeze, the temperatures had stayed low ever since you had arrived in town.

You almost felt like winter was holding on a bit tighter, just for you.

You finished your tea and breakfast around nine, then got ready for the day, dressing in one of your new winter dresses, this one in a soft pink, with delicate silver flowers embroidered along the hems of your sleeves. You threw on a white scarf, hat, and mitten set, then made your way down the stairs, and out the of what will soon be your front doors.

You were planning to find a florist this morning, as well as find a garden supply store so that you would be able to visit Viviane later in the week.

Rella had told you of a nice florist who was on the south side of the Sidra, just west of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, so you were making your way there.

The streets were rather slick this morning, so you took your time in getting to the florist’s shop, as Mor had said, there was nothing quite like eating shit before a meeting or going somewhere- which you’d had more than your fair share of in the past month and a half, running around town so often.

Finally you reached the shop, painted a sage green on the outside, and there was a garden along the side of it that you could see wrapped around to the back as well.

You walked inside, making sure to stomp the snow from your boots before you entered. At the counter was a beautiful high fae, with lovely light golden brown hair in a messy bun atop her head, a few strands escaping it and framing her gorgeous face.

“Hello,” you said with a wave as you made your way to the counter. “My name is Y/N, Rella told me that you’re a florist?” You asked hesitantly.

“Rella sent you? That was so sweet of her, make sure to tell her thank you for me, Y/N! My name is Elain, it’s lovely to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, and you got a lovely breeze of her scent, jasmine and honey- another omega. You took her hand, surprised at the grip that the delicate looking fae had. “Did you need a florist for something?”

You nodded your head, answering “Yes, I’m opening a bakery in the next couple of weeks, and I was hoping you would be able to supply seasonal flowers every week.”

“Yes, I should be able to do that. Do you have a color scheme in mind at all, or just the seasonal aspect?”

“Jus the seasonal flowers, any color combination will be lovely, I’m sure.”

Elain smiles at you, her soft chocolate eyes crinkling at the edges slightly. “Very well, Y/N. Do you know how many bouquets you’d like weekly, and a price range?”

“I suppose I’d need…” you thought on how many tables you had inside of your bakery, as well at the mantle of the fireplace. “A dozen bouquets every week, I believe. And price wise… I’m not really sure, do you have a set type of plan?” You asked, feeling unsure.

“Yes, for a dozen bouquets my base price would be around 25 gold marks a week, and for slightly larger bouquets or more rare types of flowers, it could get up to double that.”

You thought about it for a moment. “I think that I’ll let you choose whichever flowers look best together, but I don’t need very large bouquets.”

Elain pulled a contract from beneath her counter, along with a quill and pot of ink. She wrote in the details of your request, then slid the paper over to you.

You read it over, then signed it and slid the page back to Elain. You handed your bank card to her, and she pressed it to her ledger before passing it back to you. “Alright, you’re all set up to start your deliveries, when you know the exact date just come back and let me know, okay?”

You nodded your head, then finally looked around the rest of her shop. There were large bags filled with dirt, gardening tools, large displays of seeds, and even a few types of planters on display. “Oh, you sell gardening supplies too? That’s perfect!” You said, happy to have likely found everything you needed to complete your garden.

“Yes, we even have carts that you can borrow or purchase to take everything home,” Elain said, already moving from behind the counter. “Are you starting a garden, as well?” She asked.

“Yes, just a small one for a few plants and herbs I need for my baked goods,” you replied, already moving to look at the types of dirt she had on offer.

Perfect. Elain already carried dirt from the Winter Court, exactly what you needed for your plants.

“I’ll take- oh, I think ten bags of the Winter dirt, please,” you said, hoping that it would be enough to fill up your planters. “And I’ll purchase a cart as well, that will probably be handy for just about all of my shopping for the bakery,” you said with a chuckle. Elain brought a cart over, and the two of you loaded ten large bags of dirt into it.

You also grabbed a few different sizes of hand shovels and a couple of watering cans, putting them into your cart.

“Is that everything you’re needing today?” Elain asked as you approached the counter once more.

“Yes, Elain.” You handed your bank card over, and tucked it back into the collar of your dress once she gave it back. “Thank you so much, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” you said, moving to push your cart through the front door.

“Did you need any help with your garden at all?” Elain asked before you left.

“Not at the moment, I just need to fill my planters with dirt today. But in the next week I’ll be transplanting some things from the Winter Court,” you replied, and her brown eyes lit up.

“Would you like some help?” Elain asked brightly. “I’ve been so bored during the winter, there’s not much to tend to, I’d love to help you out,” she said, with so much hope in her voice you couldn’t refuse.

“That would be lovely, Elain. I’ll come and get you once I have the plants back here, alright?”

Elain beamed at you. “Sounds like a plan, Y/N. I’m free all of this Wednesday, if that would end up working for you. If not, I’m sure I’ll be able to slip away for a little bit,” Elain suggested.

“I’ll try and get the plants here by Wednesday, Elain. Thank you again!” You said as you pushed your cart into the outdoors.

Luckily, the cart seemed to be enchanted to have the snow speared from its path, and you made it back to your home without much trouble.

Now the hard part: getting all of the dirt upstairs and into the planters.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

It took you a few hours to finish the planters off, and you were more than ready to wash the dirt from your skin by the time three in the afternoon rolled around, but you forced yourself to write a letter to Viviane, asking to come and grab the plants Wednesday morning before you did so.

You ran hot water in the tub, then let it fill up while you stripped your clothes from your skin and placed them in your laundry bin. You slipped into the tub, loving how your wings were able to sink beneath the water comfortably as well.

It was the first time they would have a proper wash in over a month, and you were looking forward to how soft and fluffy your feather would feel afterwards.

Taking your time, you spent over an hour in the bath carefully washing the first and debris from your wings, refilling the tub once so you could rinse clean. Afterwards, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, one that was so soft that you had bought all of your towels from the same vendor, even for the bakery, in varying shades of blues, pinks, and purples.

A reply from Viviane had landed on your desk while you were bathing, confirming that she would pick you up in front of Mor’s townhome at eight on Wednesday morning.

You’d considered buying baking supplies and bakeware today, but after the hauling of dirt you were too tired, and nothing sounded better than getting a takeout from Sevenda’s and curling up on the couch in front of your fireplace with the third Healer of Time book.

But getting Sevenda’s would require going outside again, and going across the Sidra…

You had the ingredients for the chicken curry you had made on your second night in Velaris, and that, you supposed, would be less daunting of a task than leaving your home.

You got dressed in a soft sweater dress, another recent purchase of yours, and let yourself read for a half an hour on the couch, until your stomach was growling at you to loudly to continue ignoring. Fine. I will make the damn curry.

You stood up from your couch and went into the kitchen, chopping and stirring and waiting until finally you had your dinner. Your cooking skills had improved in the month and a half since you’d made this recipe, and you could tell in the taste of the curry.

Seated at the table, you read while you ate, so lost in the gripping story that you hadn’t realized you were done with your food until you ate a spoonful of nothing.

“Oh,” you said to yourself, then got up and rinsed your bowl out. You were so tired already, and it was barely six in the evening.

Today would be a good day to start getting back into a baking sleep schedule, if you were so tired already… And then you would be able to get up bright and early in the morning, make yourself some breakfast, then head to the Palace of Bone and Salt to buy enough baking supplies to make each of your recipes three times, to make sure you still have all of the techniques you need down pat before your grand opening.

Grand opening. You could hardly believe it, you’re so close to your dream becoming a reality, and it’s been almost nothing but fun the entire journey.

That was definitely in part to the wonderful fae you’d met in Velaris, each one that you worked with you helpful and friendly. You truly couldn’t have asked for a better start to your new life here.

You allowed yourself to read until seven thirty, then forced yourself to get into bed.

It took a little while for you to fall asleep, even with being tired, but soon enough you drifted off, thoughts filled with bags of flour and the pastries you would make tomorrow.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Picking out your bakeware took you longer than expected.

Did you want glass or metal bowls? Pink or blue ceramic? Wooden utensils or metal utensils? You were so indecisive, trying to choose between whatever you liked most and trying to have a color scheme- but then you realized it doesn’t matter, all of them will be used for the same purpose.

And if you love all of your bakeware, then who cares if they don’t match?

So you’d gotten possibly double of everything that you needed, but that would just make it easier for you to do more batches or different things at once in the future. And you’re fine with that.

You’d carefully made your way home, trying your best not to break any of your new dishes.

Your only casualty was a cute mixing bowl you’d picked up for your personal kitchen, it was pink with little duckies all around it. You would get another at some point.

It took you two hours to have everything arranged the way you wanted, and immediately after getting your kitchen set up you went out again pushing your cart back to the Palace of Bone and Salt to get your baking ingredients. That shopping trip took you a bit over an hour, and by the time you got home you were tired once more, but more than ready to start baking again.

You had never gone much over a week without baking, ever since you were six years old. You felt like apart of you had been ripped away, until your hands finally sank into dough once more.

It was magical, how happy baking makes you. You baked for the rest of the night, probably eating far too many pastries for dinner, but you don’t care, because they’re pastries you baked, in your bakery.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Two days later, it was Wednesday, and Viviane had picked you up as promised.

“So, how’s Velaris treating you so far?” She asked as the two of you were on your knees in the greenhouse, working to free the last of three hornberry bushes you needed.

“It’s been amazing so far, the change of pace as been absolutely wonderful, and getting closer to the grand opening of the bakery I’m getting more and more excited! And everyone has been so kind so far, I feel so welcome.”

Your four combined hands finally pulled the bush out of the ground, and you carefully placed it in the cart holding the rest of your plants.

“That’s so great to hear, Y/N. I’m glad you’re settling in well, you deserve it after all you’ve been through,” Viviane said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Did you need any other plants, dear?”

You looked over the cart thoroughly. “Nope, that’s all I need Viv. Thank you so much!”

“Of course, Y/N! You know this section of the garden practically belongs to you, right? You and your grandmother are the reason our birth rates and overall health as a court have gone up. If you need anything else from here, just write me again, okay?”

You nodded, smiling gratefully at her. “Oh, by the way, the money you gave me was far too much,” you said, and Viviane opened her mouth to speak. “But it is very much appreciated, Viv. It’s made getting the bakery perfect so easy.”

Viviane grinned at you. “I knew it was the right choice, telling you once you were already in Velaris,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s true, I would never have accepted it,” you agreed, chuckling along with her.

The two of you stood from where you were kneeling, dusting the dirt from your dresses. “Are you ready to see my bakery?” You asked, holding your arm out for Viviane to take.

“I have been since before it was built, Y/N,” Viviane replied, taking your arm and winnowing the both of you back to Mor’s townhouse. “Lead the way, dear.”

The two of you trekked back to your bakery, taking longer than usual with the cart’s wheels snagging on the snow.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s perfect!”

Your front doors had been delivered yesterday, perfectly depicting the change from dawn to day to night while snow falls over the Sidra, more beautiful than you had thought it could be.

“Isn’t it?” You asked dreamily, still slightly disbelieving that it was real, even when you’d been living here for the past five days. “Come on, let me show you the inside,” you said, unlocking the doors and dragging the cart inside after Viviane had entered.

“This is so cute! I wish you were open right now, I’ve been dying for one of your hornberry tarts. Leo does a good job, but I don’t think he’ll ever get them perfectly like yours, Y/N,” Viviane said, referencing the pasty chef you’d trained before moving.

“Well, if you come back for the opening or any time after, I’ll make sure you get a few to take home with you. I’m sure Kallias would like some as well,” you remarked with a smile, recalling how fond the High Lord was of your pastries.

“He’ll probably join me once you’re open, he won’t say it but I know he misses your baking. He does this cute little pouty face whenever something doesn’t taste perfect,” Viviane said, always ready to talk about her alpha. “Well, I’d better get going Y/N, I have a few meetings I need to get to, but let me know when your opening is and I’ll do my best to stop by.”

“I will, Viv. Winnow safe, okay?” You said as the two of you hugged, taking in one last breath of her calming snow and cranberry scent.

“I will, dear. Have fun planting!” Viviane said, winnowing away after giving a little wave goodbye.

You immediately set to taking the plants upstairs as quickly as you could, wanting to get Elain over at a reasonable hour.

It was eleven thirty when you finished, each and every last plant taken up the spiral staircase and placed next to the planter it would be replanted in.

You washed your hands, then put your winter wear on and headed into the city, going straight for Elain’s shop. When you arrived, the door was locked, so you knocked loudly on it. Elain came to the door a moment later, already dressed to leave the indoors.

“Lovely, Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it today!” Elain said excitedly, locking her shop up behind her. “And I get to see your bakery, I’m excited for that too!”

The two of you made your way to your bakery slowly, the two of you appreciating the people milling about as you walked.

“This is a gorgeous bakery you’ve got, Y/N,” Elain said once the two of you were standing in front of it, you unlocking the door.

“Thank you, Elain,” you said, swinging the door open and letting Elain inside.

“Oh, the inside is so adorable! Now I have such good ideas for your bouquets, after seeing the space. I’m thinking a blue flower in every weeks bunches, keep the winter theme going a bit.”

“I love that idea, Elain, that’s perfect!” You led her to the kitchen and up the stairs, and she rushed towards the garden.

“This is amazing! Who did your enchantments?” Elain asked once she was in the garden, the air even colder than it was outside.

“Gabrella, in the Palace of Flame and Steel,” you replied, joining her in the garden. “And this is my little garden,I’m excited to get everything planted. And please, don’t feel obligated to stay at any point, though I do truly appreciate your help.”

“I love to see new plants, and I’ve never seen any of these before. I’m guessing they’re native to the Winter Court, with the dirt you bought and the climate you’ve got here,” Elain said, hitting the nail on the head.

“You would be right, Elain. I use all of them in my pastries. All of them are pretty easy to plant, just make sure their roots are covered and then water them until the soil is completely soaked,” you informed Elain, already kneeling in front of one of the planters.

The two of you got to work, Elain watched you plant one of the bushes before moving to her own, planting it with expert hands.

As you worked, the two of you spoke of your lives, mainly your hopes for the near future. You spoke of your bakery, how excited you were to see it finally in action, and how the people of Velaris would react to your business. Elain talked about her mate and alpha, Lucien, and how they were hoping to have children soon.

“We’ve been trying rather vigorously,” Elain tittered, and you blushed along with her.

“Well, I cannot promise that it will work for sure, but I do make a fertility pastry with these berries,” you say, pointing to the spiky berries on the hornberry bush that you were currently planting. “We have seen a significant increase in births the Winter Court over the past five years, though that could be due to the end of everyone being imprisoned.”

“Anything at all that will help, we’ve been trying for the past five years with no luck so far. As long as it tastes decent, I am willing to try anything, I’ve wanted to be a mother for so long,” Elain said, sighing after she did.

“I believe they’re rather delicious, but you’ll just have to see for yourself,” you laughed.

Within two hours, you and Elain were sitting back on your hands, looking at your now completed garden. “Thank you for your help, Elain. Would you like to go to lunch with me?” You asked, wanting to thank her in some way other than words, and you had a feeling she would turn down any monetary payment you would offer.

“I would love to, Y/N. Did you have a specific place in mind?” She asked, already getting to her feet. You followed her up, then lead her over to the kitchen sink to wash the dirt from your hands.

“There’s this great noodle place on the west end of the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, if you’re interested? Or we can go someplace else, if you’d prefer,” you offered.

“Noodles sound great,” Elain said, smiling softly at you.

“Noodles it is, then.”

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Lunch with Elain was nice, and you walked her back over to her shop before heading home. The two of you had gotten to know each other better, and you were happy to know that you might already have three omega friends in your new city, very different compared to your sold one in Winter- Viviane.

When you got back to your home, slightly surprised to see Marcus outside of your doors.

“Ah, Y/N, there you are!” He said, walking over to meet you. “I was… I was hoping that I could ask you something.” For the first time since you had met him, Marcus sounded nervous.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me- on a date?” He asked.

You hadn’t seen it coming. You’d enjoyed his company, yes, he was fun to talk to and nice to be around.

“I… uhm…” you started, unsure of what to say.

“Look, there’s no strings attached, if you hate it halfway through, or even right when I pick you up, we can act like it never happened, hmm?”

You considered it for a moment. Would it really be so bad to go on a date with a handsome, friendly alpha?

“Okay, yes, I’ll go out with you. What night were you thinking?” You asked, looking up at Marcus nervously.

“Would tomorrow night at six work for you?”

You nodded your head. “Yes, tomorrow would be fine,” you respond. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow night at six, Y/N,” Marcus said before departing from you with a wave, leaving you to slink inside of your bakery and contemplate what had just happened.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“You’re going on a date with Marcus? Oo, tell me what you’re going to wear!” Mor said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

“Just a dress and some tights, Mor, nothing fancy,” you said after swallowing your bite of salad.

“Well, at least tell me you’re excited for the date?”

“I guess so.” Mor stared at you, disbelief in her eyes as she chewed the last bite of her sandwich. “What? Marcus is nice, really nice, I just don’t feel any kind of spark towards him, that’s all.”

“At least give the male an honest chance, alright?” Mor asked of you before paying for the tab. “I’ve got to run, but next week you will tell me all about the date, yes?” You nodded your head. “Good. I’ll see you next Thursday, have a good date today doll,” Mor said, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leaving the restaurant.

You finished your salad, then walked the short distance home from the restaurant in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf.

Perhaps you should be getting ready excitedly at this point already, but you knew in your heart that you wouldn’t find that spark with Marcus. After all, you’d known each other nearly two months at that point, and you’d never looked at him as anything other than a friend.

But you supposed that going on a date, even one that you know you won’t go out with again, could be fun.

So you baked for a few hours, then took a long bath to make sure their was no flour left on your body. Getting dressed was easy, you simply slipped on one of your old favorites, a cute pink wool sweater dress that goes to your knees and some warm tights. You put on a little bit of eyeliner and a tiny bit of lipstick, but it only took you ten minutes to get ready. It was only five thirty.

You picked up your book and read, already on the fourth book of the series. By five fifty five, you had on your winter wear and boots and were downstairs.

Marcus knocked on the door exactly at six, looking handsome as usual.

“Shall we go?” He asked, extending an arm to you.

You took it, then said “Yes, lead the way Marcus,” with a gentle smile.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The date was fun, that was true. But you felt no kind of connection with Marcus besides that of a friend. He seemed to sense as much when he dropped you off at your door later that night.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Y/N.”

“I did too, Marcus, but…” you trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

“But you don’t feel the connection?” Marcus asked, and you nodded in confirmation. “It’s alright, I had to take my chance, right? An omega as amazing and wonderful as you, well, you’re a catch to any alpha with eyes and ears, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Marcus. And I’m so sorry, I wish it could have worked out. You truly are a magnificent person, and I’ve loved getting to know you over the past two months. Friends?”

“Friends,” Marcus confirmed, giving you a brief hug before pulling away. “I’ll see you at your bakery’s opening, when was it again?”

“It will be next Friday, I’ve decided,” you declared brightly, glad that things with Marcus could still be pleasant.

“I’ll see you next Friday, Y/N,” Marcus said before walking away, leaving you on your doorstep once again.

You sighed and headed inside, going straight up to your bedroom to get undressed and wash your face. After you had, you flopped into bed, wishing that you’d been attracted to such a kind, helpful alpha.

But you’d find someone, at some point. You would meet at the right time, the perfect time, and everything would fall into place from there, you were sure of it.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Mor asked as you sat down across from her in the noodle restaurant.

You sighed. “No, it was a fine outing, just not a good date,” you said. “I did have fun with him, there just isn’t that connection there, you know?”

The two of you ordered quickly when the server came over, then went back to your conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give it one more date?"

You nodded your head. “I’m sure, Mor. There’s no point to it, if I haven’t felt any kind of attraction in the two months we’ve known each other.”

It was Mor’s turn to sigh. “Okay, okay. Do you have any other alphas that you might like to date?” Mor asked, wiggling her brows at you.

“None that I can think of Mor, you can tell Viv that I’m happily single at the moment.”

Your food arrived then, and the two of you tucked into your food, both of you humming happily at the taste.

“So, my bakery opens tomorrow,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence while eating, and Mor quickly swallowed her current bite.

“Tomorrow? Oh, that’s so exciting Y/N! What time do you open? I’ll try to get there near then, but no promises, I might be sleeping in.l

“That’s fine, Mor, I’m opening at seven so I don’t really expect you to be awake at that time,” you laughed, knowing that the alpha was the opposite of a morning person.

“Mother no, I would never be up that early for anyone,” Mor giggled. “Have you sent out flyers or anything yet?”

“Yes, I had some pamphlets printed up with the menu, they’re being distributed around town as we speak!” You said brightly.

“That’s good, that’s good. I hope everything runs smoothly, Y/N, you deserve it after all of the hard work your put in.”

“Thank you, Mor. I just hope that people like my pastries.”

“Y/N, just based on that little sampler basket you brought me at the beginning of the week, the people here will go nuts over your bakery,” Mor reassured you.

You had brought a basket of pastries to every person that had helped you in starting your bakery: Mor, Marcus, Rella, Arana, Oren, and the stained glass artist, Wren. You’d actually brought five baskets to Marcus’s office, enough so that he could have a basket of his own, and plenty left for the crew that had worked so hard to bring your dream together.

“Thank you, I’m glad to hear that. I hope that you can make it tomorrow, I believe that Kallias and Viviane will be stopping in later in the day, so long as nothing pressing comes up.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you and them tomorrow, then, Y/N,” Mor said as she gave you a quick goodbye hug, her citrus and cinnamon scent washing over you again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor,” you said with a smile, managing to get your bank card down on the bill first.

You walked home alone, knowing that you needed to make sure everything was in order for the next morning as you went, taking a little longer to savor the warmth of the sun. It had started to warm a little bit, and most of the snow was cleared from the streets at this point.

You used your three hours before your self imposed bed time to check everything twice and make sure you had enough ingredients for everything you needed to bake in the morning, as well as plenty of tea and coffee for people to drink.

Your time to sleep went by too quickly, and soon enough it was four in the morning. You took a quick bath, then donned a comfortable lilac dress with a back scooped low enough for your wings to be free, something you’ll want as you will most likely be spending the next fifteen hours working in the kitchens and the front of house.

Finally, you thought, so happy that your grand opening is finally here.

You rushed downstairs, turning on the fae lights so that you could see your work.

Most of the pastries were done proving, and ready to go in the oven. You had plenty of your winter berry jams ready to go, all you need to do is make more dough and get it proving.

You spend the next two and a half hours working quickly and efficiently, the rush that baking on a large scale gave you fueling you on, faster than ever before.

You had just finished stocking up the pastry display cases, medicinal on the left and typical pastries on the right, when Elain showed up at the front door, bright eyes and perfect hair even at the early hour, You rushed over to unlock the door, opening it to let the sweet fae inside, and you flipped the open sign over as you shut the door.

“It smells absolutely wonderful in here Y/N. Lucien is bringing the rest of our family around, I made them all promise to show up after they devoured that basket of pastries you delivered to my house,” Elain said, shaking her head lightly at them. “I was able to try that hornberry pastry thought, it was divine. Tell me you’ve got plenty ready to go?” Elain asked.

“Oh yes, I’m already thinking it will be my most popular pastry, I’ve got two dozen ready already and another five dozen in the process of being made,” you reassured her, already going behind the counter to grab her a pastry and place it on a plate. “Here you go, and if you ever want to take some extras home, just let me know,” you said with a smile, loving that she immediately took a bite of the pastry.

“Seriously, these are so good,” Elain said, right as a crowd of people pushed through the front doors.

In first was a red headed male, who made his way straight to Elain, placing a kiss on her cheek and swiping the pastry from her fingers. Lucien, presumably.

Next in was a tall, bulky Illyrian with hazel eyes, holding hands with a beautiful fae- Nesta?

“Y/N?” Nesta asked, making her way over to your counter after she met your eyes. “I didn’t know you were the one Elain was working with, what a small world.”

You nodded your head, meeting her strong steel grey eyes. “Yes it is, I didn’t know that you were related to Elain, either. It’s nice to see you again, I’m hoping I can make it to that book club of yours in the next couple of weeks,” you said.

“That would be nice, Y/N."

“Introduce me,” the large Illyrian said after gently nudging Nesta, having followed her over.

Nesta rolled her eyes, a small but affectionate smile on her lips as she said “This is Cassian, my mate.”

Cassian stuck his large hand out for you to take, and when you did his hand practically swallowed yours. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Now, am I allowed to order right away or should I wait a little bit?” The alpha asked, eyes already turned to the pastry cases.

“You can order right now, if you’d like,” you responded, letting him look over the options for a moment.

“Oh, Nes, we are so getting the hornberry pastries, remember that little promise that you made to me?” Cassian asked, turning his mouth to Nesta’s ear, whispering something that made the fae’s face turn beet red before she nodded. “We will take two of those, plus three croissants.”

You handed them their pastries on a large plate, telling them “Bring it up here when you’re done, or if you need a to go bag.” They left the counter, Nesta still blushing profusely, even when they sat down.

You looked back to the door, seeing Mor and another Illyrian next to her, this one with shadows swirling around him, occasionally dipping into his ears. They moved over to the right side pastry case, peering through the glass at what you had on offered. You glanced away from them and back to the door, and that’s when you saw them-

The most devastatingly beautiful male and female you had ever seen, power thrumming off of them in gentle, soothing waves, and their combined scents washed over you- citrus, sea, jasmine and lilacs. A perfect, heart stopping blend of two alpha scents that set your mind and body on fire in the best possible way. You felt so awake now, so present as you stared at them both, trying to memorize their faces as quickly as you could.

This. This is the feeling you wanted to feel when you went on a date with someone.

The couple moved closer to you, and Mor introduced them.

“Y/N, this is Rhys and Feyre, our High Lord and Lady.”

Oh, Mother, you are so fucked.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Feyre said, extending two beautifully tattooed hands to grasp yours. “Mor has told us so much about you, it’s nice to finally put a face to her kind words.”

Your heart nearly stopped, you were sure of it. “It’s lovely to meet you as well, High Lady-”

“Oh none of that, please call us Feyre and Rhys,” Rhys said, his strong voice pulling your eyes away from Feyre’s hypnotic ocean eyes. His were just as mesmerizing, violet with flecks are stars in them, just as beautiful as his mate’s.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Rhys and Feyre,” you corrected, your hands still captive in Feyre’s.

“Alright you two, stop hogging my friend, I’d like to have one of her delicious pastries for breakfast,” Mor said, breaking the spell the two alphas had over you, and you finally looked away from Rhys’s eyes to lock onto Mor’s.

“Did you know what you wanted, Mor?”

“Yes, I’ll have one of those cute little cheese danishes, and a cup of coffee with some cream please.”

You nodded your head, then set to grabbing Mor’s order. With your head turned from the group, though, you couldn’t help but close your eyes.

You are so fucked. They are mates, they are a couple, you will never have them. Remember that, you thought to yourself, before turning around, Mor’s coffee and danish in hand

Mor tapped her bank card to your ledger before you could stop her, sticking her tongue out at you. “You can’t make me not pay, Y/N, I just won’t do it,” she said while smiling at you, then left the counter to take a seat in front of the fireplace, where Elain and Lucien were now sitting.

You turned your head back to the couple that you knew would stay in your thoughts for days, maybe even weeks to come. “Did you two know what you wanted?”

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

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the-fox-with-no-name · 26 days ago

Text

Survival Guide for Rooming with Nicky Hemmick

Written by the Foxes & Associates™ (some traumatized, some in love, most confused)

Trust us. You’re gonna need this.

1. He’s friendly. Like… too friendly.

You’ll start thinking, “Aw, he’s so nice!” and end up in a cuddle pile wondering how you got there.

2. He’s very physically affectionate.

If you sit still too long, you become a chair. Do not be alarmed if he treats your lap like a beanbag. It’s not personal. It’s just Nicky.

3. If you walk in on Nicky doing... something, pretend you saw nothing.

No words. No eye contact. Turn around. Leave. Go pray.

4. He likes video games.

You will be forced to play. Resistance is futile. He’s already has a control and a new profile for you.

5. Couch nap = surprise blanket.

He's sweet. Also terrifying. Accept the gesture. Do not question how he knew you were cold.

6. Nicky’s default outfit is either a crop top, gym shorts, or skin.

If it’s hot and the A/C is broken, your new roommate is now a nudist. Fix it. Fast.

7. He has a massage gun.

Unless you want to find out things about yourself you weren’t ready for, decline politely. Or accept… and immediately DIY.

8. If he asks YOU to use the massage gun on HIM…

Put in earplugs. If the moaning gets through, turn it off and run. Neil helped once. There are still knife holes in the walls. Neil doesn’t talk about it.

9. Don’t let him massage you. Just don’t.

Unless you enjoy emotional confusion followed by unsolicited gifts and shame.

10. Nicky is a snack gremlin.

Stock up like it’s an apocalypse or kiss your granola bars goodbye.

11. Shockingly? He can cook.

Especially spaghetti. Eat it. Compliment it. It’s the one time you’ll see him be humble for five minutes.

12. Power out? LOCK THE FRIDGE.

Panic makes him eat like a raccoon in a dumpster. All Ice cream melted last time and Andrew tried to kill him.

13. Nicky is… unreliable at times.

Going on a trip? Bring extra socks, shirts, dignity, and backup underwear. You’ll need all four.

14. Working out with Nicky = flirty chaos.

He will make innuendos. He will try to sneak a peek. Matt says have a spray bottle om stream mode. You’re not training a cat, but close.

15. He’s allergic to winter. Emotionally.

Extra scarves and layers in the drawer. Blue one’s his fave. Thank Renee for prepping like a mom.

16. Honesty is okay. Just be gentle.

Think: “therapy voice.” Do not use sarcasm unless you want tears and German swear words.

17. He will talk about his family.

A lot. Again. Still. Just nod and toss him his favorite ice cream when he looks sad.

18. There’s a German boyfriend. Name: Erik.

If Nicky starts whispering sweet nothings in German, don’t panic. It’s not Satan. Just his man. Be cool if they FaceTime. Or run.

19. He gets lonely.

There’s a yellow sticky note in the cabinet of “cheer-up supplies.” Add to it. You’ll become his new emotional support human.

20. Do NOT go to Eden’s Twilight without backup.

Only bring Neil, Andrew, or Aaron. Anyone else will not survive. You have been warned.

21. Drunk Nicky is a cryptid.

He will cry, prank call exes, sing ABBA, and snuggle you like a stuffed animal. Pick the top bunk. He won’t climb… probably.

22. If you’re a girl: you’re safe.

If you’re a guy: Good. Freaking. Luck.

23. If he introduces you to Erik… BE. F*CKING. CAREFUL.

One wrong move and you're either part of the family or part of a murder documentary.

24. If you by chance enter a polycule with Nicky and are okay with that…

That’s cute. But you're on your own. You signed up for this. The rest of us are out.

25. Hurt Nicky, and we will kill you.

No metaphor. No hyperbole. No Fox left behind. You've been warned.

Signed the Foxes

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #the foxes #nicky hemmick #aftg oc #aftg fanfic #ideas for fanfics #Nicky hemmick is your roommate

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blitzyn · 1 year ago

Text

shut up

childe x m!reader

request: none

a/n -> im sick and tired of winter WHERE IS SUMMER. help i wrote some of this in public so i had to stop myself from acting out some of the motions just to figure out how to write it lmao. guys i kinda made him a little mean i just got a little carried away oopsies. anyways one more non req and ill work on reqs i hope

wc -> 3.8k

cw -> very dubcon, hate sex, a lil bit of blood, anal sex, spit as lube, not a lot of prep, degradation, manhandling, throat fucking, asphyxiation, reader is a masochist, mean dom childe, spitting (in ur mouth like once), chokehold, prone bone position for like 2 seconds lmao, brief descriptions of fighting, reader offs someone cuz he felt like it kinda, it starts sorta abrupt tbh lol, not beta read

Childe fucking hated you. This was old news—absolutely anyone who had the barest idea who he was knew that. Everyone within a twenty meter radius could hear him arguing about something, and it never seemed to be about the same thing more than once. There always seemed to be something the two of you nitpicked about each other, throwing it out into the open which, more often than not, led to a fight with no clear winner.

There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it since the two of you were Harbingers. You were ranked tenth after Signora’s death and The Balladeer’s desertion, just behind Childe who was in ninth. But that didn’t stop you from riling him up relentlessly, even finding some type of enjoyment from his anger because you knew it wasn’t particularly common to see. Really, there wasn’t much of a power difference between the two of you other than the fact that you were less experienced.

As such, you were often assigned to missions together—if assigned meant that you simply joined him when you didn’t have anything important to do, much to his obvious displeasure.

This time, you followed him towards a hideout hidden between large rocks. It was simple, and you preferred that it wasn’t so easily accessible, but you supposed that hiding it in plain sight was acceptable for now.

“I don’t like how easy it is to find this place,” you commented, taking in your surroundings as if you were impressed by how large the area was compared to the small cave entrance. “It’s so obvious.”

Childe only offered you a grunt in acknowledgement, making his way past a few scattered materials on the floor. This wasn’t a facility that the Fatui used as much as before, but some machines were still operational and functioning.

“Ignoring people when they’re talking to you is rude, Tartaglia,” you chided, but you couldn’t care less that he wasn’t responding. “Besides, it’s not like you disagree with me. You wouldn’t want a poor, helpless child accidentally stumbling across this place while they’re playing a game.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you could see him grit his teeth when he noticed the smug expression on your face. “Nobody’s gonna find the entrance. It’s been around for years and there hasn’t been a trespasser.”

“Really?” You hummed, nodding slowly to yourself. “If you say so.”

He eyed you warily, instantly skeptical of how quick you were to accept his statement. But that wasn’t important right now—he needed to retrieve some documents and collect money from a few debtors.

“Just… Just stay here. Don’t touch anything,” he instructed, unnerved by how you obediently sat on a rickety chair and watched him expectantly.

“Yessir,” you replied with a playful tone in your voice, crossing your arms over your chest comfortably.

He silently stared at you for a few moments. “What are you planning?” He blurted out, annoyed with the eyebrow you raised in question. “You don’t like listening to me.”

You rolled your eyes at his accusation. “I don’t really favor getting chewed out by whoever needs those papers, so hurry up and get what you need. I’d rather talk to the debtors, anyways.”

He didn’t move from his spot for a few more moments before hesitantly making his way toward an isolated room, seemingly accepting your response. You chuckled through your nose at his reluctance as you swirled your finger around, creating a small rabbit made out of Cryo. It was quiet and unassuming as it silently hopped around before you sent it out of the room, searching for any valuable items worth keeping as you waited.

You leaned back in boredom, shutting your eyes to focus on keeping the rabbit's form. You could feel a faint hint of interest radiating through you from your creation, cringing slightly at the smell of metal before you relaxed again. The rabbit was mid-search when an arrow whizzed past it, nicking its back. Quickly, it fled, leaving a trail of Cryo. The hunter cursed loudly and chased after it, but it wasn't long before it made it to its destination.

Curious, you released your focus on the rabbit as you stood up to pick up whatever it found. You looked up when the hunter suddenly walked through the cave entrance, slightly surprised to know that they hadn't stopped trying to go after your rabbit. The two of you stared at each other before you spoke up in mild disinterest.

"Can I help you?" You questioned, inspecting your find once again. It was shiny and had intricate designs on it, but ultimately worthless.

"Uh... Uh, yes! Yes, you can," they said after a moment, scoping the area in search of their nonexistent rabbit. "Have you seen a white rabbit run through here? Small, quick, and leaving some sort of trail behind it," they described eagerly, taking a few steps forward.

"I'm afraid you can't come in here," you said, raising a hand to stop them in their tracks. You analyzed them for a moment, taking in their appearance. They couldn't have been older than fifteen, with shaggy brown hair and tanned skin.

"Then why are you in here?" They countered stubbornly, crossing their arms. It seemed they forgot all about their hunt in favor of digging into your business.

"That's none of your concern," you replied, ignoring their questioning gaze above your shoulder. "If you don't leave now, I'll have to resort to force."

You bristled a little when you saw them roll their eyes. Too stubborn for their own good, apparently. "Yeah? Well, I'm the chief's kid. What's a weird-looking guy like you gonna do to me?"

You frowned, visibly offended. You stared at them for a moment before raising your dominant hand again, this time letting an icicle form on the tip of your middle finger before flicking it directly at them. In the blink of an eye, they went down with a loud thud. "Kill you," you replied to the body.

You walked up to them and lifted their head by their hair, examining the wound on their forehead with a hum. Blood leaked in copious amounts down their face, and you couldn't stop the grimace when some landed on your foot.

"Oh, shit," you hissed under your breath when you caught a better look at them. You wondered why they seemed so vaguely familiar to you when the realization suddenly hit you-the chief was one of the debtors. You pursed your lips before standing up with a shrug, placing a hand on your chin to ponder different ways to dispose of the body without tarnishing the Fatui's name even further. "I suppose I could just toss them in a lake? Or lure in a wild animal to eat them? Burning's too obvious..."

"What the fuck did you just do?" You heard Childe curse from behind you. You turned around to face him, eyebrow twitching in interest when you noticed his normally void eyes alight with fury. Honestly, though, you didn't quite understand why he seemed so upset. Maybe it was because of how transactions with the debtor may not go as smoothly as he wanted, or the fact that the person you killed was still technically a child.

"Someone found the entrance," you shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. "We don't want anyone finding important information about the Fatui, right? So I killed them. I told you it was easy to spot." You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing ever, which only served to anger him. You tried to make your way past him deeper into the facility in search of something interesting to take when a sudden blur slammed your body into a wall. You let out a pained grunt, instinctively wrapping your fingers around the wrist where he pinned you down by your throat.

You knew he was ruthless when he needed to be, but you weren't given a chance to see it with your own eyes up until now. He was far from gentle, holding your delicate neck with such ferocity it made your skin tingle. It was exhilarating.

"Like hell they just conveniently found the entrance," he spat, his voice low as he glared deep into your watering eyes. "You deliberately lured them in here, didn't you? And for what? Because you were bored?" He refused to slacken the hold around your throat, internally finding that he preferred how you looked when you couldn't breathe.

"You—cough—You're much the s-same, Tartaglia," you strained out, trying to furiously blink away your tears. "Don't pretend you don't crave vi-violence, too."

You could see him grit his teeth just before he tossed you to the floor, watching you cough and regain your breath with disdain in his eyes. "No. Don't compare me to a fucking psychopath like you. I don't kill kids just because I feel like it!"

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," you groaned, rubbing your sore skin. You could still feel his hand around your throat, his grip burned into your flesh in a way that sent a familiar heat through your groin. He took a second to examine your body before zeroing in on the growing bulge between your legs, disbelief written on his expression.

"There's no damn way," he muttered to himself as if trying to convince himself you weren't aroused by him strangling you. With a growl, he stepped forward and harshly pressed a foot on your crotch, merciless with the amount of pressure he used. He watched in disgust as your hips jerked in response, frowning deeply at the pained moan you let out. "You're seriously turned on?"

"If it wasn't obvious—" You were unceremoniously cut off by a swift kick to your jaw, accidentally biting down on your tongue. You tasted the metallic tang of your own blood that originated from your mouth and your nose, wiping it away quickly. Your cock only throbbed with an increased fervor in your pants that strained for release against the fabric.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, staring down at you for a few moments, deciding what to do with you now that he had this newfound information in his hands.

"What's gotten you so upset?" You teased him, obviously not taking your situation seriously. You felt a pleasurable chill run down your spine at the fierce look he gave you, sitting up a bit in anticipation when you saw his hand stray down toward his pants, roughly undoing them.

"You just can't shut your mouth, can you?" He hissed, leaning forward a bit to grab a handful of your hair. He yanked you closer, forcing you onto your knees as he pressed the tip of his flaccid cock against your waiting tongue. "Fine, then. I'll shut it for you."

You hummed at the salty taste of his skin, raising your hands up to hold onto the swell of his muscular thighs. He groaned quietly when you dragged your tongue along a prominent vein on the underside of the shaft, looking up at him through your lashes. You let out a garbled moan when he forced you all the way down to the base, seemingly satisfied with the way you gagged a little.

Your nose was buried within his pubic hair as your throat tightened and spasmed, feeling yourself beginning to drool as the thick strands of saliva seeped out of the corners of your lips. You could hardly breathe, but you loved it. You loved the way he tugged on your scalp, starting to move his hips back and forth. You tried to contribute as much as you could, but the way you could feel his cock hardening sent a pleasant ache through your jaw.

"Fucking hell... You're not fit to be a Harbinger," he spat, holding you still as he reached down to swipe a bit of the blood from your nose to messily wipe it on your cheek. You couldn't see what he was doing, but the patterned swipes made it clear what he was writing.

S, L, U, T.

The word sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. You could feel your cock twitch in your pants, leaking a profuse amount of precum that served to stain the fabric. You let out a moan and slipped a hand underneath your clothes, jerking yourself off shamelessly.

He let out a breathy scoff at the sight, but he couldn't help the way his dick throbbed when your throat squeezed around him. "You're too good at this," he groaned, gradually moving his hips faster until he was fucking your face. "You don't belong in the Fatui. You're better off at a goddamn whorehouse."

He relished in the sound of your chokes and gags, finding that he preferred this much more than your voice. He let out a heavy sigh and shut his eyes, tilting his head back in ecstasy as he lost himself in the sensations. He was unaware of how you shifted your hand lower, using your precum as a subpar replacement for lube to push two of your fingers in your hole. You weren't in any particular rush as you leisurely pumped them in and out of you, adding in the wet sounds to your strained moans and ragged breaths. You were brought back to your senses when you heard him bark out a mocking laugh, squinting up at him through the tears that accumulated along your lashes.

"You're fucking pathetic," he muttered lowly, almost to himself, but you knew it was directed at you. "Is this—shit—all it took? You just needed a dick shoved down your throat, huh? Should've known you were such a whore," he demeaned, and you could only whine in response. Suddenly, he leaned a bit forward to press the sole of his shoe onto your aching cock, watching intently at the way you choked in surprise. "Maybe the rest of us should get a turn with you? Turn you into our little fucktoy? Our good-for-nothing cumdump?"

A grin made its way onto his pale face, turned on with the amount of control he had over you. His left hand slid lower, maintaining a firm grip on the junction between the back of your head and neck as his other one moved up to pinch your nostrils shut. He thrust harder, faster, shuffling closer when you tried to tilt your head away. He ignored your muffled protests and focused solely on getting himself off, letting out satisfied groans that you weren't fully there to appreciate.

It wasn't until you could hear a high-pitched ringing did he finally cum, shooting his load down your throat without a care for whether or not you could properly swallow it. He held himself there for a moment longer before he pulled himself away with a harsh shove to your body. You coughed and panted hard, taking a moment to regain your composure before looking back up at him, eager for more.

"Still not satisfied?" He questioned rhetorically. You both knew you weren't done yet, not when you found out how he could get when you pushed his buttons just the right way. "Stupid question, huh?" He huffed a laugh through his nose before roughly kicking you onto your stomach, dropping to his knees not a moment later. He haphazardly tugged your pants and underwear down in one go, ignoring the pained hiss you made when you felt yourself sandwiching your drooling cock between your abdomen and the floor. He spread your ass apart to spit on your asshole, shoving a finger inside you for good measure before jerking himself off using some of his saliva.

"Tartaglia, please—hurry," you whined, looking over your shoulder to meet his gaze. It was satisfying to see you in such a pitiful state, but the sound of your voice, although hoarse and raw, annoyed him.

"Be quiet or I'll leave you here like this," he snapped, giving your asscheek a quick slap before positioning himself over your hole. He rubbed the tip of it against your skin for a moment before pushing himself inside, groaning loudly at the feeling of you clamping down on him so perfectly.

It fucking hurt; after all, you only used two meager fingers to prepare yourself, and even then, you hadn't done much. It burned like he was tearing you apart but in the best damn way. The pain of being stretched out so mercilessly only mixed in with the insatiable fire in your groin, shooting jolts of electricity up your spine so intense you nearly came on the spot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tartaglia, please, you're so—!" You cut yourself off with a moan when he suddenly slammed himself down all the way, ramming the head of his cock against your sensitive prostate.

"I said shut up!" He demanded, pressing his hips down to grind against you. He wasn't as deep as he could go in this position, but he still managed to fill you up just right. You groaned when he leaned down, pinning you to the ground with his body weight as an arm snaked around the front of your throat, pressing it against you firm enough to restrict some of your airflow.

Instinctively, you raised a hand to grab at his forearm, digging your nails into the scarred skin in a futile attempt to get him to ease up. You could hear every sound that left his lips, every labored breath that brushed the shell of your ear. It didn't take him long to start moving, pulling out until only the tip remained before slamming back into you mercilessly. You could feel every inch and vein with each drag of his cock, your body jolting alongside his harsh thrusts, grinding your dick up and down on the ground.

"God... you're so damn tight," he muttered, picking up the pace. A low moan escaped his throat when he pressed against your prostate just right, ignoring your fleeting struggle.

It was hard to breathe. You could feel him everywhere around you all at once, and it didn't help that he fucked you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. Your moans and whines were strained and hoarse, clawing at his arm, but you knew you didn't really want him off. Your body ached at his rough handling as wet slaps echoed through the abandoned facility, briefly wondering if anyone outside could hear, but you could hardly maintain your train of thought long enough for it to become a concern. He fucked you fast and rough, hips slamming against your ass hard enough to sting, but he didn't find it in himself to care.

"Tar-Tartaglia! Slow...—!" You tried to plead, beginning to find everything overwhelming when you cut yourself off with a squeal. He quickly shifted himself, leaning back to hold your throat with his hands as he pulled, forcing your back to arch uncomfortably.

"No," he replied, tilting his upper half over you just enough to spit in your gaping mouth. He felt you tighten in response as he relaxed his hold the slightest bit, feeling you swallow his saliva eagerly. "You wanted this. So you're gonna fucking take it."

The heat in your belly intensified to an unbearable degree, and with the way he practically filled up every crevice of your hole, you weren't sure you were going to last much longer. With one hand on your throat, he moved his other one down to spread one of your asscheeks to intently watch his cock move in and out of you. He could feel every twitch and shudder you made, and it satisfied him to know just how easy you were to break down despite your initial resistance.

"Fuck... I can feel you," he groaned, yanking your head back a bit to get you to look at him. "You're about to cum, huh?"

It was hard to find the right words to reply when he fucked every thought out of your head, but the panic in your eyes made it clear that you didn't want him to stop so suddenly. And although he wanted to see you beg like the whore you were, he needed to finish this quickly. He still had a job to do, after all.

"You're lucky I still need to collect some money," he growled, glaring at you with familiar disdain. "Otherwise I would've left you like this for hours."

With renewed vigor, he removed his hand from your throat to roughly push your face down by the back of your head, tugging your hips up to bury himself deeper inside your ass. You cried out in ecstasy as your eyes rolled back, making an attempt to withhold your orgasm when he wrapped his fingers around your throbbing cock, jerking you off in time with his punishing thrusts, but to no avail. Barely a moment later, you came with a loud moan, cumming so hard it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

He chased after his own release, giving you a few more rough thrusts before he stilled, burying himself as deep as he could go inside you. You could feel his thick cock throbbing as he filled you up with his cum, shuddering at the warmth before you slumped back down to the ground. He remained still for a moment longer, catching his breath while he watched you tremble. With a sigh, he pulled out, grimacing a little at the sight of his dick slick with fluids, but he tucked it back in his pants regardless.

"Get up. We have to hide the body and get to the chief before anyone finds out you killed his kid," he said impatiently, walking towards the hunter to inspect it.

"Just... Just bury them, or something," you suggested, taking a moment to calm down before pulling your pants up. Finding a reflective surface, you summoned a bit of your Cryo and melted it with your body heat to wipe away the crusted blood on your face.

"Eugh... I can feel your cum," you found the energy to complain, turning to face Childe with annoyance written on your face. The audacity.

"Shut up and let's go. We're already behind schedule after your bullshit." He scowled, picking up the body, already having decided what to do with it. At least it wasn't your problem anymore.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," you said, quickly fixing your appearance. If it weren't for the slight limp in your gait, nobody would be able to tell he just fucked you within an inch of your life. Perks of being a Harbinger, you suppose.

cross-posted on ao3

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adventuringblind · 2 years ago

Note

charles having a baby fever

Father Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: fluff but also kinda smutty

Request: I saw this and my brain immediately went down the gutter. I appreciate you for this request 🙏 also my requests are open so send me things

Summary: Charles gets a case of baby fever and you're willing to indulge him ;)

Warnings: sexual themes ahead, not the whole thing but it's definitely in there. Talks of pregnancy.

Notes: I would be lying if I said I'm not a hoe for this man. Written in third person.

Masterlist

The following media is not intended for anyone below the age of 18. If your are under that, please do not interact with this post.

Charles had managed to take notice of every child in the paddock that day.

He'd recently been noticing small things. Things like baby clothes, small children, family interactions.

He'd watched Sergio and Kevin with their kids. Seb had brought his family around. It was starting to get to him.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want kids. Starting a family was always a dream of his. Something him and his wife talked about often. They just hadn't really tried for a baby.

He knew she was at their house. Waiting for him to come home with groceries. It felt peaceful compared to the life they lived during race season.

As he walked, he could pick out every family. Kids bundled up in their winter clothes. Adults holding them upright so they don't slip and fall.

He could hardly take it. He's never walked home so fast in his life.

She was in the kitchen when he appeared behind her in the doorway. She was prepping to make dinner.

Charles looked disheveled, out of breath. She was concerned and yet simultaneously turned on by his appearance.

"Are you alright?" She asked. Charles quickly came back to his senses. Dropped the bass on the floor and wrapped her in a hug.

"We should have a baby." He was looking directly into her eyes. His face completely straight.

She was taken off guard for a moment. Then, realizing the proposal, she started excitedly shaking her head.

Charles was waiting no time. Vigorously kissing her lips. Heavy but passionate.

She was giggling at him. "What are you laughing at?" He asked as he swiftly picked her up and set her on the counter.

"Nothing, I just find you adorable."

He was mumbling French into her collarbone and Italian into her chest. Letting his hands roam her body freely.

"You are so beautiful. Soon, you will become a goddess. Pregnant with our child." He cradled her face in his hands.

"Charles I swear if you don't stop teasing-" She couldn't get any farther as Charles practically ripped her clothes off. Now left in only her underwear.

He ran his fingers lightly across her now bare skin. Memorizing the feeling. Paying attention to the way she reacted to his touch.

His shirt and jeans were next. His lips only breaking away from her for a second. Her fingers begin tracing every line on his body. The way his chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

“Mon Amour, shall we start here, then maybe move to the couch, then into the bedroom.” He’s voice is dripping with need. He is going to take her on every piece of furniture even if it takes all night.

Her brain was already turned off. The act of thinking to much with the feeling of his fingers worshiping her. She practically fell into him, humming her approval.

Charles lifted her for a second, her only remaining garment now tossed aside.

Then he took her on the counter, then again on the chair, the dining room table and the couch. Finally they made it to the bed where Charles made love to her softly. Her body trembling with every ministration.

Charles is the ‘king of aftercare’ as she likes to call him. Something he occasionally gloated about. Much to Pierre's dismay.

He grabbed a wet rag and a cup of water. Using the rag to clean off the bodily fluids that covered both of them.

She curled her body into Charles. Her head rested on his chest.

"I think you'll make a great dad." She mumbles. Charles laughs at the notion.

"Why do you think that Mon chère?"

"You just seem like father material, ya know."

"Guess I should learn some dad joke then." The two were both laughing now.

Basking in eachothers presence. Fantasizing about what life will be like with a growing family.

1K notes · View notes

theemporium · 2 years ago

Note

🧸 maxiel baby taking its first steps? Thank you for writing such amazing blurbs!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

As much as the boys loved racing, the winter break was eagerly awaited for both Max and Daniel.

They adored their job. They adored that they were able to do the thing they dreamed of doing their whole lives. They adored that they were lucky enough to be on the same team, be by each other’s side and help each other through what could be a taxing and rough racing season.

But, fuck, did they miss their little family.

It had just been before the end of the last race season when the three of you welcomed Beatrice Ricciardo-Verstappen into the world. And now almost a year later, they were eager to have an undisturbed three months with their daughter and with you, after neither of you were able to visit the different races over the season.

“My little bumble bee,” Daniel cooed as he prepped kisses on his daughter’s chubby cheeks as she giggled and laughed. Beatrice wiggled in her father’s arms but he just continued until the sound of her laughter was echoing through the apartment. “Oh, I missed that sound.”

“You’re hogging her,” Max complained as he sat on the other side of the carpet, both of them surrounded by most of her toys they had dragged out from the nursery into the living room. “This isn't fair. I missed her too.”

“I missed her more,” Daniel teased, only for the Dutchman to let out a scoff.

“Put her down and I bet she will crawl over to me,” Max announced, puffing his chest out a little.

Daniel’s eyes lit up. “I’ll bet you nappy duty that she crawls to me instead.”

Max smirked a little. “Deal.”

“You both are ridiculous,” you stated as you walked into the room, shaking your head as you saw the boys place Beatrice in the centre of the room before moving to different sides. “She loves you both, is that not enough?”

“No,” they both answered at the same time.

“Give me peace,” you grumbled under your breath as you took a seat on the couch, waiting to see the event unfold whilst knowing full well one of your boys was going to be pissy in a few minutes.

However, the last thing any of you were expecting was for little Beatrice to start pushing to stand up. And you especially didn’t expect her to start taking wobbly steps towards the couch where you were sitting whilst the three of you gaped proudly at your little girl.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the warm tears ran down your cheeks as you swooped her in your arms, kisses and mumbled praises pressed against her cheeks as the boys quickly clambered over to the couch.

“What a smart girl,” Max praised as Beatrice reached out to him, a big toothy smile as she accepted her father’s cuddles and praises.

“Little Bumble Bee is learning how to fly,” Daniel murmured, his eyes wet but his grin huge as he watched his partner coddle the baby.

“Shut up,” you muttered, swatting his arm. “You’re gonna make me cry harder.”

“She is gonna be buzzing away soon.”

“One more comment from you and you’re stuck on nappy duty for the whole week.”

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theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming · 4 months ago

Text

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 9

Week [1] [2] [3] [4/5/6] [7] [8]

The fics are kind of everywhere this week.. enjoy!

Sterek: 9 Buddie: 9

What Every Firefighter Needs by sofonisba_found (2013•T•2.8K)

Every firehouse needs a Dalmatian, right? It just so happens that the Dalmatian adored by the men and women at engine 603 isn't quite what he seems.

Mångata by artemis69 | @artemis69 (2018•GA•7.4K)

The place chosen for the speed dating is nice, close enough to the shore that the sun warms the shallow waters and washes everything in blinding white light. Long, thin shadows crawl all over the hills, dancing over pinkish sand and pale rocks, following the swirls of the surface. When he looks around, Stiles can see various spots marked out with colorful stones, all organized in a loose circle and numbered with small shells. In the center of it all is a massive signboard in human plastic, glinting under the sun. It is, objectively, the nicest place Stiles has ever been this miserable in. - Or the Sterek mermen speed dating AU where Stiles is unlucky in love (until he isn't).

hey asshole by everchanginginks | @everchanginginks (2018•M•15.6K)

The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet his best friend's big brother, Derek, who’s been attending college in New York. When Derek comes home for the summer he makes less than a stellar impression. And vice versa.

Good Intentions by yodasyoyo | @yodas-yo-yo (2018•T•6.4K)

In which Stiles thought he fake wolf-married Derek twenty-six years previously. Turns out it wasn't as fake as he thought.

You're moving me around you (I said darling hold me) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie) | @dearericbittle (2019•T•14.5K)

Derek is the only beta in a pack of two, blaming himself for the loss of their entire family. When his sister pays someone to get him used to human contact again, Derek preps himself for a couple unwilling handshakes before he kicks the stranger out of his den. Stiles is… not what Derek expected.

The Cabin by sororexitium (2017•T•12.3K)

Derek sees the fox for the first time one late winter evening, just as the sun is setting over the tree line and the colors of the sky light up in pale purples, brilliant oranges, and burning reds. It stands out vividly against the periwinkle shadowed snow that dusts the porch, the little predator’s red fur illuminated golds and auburns by the sun with a luminous halo around its black tipped ears. Derek watches it through the window for several minutes, the way its plush tail swishes back and forth, sweeping away the snow. Every so often the head will turn and the fading sun will light up the small fox’s eyes, amber glowing with preternatural focus and intelligence, even for a fox.

A Wild Heart's Desire by mikkimouse | @mad-madam-m (2015•T•13.4K)

If there's one thing Stiles Stilinski knows, it's that Deputy Derek Hale absolutely Does Not Like him. The only reason Derek even tolerates him is because their kids are worryingly codependent. So Stiles is understandably confused when a very feral Derek shows up in his backyard after a call gone wrong and proceeds to move in with him.

He Takes His Coffee Black by orphan_account (2012•M•16.8K)

On the cusp of actual, responsible adulthood with no ambitions to his name, Derek Hale (soon to be Derek Hale, Master of Physical Therapy) is faced with the dishearteningly underwhelming notion of his future. For his final winter break, Derek returns home to his family's coffee shop where he spends the dry winter days filling aggravating orders for equally aggravating people and burning his hands with scalding milk. It's the last place on earth he expects to find a kindred spirit, but some twitchy kid named Stiles-- with his simple order of one black coffee and a wry little grin-- turns out to be just that.

Don’t Leave Me Behind When I’m Still Learning How to Run by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | @isthatbloodonhisshirt (2021•T•16.1K)

He’d just set it back down when the door opened, and a shadow appeared in front of him, taking the seat across from him. Jackson’s name was on his lips as he rose his gaze from his drink, but the word stuck in his throat, because it wasn’t Jackson. “I’m really sorry, can you be my boyfriend?” Derek asked breathlessly, panic on his face and looking seconds away from losing his shit. Stiles didn’t even have the chance to reply, because the second he saw crazy lady walk into the coffee shop, he just immediately leaned over the table and planted a kiss right on Derek’s lips. The other man seemed startled, but he recovered quickly and brought one hand up to press against Stiles’ cheek. He made sure to keep the kiss short, and relatively chaste, because this was all for show and he didn’t want to make Derek more uncomfortable than he already was.

could you be mine? by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•T•4.2K)

Eddie loves Buck, though. He knows he does. It’s just…he can’t have Buck be his mate. He can’t. OR: An innocent question from Buck sends Eddie spiraling.

H-E-A-T-A/B/O: A Buddie Anthology by Bucksbelly (drarryweasley) | @bucksbelly (2025•E•51.7K)

An anthology of Buddie one-shots based in omegaverse settings. These stories are NOT connected; they each have slightly different lore and can be read in any order!Brought to you by I wanted to write my favorite trope but couldn't decide how to do it so I wrote a bunch of them

It's all in my head, but I want nonfiction (2025•E•10.5K)

Eddie's never quite let himself be at home in his skin. Buck finds this unacceptable and tries to fix it in the only ways he knows how: research and sex.

that 👅🍑 chat by disasterbuck, Veronae | @disasterbuck @veronae-buddie (2025•T•1.5K)

A bored Buck bombards an unexpecting Eddie with a series of images containing funny typos. It leads somewhere neither of them anticipate… Eddie: did you order it Buck: NO Buck: it's a pic I found online Eddie: brings a new meaning to "eating ass" I guess

don't fuck with ghosts by lecornergirl | @clusterbuck (2025•E•1.6K)

“Hold on,” Buck says, holding a hand up. He lays the palm of his other hand flat against the wall, then lets out a— Eddie blinks. It almost sounded like— Buck does it again, his body spasming, and Eddie’s never heard Buck have sex, but it sounds like— He says Buck’s name again, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with it, doesn’t know what on earth he’s supposed to say when Buck is holding the wall and moaning like— Like something Eddie has certainly never imagined before, and absolutely never will in the future. Definitely not with a newly hyperrealistic soundtrack that is burning itself into his memory with every passing moment. Buck tears his hand away from the wall, dazed, a flush climbing up his cheeks.

day five hundred sixty-four (and it feels like you just left my side) by BekkaChaos | @bekkachaos (2025•T•8.3K)

Eddie made the move to El Paso, Buck isn't coping so well so he takes to doing research and texting Eddie random facts and thoughts instead of saying all the things on his mind. Or, 5 times Buck texts Eddie with weird trivia/thoughts and 1 time he send him something genuine (by accident).

moving on from him is impossible by playinginthunderstorms | @playinginthunderstorms (2025•E•3K)

“Sure,” is Eddie’s sarcastic comeback, “What are you going to do, help me get off?” Buck opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s just… Silent. Shit. Shit. He needs to say something, otherwise this’ll get awkward real fast. It’s just that… It’s that he could, is the thing. He’d do that. For Eddie. Really, he wouldn’t mind. At all. [Or, Eddie is stressed and has trouble... unwinding, while in El Paso. Buck helps. Like a good friend would.]

fall right into me by woodchoc_magnum | @woodchoc-magnum (2025•E•26.6K)

In which Buck and Eddie fall into bed together without thinking anything through, and minor shenanigans ensue.

Anosognosia by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•T•7K)

When ER Nurse Evan Buckley meets Firefighter Paramedic Eddie Diaz, he is instantly smitten. They hit it off quickly, and begin seeing a lot of each other. It takes him a few weeks to realize they're doing more than just hanging out.

I Can’t Describe Who You Are To Me, To Anyone by Reason_to_hope (2025•M•62.7K)

“Are you new?” “Y-yeah.” Evan stuttered before his brain connected with his mouth. “My names Evan…er Evan Buck-Buckley.” The corner of the boys mouth twitched up in an almost smile, “Eddie Diaz.” He told him. “Nice to meet you Evan Buck-Buckley.” “Oh, er, it’s just Evan Buckley. I just—“ “I’m going to call you Buck.” Or Buck and Eddie meet in High School, fall in love and choose each other through everything life can throw at them. My childhood sweethearts fic.

#Sterek #Buddie #stiles stilinski x derek hale #evan buckey x eddie diaz #2025 Fic Rec List #Sterek Fic Rec #Buddie Fic Rec #i warn you the Buddie phone sex fics are coming next week lol

83 notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 8 months ago

Text

Venomous- Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gahhhhhh, enjoy. Part 2 soon

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, mentions of murder.

Word Count: 7566

Requests: OPEN! [This work is a request]

[Thank you for the gif @another-nerdy-blog ]

Enjoy!

Inland Taipan

Scientific Name: Oxyuranus microlepidotus

“Despair is the price one pays when they set an impossible aim.” Dreykov murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spy as he circles you slowly. His footsteps fall into a pattern your brain can’t help but follow, a constant thud like a war drum.

And though he claimed to be checking you for your next mission you couldn’t help but feel as though he was circling you like a predator would it’s prey.

‘He needed you’, you tried to remind yourself, doing your best to ease yourself and hide the fear from him. Because the truth was he didn’t need you. You might be his top assassin in this moment but you were easily replaceable.

Natasha herself had warned you before she escaped.

“We are nothing but weapons here.” She had whispered to you one night, huddled together to keep warmth on the mission, arms wound tightly around each other. Your sister in arms, your sister in life since you didn’t know your own family.

You had known she wanted out, you wanted the same thing, and though you weren’t mad she had made it out you were upset that she had done it without you.

Countless times dreaming of a life beyond all of this.

Lies.

“Do you understand what this means, pretty girl?” Dreykov asks, pulling your attention away from your memories back to where he know stood behind you, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror while you shake your head.

You were nervous he had caught you, that he knew you had hacked into his system three days ago to find your birth name, and so when you had been ordered down you were sure he was going to kill you.

But instead he had you prep for an upcoming mission.

“It means not to set yourself up for failure. You know your skill, and you know your limitations. You are my top weapon.” He explains, not breaking eye contact as you bite back your tongue to make a snide comment. “The mission I am about to send you on is long and I trust no one but you.”

“Thank you.” You mutter, nodding your head.

“I’d like to introduce you to the key of this mission, a vital part.” The door opens a couple feet away, and a strong figure was soon led into the room, the second you spot him your entire body tightens in discomfort.

Right, Natalia Romanov was gone and you had taken her place. Which meant you would now do duo missions with the Winter Soldier himself.

And you knew the moment your eyes traced over his body that he would ruin everything. By the way his eyes traced over your own before his fists tightened you knew he was thinking the same about you.

Dr. Aquinos always had a noticeable look of pity that, no matter how many times you saw it, always set your stomach twisting in a mix of anger and embarrassment. But you were sure if you were to bring this up she would simply tell you that you were over reading, trying to find an excuse not to trust her.

‘By the sounds of it you weren’t always this distrusting, why don’t we try to go back and think about when that began to change’. Blah blah blah.

The clock on the wall was the only sound that could be heard in the room, with you sitting completely still in an effort to wait out this hour until you could leave, and her across from you sitting patiently with her classic notepad and pen. She often twirled it between her fingers when she was getting impatient, and you tried not to smirk at the sight of her doing it now.

“I thought we had moved past this waiting game routine.”

“I thought you were over that sweater,” You huff, shrugging your shoulder a bit and giving her an empty glare, only to find that she narrows her eyes. Like a lion reading the challenge.

“You look sick.” There it is again, that damn pity that made you want to scratch out her eyes, and maybe your own. You always hated her pity, or maybe you hated the ‘serene’ paintings around the room or the happy family photo that proudly hung from the wall next to the office door. The same photo that always dug a hole in your chest whenever you spotted it.

It was a reminder and a slap in the face at the same time. Dr. Aquinos kids will never know that pain or suffering which isn’t their fault and yet you couldn’t stop the resentment that filled you whenever you saw that damn photo. The smile that reminded you of so many… so many children that deserved better.

You hated this office, and yet you found yourself here once a damn week.

“I believe the term you are looking for is sickening.” You flash her a wide smile, crossing your legs to seem more confident in this moment, trying not to seem like that movement alone caused you pain.

“I mean sick.” She states, her tone still holding that fucking pity. “Was it a long night for you?”

Yes. It had been an extremely long night for you. The first half of the night had been spent on top of a roof in the freezing cold for surveillance, only the target had shown up 40 minutes later than he normally did which meant you had an extra 40 minutes of the winter air making you shiver and tightening your bones. Which made the hip injury you tried to avoid all the worse, hard to move around.

By the time you managed to limp your way home, scarfing down the small rations of food into your mouth before shoving a pain pill down and diving into the cot you kept in the closet for safety.

You had gotten maybe an hour worth of sleep before the terrors dragged you awake in a pool of your own sweat, panic clinging to your every move.

Your hip still hurt, the throbbing beginning to work it’s way into your spine, but you had a performance to play here. “Not really, I slept through the night and woke up in my soft warm bed.”

“You’re not still sleeping on the military cot in the closet then?”

“No,” You lie, enjoying the way it slips past your lips without a notch. “I’ve got a queen size bed now.”

Yet another lie, your apartment held a duffel bag of your mission gear and suit. One dresser of normal clothes, the cot in the closet. That was all you needed.

And it’s pathetic, the way you once dreamed of this for so long just to be living this miserable existence.

“It’s common to miss it, you know, there is no shame in that. It’s the pain and the change, you feel like you have nothing right now but I can assure you that’s not true.” She mumbles softly, and you hate the way she can read you that easily.

It was true, you missed the red room. You missed your sisters and you missed the routine. You never needed to be someone in the rooms, out here in the world? A new story completely.

You were nothing, no one.

All you had was a name and even that didn’t seem like it belonged to you.

“Why don’t we keep expanding on your years in the rooms….” She switches the conversation, knowing you both had hit a dead end, choosing a new route. “You told me a little about it before and I noticed that most widows have specialty names built off of that name itself. But you didn’t, can you explain why you were named….the ‘viper’ was it?”

“Yes.” Ironically the way you bite this out makes the ending sound like your very own hiss, all you needed now was a rattle and black eyes.

“Can you explain to me how you got that name?”

“Because of…. Him.” Even referencing him left a sore spot in your chest, sweat beading the back of your neck.

“Ah, Bucky Barnes.” She hums, and you hated that people called him that. You hated that he got his name and his recovery. He was the Soldat, he would never change and of course people were falling for his trap.

You had long ago.

“The SOLDAT gave me the name on our mission.” You sneer, “What time is it?”

The clock had stuck, you were sure of it. And when she reached to check the time on her watch you caught sight of her notes with the words HEALTH RISK circled and underlined, her family photo once again making you a bit nauseous as she hums out and nods to the door to let you know the time was up.

“I look forward to our next session.”

“I don’t.” It was the truth, and you enjoyed the fact that you could speak the truth with her even if she got a little too close. “But I wish you a good week, I hope your family is okay.”

The smile that spreads across her face as you leave makes you angry, but not at her, at yourself.

She was right, you were a health risk. To yourself and to others, but that wouldn’t matter soon, the second you completed your final task you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

The list of names you had made for yourself, your last mission on this miserable life would be to take out the people that hurt you. 23 names total, and at the very end of the list in the neatest handwriting you could muster was ‘The Soldat’.

You would leave this earth, but he would leave it first.

Alternative name/s:

Fierce Snake, Small-scaled Snake, Lignum Snake

It was easy to ignore the widow, she liked to keep to herself in the corner of the small safe house they were keeping in on the first part of the mission.

A list of names, 118 total, that Hydra and the Red Room needed gone as soon as possible. Risks that needed to be handled. And the Soldat was used to doing missions on his own but they paired him with the Widow to help.

And at first he was sure she would be trouble, but he was proven to be wrong since the Widow seemed just as sure as him that she didn’t want to be near him.

Right now she sat in the corner, crisscrossing, taking time to clean all her knives with the polishing kit that most of the Hydra safe houses had to keep their gear clean. Her hands worked seamlessly, making sure that the knife shown under the light, and he couldn’t seem to look at anything else but her.

Maybe the Soldat was annoyed that she had used the polishing kit before he could. Maybe he just liked seeing that someone else had the same routine he did on these missions. Or maybe he was interested in the vials sitting beside her.

As if she could read his thoughts she reached for one, keeping the knives before her on the ground as she twisted the cap to the vial and moved to pour the liquid over each weapon before taking what was left and he was confused by the fact that she was putting on her suit.

He looked closer, realizing that there were vials hidden within her sleeve. He wanted to know what they were for until she looked up to give him a knowing smile, teeth flashing in a way that pissed him off.

He turned away again, so she can go back to doing her hair and looking at her reflection.

But it all made sense the night of the first hunt. She had started at the other end of the house and planned to make their way through to find their target, and by the time he did find her she already had the target within her clutch.

His arm twisted within her legs to keep him in place with one hand pushing his head so his neck was exposed while her other wrist snaps to reveal two puncture points at the knuckles of her suit made to look like fangs. Only a flash of those before they reach his neck.

She removes herself immediately and he rushes to get the target, worried that he would fight back and wondering what would make the widow so stupid to let him go before he realizes that the Target wasn’t moving at all. Instead he seems paralyzed as he died slowly.

When he whirls back to the Widow she is once again facing a mirror, fixing her hair and lipstick before turning to him with a smile that twisted his chest. “Are there any more loose ends?”

The russian falls off his tongue with ease and she narrows her eyes at him to tilt her head.

“Tous les détails sont pris en charge,” [All the loose ends are taken care of.] She shrugs, twirling her hair before spinning on her toes and swaying her hips to walk away. His brain racks for a moment, never great at French which she had realized on the first day, and followed the brat down the hall.

He risks a look down the hall where Marvin Montys child slept and spots the blood splatter on the wall, before following her.

At least the widow could do her job.

“You’re making a lot of progress, Bucky.” Dr. Raynor hums out, nodding her head as she watches him from her regular spot. She hasn’t scribbled on her notepad in the past 30 minutes of their hour-long session, and he hopes that’s a good sign. “But I’d like to dive a bit deeper for a moment, cut to the harsh point if you don’t mind.”

“Not like I have a choice here Doc.” He mutters, but his tone lacks the usual bite.

“Funny,” She smirks for a second before sitting up a bit. “There’s a patch of memories that you said helped you break from the Soldier with Steve. Made it easier, your own words.”

“There was. About a month before I was sent out to get Steve….. I had just gotten back from another mission.”

“The one with the ‘Viper’ is that correct?”

He has to clear his throat in attempt to fight off the tightness, feeling his chest constrict in pain as he nods.

“It was a long mission. I hadn’t been away from the chair for that long before and she managed to break through every crack formed. Or at least we thought she did.”

“Have you tried to find her? Since you have come back?”

“I started trying to find her the second Steve found me.” He explains, thinking back to when he first started tracking her down. But there was nothing, even going through all the programs he could within the Red Rooms files, he couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere after him.

He was terrified, because if he couldn’t find a single trace of you that might have meant you were gone and he didn’t think he could survive in a world that he knew didn’t have you in it.

But then Natasha freed the Red Room while he was ‘snapped’ and the world he came back to was a world with the Widows and all their secrets revealed. And that’s when he found Yelena….. Well Yelena had found him.

She had been suffering from the loss of her sister, and had taken to finding all the widows herself to make sure they were fine. She was the one person in this world that had the information he needed.

Sam, the new captain america, had poured over the intel with him. Your intel, the trail to find you.

“You sound as if you have.”

“Not yet, but I’m close.” He nods. “I have this feeling in my chest, that I’m almost there. That I’ve almost got her. And I can give her what she’s always wanted.”

“And what’s that?”

“A candle that smells like orchids by a front door where you can hang your keys. A door mat decorated to invite kids to trick or treat on Halloween. Curtains that catch the light in the morning.” None of the things he mentioned were his dreams, not until she had mentioned them.

“I hope you get those things.” He does too. And he was close, matter fact he only had 3 more days before Sam and himself went to find you.

The inland taipan's venom is the most potent of any snake in the world. A single bite contains enough venom to kill around 100 adult humans. The venom is a cocktail of enzymes that paralyze nerve endings, destroy muscle tissue, and cause severe bleeding

A month with the Soldat had been easy keeping to yourself, 2 months had shown you so much more.

The first being he was extremely grumpy in the mornings, no matter what. Even before you both had begun getting along you had noticed that he hated them. Every move he made was tight, He would rip open the ration packets and stomp his feet just about anywhere. He would do weapons checks so that all you would hear were the clicks and twists of his gun and the metal hand grabbing everything.

Then he would do bed checks, coming over to the cot you had claimed as your own to throw you off it and search through your stuff.

Month three, 3 targets in, you had completely learned his morning routine. And since you had been on watch last night you got the gift of seeing it in real time. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning in his sleep and mumbling something about a Steve he sat up right at 5am, launching himself out of his cot and taking in his surroundings. He glared at you, which made you smirk as he passed to head to the bathroom. He stretched in there, too proud to admit that even the Soldat needed to loosen his muscles. You heard the water run telling you he was right on schedule with cleaning himself up and you took the chance to rest your head on the small pillow to close your eyes before he stomps back.

You know he is reaching for the ration packets without even opening your eyes, and you know he uses his teeth to tear it open in hopes to release some of the tension he had built up. You know he is already snatching your own ration packet to prepare it, moving to start the kettle and prepare the bowls.

You have another 15 minutes of him checking his weapons, hearing him grunt with every weapon cleaned and polished before making sure they were all strapped into their holsters. The kettle starts ringing and he has the habit of rushing to grab it before it bothered you, and you always thought it was the most human thing to do, like a glimpse into who he would have been if he hadn’t become this monster.

The smell of cream of wheat fills the air, and you hear his steps come to your cot, right on time.

In the beginning he used to snatch you up to fling you, now he merely reached out a hand to guide you up without an ounce of aggression before he searched through your stuff. And normally you would go grab the rationed breakfast and get ready but today you chose to head to his own cot, sliding into it.

You were just tired, and you really didn’t care as he turned to glare at you while you curled up, pretending that you weren’t basking in the smell of the leather and soap he wore, pressing your face into the cloth of the cot. A small ounce of fear fills you when he marches forward, only for him to pull the blanket up and cover your shoulders.

And the warmth fills your body, black filling your vision as you fall asleep once more, this time in the Soldats bed.

You wake a little later, eyes snapping around the room to check everything, finding the Soldat sitting over his tech to watch your next target. He snaps his head to you the second you sit up, eyes tracing over you before nodding in contempt and turning back to the task at hand.

When you stand from the cot to grab your gear you are shocked to find that he had already prepared it for you.

Not only had the Soldat let you sleep, but he had helped you prepare.

And that small tug in your chest is a weakness, you know it, but that doesn’t stop you from turning to watch him work.

If he wasn’t in this life you were sure he would have been a good man.

You felt bad lying to him, but you had to because good man or not he was a soldier first. And a good soldier would take you out for your weakness, a good soldier would kill you for what you were doing.

The worst part of waking up was the fact that you couldn’t escape the dreams and memories even with your eyes open. Most think that it’s over once you wake, but for you? Never. Every move is haunted by the past, every breath another painful punishment, and everywhere you look is just another reminder. There was nowhere you could escape.

So when you manage to pull yourself from the nightmare, sitting up with your clothes drenched in a cold sweat, the darkness of the closet surrounding you like a blanket of protection.

You’re not there….You remind yourself. If it’s dark then they are leaving you alone.

And when you sit up, pain shoots through your hip at every single move, letting yourself out of the closet you begin your routine.

3 am, a slight shower. Not long in fear you would be caught and in part you didn’t want to run too much water. Brush teeth, dress in suit.

3:15, limp to the kitchen and start boiling water before you reach into your duffel to grab the pain pills you kept hidden away. The prescription written in your name feels wrong, like aren’t actually yours, like you are living the life of a stranger. But you remind yourself it doesn’t matter anyways as you shove it in your mouth, going back to scarf the cream of wheat down and then you head out for an intel session.

You never take the door, instead you snatch your duffel and remove a little of the newspaper to slide out and climb down the fire escape.

You take back roads, your static sounder messing up any footage of yourself the cameras might have caught. And soon enough you were prepping yourself to watch your target, venom sitting in the wrists of your suit, a little bit of that past routine giving you something to focus on.

20 more names on the list until you would go after the Soldat, 21 more names total. 21 names until you are finished with it all.

All you had to do was wait for the perfect time to kill this one.

The bite of the Inland Taipan with envenomation can be rapidly fatal, it can take as early as 30 minutes

The Widow had worn on the Soldat, a shame to admit.

A routine had built where it shouldn't have and now instead of working around each other they worked with each other. They made the rations together, ate together, cleaned their weapons and reloaded them together.

When he would sit to watch the intel she began coming to sit with him, if not to watch it herself she would lean her head against him and find something to busy herself with while he worked.

But the biggest change was the banter.

Gone were the days of him grunting and glaring, she would refuse that now. Instead they found themselves going back and forth, but it was never serious, mostly teasing.

She would speak in French to piss him off because she knew the Soldat struggled to keep up with it. He would come out of the shower and lean over where she slept to make the water drip down on her while she tried to sleep. She would trip him as he tried to get dressed and he would pull out strands of hair while she did it.

Back and forth, push and pull.

Today, when they were planning to start the intel stage on the next target it had turned out to be a downpour of rain, and normally he would go anyway. And yet, when you went to grab your suit he reached out his flesh hand to stop you, pulling you to sit back down.

“Today, we rest.” He orders, watching your eyes narrow at the russian before you nod and stand, keeping ahold of his hand as you head to where you both keep the stash of rations.

This safe house was freezing, and it made him miss the last one, not to mention this safe house only held one cot. The best part about this safe house?

It had amazing rationing food.

So when you shook the pack to heat it up he made sure to stay close and start the kettle. Keeping so close that he could always feel your arm against him.

And once the rations were ready you both huddled together against the counters for cover so you could let your walls down a bit, sitting side by side. You shared your beef and potatoes, he shared his spaghetti, eating out of the portion packs and drinking the tea. But his favorite part about this new routine was when the conversation turned to dreams.

“If I wasn’t in this program……” You hum, and he can’t help but watch your every movement, the way you lick your hips and scratch your forehead in contemplation. “I would have a big house.”

He huffs out a laugh, shoving the last of his food in mouth as you shrug. “Yes, a big house. And…… and I would have a candle that smells like orchids so whenever people enter they think it smells nice….. And maybe a rug outside the door so they can see it when the kids trick or treat.”

He can’t help the smile that forms from listening about your dream, grabbing your trash to throw away before cleaning out the mugs you both used.

“Oh! I’d have kids. At least 7!” You continue, following him before shuffling to tech case to find your camera set up. He knows you’re going to triple check that everything is working to busy yourself, something you often did whenever you brought up the idea of kids.

Widows couldn’t have kids, this he knew. They all received the procedure. To stop periods, to keep their bodies from transforming too much and too prevent pregnancies whenever Dreykov sent them on seduction missions. And before the Soldat had met you none of that had really mattered to him.

But now, the thought of you being used like that, it made him furious. And he tried to figure out ways to prevent it, ways to stay attached to you as a mission partner forever.

But that would never happen, they would never allow that. So he tries not to think about it, instead he moves forward to pull you away from the tech, pulling you to the cot so you both can lay down, pulling the blanket up and wrapping you in his arms.

“Goodnight,” You whisper in french, and pinches your arm to make you laugh before letting himself fall asleep. \

Bucky had the defense of saying that they had tried knocking first, and that was a lame defense at that. But he thought about his arguments as he picked the lock with ease, pushing the door open and letting Sam take the lead.

At the last second his flesh hand grabs at the Captain America suit, pulling his friend back to warn him. “A quick heads up, she doesn’t fight like the others.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“No, don’t let her wrap her legs around you and don’t let her knives come into contact, small slash or not they are all laced in venom. And above all avoid getting punctured by any of her weapons.” He explains.

“I thought we were going in to reason with her.”

“We are.” Bucky sighs, his chest constricting in pain. “She’s just a little lost. We’ve all been there.”

The need for revenge was strong. He had been there himself, Yelena had been there. Many widows have been there. And you were currently handling that yourself, handling all the trauma yourself. And that thought hurt him.

Sam had agreed to help, to come with him and find you, talk you down from this path Captain America style.

So they stood together as they pushed the door in, searching every inch of the apartment for you until they realized you weren’t here. So instead they looked around for where you might be.

“I thought all the Hydra Safe Houses had been torn apart.” Sam mutters, admiring the work you did on the windows, newspaper covering nearly every inch while Bucky moves to the closet where he had seen the bed in their search for you.

He could imagine you nestled up in the cot, surrounded in the dark. The way you used to pull the covers completely over your head to hide from the sun and use your feet to pull the blanket in so you were fully cocooned.

But this….. None of this was you. Countless times talking about your dreams and this was the outcome? You deserved better.

“Everything you told me about her just doesn’t seem right here.” Sam mutters once more moving to the kitchens and digging through the cabinets. “Military rations and tea. That’s all.”

“She was so full of life, used to dream of her freedom. She needs help.” Bucky snaps, anger beginning to course through him as he heads to the kitchen. One of your biggest things when you were paired was hiding the tech when you left so no one would have access.

Your favorite spot was always the bottom left cabinet and sure enough it all sat there.

“Brilliant.” Sam smiles, leaning over the laptop as Bucky hacks his way in to see what you have been watching. It takes a moment for the footage to load, and once it does he finds video footage of a man walking around his apartment in a towel.

“Live feed.” Bucky mumbles.

“That’s Eaiton,” Sam sighs, leaning forward as the man walks down a hall and heads into what looks to be a master bedroom. The footage follows the movement and when the feed changes to another camera you had hidden Sam whistles. “And that is NOT Eaitons wife.”

“Course not.” Bucky chuckles, pulling out his phone to enter in the address on the intel. “What do you know about him?”

“Nothing much. Was on Congress, just got removed but they didn’t announce it. Kept the whole thing hush hush. Last I talked to Yelena she was looking into his name, it’s why I recognized him so quickly.”

“The address isn’t far off, if we take the back roads we can avoid traffic.” Bucky explains, beginning to lead the way out of the apartment while already dialing on his phone. It rings and rings and rings. Once the call fails he tries again and again and again.

Finally it’s picked up, a brash voice filling his ears, out of breath. “Who the fuck keeps calling?!”

“Jared Eaiton, I’m calling to inform you that your life is in danger. I advise you to not hang up.” Bucky starts, watching Sams wings expand so he can take off as he straddles his bike. “I need you to do a couple things for me, starting with having you and the women you are with get dressed as normally as possible. I need you to act natural.”

“Why? For what?”

“Sir, there is a Widow somewhere near your apartment,” He explains, though part of him wants to let you get your revenge he knew you were better than this. You were more than a widow. “Step two, are you ready?”

Inland taipans are generally calm and reclusive, preferring to escape from trouble. However, they will defend themselves and strike if provoked, mishandled, or prevented from escaping

The Soldat moved easily with you, striding side by side as you prepared to take out the target. And normally you loved his proximity, but today it did nothing but give you anxiety.

Something he seemed to be picking up on.

Before you could split from him to follow the plan he grabs your elbow slowly, making sure to not trigger the fang puncture on your wrist, pulling you close to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t like this plan.”

“It’s a plan we have done many times.” You try to laugh, giving him your best pretty smile to push him off the track. It only makes it worse.

“There is something wrong with you today.” He grunts out, keeping you close. “I don’t want to separate.”

“We do this, this is the plan.” You huff, “Don’t stress grumpy man.”

You lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek, watching his eyes narrow at you a little more, but you smile like nothing is wrong once more. Leaving his arms and heading off.

You didn’t have time, he had been a little grumpy this morning which meant he will work faster on the mission, and you had two kids to smuggle out before he caught you.

You had made sure to take the side closest to their room for this mission, climbing up to the second story window and sliding in like a shadow. It takes 5 steps until you are in their room, and your heart expands the second you see them.

They slept so soundly, looking so peaceful that you knew you were a villain just for having to wake them up. But you do, keeping a hand over their mouths to keep them calm as you order them in english.

“I need you to listen.” You order, as they both try to move away. “Follow me. Now.”

The boy jumps to do so, the girl however holds her ground until you get on her level. “Listen to me, you and your brother are in danger here. And unless you want him to be hurt you will follow me.”

And so they do.

You work quickly, breaking a vase as you pass, spraying a bottle of fake blood to make it look like splatter before you have them hold onto you as you crawl out the same way you entered.

The Agent you worked with most the time was already standing in the streetlight waiting for you to deliver them. “Go with him, he will keep you safe.”

The boy, once again, does not wait to run and you’re sure he is still half asleep. The girl keeps a firm clutch on your hand, forcing you to kneel as a loud bang sounds out, letting you know the Soldat is nearly done.

“I need you to go.” You whisper, pushing some of the hair from her face and tracing her cheek with your fingers. “He’ll take care of you ….. I promise.”

She nods, crying, but runs off.

And you don’t have time, but you watch anyways. The way the agent scoops them up and hugs them close, both their arms wrapped tightly around him. You envy it, and you hate it all in the same go.

They will never see their parents again, they will never know the safety of their home. After today they are ruined.

But you could at least make sure they get into the car safely before heading back, out of breath with tears falling down your face.

You’re so panicked about time that you slip on your way in, slipping in the fake blood and slamming into the broken glass of the vase right as the Soldat comes around the corner in a fury.

You panic, the rage written on his face makes you think he knows. He must know. This was the end and he would go back and find the kids, This will all be ruined.

But the second he kneels in front of you the rage disappears, instead he is pulling at your limbs so he can look you over, checking you for any injuries you realize.

“It’s not my blood.” You try to explain.

“It is.” He snaps, eyes narrowing as he pulls a piece of glass from your hip. “You’re hurt.”

And when you look down you realize it is in fact some of your blood, since you had fallen on the vase. He pulls you to look back at him, keeping his hand on your jaw. “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t check for the kids, he merely drags you away.

The target was acting weird, both him and his prostitute were. You knew better than that, and you refused to let this one slip away today, you were so sick of watching him and his hookers.

So you grabbed your gear, and went to work.

Never take the front door, that was the first rule. So you climbed onto the roof of his apartment building, finding the skylight and carving your way in, sliding down on a rope to land on your feet and pull out your knife prematurely.

Immediately you know something is off, the sharp feeling in your spine makes you feel like there is a predator near.

A predator you know all too well by the smell of leather.

You can’t help the hiss that passes your lips as you whirl to find him, kicking out to knock him off his feet as soon as you can. Only he was prepared for that, catching your foot with his metal, pulling you close only to barely dodge the knife you slash at him, his eyes wide.

You take his shock to your favor, slashing at him again, his metal arm coming up to protect him. The clash rings out and you hiss again, making him grunt out as you distribute the weight. Only to get knocked off your ass by another figure.

You had been so distracted with your hate for the Soldat that you missed the red white and blue suit.

You waste no time to twist and attack at them, turning feral with the need to kill.

And then the fight turns 2 against one. Every slash you make is dodged by a metal shield or a metal arm, every kick is met with one of their own, every punch is caught and pushed away. They both track your movements well, easily even.

You kick the chest of the Captain, sending him reeling back, throwing a knife to trap his sleeve to the ground as you turn back to the Soldat and move to stab the knife down, he catches it between the crook of his metal arm, grunting out to keep you further back.

“I don’t want to do this.” He grunts out as you push down with the knife, hissing. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Need?” You laugh bitterly. “I want to do this.”

And you almost got it until he kicked out your feet and sent you reeling back.

You were getting desperate, panicked, and though you knew better than to let yourself get this way you couldn’t help it. So with no true aim you threw the knife, the Soldat catching it with one hand as you charge at him, triggering the fangs as you use his own knee to launch up, your knee pressing on his shoulder with your right hand pulling his hair to expose his neck while he drops the knife.

Instead of pulling you off his arms come up to catch you, like natural instinct. And you are pathetic because you hesitate, this is your chance to get him and yet you feel tears in your eyes as you can’t even push your hand to get him.

And then you’re being thrown as something hits your back, air leaving your lungs.

Pain laces through you as you fly off him, the shield flying back to the Captain while you fall to the ground.

Not only do you feel the pain in your back but your hip hits the floor and you cry out, struggling to get back to your feet to keep fighting.

“Hey! Don’t you dare!” The man in the USA suit orders, pointing at you like you are a dog. “Stop.”

You hiss while the Soldat chuckles, wiping some of the blood from his lip. “Listen-”

“Fuck you!” You yell, lunging out to attack but it’s no use as you crumble to the ground, your hip giving out. He’s quick to go to help you, only to be pushed back as you reach to snatch another knife only for his boot to step on it.

“You used to be better at this.” He huffs out, still breathing heavily as the other one comes closer.

You want to kill him, to yell at him and hit him. You want to tell him that he’s the reason for all of this. But the tears are falling and your hip is throbbing.

You’re useless.

“Kill me.” You snap. “Just do it. Get it over with.”

You watch as his face crumbles, pain lacing his features while his partner takes charge.

“We are here to help you, that is all.” He starts. “You want revenge, that’s understandable. But there are better ways, I promise you.”

“Better ways?” You hiss out a laugh through the tears. “You’re kidding me.”

“You want to ruin these men, and I understand.” He leans down, and you risk a look to the Soldat, who is watching you with a devastating look, you are forced to turn back to the other to avoid getting sick. “You have information on them, you can testify-”

“What? So they can get out of it?”

“No, they could serve time in-”

“COULD. They could.”

“Then we get revenge.” It’s the Soldat that says this, his voice tight. “We will, I promise. You work with Sam and I and we will get intel on them all, enough so that they don’t have a chance. But no killing.”

You look back and forth between them, watching as they have a silent conversation between them, before the captain finally nods with a deep sigh.

Soldat turns back to you, kicking the knife to you gently. “Come on.”

“I can get you a full pardon.” His partner offers. “Full pardon of all crimes within the red room to now. So long as the three of us work together.”

“My entire list?” You sneer, risking a look to the Soldat one more time.

“Entire list.” He nods, watching you closely.

And then it clicks for you. You’re trapped here, there is no doubt. But if you could get closer, to trap him in, you could finish your promise to yourself.

You can kill him.

So, with a final hiss and tears falling down your face you nod slowly, clutching your hands into fists as you answer with a ‘deal.’

The inland taipan is a specialist hunter of mammals, and its venom is adapted to kill warm-blooded species. The venom acts quickly to kill the prey before they can bite back or escape

The Soldat helps you the entire way, even though you weren’t actually hurt, which you tried to tell him. But the arguments were no use, he would hear none of it, instead he pushed to carry you until you both made it home.

He hauls you to the bathroom, setting you down to start the water and let it heat up before removing your suit as slowly as possible. Once the suit of off he helps you sit down so the cut is exposed and he can clean it.

The fact that such a small cut would bother him so much nearly makes you laugh, but it also gives you butterflies, and you wonder if this is how normal people feel. So you lean forward, grabbing his attention. And without thinking you kiss him, your lips meeting his as you melt into him.

This would change everything, and you know it, but you don’t care. And he didn’t either by the way his arms wrap around you, melting into the kiss just as you had.

You were going to kill the Soldat, it was something you had promised yourself long ago. In the darkened cell they had kept you in, near dead, the only thing keeping you from giving up was that promise.

‘I will not leave this earth unless he is gone from it’

You would kill him, this was fact, no matter what you had to do. Once you did that you could kill yourself. This final mission was yours.

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