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katsu28 · 1 day

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summer's golden haze - chapter one

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a small town somewhere in beautiful greece, early morning coffee runs, and the cute boy that you keep running into. (4.8k)

warnings: sort of shy!reader, a bit of swearing, lando being both smooth and a little awkward

a/n: series masterlist coming soon :)

“That guy is totally checking you out.”

You reluctantly drag your attention away from the truly addicting pasta you’d ordered to meet your friend’s gaze across the table, slightly suspicious, but also a little curious as to what she’s talking about.

Samira is grinning knowingly at you already, mischievously, like she’s got a tasty bit of information you don’t know about. Probably not tastier than the food in front of you, but your interest is piqued nonetheless.

“What guy?” You sigh, giving into your curiosity quite easily. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you, then tilts her head to the side discreetly, and you follow her gaze towards—

Oh. That guy.

You saw him on your way to your seat at first, a group of four guys sitting a few tables away in the same patio area of the restaurant, drawing your attention even before you’d sat down. Artfully messy brown curls swept up out of his face, thick dark brows framing bright eyes crinkled with laughter at something his friend had said, you’d felt yourself growing conscious of the man’s existence with just one glance.

And then his gaze had flicked to your friends passing his table, but more importantly, your own gaze, and you’d nearly stumbled on your own feet.

Your cheeks had grown hot at the intensity of his stare following your path to your seat, not to mention the embarrassment that had flooded your veins at the thought of nearly eating shit in front of this very attractive stranger.

Had you grown the nerve to look back at him at the time, you would’ve seen his lips quirk into a goofy grin, as well as all the shoving he’d gotten from his friends as they’d caught wind of his unabashed staring.

Now you’re almost done with your meal, and you could swear you’ve felt him looking at you plenty more times. Not that it mattered at all, because your eyes have been firmly glued to your food and your friends only.

Okay, so you might’ve hastened a few covert glances over in his direction too, but he’s been chatting away to his friends every time, so maybe you’re just making nothing into something.

“Don’t even try to hide it, you’ve been making eyes at him too, girl,” Your other friend, Maren, pipes up, elbowing you in the arm playfully. The last of your girls, Camille, nods her agreement, smiling gleefully. “He’s hot.”

Right, so perhaps not as covert as you’d thought.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” You reply, spearing another piece of pasta through your fork. You’re kicked under the table at that moment, hard enough to warrant the whine that escapes your mouth. “What?” Now you're met with three pointed glares your way. “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Go talk to him!”

“Go flirt with him!”

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim. Your voice comes out louder than you intend and you duck your head quickly, worried you’d disturbed the peace of the quiet area. “He’s probably got a girlfriend already or something.”

“If he does, she better dump his ass because he's been giving you fuck me eyes all damn night.”

“No, he has not,” You hiss, which only gets you yet another look from them. You’re starting to get tired of all these looks, actually. “Has he? I mean—are they? Fuck me eyes?”

“Oh yeah, he—”

Camille clears her throat, cutting Samira off. “No, they’re not,” She assures you, placing a hand over yours. “He’s been smiling every time he looks over.”

“Maybe he’s looking at one of you guys?”

“He’s definitely been looking at you.”

You bite your lip, nose scrunching skeptically. You haven’t really been the subject of any guy’s attention before, let alone one as handsome as this one. You’ve learned it’s better not to get your hopes up when it comes to certain situations. This seems like one of them. “Are you sure?”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your share of the villa rental.”

“Can I get that in writing, or…?”

Before any of them can come up with a smart remark, a plate is placed into the center of the table, on which is a large square of baklava, light and flaky with that sweet, sugary filling spilling out the sides of the piece that almost makes your mouth water. You’d seen it in the dessert section of the menu earlier, but had decided against ordering it in favor of trying an appetizer instead.

“Oh, excuse me? We didn’t order this,” Maren speaks up, looking up at the waiter.

He does a half turn, sweeping an arm in a vague direction. “It is from the gentleman in the blue shirt.”

You follow his gaze, and fuck, your heart skips a beat in your chest, because it’s him. It’s the same guy you’ve been drawn to all night, and he’s actually looking right back at you this time. His hand comes up in a wave, then back down to his side almost immediately, like he’s worried about it seeming too eager, before settling with a reserved nod. All the while, he’s still got that smile gracing his face that makes your stomach flip flop.

“He sent over a dessert?!?! I am so keeping that money, girl,” Camille hums, picking up her fork to dig in while Samira and Maren voice their agreement.

You, on the other hand, well…you’re not sure what to think. You appreciate the gesture, but you're also confused. Why did he send something over? What did he want?

It doesn't occur to you that he’s truly taken an interest in you until you're huddled outside with your friends talking next steps of the night. Whether you want to keep exploring this new place, or call it a day and go home. You’re firmly on the latter’s side because you're tired. But you’ll go along with whatever is decided.

The guy and his friends have coincidentally left the restaurant at the same time as you did, judging by the sudden commotion that erupts behind you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your gaze lands on him yet again, only this time, you actually lock eyes with him. Something jolts through you, something electric up your spine like a tiny shock. Something you’ve never felt before. You shove the foreign feeling deep down, no matter how much you’d like to explore it.

He looks away, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to quell the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you avert your wandering eyes too, before anyone else notices. Evidently you’re a little too slow, because all three of your friends catch on instantly.

“Go talk to him already.” Camille says matter-of-factly.

“No, I—what do I even say?”

“Maybe hello would be a good start?”

You press your lips together, unimpressed, and you get a snicker in return, something about how you're not asking for his hand in marriage, you’re just trying to make conversation. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s that you’re not exactly sure how to approach it. You’ve already convinced yourself of the worst, but to possibly have it play out in real life is a tangible fear of yours, and always has been.

One of your girls (you’re willing to bet more money it’s Maren) gives you a not so gentle shove towards him, as does one of his friends over in his group. Now you’ve got no choice. You meet each other in the middle, just looking at each other for a few moments. It’s awkward and you have half a mind to turn and go, but then he speaks.

“Hey,” He says.

“Hi,” You reply shyly, shifting on your feet nervously. He shoves both hands into his pockets. He looks a bit nervous too, which does a significant wonder to calm you. “Thank you for the baklava. It was delicious.”

“Yeah, of course. Glad you guys liked it. Figured you can’t go wrong with a classic.” He bobs his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears in a shrug before dropping back down. “I’m Lando, by the way.”

Lando. It’s not a name you’re expecting, but it suits him well.

He sticks his hand out almost instinctively, like he’s been conditioned to do so. Maybe he has, considering the aura of professionality it gives off when you do shake his hand.

His palm is smooth and warm against yours, long fingers curling around your hand like the sincere smile that curls his lips as you tell him your name in return. Dimples bracket his mouth on both sides.

The handshake almost lasts a little too long for two people who’ve just met literally a few moments ago, as does the way his eyes linger upon yours.

Even in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamps above you, you can see him much better up close. His sunkissed skin does little to hide the flushed pink on his cheeks that travels down to his chest, disappearing under the generously unbuttoned blue linen. You feel exposed under his intense gaze, looking back at those mesmerizing eyes. Blue, green, gray—maybe a mix of all three, you’re not sure, but you can’t help but want to figure it out.

Then you remember that you don’t know this guy at all, and it brings you back to reality.

“Lando, like…the guy from Star Wars?” You ask. It breaks the invisible tether between the two of you and he smiles, laughs a little bit too.

He shrugs casually. “Not according to my mum and dad, but I do get that a lot.”

“You must get tired of hearing it from people then.”

His head tilts to one side, smile going endearingly lopsided. “Depends on the person. Like, I didn’t mind when you said it just now.” You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just smile, and he takes your reaction in stride, moving on. “Are you guys from around here, or…”

“No, actually, we’re—um, we’re just here on holiday.”

“Oh, same! Yeah, we’ve been here a few days now, it’s been great. Is this your first time in Greece?” He asks, smile turning warm. You nod. “Have you checked out the local market yet?”

“Can’t say we have yet, no. We just got in the day before last, so…still figuring out our footing first. But I’ll keep it in mind, thank you!”

Lando inhales sharply, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, y’know, if you want, maybe we could—”

“Oi, Lando! Let’s go, mate!”

He glances back over at his friends, one of whom is waving for him to return to his group rather wildly, before turning back to you. Whatever he was about to say is lost now, because he shrugs loosely. “Guess that’s my cue,” He sighs. Then his gaze softens, smile turning a little hopeful. “Will I see you around again? Small town and all.”

“Uh…I dunno. Maybe, if it’s meant to be.” You have to try with all your might not to take the statement back, even though you really, really want to.

If it’s meant to be—who the fuck says that? Like fate has anything to do with this miraculous interest Lando seems to have taken in you. If you were him, you’d find your words quite off putting. Instead, he smirks, crooked and cute.

“Meant to be,” He repeats, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah alright, I’ll take my chances. Have a good night.”

You bid him a soft goodnight, barely able to stifle the giggle that spills from your mouth when he nearly trips over the cobblestones on his way back to his friends. He’s awkward, you think, but still confident. It’s cute.

Lando stays rooted in your mind the rest of the night, all the way up until you’re lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take hold of you. It’s weird to think this much about a guy you’ve just met, a guy who you’ve only had one conversation with and have left things up to chance in terms of seeing him again.

-------

You’re the first one awake this morning, roused from your sleep by bright sunlight pouring through the window, even through the curtains. Contemplation of going back to sleep crosses your mind, but it’s no use. You’re up now, so you might as well make the most of your early morning.

You love your friends dearly, but some alone time sounds like heaven right about now. There’s a coffee spot not far from where you’re staying that you remember seeing on your way in that seems like a perfect match to your solo walk, so you head there. You’ll be a nice friend and bring coffee home for when they eventually wake up too.

After dropping them a text letting them know you’ve gone out, you set off. The walk back into town is short but serene, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives, and a reminder of why you’d all decided to vacation in this particular region of Greece in the first place.

Someone calls out something that sounds like your name before you can step into the shop and you pause, casting a glance around to see if your ears might be playing tricks on you. You’ve only been here a few days, and the only other person who knows you other than your friends is…Lando.

You squint a little harder to see through the glare of the sun, and lo and behold, there he is, hands linked behind his head. The grin that lifts your face is almost embarrassing, or would’ve been had Lando not been so eager upon seeing you wave at him.

He’s clad in athletic shorts and a cutoff tee that shows off muscles you’re trying your very hardest not to stare at as he makes his way closer, curls tucked away in a baseball cap pulled low on his head. Headphones dangle from around his neck, and he’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily very clearly once he’s stopped in front of you.

“Hey, good morning! I thought that was you,” He breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “Early riser too, I take it?”

“Honestly, not usually! The sun decided I would be today, though, so…here I am.”

“Here you are. Guess it was meant to be then, huh?” He chuckles, reaching up to flip his cap backwards. If you thought he was tan the night you met, he’s even tanner in the sun, bronze skin stretching over sinewy muscle that flexes as he sweeps a hand through his hair before tugging it back down in one smooth motion. “Doing a coffee run?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one of us awake at this hour so I figured I’d bring them back a little something.”

“You’re a saint. I’d let my mates suffer if it were me,” Lando snorts.

You shrug. “Guess that’s the difference between the two of us.”

“Yeah?” He hums, looking amused. “What else is different between you and me?”

“Well, first of all, I would never be on a run at eight in the morning. Is someone punishing you, or is this a self-inflicted torture type thing?”

That gets another laugh out of him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Gotta keep in shape or my trainer might try to kill me with workouts instead.”

“You’re an athlete?” You pry, intrigued. He looks the part, you think. Lean but not skinny, strong but not massively built. A runner, maybe?

Lando freezes a split second, rocks from foot to foot, scratching at his nose. “Kind of, yeah.”

“What’s your sport?”

“Uh…golf. It’s more like a hobby than anything else.”

“Golf,” You repeat, an amused smile poking at the edges of your mouth. “Can’t say I know a thing about it.”

“Oh, it’s definitely something else, for sure. Super intense stuff, really grueling.” His words say one thing, but he’s grinning like he’s pulling your leg, lip pulled between his teeth in that same way as last night, nose scrunching adorably as he bobs his head quickly to further sell it.

“Sure, if you say so. But d’you think your trainer would get mad if you cut your super intense training short to grab a cup of coffee with a friend?”

You’re almost expecting him to say no, but Lando perks up instead, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Not at all. Shall we?”

Over coffee, you find that Lando is an excellent conversationalist—funny and a good listener, an even better storyteller. He asks about you without seeming pushy or prying, and because of that you feel yourself relaxing a bit in his presence. Opening yourself up to the possibility of a good thing with him, no matter how short or fleeting it may be, whether it’s friendship or something more.

A few weeks of summer in a place you've never been with a boy you don’t know is the time to be a little bolder. Chances are you’ll never see Lando again after this trip, so why not loosen up just a little bit?

It’s only when more people start to trickle into the shop and you start to notice Lando’s eyes shifting over your shoulder more that you realize you’ve been here with him for a while now. And judging by the dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of your friends on your phone when you go to check it for the first time since you’d left, you’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you’d be.

You know them well enough to know that they’re not above calling the local police to send out a search party for you if you don’t find your way back soon.

“Friends wondering where you are?”

You nod, sending a quick message that you are indeed alive and not kidnapped like they feared, before tucking your phone away again. “Guess I better get them their coffees for sure now, or else they might not let me back in the house.”

“Lemme buy it for them,” He offers sincerely, offering you a lopsided grin. You shake your head rapidly at the suggestion, but he continues, “I’m the reason you’ve been gone so long, the least I can do is buy them drinks. Call it an apology for making them worry, yeah?”

“You really don’t have to, Lando.”

“I know. I want to,” He insists, looking truly genuine. First dessert last night, now coffee today. You have half a mind to push back a little more, but you get the feeling Lando is as persistent as he is handsome, so you taking a firm stance on something like this seems like a moot point. Giving in, you nod, and he mirrors it, looking proud.

He lets you take the lead in reciting your friends’ orders once you’ve made your way back over to the front counter, stepping forward with a hand to the small of your back to pay for the drinks before you have any bright ideas to pull one over on him and pay for them yourself.

The barista smiles politely, pen hovering above a cardboard cup. “And a name for that?”

Lando casts a furtive glance around the area before leaning in and saying his name quietly, as if he’s worried he’ll run into someone who he doesn’t want to see. You notice, but don’t really pay it any mind. You understand far too well not wanting to talk to someone you're unprepared for.

Soon enough Lando’s got the drinks in hand and you’re back outside, and he’s smiling again. You’ve noticed he does that a lot when he looks at you. You’re sure you’re the same way with him.

“My mates and I, we’re planning on having a little barbeque at our villa tomorrow night. You should come,” Lando says encouragingly, tilting his head to the side. When your brows raise in surprise, he hastily adds, “And your friends too, obviously. We’d love the company.”

“Ah! Um, I dunno. Wouldn’t wanna crash your thing.”

“You wouldn't be. Seriously, come hang out. We’re fun, I promise!”

“I just—I forget if we’ve got plans, that’s all.” You’re not lying when you say it, you truly forget if you’re free tomorrow night. Most of it stems from your awful memory, but a small part of it attributes to how your brain kind of stops working properly around Lando.

“Right, well, you figure that out, and if you find you’ve got a free evening,” He balances the drinks deftly in one hand, the other fishing his phone out of his shorts pocket and swiping at the screen briefly before holding it out to you, “text me, let me know.”

You’re not sure where you find the boldness to tap your phone number into his contacts, but you do it with confidence, saving it under your name and a smiley face.

“Cute.” Lando smirks, chuckling as he sends a simple hi so you've got his number too. “Now, I believe these are yours, and…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? If it’s meant to be.”

You smile at the mirroring of last night’s words from him as you situate the cardboard tray in your own arms. “Maybe.”

The smile hasn’t left your face even by the time you arrive back home, because you’ve been thinking about Lando the whole way. For a stranger you’ve met only yesterday, he’s sure been occupying a lot of space in your mind. You aren’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

You’re already prepared for the berating you’re about to get as you close the front door behind you carefully, making your way to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You look up to see all three of your friends sitting around the kitchen table, and none of them look particularly happy. You smile innocently, holding up the cardboard tray of drinks up as a peace offering. “Coffee?”

“It better come with an explanation.”

Nodding vigorously, you dole out each drink to your friends. “It does, I swear. I didn’t just disappear, I ran into—”

“Hold the fuck on. Why does this say Lando? Why is that man’s name on my cup—”

“Oh my god, you did not get coffee with him without telling us!”

“You bitch!”

That’s how you end up telling them the whole story—running into him in town, talking for ages, and that brings you to your next point.

“We don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, do we?”

“There’s the vineyard tour in the afternoon, but that should end around five. Why?”

“Lando invited us to a barbecue at his villa,” You say quickly. That gets their attention immediately, all of their eyes widening in the same shocked looks. None of them answer your question though. “Is that…something we’d be interested in?”

Samira is the first to snap out of it, mouth curving into a playful smirk. “Invited us, or invited you?”

“Definitely just her.”

“Whatever! Do we wanna go or not?” You grumble, doing your best to fight the grin threatening to overtake your face. The thought of him wanting to spend time with you brings you a teensy bit of satisfaction.

“Of course we’re going!”

After they’re done poking fun at you, you’re able to take a moment to top out a quick message to Lando. That barbecue invite still up for grabs?

You're not expecting an immediate answer, but your phone dings with a text back before you even set it down.

Lando: Of course. Plans fell through?

You: seems like you’ve really made an impression on my friends

Lando: Not sure whether to be scared or flattered…

You: your guess is as good as mine! we’ll find out tomorrow :)

Lando: Brb gotta go call my lawyer and update my will

“You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?”

You look up from your phone to see Camille leaning in the doorway to your room, a soft, knowing smile on her face. “Yeah, he—uh, he says he’s looking forward to meeting you guys again.” She comes to sit beside you, looking like she wants to talk about something. You set it aside, head tilting in a silent question.

“Do you think you’ll stay in contact with Lando after we leave?”

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest.”

If you do think about it, you haven’t even known Lando for more than a day. You’ve only just met him yesterday, seen him twice, one of which was completely spur of the moment. So what if that spur of the moment encounter was the most connected you’ve felt to someone in a long time?

You don’t know him, and chances are, he’s not looking for anything serious. You don’t even know if you’re looking for anything serious.

“It’s okay if you want to.”

“I shouldn’t want to,” You say. It feels like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. You look to Camille for an answer, but she just pats your hand. “Right? I’m never gonna see him again, so I shouldn’t get attached.”

“You don’t know that for sure, do you?”

“I guess not. It feels scary, though. Opening yourself up to something when you don't know what’ll happen.”

Camille hums, a placating, even comforting sound to soothe your worries. She’s always been pretty good at getting you to see the brighter side in things. “There’s fun in that too. Being spontaneous, surprising yourself. You never know, Lando could be just the thing you need, the one you didn’t know you were looking for. And if not, you don’t have to see him again. A win-win, I’d say.”

She leaves you alone to your thoughts after that, left to ponder what exactly it is you want. It might be stupid and entirely over-optimistic of you, but Lando has already pulled you in. You’re not sure what it is about him. He makes you want more, want to know more.

Whatever happens will happen, and if things don’t work out…well, Camille is right. You never have to see Lando again.

His name flashes across your screen later in the night, right before you’re about to go to sleep. You’ve been texting back and forth all day, but this one is different. He’s video calling you right now.

You stare at his name for longer than you should, finger hovering over the answer button a few beats before pressing it. His face pops into view once the call connects. Like you, he’s sitting in bed, leaned up against the headboard, cozied up in a soft looking jumper. He looks like he’s moments away from drifting off, but he called you, so he must want to talk.

“Hi,” You say softly.

“Hey, you.” He smiles, warm and sleepy and all squinty in a way that makes you want to crawl through the screen and tuck him into bed with a kiss to his forehead. “You must be tired.”

“Eh, I’m alright. Why?”

“‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

You let out a wildly unappealing snort of laughter at his poor attempt at a pick up line. “That’s terrible! Oh my god, that was awful, Lando, seriously.”

“No?” His smile grows giddy, shoulders shaking with his chuckles. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it? Got you laughing though.”

Conversation falls into the same easy nature as this morning, like you’ve known him for ages. He makes you laugh until your ribs hurt, smile until your cheeks feel the same. It still amazes you just how comfortable you feel around him, as someone who usually takes a while to warm up to people.

Maybe you should take it as a sign.

A jumble of muffle voices offscreen some time later makes Lando squint. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t hang up. ” He lets the phone drop onto the bed, checking once to make sure you’re still there before disappearing from sight.

You hear his footsteps fade, then more voices you can’t quite make out. Someone laughs off in the distance, and then he’s back, resituating himself with the remnants of an amused grin on his lips.

“Everything okay?”

“My mates are yelling at me to turn off the light, so I’d better go,” He sighs goodnaturedly, lips turning down into a frown. Then he yawns widely, and you realize how late it’s gotten since you’ve picked up his call. Losing track of time when you’re talking to Lando seems to be a recurring theme. “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow.”

Your breath catches a little in your chest, both at his words and the way he’s looking at you through the screen as he says it, nothing but genuine. “Me too.”

You’re starting to think this whole try not to get attached thing is going to be much harder than you thought.

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #ln4 #ln4 x fem!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris imagine

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mononijikayu · 2 days

Text

triassic love song — gojo satoru.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.” The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile. “They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation au!;

WARNING/S: edo japan era, nsfw, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, engagement, hurt, physical touch, implied character death(s), natural disaster(s), mourning, pain, grief, happy ending, depiction of natural disaster(s), depiction of suffering, depiction of character death(s), depiction of violent destruction, depiction of grief, depiction of suffering, mention of implied character death(s), mention of death(s), mention of suffering, mention of destruction, mention of earthquake-related destruction, fiance! gojo, fiance! reader, reincarnated! gojo, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.6k words

NOTE: this song has ruined me beyond understanding. paris paloma, your album was just insane like im sorry. the fact that she wrote a song about the triassic cuddle inspired me to write something similar and i just??? i can't help myself. ive been so crazy about this song that i just decided, you know what. this is great. this is just something i would in fact like to bawl my eyes out writing. and i did. i did that. and i hope you cry with me and enjoy it. anyway, i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IT WAS ENJOYABLE TO BE TOGETHER. IIt was forbidden to be together at this time, with the curfew in place, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when it came to him. The world outside was still, bound by rules meant to keep order, but within the quiet sanctuary of your family estate, the constraints of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant. Inside, warmth and anticipation filled the air, thick as the lingering scent of incense that wafted through the halls. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the room in a warm light, casting shadows across the delicate shoji screens, and reflecting off the polished wooden beams and traditional tatami mats beneath you.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, his presence magnetic as always, but tonight, something was different. His signature smirk still played at the corners of his lips, and his bright, sparkling eyes glimmered with mischief. But beneath that playfulness was an undeniable depth, a new layer of emotion that wasn’t there before—an unspoken excitement, a shared understanding that you were no longer just childhood friends.

You were now betrothed.

Bound by the ties of engagement that your noble families had arranged, it felt as though a long-awaited dream had finally come true. And though you had known each other all your lives, this new bond between you carried a weight of its own, something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. The happiness you felt was undeniable, shared in the way Satoru’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, in the subtle glances that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re quieter than usual, don't you think?" Satoru remarked with a teasing lilt, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, as if daring you to speak first.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his intense scrutiny. “I could say the same about you, hm?” you replied, trying to match his teasing tone, though your voice betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling within you.

Satoru chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “Well, it’s not every day you get engaged to your best friend!” he said, his tone light, but his expression softened as his usual bravado gave way to sincerity.

That sincerity took your breath away, and for a moment, the reality of the moment hit you fully. You weren’t just sneaking out to spend time with him as you had countless times before. This was different. This was a promise, one sealed by the love you’d always shared but never fully acknowledged until now.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know?” you admitted quietly, your eyes meeting his. “For us to be more than just... childhood friends.”

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened even more, a rare seriousness taking over his expression as he reached out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, and the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Me too.” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For a long time.”

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still and silent, but inside this room, the air seemed alive with the energy between you. The gravity of the situation settled in—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something much bigger, something that both excited and terrified you.

“You always did like breaking the rules.” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Staying out past curfew, sneaking into my room like this...”

Satoru grinned, his usual confidence returning. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?” he quipped, though the softness in his gaze lingered. “Besides, how could I stay away from you tonight? Our first night as an engaged couple... I had to be here.”

You laughed, but it was a soft, breathless sound, the kind that came when words failed to fully capture the emotions coursing through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Satoru.” you whispered.

He smiled, that warm, heart-melting smile that was reserved just for you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations placed on you by your families, not even the looming responsibilities of your engagement. It was just you and him, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

“I brought something for you.” Satoru said after a brief pause, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a small bundle of paper. “I wrote these for you.”

You blinked in surprise, watching as he carefully unfolded the papers. “Poems?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, something you rarely saw from him. “Yeah, don’t laugh!” he added quickly, though the look in his eyes told you he trusted you completely. “I’ve been working on them for a while...”

You took the papers from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. The sheets were neatly folded, each one carefully written in his distinct handwriting. It touched you deeply to know that he had taken the time to craft these for you, that he had poured his heart into something so personal. Something for you, with all his love.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I could never laugh, my dearest.” you said softly, your voice sincere. “Thank you, Satoru.”

"I made these for you, my beloved." he whispered, pulling out one of the carefully folded parchment from your grasp and unfolded it. "Listen to me, alright?"

His slender fingers traced the delicate paper before he began to read softly, his voice like a gentle breeze:

"Beneath the cherry bloom, I wait

for you, a light that never fades.

In silence, your name takes root in my soul—

a promise written long before time."

His tender words wove into your heart, each syllable filled with the love he had always held for you, now finally given shape. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat that matched your own excitement. The future felt certain, and the night was perfect. You kept listening to his voice, letting it guide you into the tender slumber of the night.

Satoru leaned closer to you, watching your expression, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and affection. Your orbs gazed at the tender strokes of his writing.

His calligraphy had always been so beautiful, but to form such words in order to capture not just the feelings he had for you, it was even more beautiful. And to have him read it with such affection, such love — for you and only you…..what could be more beautiful? What could be more perfect, more delightful?

But then, the ground beneath you shifted, a low rumble reverberating through the tatami mats. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, the shaking intensified. It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the lanterns flicker.

Satoru paused, his brow furrowing. Before you could ask, the ground shook violently, and the delicate house groaned under the pressure. Screams erupted from other rooms, echoing through the halls as the tremor grew stronger.

"Satoru?" you whispered, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, not from love, but from fear.

He was already moving, his hand gripping yours tightly. “Stay with me, my beloved.” he commanded, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with a seriousness you had never seen before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room shuddered violently as the earthquake hit full force, and you could hear the distant crashing of objects falling in other parts of the house. Screams erupted outside even louder—voices of your family, the servants, all caught in the chaos of the sudden disaster. And then all the sudden, it was eerily quiet. And that made your heart drop to your stomach

For a moment, you thought that it would finally be over. But then, the earth beneath you trembled once more. You squealed as Satoru let his body encompass your own with the enveloping of his whole body on yours as the world crashed against you both. The walls were swaying left and right, the roof tiles were shattering one after another. It was chaos.

"Hold on to me. Don’t lift your eyes." he said, his voice calm but firm, even as the world quaked around you. “I’ll protect you.”

You clung to him, your heart pounding in fear as the floor shifted beneath your feet. His grip was unyielding, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, shielding you from falling debris as the shaking intensified.

“I’ve got you, my beloved.” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “D��don’t worry.”

You feared when he stuttered, that he had gotten hurt. But he did not falter. His fingers gently stroked your back, trying to calm your trembling as the earthquake raged on. You could hear the distant crashing of porcelain and wood, your ears ringing from the harsh sounds of the destruction. But in his arms, you felt an odd sense of safety amidst the destruction. Because it was your Satoru holding you, protecting you. Because you’re together.

As the tremors finally subsided, Satoru’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. His breath was shaky, and when you looked up at him, you saw a rare flicker of fear in his usually carefree eyes. He swallowed hard before giving you a small, reassuring smile. You were still stunned, your head shaking as you tried to make sense of the world.

"Seems like the earth itself wanted to remind us of its power." he joked softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He was just as afraid, perhaps even pained by some injury he would never show you. “We’re….we’re alright, my beloved. Don’t worry.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still clutching his robes as you pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was no longer perfect, but in that moment, with Satoru holding you close, it felt like nothing could tear the two of you apart—not even the earth itself.

The earth, which had momentarily stilled, seemed to shift again beneath you, this time more violently.More catastrophic, more angry and volatile. You screamed as you held tightly to him, his body wrapping itself against you once more. The walls of your room groaned, beams creaking as the tremors returned with a vengeance, fiercer than before. The floor shook so hard you could barely keep your balance, even in Satoru's arms.

He pulled you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t let go.”

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath his robes, his usually easy going demeanor replaced by something more protective, almost desperate as his entire body forced itself to become a shield against anything against you. What remained standing of your ancestral home rattled more easily around you, dust falling from the ceiling in thick clouds. Outside, the screams grew louder, more frantic as the destruction worsened. Perhaps, it wasn’t even your family any longer. Perhaps it was the town, perhaps it was a neighboring village. You do not know anymore. And that’s what frightened you even more.

You could hear the unmistakable crash of something heavy—perhaps a roof beam—collapsing nearby. Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The wide, elaborate shoji doors rattled on their frames before they were blown open by the force of the quake. Your own room felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece. One of the wooden beams above groaned under the strain and, without warning, splintered and fell, hurtling toward the two of you.

Your beloved Gojo Satoru reacted in an instant, pushing you down and covering you with his body just as the beam crashed into the floor where you’d been trying to stand. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of earth and shattered wood filled your lungs, choking you. You shook as your eyes slowly opened to see your fiance pinning you down with his body shielding you.

“Satoru!” you gasped, your hands gripping the front of his robe, desperate to make sure he was unharmed.

“I’m fine, my beloved.” he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice. His arm was still braced above you, shielding you from any further debris. His other hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into the crook of his neck. “We need to move. The house isn’t going to hold.”

You nodded against him, heart pounding in terror. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. The childhood home that had always felt so safe, so untouchable, was crumbling around you, and the only solid thing left was Satoru. He was all you had, you think. Everything…Everything was gone. Your body was shaking.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you toward the door, but just as you reached it, another powerful tremor sent the ground pitching beneath you. You fell forward, and Satoru caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as the floor buckled and cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the splintering wood beneath your sandals, the whole structure of the house breaking apart beneath the relentless force of the earthquake.

“Satoru, we need to get out—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by the sound of another beam collapsing behind you, followed by a sickening crash from outside the room.

“I know, I know.” he said, his voice tight with focus as he scanned the surroundings. "We’ll find a way out. I promise."

He led you toward the door again, but just as you stepped forward, the entire room seemed to tilt. The floor caved in with a horrific crack, and suddenly, you were falling. Satoru’s grip tightened as you both plummeted into darkness, the floorboards and debris collapsing into the space below.

“Are you hurt?” Satoru’s voice cut through the chaos, his hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you close, checking for injuries in the dim light. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear he usually kept hidden so well.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, though your body felt battered and sore.

He exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment, his breath shaky. “We need to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Even now, with the world collapsing around you, his determination didn’t waver. He pulled you to your feet once more, and together, you began to make your way through the rubble. The house was a maze of fallen beams, shattered walls, and debris, the once-beautiful estate reduced to ruins in a matter of minutes.

The aftershocks still rumbled beneath your feet, making every step treacherous, but Satoru kept you steady, his arm around your waist, guiding you through the wreckage. The air was thick with dust, and the distant screams of those outside continued, filling you with dread for what might await you once you escaped.

As you neared what used to be the outer courtyard, the quake hit again, this time more violent than any before. The very ground seemed to split open beneath you, and with a loud, earth-shattering roar, the outer wall of the estate gave way. You barely had time to scream before the floor cracked beneath your feet, and you fell into darkness once more.

This time, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, and you felt his body pull you against him, sheltering you as the ground gave way entirely. You hit the ground hard, the pain radiating through your body, but before you could react, you felt the warmth of Satoru’s arms around you, shielding you from the worst of it.

“Don’t leave me.” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tighter than ever. “I won’t let anything take you from me—not this, not anything.”

In that moment, as the world continued to crumble around you, his words were the only thing that kept you grounded. No matter what happened next, as long as you were with him, there was still hope. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes, as the tremors finally began to subside, leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage, but together.

You landed hard, the wind knocked out of you as your back hit the ground. The tatami beneath you was torn, and debris scattered everywhere, yet Satoru still held onto you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, as though his grip alone could shield you from the crumbling world. The force of his embrace had absorbed much of the fall, but the impact still left you breathless. For a moment, everything was a blur—dust and darkness clouded your vision, and the deafening roar of collapsing beams filled the air.

Your body throbbed with pain, and panic surged in your chest, but even through the chaos, the warmth of Satoru’s body against yours anchored you. His presence, solid and unyielding, kept you grounded in the midst of the chaos.

"Satoru..." you gasped, your voice barely audible, but he heard you.

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely, his voice steady despite the tremors still shaking the earth beneath you. His breath was ragged, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His white hair, now disheveled and covered in dust, clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—remained focused on you. “Are you hurt?”

You tried to shake your head, but your mind was still reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The earthquake raged on, though the initial violence of it had passed. The ground trembled beneath you like a sleeping beast disturbed from its rest.

Satoru shifted, pulling you up as carefully as he could. The house around you was nearly unrecognizable—wooden beams had collapsed, shoji screens were shredded, and parts of the roof had caved in. The once peaceful and warm room where you had shared your engagement was now in ruins, littered with broken objects and torn memories.

The sound of screams echoed from outside, faint but piercing. Servants. Family. It was hard to tell who, but the urgency in their voices cut through the haze of shock that clouded your mind. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you once more.

“My family... my parents.” you muttered, scrambling to get up, but Satoru stopped you, his hand on your shoulder, firm yet gentle. “Satoru—”

"Wait," he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of authority. "We need to get out of here first. It’s not safe."

He tried to keep you calm, his steady hands guiding you through the debris, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was on high alert, his senses sharp as he glanced at every unstable beam, every shifting pile of rubble. He was scanning for danger, but more than that, he was trying to protect you from seeing the worst of it—the destruction, the death.

But as you stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been your home, you couldn’t avoid the horrors that surrounded you. Bodies. Littered through the halls, some crushed beneath fallen beams, others lying still in the open. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world spun around you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away from his protective hold. "Where are they? My parents... my siblings?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting around, trying to keep you moving forward, away from the bodies, away from the worst of it. But you knew. The silence was louder than any scream. You could feel tears fall from your face and that broke his heart to see.

"Satoru!" you cried, your voice breaking as your legs buckled beneath you. "Where are they?"

He knelt beside you, his hands cupping your face as he gently forced you to look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with an overwhelming sadness, but he tried to hide it, to be strong for you. He had to be strong. He had to. He can’t be weak, not right now.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to go. We need to find shelter. I’ll take you to my family home. They’ll know what to do.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t fully sink in. Your body was moving on autopilot now, your mind numb to the world as Satoru pulled you back to your feet. With every step, the destruction around you became more apparent, more real. The walls were crumbling, the air thick with dust and smoke, and the scent of burning wood filled your nostrils.

Together, you navigated the ruins of your estate, stepping over debris and through the remains of lives that had been lost in the quake. GojoSatoru kept a firm grip on your hand, leading you with a determination that seemed almost impossible given the circumstances.

But even he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched when another body appeared in your path, forcing him to shield you from the sight.

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IT WAS A CHALLENGE, TO GO AND LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION BEHIND. The sky deepened into a somber shade of dusk as you and Satoru finally reached the estate’s edge. The once proud gates, symbols of security and honor, now stood twisted and mangled, crumpled by the sheer force of nature’s wrath.

Beyond the gates, the town stretched out in a nightmare of ruin—buildings reduced to heaps of rubble, streets fractured and littered with debris, and the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke and dust. The cries of the wounded and the wails of those searching for lost loved ones echoed through the broken streets, a chorus of despair that filled the silence left in the wake of destruction.

“Keep your head high,” Satoru urged, his voice low but firm as he tightened his grip on your hand. “Don’t look. Just… don’t.”

But it was impossible not to look. How could you not see the devastation, shared by all? Every corner of the town had been touched by this catastrophe, and every person who remained alive carried the weight of loss. It was a destruction understood by all, but none more deeply than you at that moment.

The memory of your home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and the presence of family—now lay in ruins. Your parents, your siblings… their fates were unknown, swallowed by the chaos. You hadn’t seen them, and the hope of finding them alive was growing fainter with every passing moment. Satoru’s words rang hollow in your ears, even as you clung to his hand for strength.

He guided you through the crumbling streets with a fierce determination, always positioning himself between you and the worst of the wreckage. The buildings, once grand and vibrant, had become tombs of stone and wood, each step revealing more of the town’s shattered soul. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some half-buried in rubble, others left untouched by the debris but claimed by the quake nonetheless. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Every time you stumbled, your legs trembling with fatigue and grief, Satoru was there, catching you before you could fall. His presence was like an anchor, keeping you steady amid the storm of devastation that swirled around you. His hand never left yours, his touch a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to face it all by yourself.

The survivors—those who had managed to escape the collapse of buildings or who had emerged from the wreckage—followed behind you, a somber procession of hollow eyes and ashen faces. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of shock. No words passed between them, no cries for help—only silence and the occasional sob as they moved like ghosts through the streets, trying to find some semblance of safety, of life, in this broken world.

Your heart ached for them, for their pain, but your own grief consumed you. The memory of your family’s voices, the warmth of your home, felt so distant now, like a dream you had just woken from. And yet, with each step you took beside Satoru, you realized that this nightmare was real, and there was no waking from it.

The earth beneath your feet still trembled occasionally, aftershocks reminding you that the worst might not yet be over. Each tremor sent a fresh wave of fear through your body, your grip tightening around Satoru’s hand. He responded in kind, his hand strong and reassuring, though you could sense the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. His family, too, was somewhere in this mess. Their fate hung in the balance just as much as yours.

As you made your way through the gates, leaving behind the wreckage of your estate, you couldn’t help but glance back one final time. The place where you had grown up, where you had shared laughter, joy, and the news of your engagement just hours ago, was now unrecognizable. In the span of mere moments, everything you had known had been reduced to rubble, leaving behind only echoes of the life you had once cherished.

“Satoru…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name, the words barely audible over the distant cries. He stopped, turning to look at you, his eyes softening with concern.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall unnoticed. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll make it through this. We have to.”

His resolve was unshakable, but you could see the grief hidden behind his determination. He was trying to be strong, not just for himself, but for you. His family’s estate lay ahead, yet you both feared what you would find when you arrived.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, you continued onward, the fire of Satoru’s presence the only thing keeping you from sinking into despair. The path was treacherous, littered with fallen beams and shattered stone, but Satoru led the way with careful, deliberate steps. He kept you close, his arm around your waist now, guiding you over the broken streets as you navigated what felt like the remains of the world.

Every glance revealed more heartache—broken homes, toppled lanterns, and the pale, lifeless faces of those who hadn’t made it. But Satoru never let you linger, gently urging you forward each time your gaze began to drift toward the horror around you.

Finally, you reached his family’s estate. Or what remained of it. The grand structure that had once stood proud and formidable was now a heap of collapsed roofs and shattered walls. The once beautiful garden, where you had shared many moments of happiness, was now a twisted, chaotic mess of uprooted trees and scorched earth.

Satoru stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the destruction with a silent, composed fury. The pain was etched into his expression, though he quickly masked it as he turned to you, his voice low but firm.

"We’ll make it through tonight," he said. "We have to survive, no matter what."

In that moment, even as the world crumbled around you, there was no fear in his eyes—only determination. For now, all you could do was follow him. Follow him through the darkness, trusting that somewhere, beyond the destruction, hope still lingered.

As you finally reached the outskirts of the Gojo estate, the enormity of the destruction hit you again. The town below had not been spared either. Smoke rose in the distance, and the ground was littered with rubble, buildings half-collapsed, and people wandering aimlessly, searching for loved ones.

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pulled you forward, his grip never loosening as he led you through the streets toward his family’s home. But when you arrived, the sight that greeted you was even more devastating.

His family estate, much like your own, had been reduced to little more than a broken shell. The grand gates had collapsed, and the once beautiful gardens were torn apart, now little more than mounds of earth and stone. The house itself had fared no better, with parts of the roof caved in and walls shattered.

Satoru’s face paled as he took it all in, his hand tightening around yours in a desperate attempt to remain calm. But you could see it in his eyes—the grief, the disbelief. This was his home. His family. And now, it is gone.

For a long moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on the destruction before him. His breathing was shallow, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. But then, with a sharp breath, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As you both began your journey toward the Gojo family estate, the weight of the day settled heavily on your shoulders. But Satoru’s hand never let go of yours, a silent promise that even in the face of unimaginable loss, you would survive this—together.

When you and Satoru finally reached the outskirts of his family estate, the sinking feeling in your chest returned with full force. What should have been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the horrors you had just fled, was nothing but devastation. The Gojo estate, once majestic and proud, had fallen to the same fate as your home.

The gates were twisted and mangled, barely hanging from their hinges, and the walls that had once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble. Smoke rose from what remained of the manor, a bitter scent of burning wood and stone hanging in the air. The destruction was so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very earth had swallowed everything whole. The silence was deafening.

Gojo Satoru froze at the sight, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurt. You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his usual brightness dulled to a vacant stare. His family, his home....everything he had known, everything he had grown up with. All was gone. Nothing was left but the earth where it all once stood.

You tried to say something, to offer words of comfort, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. More tears could only pour out of your eyes from then on. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he would feel your silent support. He didn't need to hear your words right now; he just needed to know you were there.

For a moment, he stood motionless, his blue eyes scanning the destruction as if trying to comprehend it, trying to find any sign of life among the wreckage. But there was nothing. Just like at your estate, the earthquake had consumed everything.

Finally, Satoru exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. But even in his grief, he didn’t break. He couldn’t—not with you depending on him. He glanced down at you, his eyes softening with a kind of sadness you had never seen in him before.

Satoru stopped for a moment, turning to you with a look of determination in his eyes. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “We’ll get some place safe here, and I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. You hear me?”

You nodded, though the world felt unsteady beneath you. The future that once seemed so bright, the engagement that had filled your heart with hope, now felt overshadowed by the tragedy that had befallen your lives. Still, with Satoru’s hand wrapped securely around yours, you knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“We need to stay warm tonight.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark. We’ll make a fire here, and then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do.”

He led you to a relatively clear patch of ground, away from the worst of the rubble. The sky was darkening, and the air had grown cold, a biting wind cutting through your torn clothes. Satoru quickly set to work, gathering what dry wood he could find, his movements steady and focused despite the grief that must have been tearing him apart inside.

You watched him in silence, too exhausted to help, too numb from everything that had happened. When the fire finally sparked to life, its warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold that had settled deep into your bones. You sat beside him, huddled close to the flickering flames, the only source of light in the endless night.

Your Satoru didn’t speak for a long time. He simply stared into the fire, his expression distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t fathom. His hands, usually so relaxed and playful, were tense, gripping his knees as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But then he turned to you, his gaze softening when he saw the exhaustion written on your face. Without a word, he pulled his outer robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around you, tucking it gently against your chin. He tried to do it, smiling like nothing happened. As though to comfort you even in all this suffering. And yet, you could see it all in his eyes. He was exhausted, he was in pain. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Sleep, my beloved.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep watch.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he needed rest just as much as you did, but your body betrayed you. The exhaustion, the grief, the sheer weight of everything you had been through—it was too much. You nodded weakly, laying your head against his shoulder as you curled into the warmth of the robe.

Satoru shifted slightly, easing you into a more comfortable position so you could lie down near the fire. His hand rested on your arm, a protective gesture that reminded you of his earlier promise. Even as the world fell apart around you, Satoru Gojo was still there, watching over you.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if he were afraid to pull away, afraid that something might take you from him if he let go.

“I’ll keep you safe, my beloved.” he whispered against your hair, his voice trembling with the weight of his vow. “No matter what happens. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but his resolve was unshakable. He couldn’t save everything—his home, his family—but he would save you. That much, he was certain of.

As you slept, Gojo Satoru remained awake, his eyes scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of danger. The devastation around him was complete, but his focus never wavered from you. You were his world now, the one thing he had left in the midst of the ruin.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, but Satoru didn’t move from his spot by your side. Even as the grief gnawed at him, even as the weight of everything he had lost threatened to crush him, he stayed strong. For you. Because no matter what came next, no matter how uncertain the future had become, Gojo Satoru had made a promise—and he would keep it.

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THE YEAR 2018 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR FOR DISCOVERIES. You remember reading about it in the newspaper on your way to university—the discovery of two lovers found in an eternal embrace, huddled together in a shoreline cave, their bodies preserved for three hundred years by the elements that had claimed their lives.

The volcanic eruption, the earthquake, and the tsunami that had ravaged Japan centuries ago were some of the worst disasters the country had ever known, obliterating entire villages and swallowing countless lives in an instant. And yet, even in the face of such unimaginable destruction, these two had remained together, their bond undisturbed by the passage of time.

Standing quietly in front of the memorial, you felt the weight of their story settle around you. The air was still and somber, carrying with it the distant hum of waves crashing along the shore. The stone monument before you was simple yet profound—a silent marker of the love these two souls had shared, a love that had endured in the most unimaginable of circumstances. Their bodies had been found in the ruins of a household long buried by the mud and debris, a household much like the ones surrounding this coastline, now reduced to scattered memories.

You had followed the story from the beginning—the day the archaeologists uncovered them from the earth, the painstaking care they took in revealing the remains. The headlines had drawn attention, not because of the tragedy alone, but because of the story those two bodies told.

There were no names. No clues as to who they had been, what their lives had looked like before the disaster struck, or even how they had ended up in each other’s arms when the end came. But it didn’t matter. Their identities weren’t needed to understand the significance of what had been found. What mattered was that they had faced their final moments without fear. They had faced the end together, with love.

It was that thought—the resilience of love in the face of overwhelming disaster—that had touched you most deeply. In a world where so much is fragile and fleeting, the strength of their connection had remained, even after centuries had passed. It was as if their love had transcended the destruction, as if they had chosen to defy the disaster by holding on to one another in their last breath.

You stepped forward, placing your hands together in silent prayer. You wished them peace, a kind of peace that transcended the tragedy of their death, that honored the love they had shared.

You prayed that their spirits had found rest, and that wherever they were now, they were still together, watching over the place where they had once stood. The offering you placed at the memorial was simple, a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, symbolizing purity and remembrance.

"I pray that you'll always be together, the two of you." you murmured, your voice soft, barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the trees around the monument. "Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace, and that your love is still as strong as it was in those last moments."

You stayed there for a while, the silence of the memorial surrounding you, offering its quiet comfort. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene, a contrast to the deep sense of loss the place carried. But you didn’t feel sadness. Instead, there was something almost beautiful about it—knowing that even in the face of disaster, these two had been together, and their love had transcended time. As you prepared to leave, footsteps approached from behind. You turned slightly, curious to see who else had come to visit this quiet, forgotten place.

A man with striking white hair and bright blue eyes under the rim of his glasses stood at the edge of the memorial, his head bowed in silent prayer. He was tall, his presence commanding even though he moved with a quiet grace. His features were sharp, but softened by a kind of deep, unspoken sorrow. He knelt down beside the monument, laying a single white flower on the stone, his fingers brushing the surface with reverence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though you couldn’t quite place it. The way he stood there—tall and composed, with an air of quiet reverence that just seemed to draw you in.

There was something almost ethereal about him, as if he was intrinsically linked to the story of the lovers you had come to honor. The connection felt deeper than mere coincidence, as though his presence was a significant part of the narrative that had touched you so profoundly.

His white hair glowed softly in the fading light, and his posture was relaxed yet dignified, embodying a calmness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil you had felt as you reflected on the lovers’ fate.

His eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene, as if he was offering a deeply personal tribute to the souls who had been found together in their final moments. The sense of connection was so strong that you could almost feel it emanating from him, a silent bridge spanning the centuries between his presence and the lovers' tragic end.

You hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of solitude. Yet, there was something compelling about the situation—an unspoken invitation to acknowledge the shared significance of this place and the story that bound them all together. Your curiosity and empathy drove you to speak, despite the quietude that hung between you.

“Excuse me.” you began softly, breaking the stillness of the memorial. Your voice was gentle, barely a whisper against the backdrop of the crashing waves. “I couldn’t help but notice… There's something about you that feels so familiar, so connected to this place. I… I’ve been deeply moved by the story of the lovers found here, and I can’t shake the feeling that you share a connection with them.”

The man turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful and measured. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this conversation, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“Oh.” Gojo Satoru whispered back, his cheeks tinged with a flush of surprise, as if your words had caught him off guard. He seemed momentarily at a loss, his usual confidence replaced with a bashful vulnerability. “Yeah, I… I saw the news, and I thought, I just had to come. It felt… it just felt right, you know? To come here and see them off, to wish them well.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a raw honesty that struck a chord. You could see that this wasn’t just a casual visit for him; it was something deeply personal, a moment of reflection and respect that went beyond mere curiosity.

“I see…” you mumbled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A smile slowly spread across your face, touched by his heartfelt gesture. “That’s kind of you to do.”

Gojo Satoru shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. “Ah, not… not really,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “If anything, I think you were more kind. You brought them white chrysanthemums and everything. You probably had more of a proper prayer for them than I did.”

You waved off his comment with a small laugh, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the memorial. “Oh, not at all. I think… I think your intention was purer than mine. You came here just on a feeling, an instinct that something was right about being here. I was… I was interested historically before I was here emotionally, you know?”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “I guess we both had our reasons,” he said softly. “But in the end, it’s the connection that matters. Whether we came here out of personal feelings or historical interest, it’s our respect and acknowledgement that count.”

You nodded, feeling a shared sense of purpose in your conversation. There was something profoundly meaningful about how your paths had crossed at this place, driven by a mutual respect for the story of the lovers and a desire to honor their memory. The distinction between your reasons for being here seemed to dissolve in the face of a greater truth—that both of you were here because of a deep-seated respect and a wish to pay tribute to the enduring power of love.

“So……” Gojo continued, a slight smile returning to his lips, “I’m glad we met here. It feels like the right place for this kind of encounter, don’t you think?”

You agreed, feeling a warmth in his words. “Yes, it does. It’s like the universe brought us together in this moment to remind us of something important.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, something like that. It’s nice to know that even after so much time, and despite all the changes and challenges we face, there are still moments that can bring people together in such a profound way.”

You stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared understanding settling around you. The memorial continued to stand as homage to the lovers’ eternal bond, and in that quiet, sacred space, you felt a connection that transcended all the limits given by the bountiful universe.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.”

The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile.

“They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

There was something in his tone, a weight to his words, that made you wonder if he was speaking from experience. You gave him a respectful nod, choosing not to pry into the emotions that seemed to flicker beneath his calm exterior.

The two of you stood there in silence for a while longer, both paying your respects to the nameless lovers who had defied death with their love. The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the memorial. Finally, the man rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes before turning to you.

“Take care, stranger.” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sorrow that had lingered moments before. Then, with one last look at the monument, he began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light like a beacon.

As you watched him go, something tugged at your heart. You didn’t know who he was, but in that moment, you felt as though you had shared something important with him—an unspoken understanding of love and loss, of holding on to someone even when the world falls apart around you.

Somehow, there was something stirring within you—a feeling that you couldn’t let him just walk away, not without knowing more. There was something about him, an invisible thread connecting you, as if fate had brought you both to this quiet place for a reason.

"Wait! Hey, mister!" you called out softly, taking a few steps toward him. The man paused, turning back to face you, his expression curious but calm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, with a gentle smile, you extended your hand. "I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is……"

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether to reciprocate. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he took your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, and comforting in a way that felt strangely familiar.

"I'm Gojo Satoru." he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with something deeper, as if his name carried a history he didn’t fully reveal.

The name hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of recognition. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. You smiled politely, though something about the way he said it, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you, made you feel like there was more to his introduction than simple formality.

"It's nice to meet you, Satoru." you replied, feeling a strange sense of ease as you spoke his name. There was something about the way it rolled off your tongue, as if you'd said it a thousand times before.

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp, crystal-blue eyes studying you with an intensity that was both disarming and oddly reassuring. It was as if he could see beneath the surface, understanding more than what was immediately apparent. Yet, instead of feeling exposed, you felt a sense of comfort, a silent acknowledgment that he grasped the depths of your emotions and thoughts.

With a gentle, almost shy smile, Gojo Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you. “Put your number in,” he said, his voice tender and inviting. “I think… I think you know more about this story than I do. I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his smile compelled you to act. With a nod, you took his phone from him and began to enter your contact information, a small flutter of excitement rising in your chest. There was something intriguing about the prospect of continuing this conversation, of sharing more about the story that had brought you both here.

When you handed his phone back to him, a playful grin appeared on your face. “It’s your turn,” you said, taking out your own phone and extending it toward him.

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looked at your phone. “Well, alright.” he said, taking it with a mock sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

As he entered his number into your phone, the atmosphere between you shifted from one of solemn reflection to one of friendly connection. The small act of exchanging numbers felt like a bridge, linking your shared experience at the memorial with the potential for future conversations and deeper understanding. Maybe, just maybe — you’ll understand life the way these two in front of you did. Just maybe.

When he handed your phone back to you, he looked at you with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sharing this moment with me. It’s been… meaningful. I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that came from more than just the shared experience. “I’m glad too. It’s not every day you meet someone who understands the significance of something like this so deeply.”

Finally, Satoru spoke again, his tone lightening slightly. "Well, I should be going. The train is leaving soon. But... It was nice meeting you." He paused, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we’ll see each other again."

You smiled, feeling the same unspoken connection. "I’d like that."

With one last look at the memorial, Satoru turned and began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light of the day. You watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over you.

As you stood there, the weight of the lovers' story still fresh in your heart, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you would see Gojo Satoru. Something told you that your paths would cross again, in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the memorial, you whispered one final prayer—not just for the nameless lovers, but for yourself, and perhaps for Satoru too.

"May we all find each other, in every lifetime."

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nina-ya · 2 days

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A/N: Zoro version lets goooooooooo i have some other characters planned for this as well so yeah!! Pairing: Zoro x reader CW: none WC: ~600 Other Versions: Luffy Zoro Sanji (more to come) • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Loving Zoro is loving someone who is a warrior and a dreamer. His ambitions burn brightly, and he is always chasing that final goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman, and yet he never forgets about you. He’s that one person who you can count on to stay by your side and protect you throughout the night. His sleeping body is always ready to jump into action, at least more than usual, all so you can sleep soundly. He’s always there, watching over you even when you don’t fully realize it, ensuring you’re safe in a world that’s anything but.

Loving Zoro is loving someone who is not afraid to be himself. He can be rough around the edges and sometimes abrasive, but there’s something nice about his honesty. He will never pretend to be something that he is not, and he will never expect you to either. He is simple, and straightforward, someone that you can lean on when everything in the complex world feels uncertain.

Loving Zoro is enjoying the comfortable silence that always falls between you. No words are needed to feel close to him. You can sit beside him for hours simply watching him sharpen his swords, and feel more connected to him in that moment than anyone else. There’s always a peacefulness in his presence and you can’t help but cherish it.

But Loving Zoro is also learning how to navigate those tall and tough walls he puts up. He’s not one to easily express his feelings, especially when it comes to love, and he’s much less likely to admit when he is hurting. His pride is very strong and sometimes loving him means giving him the space to figure things out independently. However, don’t confuse this with meaning he doesn’t need you. He won’t always say it, but you know he needs you when he leans onto you after a long tough day, or when he opts to have you tend to his wounds rather than Chopper. It’s his way of saying ‘i need you’ without having to utter a single word.

It’s understanding that he doesn't often declare his love for you through words, but he shows it in the way that he is always there. It shows in the way that he will train until his body refuses to continue, but he still takes the time to check on you. It is in the way that he will offer you the last of his water, even when he is thirsty himself. It is in the way that he is always by your side, promising protection in his presence alone.

Loving Zoro is knowing that he will fight for you with every fiber of his being, but he also expects you to be able to fight for yourself, not just on the battlefield. He respects strength, both physically and in character. He admires you when you stand your ground, even if he may disagree with the topic at hand. And no matter what, he will push you to be the best version of yourself because he believes in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself.

Loving Zoro is loving a man whose passions mirror the intensity of his discipline. It’s watching him train for countless hours on end in the birds' nest, sweat dripping down his body as he pushes himself to his limits and beyond, and just feeling in awe at the sheer determination that drives him. But it’s also those moments where he lets his guard down for you, when he leans in close, forehead resting against yours, and you can feel the depths of his emotions.

#nina writes~✦#one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece #x reader

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apollogeticx · 1 day

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✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, prologue

wc. 2.3K

part 1 [soon!]

The day you had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure had finally come.

You stood in the hallway just outside Gojo Satoru’s classroom, your heart pounding against your ribcage so violently that you feared it might burst out.

In your trembling hand, you clutched a carefully folded letter and a small gift wrapped in delicate paper—a simple token of your feelings. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a box of handmade chocolates, but you had spent weeks perfecting the recipe, pouring your heart into every little detail. It wasn’t about the gift itself; it was about what it represented. For years, you had admired him from afar, suppressing the intense emotions that swirled inside of you every time his tall figure entered the room.

As a first-year student, Gojo had been your teacher, guiding you through the rough waters of cursed energy manipulation and domain expansions. But while your classmates bonded over training and shared experiences, you stayed in the shadows, too shy to interact openly. You did your best to make your presence known without drawing too much attention—helping out quietly, finishing assignments on time, offering assistance when you could—but it never felt like enough.

Gojo Satoru—he was everything you weren’t.

Charismatic, confident, powerful. He dominated every space he occupied with an effortless grace that drew people in. But with that allure came a sense of untouchability. He seemed so far out of reach, almost like he existed on a plane above everyone else. And maybe, in a way, he did. You were just a shy, soft-spoken student, fading into the background of his classes, your presence barely noticed among the others. Still, your feelings for him had grown, nurtured by stolen glances and fleeting interactions that meant the world to you but probably meant nothing to him.

So why, then, did you think today would be different? Why, after all these years, did you think this confession would make any difference? You didn’t know. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was the unbearable weight of the unspoken feelings that had piled up inside you. Or maybe it was the realization that if you didn’t do it now, you never would.

Your feet felt like lead as you took the last few steps toward the door. He was still inside, you knew that much. Through the small crack in the door, you could hear his unmistakable voice, lighthearted as ever, finishing up a conversation with one of the other instructors. Your fingers tightened around the letter, the edges of the paper crumpling slightly from the pressure. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You’ve got this, you told yourself, even though you didn’t quite believe it.

When the conversation inside ended and you heard the other teacher leave, you knew it was your moment. Now or never. Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Gojo was seated casually at his desk, his blindfold firmly in place, but you could still feel the intensity of his gaze shift toward you the moment you entered. His casual posture—leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed and arms behind his head—made him seem more like a student himself than a teacher. His white hair, always slightly messy, caught the fading afternoon light that streamed through the windows, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

He smiled as soon as he noticed you, his usual carefree grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hey, kid. Need something?”

His words were simple, but the sound of his voice sent a jolt through you. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves from bubbling over.

“I—uh, I wanted to give you something,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. You stepped closer, the distance between you and him feeling like an insurmountable chasm, even though it was only a few feet.

Gojo’s head tilted slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? A gift for little old me? You shouldn’t have.”

There it was again—his easy charm, the way he could make anything sound playful. You wished it would ease your nerves, but it only made them worse.

You held out the small package, your hands trembling so much that you had to clasp them together to steady yourself. “I—I made these for you. And there’s… there’s a letter.”

For a moment, Gojo didn’t say anything, and the silence was deafening. Then, with a quick, fluid motion, he reached out and took the package from you, turning it over in his hands with mild interest.

“Oh? Chocolates?” he said, his voice still light. He didn’t open the box, though. Instead, his attention shifted to the folded letter. “And a letter, too? You’re spoiling me, aren’t you?”

You felt your face heat up, embarrassment flooding through you. This was it—the moment of truth. He was holding your heart in his hands, and you were waiting for his reaction. But what came next wasn’t what you had hoped for.

Gojo’s smile faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to send a cold wave of dread through you. He set the chocolates down on the desk, carefully placing the letter beside them, and then leaned back in his chair again. His expression didn’t change much, still light and casual, but there was something in his tone that made your stomach drop.

“Look, kid…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck as if searching for the right words. “I appreciate the thought, really. But—”

The “but” hung in the air like a death sentence.

“—this kind of thing isn’t really for me, you know?” He waved his hand dismissively. “I get gifts and letters all the time. It’s sweet of you, but… I’m not really looking for that kind of relationship with anyone right now.”

The world felt like it was collapsing around you. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, each one tearing apart the fragile hope you had built. He didn’t even open the letter. He didn’t even open the chocolates. The rejection was so casual, so nonchalant, as if your feelings didn’t matter at all.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know what to say. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as your chest tightened painfully.

Gojo, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, stood up, his towering height making you feel even smaller. “Don’t take it personally, okay? It’s just the way things are. You’re a great student—one of the best, actually. But this…” He gestured to the gifts, “This isn’t necessary.”

You nodded stiffly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down right there. “I… I understand,” you managed to whisper before quickly turning on your heel and walking out of the room.

The moment you were out of sight, your composure shattered. The tears that you had been holding back spilled over, hot and angry, as you rushed down the hallway. You didn’t stop until you reached a secluded corner of the school grounds, where no one could see your breakdown.

You had known this could happen. You had known it was a long shot. But knowing didn’t make the pain any less real. It hurt—deeply. The rejection sliced through you, leaving a hollow ache in your chest.

As you sat there, knees pulled up to your chest, you couldn’t help but feel utterly foolish. You had put yourself out there, given him a piece of your heart, and he had brushed it aside without a second thought. What were you thinking, falling for someone like him? He was untouchable, a world apart from you. And now, the one thing you had feared the most had come true—you had opened up, and in return, you had been broken.

And just like that, the brightness you once felt toward Gojo faded, replaced by something darker, heavier.

You were left wondering: what was the point of caring at all if this was how it always ended?

The days after Gojo’s rejection blurred together in a haze of numbness. You withdrew even further from your classmates, isolating yourself in the quiet corners of Jujutsu High where no one could ask questions. The pain sat in your chest like a weight, pressing down on you every time you thought about that moment—how he had taken your gift, glanced at your letter, and dismissed you so effortlessly. The memory played on a loop, driving you deeper into despair.

You tried to focus on your studies, throwing yourself into your lessons with na intensity that surprised even your teachers, but nothing filled the void. You had hoped that time would dull the sharp edges of rejection, but it only seemed to deepen the hollow feeling inside. Not even cursed energy training, which used to be your escape, could pull you from the dark thoughts that consumed you.

In na attempt to distract yourself, you buried yourself in your extracurricular duties at the school library. It was one of the few places you could be alone, surrounded by shelves of ancient texts and scrolls that stretched back hundreds of years. There was something calming about the stillness of the library—the way the dust particles danced in the beams of light that filtered through the tall windows, the faint rustle of pages turning, the smell of old parchment. It gave you a sense of control, even if only for a moment.

Today was no different. You sat on the floor between two towering shelves, sorting through a pile of old records and files that had been neglected for years. Most of them were mundane—notes on previous missions, reports on cursed spirits, students’ academic progress—but then, buried near the bottom of the pile, you found something that made you pause.

The name on the folder caught your eye immediately: Geto Suguru.

You’d heard whispers about him before, of course. Everyone at Jujutsu High knew about Suguru —the former sorcerer who had gone rogue, Gojo’s best friend turned enemy.

He had once been one of the most promising students at the school, admired by many for his strength and intellect, until he had betrayed them all. No one really talked about him anymore, and his name had become almost a taboo subject among the faculty and students.

Curiosity tugged at you as you carefully opened the folder, your fingers trembling slightly as you flipped through the yellowed pages. The file was extensive, filled with reports about his abilities, his missions, and the events that led to his defection. But it wasn’t the dry reports that grabbed your attention—it was the snippets of Geto’s own words, written in notes from his interrogations, that struck a chord.

“Non-sorcerers are nothing but a burden on this world. The strong should not have to bend to the weak. Why protect those who cannot protect themselves?”

You read the words again, letting them sink in. There was an anger there, a bitterness that you understood all too well. The more you read, the more Geto’s disillusionment with the world began to make sense to you. His resentment, his desire to reshape the world where only those with power mattered—it resonated with the dark thoughts you had been grappling with since your rejection.

For the first time in weeks, something sparked inside of you. It was faint, but it was there—a strange kind of connection between the words in front of you and the emptiness that had been festering inside.

You understood what it felt like to be cast aside, to feel powerless in a world that seemed to reward strength and ignore everything else. You had given everything—your trust, your feelings—and in return, you had been rejected. What was the point of trying to fit into a world that didn’t care about you?

As you read more about Suguru Geto’s ideals, you felt a dangerous sense of comfort in them. He had rejected the system that had failed him, just as you wanted to reject everything that had led you to this pain. Maybe Geto had been right all along. Maybe it was better to follow your own path, to find strength and value in yourself rather than bending to the will of others.

You continued to read about his departure from Jujutsu High, the moment when he had fully embraced his ideals and left behind everything and everyone, including Gojo. That was when your chest tightened, the familiar ache resurfacing. Geto had been Gojo’s best friend—someone Gojo had deeply cared about, and yet, even he had turned away.

You couldn’t help but wonder: if Gojo hadn’t been able to stop Geto from leaving, what did that mean for you? You, who were nothing more than a quiet student, barely a blip on Gojo’s radar. How could you have ever thought you’d be special to him?

The realization sank deeper into your heart, twisting the rejection into something darker, something angrier. The more you thought about it, the more you realized you were done with it all—done with trying to fit into a world where you were invisible, where your feelings didn’t matter. You were done with Gojo, with the pain of wanting something that would never be yours.

As you sat there, surrounded by the cold facts of Geto’s life, a dangerous idea began to form. Suguru Geto had once been a student here, just like you. He had felt the same frustrations, the same disillusionment. And he had found a way out.

What if you could do the same?

The thought took root in your mind, growing stronger with every passing second. You could leave. You didn’t have to stay at Jujutsu High, constantly reminded of Gojo and the life you would never have. You could find Geto—find someone who understood your pain, someone who shared your ideals.

You closed the file carefully, your decision solidifying. The numbness you had felt for weeks began to melt away, replaced by something else—a sense of purpose, of direction.

Suguru Geto was out there, somewhere. And you were going to find him.

You knew what you had to do.

notes: thank you for reading the prologue! I'll be posting new chapters throughout the week, so if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

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repulsiveliquidation · 4 hours

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Rain || Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut (18+), somnophilia (consensual sex while asleep), anal sex, rimming, strap-on sex, choking, spanking, fingering, rough sex)

a/n : hii! just a little something i whipped up while at work today :)

There was rain pouring down outside, the sun hiding behind dark clouds. The pitter-patter of raindrops slowly begged Alexia to go back to sleep but she fought hard, the warmth beside her was way more tempting than a few more hours of sleep.

She scooted over, arm slipping under the sheets to pull at the smaller form that was softly snoring beside her. She felt the heat of your skin, chest rising and falling steadily in your sleep.

Soft kisses along your nape and shoulder lulled you out of your snooze, a grumpy groan already dragging through your voicebox.

“Ale, it’s Sunday, go back to sleep…”

“Sí, sí, sleep.”

The captain wasn’t going to let you off that easily. She’d gotten back late from Sevilla last night and crashed almost immediately, staying awake just long enough to shovel food into her mouth. Now, with the whole day to waste with you, she didn’t want to miss a second of “personal time.”

You’re snoring again, this time much louder and much clearer. Alexia sat up looking annoyed, staring at your back that faced her. Her eyes, having the mind of their own, wandered along the shape of you. There was a little skin showing along your back where your shirt was riding up, toned back teasing her intentionally.

“Fuck mi amor, how am I supposed to resist you?”

Alexia, in her stroke of genius, pulls the covers off gently and climbs out of bed. She tiptoes to the closet, rummaging quietly for her strap. She finds it and quietly runs back to get it on.

Alexia stands beside you, clothes stripped off and strap hanging low from her hips. Very carefully, Alexia pulls the blanket off you, the pattering of rain now much softer as it stops. You’ve got the prettiest lace underwear on, a deep maroon that was secretly her favorite.

You were fully on your stomach now, your snores an abbreviated version of what they were earlier, muffled by your pillows.

Alexia lifted your matching lace top, the ruffled edges seemingly turned her on even more. There was a pause when you shifted under her and she quickly stood on her knees, taking her weight off you. You simply pushed a leg up towards your chest and sighed, nuzzling your face into the pillow. Alexia gently sat back down, softly kissing your exposed back as she fought to keep her hips from involuntarily grinding into you.

“Mmh, you’ve always been so fucking beautiful princesa, even when you were sleeping.”

She slowly pulled your panties to the side, exposing your already soaking cunt. Her mouth waters, jaw aching as she scoots down to taste you.

Her tongue is warm and flat against your pussy, lapping gently at your sticky folds. Her eyes make sure you’re still asleep, fingers very very gently pulling your thick thighs apart. You give Alexia no indication of knowing what she was doing, so she gets a little brave. She spreads your ass and watches your asshole pucker at her, practically asking her to have a taste.

When she does, she watches as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. You always were a little anal whore, the feeling of her tongue on your ass never failed to drive your arousal up.

Alexia spat on your ass, thumb gently rubbing it in. It caught on the edge a few times and Alexia had to stop herself from clenching her own thighs together. Your pussy was dripping, the gentle throb of your heartbeat was delightfully obvious to Alexia.

“Ale…?”

“Bon dia, princesa,” Alexia whispered sexily, helping as you gently turned onto your back.

“Más, por favor,” you whined, legs draping wide open over her shoulders. Alexia grinned maniacally, nodding gently at your sexy request.

A dainty finger slips into Alexia’s mouth, the noisy slurping that reaches your ears only makes the throb between your legs all the more intense.

She pushes it into your ass gently, gorgeous eyes meeting yours as she gently fingers you open. You feel the stretch just a little more than usual, a pleasant ache plastering a satisfied grin on your face. Alexia pulls away to suck on her fingers a little more, pushing two digits into you when they’re wet enough. Your hips grind down into her slowly, fingers gathering a little spit from your mouth to use to play with your clit. Alexia audibly groans, watching as you double your pleasure.

She gets that manic smile on her face again, pulling her fingers out of your ass before kneeling between your legs. You’re still playing with your clit when her fingers jam themselves into your mouth. You’re taken aback and gag loudly, Alexia’s eyes rolling into her head when you keen.

Alexia fingers your mouth while you touch yourself, your fingers aching to slip into your pussy and mimic her fingers in your mouth. You can taste yourself on her fingers and that only spurs you on, your first orgasm building up hard and fast.

She pulls her fingers away from your lips when you begin to gurgle your warning, soaking wet fingers expertly finding your pussy before slamming in to send you into your first orgasm.

“Ale!” you moan, muscles spasming in pleasure.

“Sí, buena chica,” Alexia praises, fingertips jabbing your sweet spot with no mercy.

Alexia doesn’t bother to give you a little heads up, pulling away for less than a minute to prep her strap. She lubes it up and smears the rest on your asshole, pulling your thighs over hers before she’s pushing into you.

“Taking me so well, beautiful,” she coos, thumbing softly at your swelling clit.

“Ale,” you beg, “Ale, por favor.”

“Sí, te lo daré, cariño, I’ll give it to you.”

Give it to you she does. Her hips pound up into you, shoulders barely touching the bed. Your long manicured fingers can’t find material to hold onto. Blood rushes to your head and you can feel the world of pleasure consume you.

Alexia bends you in half, thighs pressed tight against your chest. Her skin slaps yours, hips thrusting into your ass rough and hard. Her teeth are gritted together, eyes dark and lustrous.

“Is this what you wanted, cariño?”

“Fuck, yes!”

Alexia turns you on your side, pounding right into you deeper this way. She takes a breast in her mouth, suckling hard as she fondles the other. You can barely moan, everytime you relish in a sensation she gives you a new one to drool about.

“Hold yourself open, my pretty little slut,” Alexia leans by your ear to whisper, watching as you do as she says. She lubes her left fingers up just a touch, warming the gel up before slipping them into your pussy.

Now stuffed in two places, Alexia’s hips thrust in while her fingers pull out, repeating this sequence like a well-oiled machine. It was utterly dizzying; you were seeing stars.

The captain, seemingly impressed by her own handiwork, now moved her freehand wherever else she could. She dragged her nails along your tummy, kneading your breasts one after the other. She gave them a few love taps that rattled them deliciously, making her eyes roll into her head just a little before they reached their final destination.

Your neck loved Alexia’s hands. They wrapped around your throat so perfectly. Her thumb and index finger always pressed the right spot to deprive you of just enough air to give your vision a few black spots.

“Fuck!” you choke, the tug behind your naval intensified as Alexia fucked you harder and faster.

“Coming, my love?”

“Can’t Ale, please–”

“Come, slut,” Alexia spat, hips pounding you into the mattress so hard the frame was shaking.

You come and she lets go of your neck, the breath of fresh air that fills your lungs somehow intensifies your orgasm. You’re shaking and moaning her name, body trembling and twitching from the shocks.

Alexia draws the hottest bath she can, gently climbing in with you in her arms. The steaming water soothes your aching limbs, bringing relief.

She holds you close and leaves the softest kisses along your shoulder and neck. You giggle and settle into her arms, feeling safe and sound.

“I missed you,” you mutter after a while, looking up at her as she smiles.

“I missed you too, princesa,” she whispers, tilting your head a little more to kiss you. It’s soft and tender, filling both your hearts with love.

“I love you,” she whispers when she pulls away, strong arms wrapping tighter around you as the sound of more rain fills the room.

#woso #alexia putellas #woso community #woso x reader #fc barca femeni #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso one shot

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muiitoloko · 2 days

Note

I looooved the daddy severus fanfic aaaaghhhh ❤️ but now can we have what he needed to do to have the baby lol

Breeding kink severus PLEASE!!! Xx

Title: A Second Chance

Summary: Surviving the war was only the beginning for Severus Snape. With your love, he learns to embrace life, finding comfort in the thought of a future that includes a family of his own.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I'm so glad you loved the Daddy Severus fanfic! ❤️ And I couldn't resist your request, so I went ahead with the breeding kink idea—but decided to keep it light and wrote a completely new one-shot instead. Don't worry, it's more on the sweet side, nothing too kinky 😅. Hope you enjoy this one just as much! xx

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never imagined he would survive the war, let alone find himself married years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. In truth, he hadn't even expected to live past the moment Nagini's fangs had torn into his throat. The pain had been excruciating, but it was fleeting—quickly overtaken by the cold, creeping numbness of death. He had welcomed it, that final escape from a life filled with darkness and deceit. Everything had gone black, and he thought that was the end.

But death had not come for Severus Snape that day. Instead, he had awoken to the sterile smell of potions and the clinical brightness of the Hogwarts infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey's stern face hovering above him, muttering incantations and administering salves to his ravaged neck. She had told him that the war was over, that Voldemort was defeated, and in those first few moments of lucidity, Snape had wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness. He had nothing left to live for, after all. But fate, as it often did, had other plans.

Snape had been in a coma for two long years—two years during which the wizarding world had moved on without him, during which he had been declared a hero by none other than Harry Potter, the boy he had once loathed. Potter, in his infinite idiocy, had come forward with memories—his memories—evidence that Snape had been working as a double agent, risking everything to protect the son of the woman he had loved more than life itself. It was Potter’s testimony that had spared Snape from Azkaban, and it was Potter who had ensured that he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and hailed as a hero in the aftermath of the war.

Snape thought bitterly of that fool of a boy now, sitting in the grand sitting room of one of the Prince family’s old mansions. The house had been passed down to him as the last living heir of the Prince family, a lineage he had long since stopped caring about. His mother’s bloodline had never brought him anything but misery, and yet here he was, a reluctant beneficiary of the wealth and status he had once despised. He rubbed the large scar on his neck, the mark left by Nagini’s fangs a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. It barely allowed him to speak without pain, a daily torment that was only mitigated by the potions and treatments he had to endure.

And that was where you came in.

You had been sent by St. Mungo’s on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, assigned to take care of Snape’s throat, which often swelled and caused him intense pain at random times. The venom of Nagini had remained in his bloodstream, a sinister reminder of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. Snape hadn’t wanted you there. In those first few days, he had made every effort to drive you away, using every tactic at his disposal—scathing remarks, icy glares, and, when words failed him, the sheer force of his silent, menacing presence. But you hadn’t been intimidated. You had insisted on staying, refusing to leave despite his best efforts to scare you off. You were patient, determined, and unfailingly kind—qualities that Snape found both infuriating and, inexplicably, disarming.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things began to change between the two of you. Perhaps it was the day he had tried to intimidate you with a particularly venomous glare, only to find that you met his gaze with calm resolve, refusing to back down. He had pressed you against the wall in a fit of frustration, intending to finally break through that maddening composure, but instead, he had found himself kissing you—fiercely, desperately, as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. That kiss had quickly turned into something more—something that left you both breathless and shaken, your bodies entwined in a feverish, almost primal need.

Months had passed since that first heated encounter, and somehow, through a series of events that still seemed surreal to him, Snape had found himself married to you. He looked down at the simple, yet elegant ring on his finger, a symbol of a life he had never imagined for himself. The ring was one he had chosen himself, purchased with the money he had saved over the years as a professor—years of putting up with those insufferable, brainless children. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Severus Snape, the cold, unyielding Potions Master, now had a wife, a home, and a life that was, in many ways, far more normal than he had ever thought possible.

He had thought he would hate it—the domesticity, the mundanity of it all. But as he sat in the quiet of the old manor, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he realized that he didn’t hate it. Not at all. In fact, he found a strange sort of peace in it—a peace he hadn’t known in decades, if ever. It was a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, he had somehow found a place in this world—a place with you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you entering the room, a soft smile on your face as you made your way over to him. You were dressed simply, yet elegantly, your presence filling the room with a warmth that he still wasn’t quite used to, but which he had come to cherish nonetheless.

“Severus,” you greeted him, your voice soft and soothing as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged slightly, the familiar discomfort in his throat a dull throb that he had long since learned to ignore. “As well as can be expected,” he replied, his voice low and rough, a result of the lingering effects of the venom.

You nodded, your expression one of understanding and quiet concern as you reached out to gently touch his hand, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his wedding ring. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his chest tighten. “You know, you don’t have to bear this burden alone. I’m here, Severus. I’ll always be here.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in, filling the empty spaces in his heart that he had long thought would remain void. He had spent so many years alone, so many years building walls around himself to keep others out, that it still felt strange—unnatural, even—to have someone who cared about him, who wanted to share in his burdens.

But you were here, in his life, in his home, and he had somehow, against all odds, found himself falling for you in a way he hadn’t believed was possible. You had been a light in the darkness, a beacon that had guided him back to the land of the living when all he had wanted was to fade into oblivion.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at your hand in his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else could. “And I’m… grateful.”

You smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that lit up your entire face, and for a moment, Snape felt something stir within him—something that had been dormant for far too long. It was a warmth, a flicker of hope, of love, that he had thought he would never feel again.

Without another word, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with all the affection and tenderness that you had brought into his life. Snape closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation, to savor the moment, the connection between you.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with a quiet intensity, your eyes searching his as if you were trying to understand the depth of what he was feeling. And in that moment, Snape realized that you did understand—that you knew him better than anyone ever had, perhaps even better than he knew himself.

“I love you, Sev,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “I always will.”

But Severus Snape had never been one for grand declarations, especially when it came to matters of the heart. The words I love you felt foreign on his tongue, weighed down by the years of pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today. Instead, he preferred to convey his feelings through subtle gestures, through actions that spoke louder than words ever could.

And tonight, he intended to show you just how much you meant to him.

Without a word, Snape leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, one that was slow and deliberate, full of a restrained passion that he had kept buried for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, as if he was savoring every moment, every sensation. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his long, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him.

You responded eagerly, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated, more urgent. Snape’s other hand found its way to your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he guided you onto his lap, your dress rustling softly as you straddled him. The fabric of his dark robes brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body.

When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was slightly uneven, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that you had rarely seen before. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, his gaze piercing through you as if he was trying to convey all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Without breaking eye contact, Snape’s hands moved to the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the soft fabric as he slowly pushed it up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. He let out a low, almost inaudible groan as he felt the warmth of your body against his, the sight of you on his lap stirring something primal within him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he traced the outline of your hips with his hands, his touch possessive yet reverent. It wasn’t quite I love you, but it carried the same weight, the same depth of emotion. It was his way of claiming you, of letting you know that you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

You shivered at his touch, your own hands moving to his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric of his robes. His grip on you tightened slightly as he pulled you even closer, pressing your body against his as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, a clear indication of just how much he wanted you.

“Severus…” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of anticipation and desire as you felt his lips ghosting over your throat, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses in their wake.

Snape didn’t respond with words. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hands slipping beneath your dress, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before moving lower, cupping your ass and giving it a possessive squeeze. His lips found their way back to yours, capturing them in another deep, fervent kiss as he shifted beneath you, positioning himself so that his cock was perfectly aligned with your entrance, the heat of your arousal palpable through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Snape’s gaze was intense, his dark eyes boring into yours as he uttered a single, hoarse word: “Bedroom.” The command was rough, almost strangled, a reminder of the ever-present pain that laced his throat. You could see the discomfort etched into the lines of his face, a sharp pang of concern shooting through you. Was he okay? Was the pain too much for him? But before you could voice your worries, Snape dismissed them with a hard, determined look. He wasn’t going to let anything interrupt this moment.

In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as you clung to him. His strength surprised you, the lean muscles beneath his robes belying the quiet power he possessed. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, straining through the fabric of his impeccably tailored trousers. The sensation sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a fire in your belly.

He moved with purpose, carrying you down the dimly lit hallway of the old manor, his long robes billowing around him like shadows. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken desires that had been building between you for months. Snape’s grip on you was firm, possessive, his hands settling on the curve of your ass as he held you close. The tension in the air was palpable, the only sounds were the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

When he finally reached the bedroom, Snape pushed the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, striding inside without hesitation. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed—a grand, four-poster affair draped in rich, dark fabrics—stood at the center of the room, an inviting haven amidst the darkness.

Without breaking his stride, Snape crossed the room and laid you down on the bed, his movements careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped under your weight as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. He stood at the edge of the bed, his tall, lean figure imposing and commanding, his dark robes making him look every bit the cold, enigmatic man you had first met. But now, there was something more in his eyes—a burning need, a primal desire that he could no longer suppress.

Snape’s hands moved to the clasp of his robes, his fingers deftly undoing it before he shrugged off the heavy fabric, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The pale, angular planes of his chest were revealed inch by inch, the faint scars and the dark trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers only adding to his rugged appeal.

Your mouth went dry as you watched him, your pulse quickening with each piece of clothing he shed. By the time he reached the waistband of his trousers, you were practically trembling with anticipation, your body aching with the need to feel him against you.

Snape didn’t rush. Instead, he paused, his fingers lingering on the waistband of his trousers as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and hungry. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, roughened by both his desire and the ever-present pain in his throat.

“I’m going to fill you,” he rasped, the words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. His expression was one of pure, unbridled lust, his eyes locked on yours as he added, “I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

The raw, primal promise in his words left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as heat pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to his words in a way that was utterly instinctive. Snape’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as he noticed your reaction, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your ankle, pulling you toward the edge of the bed with a firm, steady grip. You let out a soft gasp as your back arched, your dress riding up higher, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. Snape’s hand slid up your calf, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through you as he pushed your dress up, revealing the lacy fabric of your underwear.

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but commanding, a dark edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed without hesitation, your hands trembling slightly as you reached down to slip the dress over your head. The fabric pooled on the floor beside the bed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Snape’s gaze raked over your body, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word almost lost in the roughness of his voice. His hand moved to your hip, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear before slipping beneath the fabric. The feel of his hand against your bare skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as he caressed you with slow, deliberate strokes.

You moaned softly as his fingers found your wetness, your body arching into his touch. Snape’s gaze was fixed on yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved his fingers with a practiced precision, teasing you with light, feathering touches that left you gasping for more.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as you looked up at him. “Yes, Severus, please.”

Snape’s smirk widened at your desperate plea, his hand leaving your core to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider. He moved between them, his trousers slipping down to reveal his throbbing erection, the sight of it making your mouth water with desire.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your wet folds as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. The sensation was electric, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that left you dizzy. You could feel the tension coiling within him, the barely restrained need that pulsed through every inch of his body.

With a low growl, Snape pushed inside you, the thick length of him stretching you to the brink as he buried himself to the hilt. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it as he filled you completely. You could feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the raw power in the way he moved.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Snape’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on yours as he claimed you with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he drove into you with a primal, almost savage need. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill…mine to breed.”

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as you let out a low, breathy moan. Snape’s hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you against him with each thrust, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the intensity of the moment.

You could feel the heat building within you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Snape’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge.

Snape's breath was ragged as he buried himself inside you, his trousers bunched up around his ankles, trapped by the boots he hadn't bothered to remove. It didn’t matter to him—nothing mattered now except the primal, driving need to fill you, to claim you in the most profound and intimate way. His dark, greasy hair clung to his forehead as he hovered above you, his pale, angular face set in a mask of intense concentration and desire.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge, to ensure that every inch of him was felt within you. His normally stoic expression was marred only slightly by the flicker of pain that crossed his features when he dared to speak. The venomous scars on his neck, the constant reminder of his near brush with death, flared in protest with every word. But his voice—deep, roughened by the damage to his throat—slipped out when he could no longer contain the twisted fantasies that had consumed him.

“Mine,” he rasped, the single word filled with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as his hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he thrust into you again, harder this time, his need taking over. “You’re mine.”

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the soft crackling of the fire the only other noise breaking the silence. His boots scraped against the floor as he shifted, driving into you with a relentless pace that left no room for doubt about his intentions. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, the full force of his need pressing down on you.

His mind was filled with images—visions of you swollen with his child, your body heavy with the life he’d put inside you. The thought only spurred him on, fueling the dark hunger that had taken root within him. He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye—a little girl, with your beauty and his cunning, a powerful witch who would carry on the legacy he had never thought he would pass on.

“You’ll give me a daughter,” he whispered hoarsely, the words a struggle, each one tinged with the pain it caused him to speak. But he had to say it, had to let you know the depths of his desire. His fingers dug into your skin as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You’ll carry her, and she’ll be perfect…just like you.”

The idea of breeding you, of seeing you swollen with his child, made him almost desperate in his movements. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal precision that left you gasping, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His breathing was labored, the strain of holding back the pain of speaking clear in the way his chest heaved, but he couldn’t stop now. His fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as he watched the effect it had on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled beneath him. It was intoxicating, knowing that he had this power over you, that he could bring you to the brink of ecstasy with just a few well-placed touches.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “Round and full…carrying my child. My daughter.” His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as he thrust into you with a newfound urgency. “I’ll protect you…both of you…no one will ever hurt you.”

His words were rough, almost growled out between clenched teeth as the fire within him built to a fever pitch. He was close, so close, and he could feel you tightening around him, the telltale signs of your impending climax pushing him even further.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding despite the strain. “I want to feel you…want to feel you fall apart around me.”

You were helpless to resist him, your body obeying his every command as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your climax hit you hard, your entire body tensing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Snape watched you, his gaze dark and intense, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust.

He could feel you convulsing around him, the tight, wet heat of your climax pulling him over the edge with you. He let out a low, guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you, his release flooding you with a heat that seemed to burn through him.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the faint rustle of the sheets as Snape remained still above you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of catching his breath. His dark hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips rough and warm against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered one final time, his voice barely more than a breath. “And you’ll give me everything.”

His words hung in the air, a promise, a vow, as he slowly pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness almost jarring after the intensity of what had just passed between you. He laid down beside you, pulling you close to his chest, his long fingers tangling in your hair as he held you tightly, as if afraid to let you go.

In the silence that followed, Snape closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. But even as sleep began to take him, the thought of you carrying his child—his daughter—brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to his lips.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape allowed himself to hope for the future.

After the intensity of your shared moment had begun to settle, you found yourself recovering faster than Severus, whose chest still heaved as he fought to catch his breath. His dark eyes were closed, his pale face flushed with the remnants of passion, and his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. For a brief moment, you simply watched him, your heart swelling with a deep, unspoken affection. It was in these quiet moments, after the storm of his desire had passed, that you felt closest to him—that you saw the man behind the formidable exterior, vulnerable and human.

You moved gently, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the scarred skin of his neck, your lips lingering just above the spot where Nagini's fangs had once pierced him. His eyes fluttered open at the sensation, and he looked down at you with a mixture of exhaustion and something that might have been tenderness, though he would never admit it aloud. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he might protest your ministrations, but you silenced him with a look, your eyes conveying a wordless command.

“Don’t move,” you whispered, your voice soft yet firm as you began to reach down, your hands deftly unfastening the boots that had remained stubbornly on his feet. Snape tried to protest, his brows knitting together in irritation at the thought of you taking care of him, but the protest died on his lips when you fixed him with a pointed stare.

“Be quiet, Severus,” you instructed gently, though there was no mistaking the steel behind your words. “Let me do this.”

For once, he complied, his lips pressing into a thin line as he allowed you to help him. It was an act of trust, a rare thing for him, and you didn’t take it lightly. You removed his boots with care, followed by the trousers that had bunched awkwardly around his ankles, your fingers brushing against his skin as you worked. Despite the lingering heat between you, your touch was tender, almost reverent, as you undressed him, revealing the lean, angular planes of his body that were usually hidden beneath his dark, forbidding robes.

When you were finished, you summoned your wand with a simple flick of your wrist, casting a quiet cleaning charm over the two of you. The warm, tingling sensation of the magic swept away the remnants of your passion, leaving you both feeling refreshed, though the intimate connection between you remained unbroken.

You returned to his side, snuggling against him with a contented sigh, your head resting on his chest as you traced lazy patterns on his skin with your fingertips. Snape’s arm wrapped around you almost instinctively, his long fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that calmed your own.

Lifting your head slightly, you rested your chin on his chest, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. “At this rate, we’ll have a baby soon,” you remarked with a teasing smile, your tone light despite the weight of your words. “You’ve practically made love to me every day since I mentioned you’d be a great father.”

A faint flush colored Snape’s cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you couldn’t be sure. His gaze flickered with a mix of emotions—desire, uncertainty, and something deeper, something almost fragile. You knew that the idea of fatherhood had taken root in his mind, had sparked a longing that he hadn’t fully realized until you had voiced it aloud.

“It… seems to have stuck in my head,” he admitted gruffly, his voice low and rough as he avoided your gaze, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. “The idea of… breeding you, of putting babies inside you… it… it turns me on to no end.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a raw honesty that was rare for him, and it made your heart ache with affection for the man who had always kept his true self hidden beneath layers of cold detachment. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over the scar on his neck as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Severus,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “And I’d be honored to carry your child… our child.”

Snape’s breath hitched at your words, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find the truth in them. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. “You… would?”

You nodded, your smile widening as you rested your forehead against his, your heart swelling with love for the man who had once believed himself incapable of it. “Of course. There’s no one else I’d want to share this with… no one else I’d trust with this.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Snape’s lips, and he let out a shaky breath as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive tenderness that spoke volumes. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not just for the future, but for a future with you, a future where he could be the man, the husband, and the father he had never believed he could be.

As you lay together in the quiet of the old manor, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow over your entwined bodies, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, you had found each other. And as Snape’s hand drifted to rest on your abdomen, his fingers splayed over your skin in a gesture that was both protective and tender, you knew that the love you shared would be enough to carry you through whatever came next.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape

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yanwonnies · 1 day

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심재윤 ⠀⠀⠀── ⠀⠀⠀𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 ﹙ deep thought ! ﹚

The way you both feel could change everything… or destroy you completely.

The night looms dark, heavy, like a blanket of shadows enveloping every corner of your small apartment. The subtle echo of the rain against the windows mingles with the occasional creak of the building, as if the outside world barely existed. The clock on the wall moves slowly forward, ticking off the hours as if measuring the weight of your thoughts, until the hands align at the exact midnight. That's when you hear the soft but unmistakable knocking on the door.

You pause for a moment. It's a sound you recognize instantly, an unspoken code that has been repeated many times, but this time something stops you. There is a slight resistance in you, a tension growing in your chest as you stand there, hands clasped and gaze fixed on the closed door. The air is charged with something indescribable, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation that rushes through you, and in an almost unconscious gesture, you bite your lip. The metallic taste of pressure lingers in your mouth as you force yourself to take a deep breath.

You stand up slowly, feeling the coldness of the floor beneath your bare feet, a contrast to the warmth building on your skin. You take a few steps towards the door, each movement heavier than the last, as the knocking on the door hangs suspended, as if he too is waiting for something. When you finally open it, the damp night air comes in with a whisper, and there he is. Jake, drenched from the rain, his black jacket clinging to his body, droplets sliding down his cheeks until they fall silently to the ground. His hair, slightly tousled, clings to his forehead, and there's a glint in his eyes that pierces you with a quiet intensity.

It's his posture that throws you off first. He leans casually against the doorframe, but that apparent indifference doesn't match the urgency in his gaze. He looks for you, as if he needs more than shelter from the storm. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if running in the rain was just an excuse to get to you. You know it's been an exhausting night for him; the blinding lights of the cameras, the incessant questions from the interviewers, all of it should have left some mark on his expression. Yet all you see in him now is pure concentration, focused entirely on you.

The rain is still pouring down on him, soaking his shoulders, but he doesn't even seem to notice. It's as if, in this moment, the rest of the world has stopped, and the only thing that matters is this space between the two of you, filled with meaningful silences.

-What are you doing here, Jake? -you ask, though the question sounds weaker than you intended. You hate yourself a little for it. You know that your attempt to keep your composure is fragile, that the barriers you've built are barely a shield that he can pierce with just a glance. And yet, you try. You pretend that his presence doesn't affect you, that his untimely arrival, drenched in rain, doesn't awaken something in you. But it does. It always does.

Jake looks at you silently for a second that seems to stretch in time, his lips forming a tight line. You've seen that gesture before, so many times, and it always makes you feel a weight in your chest, as if an invisible hand is squeezing your heart. It's that mix of restraint and frustration on his face, as if he knows exactly what you're thinking, but doesn't know how to change it. And you know it too. It's not the first time you've found yourself in this situation, not the first time he's heard the reproach in your own voice. But this time… this time it hurts more. Maybe because it's no longer just a routine; it's a wound that keeps opening up every time it's repeated. Maybe because, deep down, you're getting tired of it always being the same. Of him only showing up when he needs to.

-I'm sorry. I just… need to see you -Jake says, and his voice sounds low, muffled, almost like a whisper struggling not to fall apart. He takes a step toward you, cautiously, as if he's afraid you'll pull away. And you do. Not physically, but you feel a part of you shrink back, protecting yourself, trying not to give in to that vulnerability you see in him.

He lowers his gaze for a moment, wet hair falling over his forehead, before raising it again to meet your eyes. On his face is a mixture of regret and desperation, as if he wants to say more, but doesn't know how. Or perhaps as if he fears that, if he speaks any more, what remains between you will break completely. Raindrops continue to slide down your jacket, dripping to the ground, creating small puddles at your feet. The night is still cold, damp, but the warmth you feel in your body belies it all.

-Of course, you always come back when you need something… -you spit out the words with a resentment that you don't even try to hide. Your voice, though firm, carries a load of pain that pierces your chest. You say those words because you need to say them, because every time he appears as if it's nothing, you feel yourself sinking deeper into that vicious cycle. You turn around abruptly, without waiting for an answer, walking towards the small living room. The sound of your footsteps echoes in the silence of the room, and you let the door remain ajar, as if that symbolic opening were the only thing you allow yourself to give him at this moment.

As you walk away, you cross your arms over your chest, a gesture you make without thinking, as if you can protect yourself from the inevitable. The room is dark, lit only by the dim glow of a lamp in the corner, and the atmosphere feels heavy, filled with all the unspoken words between you.

It hurts you to be like this, so close and yet so far away from him.

Jake enters slowly, closing the door behind him with a faint click, an almost insignificant sound, but one that seems to echo in the charged air of the small apartment. The silence that follows is thick, enveloping everything around him. He says nothing at first, and for a moment you wonder if he also feels the weight of all that has been left unsaid between you, if that pause is his way of trying to process it all. His shoulders slump slightly, as if the weight of his fame, of the life he leads in front of flashbulbs and screaming audiences, haunts him even here. But there is something different in the way he moves now, as if by walking through that door, he has shed all that, leaving it behind. In this intimate space, with you, Jake is not an idol, not a star, not the guy everyone sees on screens. Here, he's just a man. A man who, you know, needs you in a way he has never said, but has always been present.

His steps are slow, almost calculated, but with each one, you feel the distance between you inevitably shorten. You can't see him, but you can feel him, his presence filling the room. The warmth of his body seems to envelop you before it even touches you, and every cell in your skin becomes aware of that proximity. Your heart beats fast, faster than you'd like, and you try to keep your composure, but there's something about the way Jake approaches that always makes you feel vulnerable, exposed. And you know it. He knows it too.

You instinctively take a step back, wanting to keep that small space that allows you to breathe, but you feel the coldness of the wall against your back. You stand still, arms still crossed over your chest, as if that could protect you from what's about to happen, but it's no use. Jake's closeness has always made you feel weak, as if just being near him erases all your defenses. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating towards you, the intensity of his gaze even though you're not seeing him.

-It's not like that… -he murmurs, his voice low, full of something you can't quite decipher. His breath brushes your skin, warm and soft, and a shiver runs down your spine. The sound of his words is intimate, too close, and for an instant you feel like the world could collapse around you, but nothing would matter as long as he is here, saying those words to you in that tone. You feel his hand brush against the wall near your shoulder, resting lightly, as if he were caging you between his body and the wall, creating a space where only the two of you exist.

-If I could… -he begins to say, but his voice trails off, as if he lacks the words or the courage to complete the sentence. There's a fragility in his tone you've never heard before, a crack in the facade he usually holds firm.

-But you can't. -you interrupt him, your voice steady, though the trembling inside you gives you away. Your words are cold, a shield you try to keep upright, but you can't ignore the frantic beating of your heart, which seems to hammer in your chest. Every fiber of your being wants to push it away, to push it away before it tears you apart more than it already has. But at the same time, every part of you wants it, craves it with an intensity that consumes you from within.

Jake looks at you, and for an instant, he seems to hesitate. His gaze is a conflict of emotions; you see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of what he wants to say but dare not utter. But before you can turn away, before you can say anything else, his hand slowly moves up to your face, brushing your cheek with a gentleness that disarms all your defenses. That simple gesture, so delicate and caring, causes your resistance to crack, though you struggle to hold firm. The warmth of his hand against your skin is a spark that ignites something inside you, an involuntary response you cannot control.

His thumb traces a slow path down your cheek, tracing the curve of your face with a tenderness that contrasts with the intensity in his eyes. You try not to react, to maintain that cool facade you've forced yourself to adopt, but it's impossible. Your body begins to betray you, responding to his touch in a way that makes everything in you feel more vulnerable, more exposed. The trembling on your lips is the only outward sign of the internal battle you're fighting, but he notices, and that only seems to bring him closer.

Before you can say anything, Jake is already too close. His hands rest firmly on the wall on either side of your body, creating an invisible cage that traps you between him and the cold wall behind you. The proximity is overwhelming. His body almost touches yours, and his scent - that unmistakable scent that drives you crazy, a subtle blend of his cologne and something purely his - completely surrounds you, enveloping you in a cocoon that isolates you from the rest of the world. You try to keep your mind in check, try to hold on to that last spark of resistance, but every fiber of your being has already begun to give way, surrendered to the familiarity of this moment, to the inevitable attraction that always exists between the two of you.

His forehead rests gently on yours, and the weight of his emotions, of his need, becomes palpable. The contact is so intimate that you feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the slight tremble of his breath as he struggles to remain calm. But he isn't. Neither of you are. The silence between you is so thick that you can almost hear her heartbeat, or maybe it's yours, pounding against your chest as if trying to break free.

-Let me, just this once… -Jake whispers, and his voice breaks at the end, charged with a desperation he has never shown before. The tone of his words, the plea in his voice, makes something inside you break. It is not a plea like the previous ones; this time, there is a raw vulnerability in him that makes you hesitate, that pulls you to him, as if the only possible response is to give in.

His hand, which until now had been on the wall, slowly descends down your back, drawing you even closer to his body. His every movement is a silent promise, a wordless confession of how much he needs you. You hate yourself for how easy it is, how natural it feels to let yourself go, but at the same time, you can't help it. His touch, his closeness, the way his hands cling to you with that mix of desperation and tenderness… it all disarms you.

-Just for tonight -he murmurs, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks, his warm breath caressing your skin. And though you try to resist, though a part of you wants to scream that this isn't right, you surrender. You give in like you've given in so many times before, because even though you know this is going to destroy you, you can't walk away from him. Not when you need him as much as he needs you.

-Jake… -you whisper, your voice barely an echo of everything you really feel. You close your eyes, letting the sensation consume you, and your lips finally meet his. The first touch is gentle, so delicate it seems almost an accident, but it's enough to ignite something deep inside both of you. His lips are warm, firm but tender, moving slowly over yours, as if testing your limits, waiting for you to give in. A tentative exchange in which neither dares to go further than necessary. You feel like you're both testing each other, gauging how far you can go before it all comes crashing down.

But that softness doesn't last. The tension that has been building between you from the moment the door opened finally erupts. The kiss, which began as a gentle caress, quickly turns into something more intense, more hungry. As if lost time, unspoken emotions and repressed desires are reclaiming their place. His mouth moves against yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless, a battle of lips and tongues in which, though you try to maintain control, you know you are destined to lose. The need in his kisses, in the way he takes you, is overwhelming, and though part of you knows it will only lead to more pain, you can't stop.

Jake holds you as if he fears you might vanish in his hands, his fingers clinging to your waist with palpable desperation. His hands, firm but trembling, explore your back, running over every inch of you as if he needs to memorize the feel of your skin under his fingers. The way he touches you, how his body presses against yours, is enough to make any remaining resistance in you dissolve completely. His warmth envelops you, consumes you, and for a moment, nothing else matters. There is no past, no future, only this shared instant, where all that matters is him and what you feel when he is near.

His lips pull away from yours with deceptive softness, only to slide along the line of your jaw, slowly down to your neck. Each kiss he deposits on your skin is a silent promise, an unspoken desire, leaving invisible marks that only you can feel, but that burn like fire. You can feel his breath against your neck, warm and rushing, and each exhale of his sends a shiver down your spine. You shudder under his touch, and though your mind still tries to cling to logic, your body has already given in completely, responding to every caress, every kiss with instinctive devotion.

-You know you matter to me -Jake whispers against your skin, and his hot breath sends a shiver up and down your spine. Those words are a soft heartbeat that resonates inside you, but they are also a pang of pain. It hurts to hear them, because you know that, even if they are true, they will never be enough to change the reality in which they live. That constant separation between what they want and what they can actually have -I can't lose you -he confesses, his voice cracking. -You are the only real thing in this chaos.

His lips meet yours again, this time with a restrained longing that makes your heart race. Your hands tangle in his hair, feeling the soft, wet, messy texture between your fingers, bringing him closer. Losing yourself in his taste is a relief, an escape from the reality you fear so much. The familiarity of his kisses envelops you in a whirlwind of emotions, and you abandon yourself to that connection, forgetting, if only for an instant, everything around them.

Jake, determined and full of desire, lifts you up with ease, carrying you towards the bed without taking his lips from yours. The way he holds you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world, makes your heart race even faster. He pulls you towards the bed, his lips never leaving yours, and the weight of his body on yours is familiar, known, but this time there is something else in his movements, an intensity that speaks of a deeper, more urgent need.

-I need you… -he murmurs, his breathing ragged, and each word feels like an echo of everything you've been feeling. Her eyes search yours, and in them you can see a reflection of your own need, a desperation that has built over time. And though you know those words only reinforce the cycle you're trapped in, you find yourself responding with the same longing, giving yourself completely to him.

Jake holds you with a delicate firmness, as if he is trying to protect you from the outside world, from the responsibilities and expectations that have always been present. His body moves over yours with a restrained passion that transforms into something more, something deep. His hands exploring every curve of your body with a familiarity that makes you feel as if you belong to him.

-I hate you for this -you murmur against his lips, your voice cracking with the confusion of emotions. But despite your words, your hands tell a different story, clinging to him, seeking the warmth of his skin, the comfort of his touch. Each caress of his fingers against your body is a reminder of how much you've wanted this, of the connection you share, even when logic screams that it should be different.

-I know -he answers in a whisper, his lips finding yours again, kissing you more intensely, more urgently. There is a fire in his kiss that consumes you, and you feel his breath mingle with yours, forming a frenetic rhythm that beats with every beat of your heart. His voice, soft and raspy, envelops you, filling the space between you with a palpable tension. -But I also know you need me.

And you couldn't deny it. The truth resonates in you, each word an echo of your own thoughts. The desire you feel for him is not just physical; there is a void that only he can fill, a need that goes beyond the carnal. You are aware that this relationship is an emotional minefield, but every time his lips meet yours, that reality fades to a whisper.

You both know that, despite everything, you will keep coming back to each other, trapped in a relationship that can be nothing more than this: an endless cycle of desire and frustration. The rules of the outside world are irrelevant in this instant; the noise is silenced, and the only thing that matters is the both of you, here and now.

Because, like him, you're too into it.

I appeared 🐹! okay this is a little (not so much) draft that I had saved some days ago, that I hadn't published because it needed a little editing, and it just reminded me of a song by Chase Atlantic, so I finished it inspired by it 😉. I'm also going to start publishing more “deep thoughts”, because there are more than I can count, maybe with EN- or other groups… 🤭 Again, English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if I lose the sense in some parts. thank you very much for taking the time to read my work. ᵔᴗᵔ yanwonnies 2024 © all rights reserved.

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meazalykov · 1 day

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the forest

salma paralluelo x orienteer!reader (request)

summary: your girlfriend tries to understand the sport you participate in

salma is a bit confused when you first invite her to watch one of your orienteering competitions live.

she’s seen a few races on tv, but never in person, and you can tell by the way she fidgets with her hands that she’s nervous, even if she won’t admit it.

“are you sure you are not just going to get lost in the woods?” she jokes when you’re explaining how it works, but there’s a hint of genuine concern in her voice.

“i will be fine,” you laugh, kissing her before heading to the starting area.

“i’ll see you after i win, okay?”

she watches you run off with the rest of the competitors, map and compass in hand, disappearing into the forest within seconds. and for the first time, salma realizes she has no idea what’s actually happening.

she looks around at the other spectators, all of them more prepared than her with binoculars, and GPS trackers to follow the competitors’ progress.

“what am i even supposed to be looking at?” she mumbles to herself, squinting at the forest.

in her mind, she wished that she brought esmee or alexia with her– just for some company.

“you’re here for y/n, right?”

salma turns to see a girl standing next to her, probably in her late teens, sporting a y/n fan t-shirt. her eyes are wide and excited, and salma smiles awkwardly, hoping this girl can help.

“yeah… how’d you know?”

“well, you looked super confused. that’s usually how people are when they come to watch y/n for the first time,” the girl says, a laugh bubbling up.

“i’m natalie, by the way. big fan of hers.”

salma’s relieved that someone knows what’s going on.

“i’m salma. nice to meet you. so, um, can you explain what i’m supposed to be watching?”

natalie grins. “okay, so it’s orienteering, right? everyone gets a map with specific points they need to reach in a set order. those points are marked by little orange and white flags hidden in the forest. the goal is to navigate to each flag as fast as possible using just the map and a compass. no GPS or shortcuts. once they find the flag, there’s a sensor that registers their time.”

salma raises her eyebrows. “so, they’re just… running around trying to find these flags?”

“pretty much,” natalie says, shrugging.

“but it’s way more technical than it looks. like, you have to be good at reading the map while running, keeping track of where you are, and planning the best routes to each point. that’s what makes y/n so good—she’s super fast and she barely ever makes mistakes with her navigation.”

“that sounds intense.” salma glances toward the dense trees where you disappeared, her respect for you growing with every word natalie says.

salma and you met outside of both of your sports. in fact, it was a mutual friend who set you both up at a party.

when she found out that you did a sport too, she was happy to get familiar with it. even if it sounded confusing.

“yeah, it’s mental,” natalie agrees, nodding. “and y/n’s one of the best. she’s won a ton of races.”

salma smiles softly, feeling proud. “i know. i’ve watched her a few times on tv, but this is my first time seeing it live.”

“oh, really? well, you’re in for a treat. she’s amazing to watch in person. plus, if she’s in the best mood, she’ll be back here at the finish in no time.”

salma watches as competitors start emerging from the forest, some sprinting toward the finish line, others clearly frustrated, taking longer routes back.

every now and then, a beep goes off as they punch in at the last control point near the finish.

natalie’s eyes light up suddenly. “look! there she is!”

salma’s heart skips a beat as she spots you darting out from between the trees, sweat running down your face but a determined expression set in your features.

you’re one of the fastest runners out there, navigating the final stretch like it’s second nature.

“she’s flying,” salma mutters in awe, watching as you punch your last point and sprint toward the finish line.

within seconds, you cross it, panting and grinning widely.

natalie claps excitedly. “she did it! i think she might’ve won!”

salma’s too busy watching you catch your breath to hear the announcer confirm it, but when you glance her way, she waves excitedly, a proud smile taking over her face.

you give her a tired thumbs-up before turning to cool down with your teammates.

“wow,” salma breathes, still trying to process the speed and skill you just showed. “that was insane.”

natalie grins at her.

“told you she’s amazing.”

salma chuckles.

“you really know a lot about this sport.”

“yeah, been following orienteering since i was a kid. and y/n’s one of my favorites.”

natalie shuffles her feet, a little shy all of a sudden.

“she’s, uh, actually the reason i started orienteering.”

“really?” salma’s eyes soften, touched by the girl’s enthusiasm. “you want to meet her?”

natalie’s jaw drops. “wait, are you serious?”

“of course! it’s the least i can do after you explained everything to me,” salma says, already walking toward you.

natalie hesitates for a moment, then quickly follows.

you’re still cooling off when you see salma and a nervous-looking girl approaching. you smile, wiping your face with a towel.

“hey, you,” salma greets you, pulling you into a quick hug. “you were amazing out there.”

“thanks,” you mumble, catching your breath. your eyes shift to natalie, who’s staring at you in awe.

“who’s your friend?”

“this is natalie. she’s a huge fan of yours and explained the whole race to me. i thought i’d bring her over to meet you.” salma grins, gesturing to natalie.

natalie’s cheeks flush red as she stammers, “i-it’s such an honor to meet you, y/n. i’ve been following your career for years. you’re… you’re incredible.”

“thank you, natalie. that means a lot. and thanks for helping salma out—she probably would’ve been totally lost without you.” you chuckle softly, reaching out to pull the girl into a hug.

“definitely,” salma adds, laughing.

“i was ready to run into the forest myself and find out what was going on.”

natalie laughs too, the tension easing as she relaxes around you.

“seriously, though, you were amazing today. i think you won.”

“we’ll find out soon enough, but i’m glad you got to see it live. there’s something special about being here, right?” you nod, smiling at her enthusiasm.

“definitely,” natalie agrees, her smile wide. “and i’ll be cheering for you at every race i can.”

“same here. even if i don’t fully get it yet, i’ll always be here when i don’t have my own games.” salma wraps an arm around your waist, squeezing gently.

you laugh softly, looking between salma and natalie.

“you two are the best.”

to whoever requested, I hope you liked this!! I tried my best to do some research before writing :D

#salma paralluelo #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #meazalykov #la roja

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desirediariesx · 12 hours

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diary entry #16

My boyfriend invited multiple guys to use and cum inside my slutty pussy while he watched

Okay so me and my bf have been experimenting with stuff lately. Last time he invited a guy over to come and use me while I was blindfolded. This time he took things up a notch. We loved the experience last time, and we wasted to keep it going. My bf told me that when he was going down on me after I was getting used that it was perfect, and the only regret is that there wasn't more cum in my pussy.

Our solution was simple. We needed more than one guy. He wanted to watch me get my pussy used by man after man. "At least 3" he said. He found the guys for me. He used fet to find them and made sure they were all clean, attractive, hung, and recently tested. He is such a good bf :)

The plan was the same as what I wrote about last time. I would be blindfolded and waiting for them in bed. Naked. He would be watching from the couch, ready to clean me up. We set it up so that each guy would have 15 minutes with me. For a total of 45 minutes. I was fucking soaked with anticipation. He even tied my hands behind my back to make it more intense this time. When I heard the door open, I swear I almost fucking came.

The first guy was fucking huge. He choked me while he fucked me. I wondered what he looked like. He pounded me hard and spanked me like the little whore that I am. It was so fucking hot. He came deep in my pussy and left without saying a single word. HOTTTTT.

The second guy wasn't quite as big, but he made up for it by telling me what a dirty whore I am. It was so fucking hot to hear him verbally abuse me while he fucked my cum soaked pussy. I felt like such a sloppy fucking mess. He came deep inside me as well, and then left. Cum was dripping out of my pussy at this point, and I still had another guy to fuck.

The third guy was around as big as the first, and I came fucking hard. He rubbed my cum covered clit from behind while he fucked me, and whispered things into my ear that are so naughty I can't even write about it. He came deep inside me, and to my slutty delight he made me suck his cock clean. Tasting all of that cum on his cock was the sluttiest thing I have ever done. I loved it.

I was exhausted at that point, and ready to have my final orgasm of the night at the hands (or should I say mouth) of my bf. He spread my legs wide and tongue fucked the cum out of me. He kept it in his mouth and kept taking little breaks to kiss me and drip all of the cum into my mouth. Keep in mind that I have been blindfolded this entire time. It was fucking wild. I was the wettest and most soaked I have ever been and came fucking hard in my boyfirend's mouth. Definetly a night to remember...

I can't wait to find out what my bf has in mind for use next... I love him <3

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coca-lastic · 4 hours

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5 Green flags 🟩 VS 5 Red Flags 🟥

I'M BACK 👹

Well well, My last post about Keigo have lots of support from you all, and like I said, I'm willing to do a part 2 about Bakugo Katsuki sooo, here I am.

Tell me if you want a part 3 and which character you would like.

Let's start with his red flags. Let's be clear that Katsuki does have a few, it's true that it's nice to imagine him as an attentive boyfriend who takes the initiative, and I firmly believe that he would be like that, but that shouldn't hide the little things he has that can get on your nerves at the time of a fight.

Now, let's start listing his bad things:

1. He acts like you're a burden: I don't think he would do this on purpose, but he would. Comments like "What the fuck do you want now?", "Stop bothering me", "You're too intense", "Will you shut up?" can come up at the beginning of the relationship. Even to the point that you feel bad about his independent actions, as if you were just another thing on his list. Of course, deep down he doesn't consider you a burden, but he expresses himself as if you were one.

2. He doesn't open up to you: Katsuki has this constant thought that he can't be inferior, that he has to be the best and his feelings can be a difficult thing, and I think that in a relationship he feels a lot more pressure about all this to be strong and show you how tough he is. So I think that for a long time he won't tell you if something is wrong with him even if it's clear that something is wrong with him. This could just be something normal, but I add it as a red flag since a large part of Katsuki's life is clouded by those insecurities, so he doesn't tell you how he feels every time he sees Deku, or how he was in training, or how he felt when he won something, because if he does, his facade will fall apart. This ends up being something that can affect the communication between you two.

3. He doesn't understand you: He tries, he really does, but he just has a hard time understanding when you feel bad. He's so used to minimizing what's happening to him that he doesn't understand why it affects you so much. So you might be crying in his arms, and he might be hugging you, but deep down he doesn't understand, and that's terrible in arguments, because he doesn't understand why you're angry or why you're sad or why you're disappointed, he tries to fix it but he doesn't understand the roots of the problem.

4. He's jealous: Like, not jealous to get insecure when he sees you with a friend, jealous to get furious when he sees you with another man. And that, OBVIOUSLY, brings problems. He trusts you, he doesn't trust them, he knows you're hot and he also knows that the other jerks know it. So don't doubt that he's going to complain to you repeatedly that a certain person shouldn't be so close to you, or that he doesn't get along very well with a certain friend.

5. His anger: In the anime we can already see that he is a little bit... impatient. He tries to control himself with you, he truly loves you and treats you with his best version, but there are times when you simply act in a bad way, I mean, you also have your red flags, and that makes him angry, and you too, then you fight. A lot. For a long time. A lot of yelling. And probably a lot of painful words that he doesn't really feel, but says them, because his fury is faster to speak than to think, analyze and meditate.

Now, like every person, he has his flaws and his virtues. He has things to improve and things that you should love, because they are incredible.

So let's see what those good sides are and let's see which side of his personality ends up winning, let's see the second side of his furious personality.

1. He doesn't talk, he acts: Maybe he doesn't open up to you as much as he should, but he decides to make you feel comfortable by letting you know that he loves you through more practical methods. Are you hungry? He cooks, are you sick? He takes care of you, do you want a snack? He buys it. Because actions are worth more than words, so he decides to act, he decides to give you what you want, and consider yourself lucky because you are the only one who sees his helpful side.

2. He puts you first: If his friends invited him out to eat something, he won't care if you sent him a text telling him to go with you to buy something. If his mother told him she was going to celebrate a birthday with the family, he'll run away because you asked him to bring you some chocolates. Because he knows that if you love someone, you're not going to replace them with the smallest things, so if he has to make a decision that involves you, you'll always be the right answer.

3. He is not ashamed to show you off, he loves to do it: You are also part of his achievements, and being the show-off that he is, he will show you off. God, he has a sexy, smart, strong, kind and hot girlfriend, he has to show you and show them that you two are together, that he is a lucky and happy man.

4. He knows you: I think this is important, but not all men do it, in fact those who do are very few. Because not all of them observe you, remember, learn and please you, but Katsuki does. He is observant and knows how to listen, maybe he doesn't understand perfectly why you feel so much, why you get excited and sad about small things, but he knows that you do it, he knows how you feel, he knows how you reacts, he knows what you like and how he knows you, he knows how to please you, he knows how to make you happy with a gift, he knows how to excite you, he knows how to make you laugh and he knows how to make you feel loved.

5. You're part of his future: If he sees himself as a great hero, he sees you by his side, making and fulfilling your dream. Holding your hand. Kissing you. Hugging you. Caressing you. That's what he sees. Maybe a two-story house, or a single story, whatever you want, maybe 2 children, or maybe none, just a pet, maybe a red car, or maybe a black car, but within all those variables there is one constant: you.

Sorry, this doesn't match your way of seeing Katsuki. Remember that he is still a character that each one sees and imagines in their own way, but I try to do it in a way that everyone feels comfortable.

Now, did the 🟩 flags or the 🟥 flags win?

#x reader #bakugo katauki #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugo x reader fluff #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #bnha x reader

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animasolaoriginal · 13 hours

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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE��TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE TEN◾ELEVEN TWELVE

As he drags her deeper and deeper into his world, introducing her to yet another dominant character, she quickly realizes it's all too much. Or is it?

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Fem!Dom. Bondage. Fingering. Sex toys/vibrators. Double penetration. Overstimulation. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 9.2k

ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE 🟥 THIRTEEN

The worst thing about being measured isn't the act itself, but how this woman keeps handling her as if she were a doll, talking about her as if she weren't even here. She's glad he's with her, and his presence does give her enough comfort to endure whatever the seamstress does to her next, but it's still an ordeal she really doesn't want to go through. Even if it means he'll buy her new clothes, clothes that will really fit her body, not just randomly picked shirts and skirts and underwear that came always only close to properly fitting her.

He's putting in so much effort for her, probably leaves quite a sum in this strange store, and she is grateful, but she also has never been this humiliated in her life – and that is after spending an entire weekend with a stranger who choked her on his cock, fucked her ass as if it were the most natural thing and made her lose control over her body in the most mortifying way.

It is actually this other woman that makes her feel worse than he could ever make her feel (though forcing her to walk around with his cum leaking into her underwear and that woman definitely noticing is a weird little transition between the two). While he always made sure she was okay afterwards, she is downright mean to her.

Called her an object. Actually slapped her.

She also has cold, clammy hands, and the way her measuring tape cuts into her skin and pokes at her nipples and other sensitive areas is not how she expected to be treated here. Not that she expected to be brought to a tailor in the first place. The entire day (and it's only a little after lunch, she assumes) has been far from anything she could have ever expected. Packing up her stuff, leaving her apartment for the last time presumably, letting him lead her into a new life... It is, simply said, more than overwhelming.

The ordeal continues, and she is either staring at the floor, biting her tongue to keep quiet and still, or she's looking at him, how he leans against the wall, strong arms crossed over his chest, in his fancy suit, so tall and intimidating and strangely enough the only anchor she has here. His gaze is intense, and she can only imagine what he is thinking about, fantasizing about.

Probably how he will take her next, and the thought alone makes her squirm on her feet a little, the heat seeping right between her legs where his cum is still caked into her panties, warm and wet, initially a mortifying feeling (because she knows the other woman must have seen it too), but also weirdly comforting. His mark on her, almost as obvious as the countless bruises on her neck that still throb slightly when she moves her head.

But as with most of her aches, she's ignored them enough to almost forget about them. They're part of her now, of her situation, her life. She's still trying to wrap her head around it all. She's living with him now. Staying with him, more likely. Will he keep her in his bed, locked into his bedroom when he's not there? How will this go? Will he lock her up like a pet or give her more freedom? What would she prefer?

She doesn't know, and while she is caught in her thoughts about it, she suddenly feels a soft slap to her butt cheek that startles her. “All done,” the seamstress says in a mock friendly tone, and while she stares at her, she notices him walking closer, a cold “Tsk” on his lips that makes the other woman flinch slightly.

His hand closes around her wrist as he pulls her off the platform and against him, and she looks up in relief, focusing fully on him now, even though his eyes are fixed on the tailor behind her.

“I'll have your order ready by tomorrow,” she says, and he nods while his hand moves to her lower back, warm and comforting as he pulls her a bit closer.

With how she tilts her chin up to look at him, she doesn't notice what's going on behind her, and frankly, she doesn't care about the seamstress anymore. She wants to forget about this whole thing as soon as possible.

“Raise up your arms.” His voice makes her blink, and she realizes she has just stared at him without paying any attention at all. He's stepped back a little, let go of her, and now her dress, the little pale pink one he chose for her to wear, is in his hands.

She lets out a surprised gasp, but obliges and raises her arms, still focusing on him, though a little bit more present when he pulls the dress over her head and smooths it down her body. His hands slip around her neck and into her hair as he frees it from the collar, thumbs brushing over her jaw as he looks down at her, a strange mixture of a dark hunger and a soft admiration shining in his eyes. She bites her lip, a nervous gesture she's utilized a lot lately, and he raises an eyebrow as he watches her closely. She stops immediately, taking a shuddering breath.

He cups her face, his own a stoic mask, before he straightens up again and lets go of her, exhaling loudly. Without another word, he grabs her hand, nods towards the tailor she had already erased from her mind, and pulls her out of the room, back along the narrow hallways to the door they had entered through. Instead of turning to the elevator, he walks to the left, further into the belly of the building until they reach another unassuming door.

She's never been behind the scenes of these fancy department stores before (and she assumes that's where they are – the normal places she's bought clothes at before certainly didn't have their own tailors in hidden backrooms, just bored teenagers waiting for their shift to be over), and despite the rather humiliating start, she is fascinated by it. His world is so different from hers, it makes the whole situation feel more like one of those princess makeover shows instead of the abduction movie that it is.

As she was being measured, her mind had gone all different directions, back to the beginning, crossing over that sentence that made her question everything: “You made me take you,” he had said, making it sound as if it had been all her fault. And maybe it had been. She had approached him, made the literal first move, and he had reacted. Not the way he probably should have, but does it even matter now? Abduction sounds so much more serious than what she had experienced with him. He might have taken her, but she can't remember anything of the actual taking, so maybe she did agree to it?

And maybe she even agreed to all the vile things he did to her, and maybe they had felt a little wrong to her just because she was so inexperienced, had nothing to compare his behavior to. If anything, she now knows a lot more, about sex, about her own body, about his body, about the thin line between pain and pleasure, and most of all, she knows that despite her initial reluctance, she wants this, whatever it is, with him. As long as she's allowed to stay with him, as long as he keeps giving her that precious head-empty-feeling, she will be fine with whatever he does.

Even though her stomach is tensing up, in the worst way, at the mere thought of what that may be. Even after a weekend of being used in ways she could have never imagined, he is still the most unpredictable man she has ever met. And it scares her – more than it excites her, though she's learned to come around eventually. Emphasis on come...

Inhaling deeply, she watches him as he raises his hand to rap his knuckles against the door they've stopped in front of. But then he seems to hesitate, his eyes moving down to meet hers. She feels a blush creeping up her neck at the intensity in his gaze, but it's when he suddenly crouches down in front of her that she lets out a soft yelp. His hands slip under her dress, fingers hooking around the waistband of her panties, and while she stiffens, on the verge of protesting, he pushes her underwear down her legs so swiftly she can only stumble back slightly.

As he balls up the garment in his big hand and stands up again, she stares at him in confusion, instinctively pressing her thighs together at the sudden loss of fabric between them. He puts her panties into his pants pocket, an unreadable expression on his hard face. Instead of giving her any explanation or doing anything else to her, he turns back to the door and knocks.

Her head is spinning, and to ground herself, she focuses on her surroundings again. The hallway around them is bland, as is the door, but there is a tiny sign with a symbol on it, and when she realizes what it portrays, she feels a single bead of sweat run down between her shoulder blades. It's got the shape of a freaking butt plug.

Her hand twitches against his leg on instinct, and he meets her gaze for a moment as she stares up at him with widening eyes. He only has time to give her a crooked smirk before she can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. It opens and takes his attention away from her. Slowly she follows the motion and feels her heart sink at the sight in front of her.

“Ah, what a lovely surprise,” the woman that greets them says with a strangely exotic accent that she can't place. She is... beautiful, to say the least. Dressed in a tight black dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, accentuating an impressive bust as well as a narrow waist and wide hips, the woman balances on precariously high heels, shiny and bright red, her legs are long, her arms are toned, golden rings and bracelets hang from the hands she extends towards the man next to her, completely ignoring her.

He steps towards the woman whose long hair falls in heavy waves around her slim shoulders, framing a face that could belong to a model for sure. High cheekbones, full lips, long dark lashes, a smile that would disarm anyone – but it only creates a deep, dark void inside her stomach as she watches the tall woman throw her arms around the slightly taller man. Something cold grows within her like tiny little ice flowers when he puts his big hands lightly on her tiny waist, the same hands that have been on her body before...

She feels like a literal child next to the two adults, not just small, but hideous in her pastel pink sundress and old shabby sneakers, while the handsome man receives not one, but three kisses on his cheeks from the woman who moves so elegantly on those shoes slash murder weapons that she feels unsteady just looking at her.

Once their greeting ritual is over, she hooks her arm around his, throwing a blinding smile at him and slowly pulls him through the open door, whispering something she cannot understand that makes him smile back at her – all while she, the tiny girl, is left standing on the bland hallway with her heart racing and something ugly festering inside her stomach.

The strange feeling dissipates the moment he suddenly turns back and looks at her, extending his hand, and she almost trips over her own shoes as she steps forward and grabs it, too eager to follow, too eager to touch him as well. The smile on the woman's face freezes, turning cold and fake as her dark eyes follow his gesture, and she feels a shiver crash down her spine as they meet hers.

She quickly averts her eyes, squeezing his hand tightly as she catches up and almost presses into his side, trying to hide behind him to get away from the scrutinizing gaze of the other woman who's let go of his arm to hold the door. Together they leave the unassuming hallway and step into a space that doesn't feel much better.

It's a wider hallway, the walls are black, and as she brushes the knuckles of her free hand against them she notices that they feel soft like velvet, shimmering slightly in the dim, almost purple light shining from the fancy chandelier hanging high above them. She looks around curiously, sees various doors, framed by golden trim, adorned with golden details and handles. It looks expensive, exclusive, too fancy for her tastes, but it's not the luxury that twists her guts. There's a faint smell in the air, and she can't quite put her finger on it.

The woman walks past them, fixed on ignoring her, her heels thudding softly over the carpet. She turns to the second door on the left, that fake smile back on her beautiful face as she looks at the man she's clinging to like a lost child. He keeps holding her hand as they follow her into another room. The light is brighter here, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that hold various sizes of black boxes she cannot look into.

The door clicks shut behind them, and the smell becomes overwhelming. Like rubber, plastic, with a strangely sweet undertone, earthy like leather. Artificial, weirdly familiar. She swallows dryly. They walk to the middle of the room, there's some sort of bar, and the woman steps behind it while he pulls her to the other side, nudging her to slip onto one of the two bar stools while he remains standing behind her, one large hand on her shoulder to hold her there.

She feels him close to her, his warmth a comfort she certainly needs when she lets her eyes wander through the room once more. And slowly, very slowly, it dawns on her. He brought her to a freaking sex shop.

Apart from the unassuming boxes on the shelves, there's a wall, plush looking and red, that holds an array of objects that make her frown and shiver: things that looks like riding crops and canes, whips and paddles, some solid, some with holes, most made of leather, some with wood, expensive looking, intricate, and she forces herself not to think back to the few times she's followed her curiosity into the darker corners of the Internet.

Despite her great aversion to sex toys, she knows of them (before she was forced to experience them), seen them in use in various porn clips and gifs, she may be inexperienced, but she hasn't been living under a rock. Though her desire to pleasure herself has been majorly dulled after seeing one too many of these darker themed videos centered around helpless girls in precarious situations, unable to move, bound and gagged and then... tortured, there's no other word that comes to her innocent mind. It had been deeply disturbing.

It's only now, after spending more than 48 hours with a man who would seem to enjoy exactly those kinds of clips, that she learned that there is pleasure in pain, but she still doesn't want to get near any of the objects hanging from the wall. She can still feel the phantom pain of his hand on her butt cheeks when he'd spanked her, she can't imagine what it must feel like to be hit with a wide leather paddle or a thin wooden cane.

Shuddering deeply, she looks away quickly, but her gaze only falls onto another display, another plush wall, this time there are hand cuffs hanging from hooks, things that look like collars and leashes, leather and metal gleaming in the soft lighting. There are even masks and muzzles and blindfolds and... gags. More items she doesn't want to learn more about.

When she brings her attention back to the woman behind the bar, she notices that she's watching her with a dark smile, full lips curled, a glint in her eyes. She clears her throat and turns slightly to look up at the man behind her, and he has the same glint in his eyes. Her frown deepens as she looks from one adult to the other. (She's technically one as well, but still feels like a damn child between them.)

“I have to admit,” the woman says in her sweet, exotic voice, “I am a little surprised. You visit me so rarely, and usually not with... this kind of company,” she adds with a smile, her eyes moving away from her to him, and she feels him shifting against her, his hand curling around her shoulder, and despite the somewhat possessive touch, she feels that coldness poking at her insides again when she imagines these two alone in the same room, surrounded by sex toys. “Did you come to pick up your order?”

“No,” he replies, his deep voice vibrating against her, cutting through her dark thoughts. “I doubt you have it ready so soon.” The woman's smile turns a little sour at his mocking tone, but she keeps her facade, tilting her head slightly, shifting from one leg to the other as she leans against the bar. “I need something more immediate, to go, if you will.”

A surprised laugh escapes the older woman before her eyes land on hers, and while she looks back at her in confusion, she smirks darkly. “To go, huh? That's why you brought your little pet?”

It's like another sting inside her, being called a pet after being called an object, but she tries her best not to let them see how flustered she really is, not only by the names, but by the implications. She's in a sex shop, and whatever he wants to buy for her, she already knows she'll hate it. It's only been this morning that she woke up with a damn dildo stuffed inside her, held in place by a freaking harness. Does he really want to fill her up again? Can't he give her a break?

No. Of course he can't. She is his to use, to have, to control, he'd told her that, and she can't say no, because she somehow agreed to this. Submitted to him. And if they'd be in his penthouse and he'd ask her again to choose one of those many colorful toys he stores in his bedside table, she'd be somewhat okay with it, but it's the place, it's the woman, it's everything that happened prior, that makes her wary, that twists her stomach, that feels worse than anything he'd made her do before.

She feels the blush creeping up her neck even before the woman bends down to pick up something stored beneath the bar, and when she puts a large glass case in front of her, her heart sinks and her cheeks burn up fully. It's two rows of items lying on soft looking red velvet, and by now she can tell by the shape of them, where those are supposed to go. She feels the respective holes clenching in terrified anticipation. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she fights the shudders crashing through her body, her fingers clawing at the hem of her short dress.

He steps beside her, his hand still on her shoulder, his grip tight, demanding, as he leans closer to take a look at the display on the bar.

“The usual?” the woman asks, and she notices how he stiffens beside her, and it's that motion that distracts her from her spiraling thoughts. The two words hang in the air, making her wonder. She actually never questioned his large collection of sex toys, but it makes sense. He's a popular man, she's seen him disappear with various girls before he had finally picked her. It shouldn't surprise her that there have been others in the bed he'd taken her virginity in, others he's used those toys on. (She just hopes he's cleaned them afterwards...)

How he now looks at the woman though, it feels strange. As if she said too much, said something she shouldn't have said. It only deepens her frown. Before she can make sense of it, a deep vibration hums in the air, and she looks down at the glass case with a raised eyebrow, goosebumps crawling over her exposed arms, but it's not one of the toys, it's his phone.

He lets go of her shoulder and pulls it from his pocket, then sighs as he glances at the display. “I gotta take this,” he says, letting the device buzz in his hand while he moves his free one over the spotless glass. “That one,” he says quickly, his voice harsh and business-like, pointing to one of the larger, longer items in the case, and while she stares at him, his words and choice settling heavy in her stomach, the woman nods with a professional smile. “Prepare her for me?” he adds with a last look, and she can hear the sharp inhale and slight hesitation of the shop owner (and frankly, she feels the same. What now? What kind of service is that?).

“Of course,” the woman says despite her initial reaction, her voice calm and friendly, while her face is a mask of dark disdain as she watches him turn around and leave the room with quick steps, the phone already pressed to his ear – and the girl squirms on the stool, eager to follow him, absolutely not wanting to stay here, alone, with that woman, surrounded by freaking sex toys and horrifying bondage equipment – and the prospect of being prepared to take something up her ass again.

Her heart clenches as she fists the hem of her dress, trying to ground herself, her breath quickening when the woman taps her manicured nails on the glass case in front of her. She looks up timidly, meeting a rather sinister smile that makes her skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Well then,” the woman says and stores the display case back beneath the bar. “Let's get... ready then, hm?” She walks towards one of the shelves and picks up a medium sized black box, then nods towards a corner of the room that's partitioned off by a heavy looking curtain. “Get in there,” she adds, her tone much rougher than before.

“Yes, ma'am,” she mumbles, unable to stop the words. It's a reflex, an instinct, an inborn thing to obey when met with people like this. Demanding, dominant. She's just surprised this works with women as well.

Shuffling on her sneakers, her thighs still pressed together, she makes it past the curtain, and freezes. It's a room filled with strange benches, plush ones, leather ones, some lower to the ground, some higher up, definitely shaped to accommodate a body draped over them. There are wooden structures behind them on the wall, boards in an x-shape, and when she notices the hand cuffs dangling from them, she feels a cold shiver rushing down her spine.

“Bend over that one,” the woman tells her, her formerly flowery voice cold and demeaning now, and she follows the delicate hand pointing to one of the benches, a leather one shaped like a triangle of some sort.

Unable to stop herself, she walks to it, inhaling deeply, her whole body shaking, but somehow she does as she is told and presses her stomach against the soft leather, then bends forward, her hands gripping a metal bar on the bottom to steady herself. It's a strange position, leaving her rear completely exposed, and it's only after she's bent over, that she realizes that he took her panties from her.

A soft laugh comes from behind her, pushing even more blood into her already red face. “You came prepared, huh?” the woman mocks, and she flinches badly when she feels two hands on her hips, slowly moving up the thin fabric of her dress. “Of course you'd be. He always thinks ahead...”

Her comment distracts her from the humiliation of the situation. Always? He's brought girls here before? Then again, why is she surprised? She's established he's a popular man with unique tastes, why should she be the first to go through this treatment? Swallowing hard, she grips the metal bar tighter, resting her cheek on the cold leather beneath her, trying to breathe her fears and doubts away.

A sudden slap makes her yelp, her body convulsing against the bench. “So responsive, good,” the woman whispers, more to herself, while she flips her skirt up fully, scratching her seemingly gloved hand over her throbbing ass cheek, the sound of the rubber making her skin crawl. “So, are you familiar with having things up your pretty little bum?”

When she doesn't reply immediately, the hand is back on her rear, the smack even louder, crashing through her nerves instantly. She gasps, almost chokes on her spit, before croaking out: “Y-yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah? Like what? Dainty little metal plugs? Vibrators? Cocks?”

“M-metal ones,” she whispers breathlessly, shame burning through her body when she adds: “And... c-cock...”

It's one thing to experience those things, but talking about them with a complete stranger? And she thought being measured by a rude woman was bad. Her day seems to spiral more and more, so even the idea of being roughly fucked on a desk, unprepared and raw, sounds better than having to endure this. Actually, anything that includes him would be better right about now.

She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she wonders where he's gone, when he comes back, if he comes back, why he's left her alone with this woman in the first place, why he lets her get so close to her body that's presumably all his...

A sudden stab of something cold rips her right out of her thoughts, her choked yelp coming almost a second too late, when she feels a thin finger pushing into her puckered hole without hesitation. She clenches around it as the woman moves something wet and cold around her insides. A whimper escapes her at the feeling, it's soothing as much as it is uncomfortable. The finger retreats, she hears the squirt of some liquid, and another cold dollop of what she assumes to be lube finds its way into her ass.

Weirdly enough this feels better than when he had his fingers inside her, dry and rough, forced and unexpected, and for a moment her body is confused by the attention, her core clenching, warmth settling low in her stomach, her thighs twitching slightly against the bench. But then the woman adds another finger, pushes deeper, and she feels her long sharp nails on her tense muscles, even through the glove.

Stiffening under the sensation, she grits her teeth, forces down her noises, doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself, wants it to be over soon. Her mind is spinning. Why is she even allowing this? She's come to terms when it came to him, wanting to please him because he gave her a new life, but this woman? Will she never be able to say no ever again? Will she let anyone do to her whatever they want? Is this what she's become?

A groan is forced out of her throat as she feels more pressure on the tight ring of muscles when the woman adds another finger, or maybe she's even using her whole hand now, she can't be sure, it feels like too much, stretching her, pushing deep, the lube squelching out of her with an obscene noise that makes her shiver deeply.

But then the strange sensation is gone, and she's left empty, her muscles clenching in confusion, her breath quicker, her heart thundering inside her chest, a single tear running down the side of her face. She hears the crinkling of paper behind her, the squirt of the lube bottle again, gloved hands rubbing over a wet surface. It's still a surprise when she feels something solid pressing against her sphincter, no matter how well she's been prepared.

As it is pushed deeper into her ass, she sees the shape of it in the glass case, sees his finger pointing at it, and she shudders deeply. It's longer than any plug she's had, not as long as his cock, but close, and luckily not as girthy, but it's made of differently sized balls pushed into a hard line, and she can feel every single bump as it slips into her, how her muscles tense around it, then give way, allowing the next to move in.

The woman is surprisingly gentle, but she still lets out quiet whines as the toy fills her up. Then it stops, resting hard and heavy inside her, and she yelps when her ass cheek is slapped once more, causing her muscles to clench around the insertion, holding it in place. She sniffles, biting her lip, trying to adjust. It feels strange, unfamiliar, but ultimately not as bad. Not that she can do anything against it anyway...

“What an obedient little pet you are,” she hears the woman's voice behind her, almost soft, as she moves her wet hands over her skin, her thumb poking at the base of the plug. “I'm almost jealous he found you first...”

Another slap clears the confusion in her head as she rocks against the bench, gasping. She feels her dress being pulled down again, then hears the sound of gloves being removed with a snap of rubber. She's still breathing a little harder when she's nudged off the bench and forced into a standing position again. Her legs are shaking, that object inside her moving with every twist and turn of her body, making her flinch.

“Thank you, ma'am,” she hears herself saying, her eyes glued to the floor, head bowed in a mixture of submission and shame, but there's something else swimming in the back of her mind as well. Gratitude, excitement at being praised, even if it wasn't by him.

The woman laughs softly. “Call me Mistress, pet,” she says, her long nail scratching along her throat as she grabs her chin and makes her look up. “You've earned it.”

She stares at her, chest rising and falling faster, her core clenching involuntarily. “Yes, Mistress,” she echoes quietly, making her opposite smile warmly.

Footsteps sound behind her, and she dares to break eye contact when she sees him pushing the curtain aside and entering the room. She blushes deeply, averting her eyes, standing stock-still while the woman lowers her hand and turns around.

“All done,” she says with a tilt to her head. He nods approvingly, stepping closer, his large hand suddenly finding her arm before he twists her around and presses her back to the bench.

She gasps, stiffening when he rips her dress up to expose her rear, then presses his finger to the base of the plug, forcing a choked groan out of her throat. “Any trouble?” he asks, rubbing over her probably reddened cheek.

“No, she's been very obedient,” the woman replies, and he huffs a grunt in response.

“Good,” he says and pushes her dress back down, before gripping her arm again and pulling her against him. She stumbles slightly, looking up at him. He meets her gaze, and a smile creeps onto his stoic face. “How do you feel?”

He's asked her the same thing when he has stuffed the dildo into her cunt, and back then she has felt full, it has been uncomfortable, strange, and having the larger plug in her butt still feels weird, with her muscles trying to adjust to the unfamiliar intruder by clenching around every bump of it, but overall she feels... okay.

“I feel fine,” she replies quietly, trying herself at a shy smile as he studies her face.

“Fine, hm?” he repeats with a dry laugh.

He looks away then (and she follows his gaze), nodding towards the woman who extends her hand to him, holding a piece of paper with a QR code on it. One hand on her shoulder, he slips the other into his pocket and retrieves his phone, quickly scanning the symbol, before the smile widens on his handsome face, almost turning diabolical.

She wonders what made him so happy, what's this all about, but then something strange makes her flinch, something from within. A yelp escapes her, and she grips onto his arm in surprise, feeling her muscles vibrating. No, not her muscles, the plug inside her. It's humming, buzzing against her flesh, a deep thrum that makes her entire body shudder. Her core clenches in response, her thighs trembling, and she leans against him helplessly.

He watches her with interest while his thumb moves along the screen, and the motion bleeds into the movement of the vibrating plug. It gets stronger, harder, throbbing inside her, coaxing little moans out of her that turn into gasps that turn into whimpers. She's clinging to him, and luckily he lets her, as her body quickly gets overwhelmed by the assault of sensations pulsing through her, all centered deep within her ass, but soon her cunt starts contracting too, clenching around nothing, and she cries out, squeezing her eyes shut.

“So responsive,” she hears the woman's voice, it's quiet and barely registers in her clouded mind, but she senses the hidden praise and it only makes everything worse.

The vibrations crescendo once more, loudly buzzing now, her whole body shaking, her nails digging into his arm, her lips parted, her shoulders hunching, her back arched, her legs feel like jello, everything moves, hums, shudders, muscles clench, convulse, contract, and she can only manage to issue a single croaked groan before she collapses against him, something warm and sticky dripping down her inner thigh.

He holds her, one strong arm around her, and slowly the thrumming gets weaker until it stops altogether, leaving her still shaking badly, the phantom sensation of having her insides vibrating clinging to her like she clings to him.

“Still fine?” he whispers, pressing her into him, his lips brushing against her damp forehead.

She's breathing harder, her heart still beating out of her chest, but she nods, a dumb little smile creeping onto her lips. “Yes, sir,” she mumbles, the words swimming out of her unchecked. Head empty, how lovely. He chuckles softly into her hair, before he slowly extracts her from himself, grabbing her shoulder to look at her. She can barely stand, but tries her best to remain upright, as she looks up at him out of hooded eyes.

He tilts his head, a curious glint in his gaze as he watches her closely. “Give me the same thing for her cunt,” he then says, the words barely make sense to her, but the woman moves behind him, replying with an amused: “Good idea.”

Her leaving footsteps are drowned by the soft yelp she issues when he suddenly picks her up and carries her towards another bench. This one is reclined, like a lounge chair, and she sinks into the soft leather, relaxing, eyelids fluttering, but as soon as he raises her legs and puts them into strange contraptions that hold them up and spread far apart, she slowly comes down from the high he's forced upon her.

He's standing between her open thighs, hands on her shins, holding her in place, his eyes wandering over her exposed lower body. She blinks in confusion, still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. The plug rests still and heavy inside her, the relaxed position pushing it a little deeper. She inhales sharply, wondering what's going on.

The woman returns, holding another black silicone toy in her newly gloved hands. There are leather straps hanging from her right forearm. A harness, she recognizes, and somehow that brings her down to earth with a force she hasn't expected. He wants to fill her even more, plug her up fully, and these things aren't normal dildos, they are vibrators, and he can control them with his phone. Oh for crying out loud!

She squirms in her seat, her legs kicking fruitlessly against his hold. He shakes his head and lets out a few “Tsk”s as he looks at her. It takes her a moment to obey the unspoken command, and it takes even more self-control to force herself to sit still. She bites her lip hard, breathing loudly through her nose as she looks from him to the woman and back, her heart beating harder again.

Once she's somewhat calm, he takes his hands from her shins, watching her closely, assessing if she'll stay calm, but then he sighs and fumbles with the thick leather bands attached to the contraptions that hold her legs up until they are bound in place, and she tests them immediately, tensing against them, but they won't budge. Her mind starts spinning as a strange kind of panic settles deep within her stomach.

He leans in then, a hand on her face. “Shh, it'll be alright, relax,” he soothes her, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Be a good girl, okay?”

She lets out a whine and nods obediently. He's playing dirty. He always did, but this feels like betrayal (and it's not even that he doesn't trust her to stay still, that he saw the need to restrain her), it's because he isn't alone. The woman watches her curiously, a dark smile on her full lips as she twists the toy between her long fingers. “Do you want me to prepare her?” she asks sweetly, her eyes boring into hers, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

“No, I'll do it,” he replies quietly, his hands already sliding down her inner thighs. And she's glad he does. The woman she's supposed to call Mistress still feels a little suspicious to her. She wants to feel good, sure, if she has the option, but not by her hands. He is the center of her new world, she doesn't need the confusion that comes with someone else pleasuring her.

Though this doesn't seem to be about her pleasure. With how they both look at her, she feels like a rabbit forced into a corner with not one, but two predators staring down at her, like grinning hyenas, eager to play with her.

And somehow it's all wrong when she feels his fingers sliding along her outer lips. What should have been an intimate gesture, a shared moment, a mutual exploration, is now a witnessed thing, with her being on full display, strapped into that strange chair-like bench, it would be almost clinical if it weren't for the soft lighting and dark interior of the room.

She's acutely aware of the woman watching his every move, how his fingers rub over her mound, creating these highly embarrassing squelching sounds when they dip between her folds, and she can't help it, she squirms, strangled whines escaping her as she turns her head away and squeezes her eyes shut.

Footsteps round the bench and then she feels two hands, gloved and a little cold, on her jaw, holding her head, turning it back, before a soft breath brushes against her forehead. “Open your eyes, pet,” the woman whispers, and she shivers, eyes flying open on instinct, a croaked gasp slipping from her parted lips. Her wide gaze finds his, and he watches her, stern, stoic, head tilted slightly, as he continues to rub his hand over her sex.

She's stiff on the bench, breathing harder, heart thundering, held by the woman's hands and the leather bindings around her legs, but it's his dark stare that freezes her to the spot, makes her shiver involuntarily. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she forces herself to relax, to focus on him. He holds her attention as he finally dips a finger into her already clenching hole, and she lets out a muffled moan at the sensation.

For a moment he just looks at her, moving his digit in and out slowly, testing the waters, teasing her resistance, almost a little too keen to coax those lewd sounds out of her wet cunt. Her nostrils flare as she fights the shame trying to burn up inside her. To soothe her, the woman presses her fingertips against her throat, applying soft pressure, but her sharp nails still scratch along her skin occasionally. She furrows her eyebrows, almost loses the battle against all these kinds of stimulation.

Eventually she does, when he adds another finger and really pumps into her now, and she feels her hips bucking, her shoulders tensing, body shuddering intensely. Her suspended feet twitch in their restraints, her toes curl, and she parts her lips to let out a wanton cry, her eyelids fluttering. He prolongs the moment of bliss by curling his fingers and bullying that special spot inside her with hard thrusts of his hand until she thrashes her head into the woman's hands and moans loudly, eyes rolling back, vision turning white.

And it's all gone for a moment, her orgasm crashing through her like a cleansing wave, letting her forget all about the strange room with its strange contraptions, the shop full of toys and whips and gags, and it's just his strong fingers guiding her through the exploding lights behind her eyelids, her body seemingly floating... if it wasn't for the pair of hands holding her neck.

The number of hands confuses her, and she slowly drifts down again, limbs relaxing, all of her sinking back down on the soft bench, while her heart is exploding inside her chest, her breath coming and going in hard puffs to fill her lungs with air again.

“Good pet,” a soft female voice whispers into her ear. “What a display...”

“Th-thank you,” she croaks out, still dizzy from her release, not sure who she's thanking and why, but the inborn instinct loosens her tongue enough to allow the words to spill out. Pointy nails dig into her throat, and she gasps, eyes fluttering open, the added word “Mistress” flying from her quivering lips.

But when the woman behind her eases her grip, her eyes fall onto him, and his gaze is darker than usual, eyebrows knitted, jaw clenched, and she lets out a strange whine, bucking up from the bench, wanting to get closer. Her hands, that have been gripping the sides of the bench in sheer panicked necessity, fly up and reach for him. She manages to slip from the woman's hands, but with her legs raised up and held in place as they are, she sits in a strange position, barely able to hold herself up, but her fingers still brush against the front of his shirt, fruitlessly trying to grab onto him.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, feeling the need to apologize, tears burning under her lashes. He watches her, standing so tall and intimating between her legs, one of his hands raised, shimmering in the light, her juices dripping past his knuckles.

She feels the woman retreating, and suddenly his wet hand is around her throat as he folds himself over her, and she gasps breathlessly, hands now gripping at his wrist, eyes wide, lips parted in a silent cry.

“Right you are,” he hisses, his voice low and dark and dangerous. “You are mine, and only mine,” he looks up when he says those last words, and she hears a shuffle behind her. When he looks back at her, she stiffens even more, holding her breath (not that she could breathe anyway with how he squeezes her throat). “So what do you say to me?”

Her mind is blank with fear (and strangely enough a bit of arousal, may it be the remnants of her orgasm or a new wave of excitement), so it takes her a moment to understand his question, causing him to apply more pressure on her neck, but once she moves her jaw, he eases it and lets her speak, or lets her try to speak.

“Th... tha... thank y-you,” she stammers, her voice hoarse and feeble, her breaths panicked and fast, so she tries again. “Th-thank y-you, s-sir.”

Her attempts calm the anger that has overtaken his handsome face and it relaxes. He exhales loudly, and nods, slowly leaning back, his hand moving to slip around her head, gently squeezing her nape as he watches her, before he leans in again and presses his forehead to hers, staring deeply into her eyes.

“You are mine,” he says again, his voice vibrating through her. “Mine to use, mine to have. Is that right, darling?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, much quicker, holding his gaze, feeling herself sinking into his eyes, his dominance, his guidance. “I am yours.”

A smile grazes his tight lips, and she could have sworn he is fighting the urge to kiss her, show her the affection he usually would if they were alone, but they are not, so he just leans away, lets go of her and straightens up. She relaxes into the bench, hands falling limply onto her stomach, fingers curling into the hem of her dress, her eyes following his every move.

He inhales deeply, his large form growing for a moment, before he breaks eye contact and turns to the woman who has retreated into the shadows (and she wishes she would stay there). She hands him the black silicone toy, already lubed, shiny in the dim lighting, its shape a little different from the plug still sitting heavy in her ass. It's a little thicker, about as long, but more rounded, imitating the shape of a cock but only just, also bends a little as he rolls it between his long fingers.

She stares at him, waiting for whatever happens next. Her mind is still buzzing from what already happened, from entering this store to being bent over and plugged and pleasured, to being strapped down and pleasured all over again, and it's not over yet. Despite the dizziness swirling within her, her body is already reacting to the sight in front of her, as he approaches her, steps between her legs again, the shining item in his large hand. Her chest rises and falls faster, heart still beating as if it wants to jump through her ribcage, palms sweaty and lips dry in anticipation.

He holds her gaze, a little glint in his eyes while hers are wide and fearful. She doesn't even know anymore why she prefers fingers over sex toys, maybe it's more natural, more personal to feel somebody's heat instead of a cold, lifeless item. A toy pushed into another toy. Does it even matter? She shouldn't fight this, she knows that, he won't like it if she did, but she can't stop the involuntarily twitch of her body, the bucking of her hips, the strain in her spine as she tries to move away from where he's pointing the dildo.

His hand is on her stomach, large and heavy, pushing her down but also grounding her, giving her that warmth she's missing, and somehow she calms a little under the touch, every deep inhale pushing back against his palm. In her raised position with her legs spread so wide open, she can see when he rubs the silicone toy between her wet folds, gathers her slick, adds it to the lube shining on the smooth material.

He prods the tip against her entrance, and she stares, holding her breath, tensing up despite herself. His hand presses harder into her stomach, coaxing a gasp out of her, the motion making her look up at him, and he looks at her, hard, but his eyes seem warmer, reassuring, calm, sure of what he's doing, telling her it's okay. And it is okay. She inhales deeply, clenching her fingers around the fabric of her dress as she tries to relax the rest of her body.

She reminds herself she's had a toy inside her before, for several hours to be exact, and it was okay, more or less. She's felt full and a little stiff, but it was okay. She has been able to sleep with it lodged inside her no problem (kindly ignoring the outcome of that endeavor). But then she realizes she is not in his penthouse, not in a bed, but in a store, in the middle of the city, and she is supposed to walk around with not one, but two toys wedged inside her holes. How the hell is that supposed to work?

“Ah!” A pained yelp breaks from her throat as her thoughts are rudely interrupted by him pushing the dildo past the initial resistance and then continuously further, without hesitation, deeper, forcing it past her tense muscles, and she whines at the sensation, at feeling so incredibly full, and even worse when she feels the toy nudging against the other one in her ass through the thin layer between.

She writhes on the bench, almost howling now by how strange it feels to be stretched this much, to be filled this much, and suddenly the woman's hands are back on her shoulders, pushing her down, holding her in place. She feels tears streaming down her face as she watches him out of hooded eyes, vision blurry, her body still fighting the intrusion, clenching, tensing up even more, her legs kicking fruitlessly in their leather bindings, but he doesn't seem to care, just pushes the toy as deep as it will go, and she sees it disappearing inside her, feels it prodding her innermost spots, or so it feels, stretching her limits.

The hand on her stomach presses down again as if wanting to feel said toy through her skin, and she is certain it has to bulge out of her with how deep it is inside her, but when he removes his hand, there's nothing, just her fluttering belly, flat and covered in a thin layer of sweat. The woman hands him the leather straps she's carried earlier, and he starts arranging them around her thighs and her waist and hips, nudging her shuddering body to accommodate his handiwork.

Her whines are breathless little gasps now, her arms shaking from how hard she clutches at her dress to ground herself. She barely dares to breathe with how full she feels, how snug the harness sits around her lower body, holding everything in place. The last buckle is closed and secured, and she stares down at the contraption, those thick black leather straps, shiny and expensive looking, straight out of one of those BDSM clips she's stumbled across before. And in stark contrast to that, there's her pastel pink sundress, wrinkled from how she's holding onto the skirt part, with its cinched waist and modest neckline and those cute little white flowers.

And the girl on the bench is confused, to put it mildly. How is this happening? How did she end up strapped to a bench in a sex shop and plugged up by a toy in each of her holes, holes that have been virginal only a few days ago, holes she wouldn't even touch herself. Surrounded by two dominant adults, who are now stepping back to marvel at the sight in front of them. Surely they must see the contradiction too, how innocent she is on the surface while her insides are stretched and bullied by those silicone things that have no right to feel this invasive and yet so...

It's growing on her, to say the least. The longer they sit within her, slowly becoming a part of her, or so she hopes, the less stressed she is about it (well, we'll talk about how she is supposed to actually walk with them later). At least she thinks so now, lying on the bench, unmoving except for the nervous flutter of her stomach, with everything resting.

And while she calms down, savoring the quiet moment, the woman and the man walk behind her, out of her line of sight, and for a few more minutes, nothing happens – until it all explodes.

She almost jerks off the bench when the first vibration crashes through her. It's a single stab of movement deep within her, the attached toy throbbing hard against her tense muscles, and in turn pushing even harder against the other toy, and she bucks her hips, cries out, kicks her legs in their restraints, her hands flying to the harness between her thighs, clawing at the straps as she whines in protest.

“Relax,” sounds his voice, loud, demanding, echoing in her ears, and instantly grounding her as she stiffens, body shuddering as it is forced to remain still. She's breathing harder, frozen in her cramped position, before a hand pushes her back onto the bench.

He reappears between her legs, one hand on her knee, rubbing soothing circles into her skin as he looks down at her, the other hand holding his phone, his thumb pressed to the screen. She watches him breathlessly, new tears burning in her eyes. The hum grows inside her as he moves his digit over the device, and she clenches around the vibrating toy, grits her teeth, forces herself to endure.

His hand moves down her leg, short fingernails scratch along her inner thigh, teasing her sensitive skin, scraping over the leather straps. She is fixated on his fingers, focusing, distracting herself, and she realizes the harness sits low on her hips, a thick leather band running from her pubic bone all around her mound until it comes back up between her ass cheeks, tight and snug, thinning. And it sits right over her clit, and all he has to do, is push it down against it, and she wails, kicks her feet helplessly, convulses uncontrollably.

He holds the pressure, moves his thumb over the screen again before the buzzing grows stronger inside her. She thrashes her head back, hips arching upwards, insides singing with these unfamiliar sensations, and he pushes further, increases the vibrations once more, drives her closer and closer to the edge (of pleasure or insanity, she isn't sure at this point).

Her noises are loud and shrill in the room, the sound dampened by the velvet walls and other equipment, her throat quickly straining under the constant stream of whines and wails and cries, as she spasms on the bench, not even registering how the woman holds her shoulders, fingernails seemingly digging into her skin through the fabric of her dress.

She is overwhelmed, more than that, is barely able to breathe, to function, to think. Everything is buzzing, humming, twitching, fireworks explode behind her eyelids, pain crashes through her, turning into waves of pleasure that pull her away, threatening to drown her. Amidst the inescapable bliss, she hears a different kind of humming, voices, soft, amused, maybe even mocking, not that she cares.

“Such a sensitive little pet.” bleeds into a deeper thrum of “Good girl.”, and the praise spirals her even higher until she fades away into unconsciousness, letting go completely.

ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE 🟥 THIRTEEN

End notes: So I wanted to introduce a female character that could fuel our poor girl's jealousy, but then Mistress stepped into my head and dominated everything. That's just how it goes sometimes. She makes another appearance, but I'm not sure if I want to keep her, maybe in the next season? We'll see.

Also sorry for the confusion I'm sure I created by writing a scene with two unnamed females, I hope it came through who did what and wasn't too redundant either.

Thank you for reading!

Next chapter on Sunday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290 @untamedheart81

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾ SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #praise k!nk #free use kink #fem!dom #older man younger woman #size difference #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #mattheo riddle smut #original fiction

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jeanystillbeany · 14 hours

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BillFord Fic

I haven’t gotten invited to ao3 yet so I’ll just post it here anyway. It doesn’t have a name so I’ll just post a teaser or whatever. Idfk. It’s a billford fic ig. As soon as I get ao3 I’ll post it on there. I do have more written. I’m just taking the first part for a test drive. Let me know ur thoughts! (Literally anything- name suggestions scene suggestions, if i should post it on ao3, explanations etc.)

Entry 167: Series 6

Out of all the curiosities I’ve studied in my travels, this has to be one of the most shocking enigmas yet. This timeline had the bottom story of the shack left with two gaping holes at the top. In fact, it’s as though the shack grew legs and walked away. Which is completely bizarre- even for a weirdness magnet such as Gravity Falls, Oregon. The countless timelines I’ve visited so far were nowhere near this level of insanity. This level of… intrigument. The state of the timeline has this enrapturing effect on me.

Recently the timelines I’ve been traveling through have had a different variable. Two in fact. As it turns out, me and my brother have a great-grandniece and nephew. Dipper and Mabel. While I’ve been careful to not interact with any timelines I’ve found myself caught up in (especially after that incident with the Time Police), I still somehow find myself growing attached to the two. For the past few months I’ve been observing them through the different timelines I’ve traveled to. There has also been the reoccurring pattern of their other ‘Gruncle’ re-emerging from the same portal I find myself appearing from every few days. I’ve been waiting… counting down the days til it’s my turn. And yet, I still don’t understand why I continue to keep that false hope in my pocket. The multiverse is infinite. The chances of me ever finding my home universe is nearly pointless. While I could always take the place of another Stanford… The Time Police would be on my case in a second. I also understand that the multiverse I was sent to wasn’t the same one as the other Stanfords. While I’m dealing with infinites of my brother, they were dealing with beasts beyond basic human comprehension… and yet I’d much rather that than to be cursed knowing I’d never get home. To see Dipper and Mabel fail… over and over… with myself unable to assist… sometimes I thought it was driving me mad.

I’ve certainly spent more time reciting the last few entries than I should’ve. So I shall continue with the present. The shambles of my lab have made for an adequate shelter. (Save for the 2 overgrown hairless mole rats I’ve needed to fight off for my rations). The sky appears to be a blood red, many of the familiar surrounding trees were reduced to brambles, probably by some larger species I’d like to take the time to investigate at a later hour. This area has been intensely modified compared to the other Gravity Falls I’ve been in. I have a hunch this is due to the large vortex that ripped through the dimension. (That was in fact sarcasm my dear reader). So far I’ve studied and dissected one of those overgrown Eye-Bats that can turn a person to stone just by looking at them. From memory; I will promise they were much smaller and could not turn one to stone in my own timeline. Why would anyone feel the need to weirdify these anomalies? Some sort of apocalypse has settled over this world. Whether or not it was always like this is unknown. I’m leaning towards the latter though. I shortly ran out of things to do after examining my last two specimens and I itched for more information on these preternatural creatures.

Ford sat in what was left of his desk chair and kicked his feet up. He would kill for a mug of coffee right now.

Ford ran a hand through his hair. Since the portal incident, he’s grown it out. He’s grateful he didn’t cut it when he could. It more than likely would’ve exaggerated the up and coming gray hair. Though… he shouldn’t exactly care how he looks because he’s not supposed to be seen in other timelines according to the Time Police. In the end, he still does get a fond satisfaction of knowing he’s at least well kept. And mistakes happen. He continues to have the same clothing pattern of turtle necks- though he only ever wears them underneath his long coat. It proved to be very useful when traveling timelines. The amount of pockets he had to keep so many samples in almost seemed like cheating. He also always had his bag with him. Most of his pockets aren’t big enough for his journal, and he’s filled up a couple while he was traveling timelines. His love of pockets also extended to his lower half making sure to have maximum pockets on his cargo pants. He even bothered with a hidden one in his shoe for an emergency lock pick. If that wasn’t enough, his obsession with Sci-Fi led to him wanting to live it to its full extent, so naturally he put knives in both heels of his boots as well.

Normally he’d care that there were some contaminated combat boots being rubbed all over his desk. But now? He thought he might as well embrace the end of the world. He loved his family to death, but if any of them saw him in a timeline other than his origin the whole universe would collapse in on itself, and they would be the ones dead. Ford could always scramble back to his portal and go to the next timeline. According to the Time Police that is. Though there have been many instances where he has intervened in his earlier days with no consequence.

The man mindlessly fiddled with his gun on the inside pocket of his coat. He wanted to study more. Maybe the giant gash in the sky was the root of his greatest mystery! He unhooked his heels from the edge of his desk and swung them around towards the bunker hatch. He pushed himself off from the armrests of the chair. Stanford climbed up the ladder and popped his head out of the bunker. He supposed the first step would be to find a lookout point. If he was lucky he might be able to stay in one place long enough to do a quick sketch of this timeline’s situation. The first place Stanford’s mind drifted was his abandoned UFO- though it was identified and no longer flying, so he dubbed it the alien spacecraftt. It gave a perfect view of the entire town and was rather close to his current position. Ford gave a once over of everything in his satchel. He plucked out his journal in order to sift through the small bit of food, water and any other trinkets he had before neatly replacing it and went on his way.

As Ford traveled he kept a hand on his gun. Aside from the terrors the scientist was getting antsy to encounter, he was the only other sound he heard. His boots trudged along the ground -making distinct squishing sounds- as though he were walking in his own wet socks. The ground beneath him was unnaturally wet causing the uncomfortable feeling. There was the occasional shuffle as he adjusted his jacket to the odd temperatures. Ford made a mental note to journal about the seemingly miniature air masses that drastically changed the temperatures in as little as every few feet he walked. The long coat was currently adjusted to be draped over his shoulders, as Ford found this to be a happy medium and made a constant grip on his gun easier.

A rumble struck the ground just as Ford’s own foot hit the earth. The man felt a jitter course through him, crawling up his spine.

“Another weirdness wave!” The man exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than anyone else trapped in this hell bubble ever would. He licked the first two of his fingers and raised them up in the air, turning them at different angles until he found the direction that gave his moistened fingers the most chill. After finding the wind direction he quickly hid behind a tree and scrambled through his bag. His six-fingered hand reemerged with a sort of hand made device. It was made from old lab parts created during his first few days in this timeline. It allowed him to calculate the intensity of the weirdness wave and further study its properties. He carefully placed the machine away from the cover of the tree and braced himself for things to get weird.

The wave passed over Stanford relatively easily and he observed no mutations to himself. Stanford went to pick up his wave reader when-

“Oh. How peculiar… Shit.” The man’s handmade invention had grown to compete with the surrounding forest’s pine trees. For a moment the Author thought that he would be unable to run. For a moment the Author believed he was frozen in time. For a moment he saw himself as a child. For a moment he saw his brother. For a moment he saw the twins.

Stanford found the right gears that made the joints in his legs move. This was no longer his invention. It had grown six legs of its own. The calculator screen that was once used as a makeshift reader display was its mouth and the antenna was its tongue. Ford was tempted to take a picture, though he doubted such would be worth his life. He raced through the forest. It was almost as if its size grew due to this oddity apocalypse. The scientist didn’t have a chance. Every time he heaved himself over a log, the creature could bash itself right through it after him. He needed to think of something… he’d kill to meet his niece and nephew.

The Author took out his loaded gun as he ran through the brambles. He took a sharp turn, causing the monster to slide in an effort to regain its balance. Ford began to aim as the creature was tipped onto its side. It landed with a loud thump, causing multiple mutated birds to fly away startled. Stanford lowered his gun and stood stunned in front of his creation, as its legs flailed about, damaging the surrounding shrubbery.

“Intriguing!” Ford quickly snapped a picture. As much as he’d like to inspect the helpless thing more, he deemed it safer to continue with his original task. He would’ve stayed longer if one of the monster’s legs didn’t reach out and claw at his coat, tearing it down its side. A bit closer and the scientist would’ve been seriously injured. He jumped back and continued with his task of sketching this new timeline. He also made a mental note to log his encounter in the journal when he was in the clear.

He finally made it to the spacecraft. Ford would definitely consider using this as a hideout in this world. Contrary to Ford’s belief, the state of this timeline was only in Gravity Falls. He remembers studying the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism as a younger man, but he never believed it could affect anything to this extent. Ford sat down atop the spacecraft. He snapped a picture of the surrounding scene.

Entry 167 B. Series 6

There seemed to be a large barrier encasing Gravity Falls. More than likely the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism. I’ve studied the topic before and have come up with a simple equation to break it. The scene before me is both exhilarating and dread ensuing. To even think about the situations my brother and the kids have gone through haunts me. I want nothing more than to be able to talk with them. Even if it’s not my universe. I want to hear their stories and watch them grow up… I wish for my own universe. I’ve traveled the timelines for much too long. I’ve watched them. But I want to see them. To meet my Mabel, my Dipper, my Stanley. I want to meet my family. But where would I even start? The time police?

I looked off to the sunless horizon and noticed a large pink orb sitting dead center of the train tracks with Mabel’s zodiac on it. My breathing sputtered. Just what were these kids into this timeline? I decided it’d be best to head back to the lab. I’d like to be there when the portal reopens.

Maybe… maybe I can try one more time. My sentence is already high enough as it is with the Time Police… I want to help my niece and nephew… no matter what universe they’re in. There has to be a reason the Time Police aren’t on my tail by now… especially after that monster was created. I’ll spend the night at the lab again and work on relocating to the spacecraft tomorrow. Then I’ll find my brother.

Ford replaced his bookmark into his journal and brushed himself off. He stood up on the roof of the dead spaceship and gave one last glance at the world he found himself in before beginning the few hour trek to where the Mystery Shack once stood. Stanford was nearly to his hideout. About where he left the wave reading monster. There was one problem that had unnerved the Author for more than one reason. A question that bubbled out of his mouth as soon as he seen the large clearing in the trees where the monster had been discarded.

“Where is it?” His question was shortly answered as a screech was heard not too far behind him.

“Fuck! Are you Serious?!” The scientist grumbled and quickened his pace. It was following him. Either it had extremely sensitive hearing or it was tracking him by scent. Whatever the case was, his hands itched to jot it down in his journal. He didn’t have much time for that as he found himself being chased by the beast once again. Ford continued to race to the lab and attempted to slide into the underground space. The mechanical creature’s claw lurched out and nicked his back, sending him flying forward and creating another large hole in the roof. He landed ungraciously on the floor of his lab with a groan. As a last resort Ford turned over on his back and began shooting wildly through the crack. The mechanical anomaly screeched as it was shot at, retreating immediately. Ford felt the back of his coat begin to soak and his vision blur. The tips of his finger began to numb as his arm fell to the ground.

With one last screech, a fourth hole was punctured into the top of the lab, right over the portal, leaving Ford’s escape in shambles. He would’ve screamed, or yelped with his hand held out dramatically as any Author such as himself would, but that was the last sight seen before he passed out completely.

“Do you think it’s dead?”

“I say we eat it”

“Dudes. Is it just me? Or does it kinda look like Mr. Pines.”

“Soos. It has SIX FINGERS! SIX! It had to be some sort of clone… or- or… imposter.” Pages began to flip in the background of the following commotion. Quiet muttering was also heard following each turn of paper- though it was mostly blocked out by the pounding in Ford’s head.

“Mr. Pines… do you… know anything about this?” Ford was becoming conscious enough to pick out voices. This seemed to be the only female among the group.

“Stanford…?” This was a new voice. Much older than the others. It wavered as it said his name- effectively snapping him out of the painful slumber he was in.

Ford started with a groan and his eyes squinted shut, adjusting to the abnormal light- even for the living world. In this universe that is.

“Dudes. It’s waking up.” Ford mumbled and rubbed his head. Thankfully the wound on his back didn’t go that deep into his back. Though the semi-dried blood latching the fabric of his coat to himself was very uncomfortable.

“Sixer!” Stanford opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a tacky red hat by the side of his head. Arms enveloped his shoulders partially helping Ford keep himself up.

“Stanley…” The scientist just barely breathed out.

“STANLEY?!” Ford couldn’t be bothered to look up from his brother’s shoulder at the other’s exclaimation

“Is anyone else confused right now? Cause I’m confused.” Soos commented. Stanley sighed before releasing his disoriented brother.

“Kids, Soos, I want you to meet… the author of the journals.” Stan was hesitant to let go of his brother, as though if he let go of his brother’s shoulder he’d disappear back into the fabrics of existence. Dipper did an excited squeal and almost ran up to properly greet his practical obsession, but Wendy put a calm hand on his shoulder to stop him from ruining the two brothers' moment. She decided she needed more context with her boss’ secret twin before Dipper butted in.

“Stanley. I need- I need to tell you something.” Stanford’s voice wavered with guilt. As multiple scenarios ran through his head. More than likely this wasn’t his universe. He doesn’t know what happened to his own timeline, or this one… though it’s not like he can continue traveling timelines with the portal busted. Ford opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out as a thought surfaced to his head.

‘…what if this is my timeline? What if the portal busted for a reason? Maybe… I can stay a while. They need my help…’

“Yeah?” Stanley asked- a small smile almost suppressed on his face.

“…I missed you.” Ford sighed out. He pulled Stan back into him. The other man slapped his back playfully with a goofy grin. Ford winced and let out a small yelp.

“Oh… forgot about that. Welp. I smiled too little in the past 3 weeks to smile this much now. Let’s get back to the shack.” As if on queue, an ominous roar shook the ground under them.

“Agreed.” Wendy said.

“Yup, yup, yup, let’s go!” Soos hauled Dipper over his shoulder and sprinted out of the Lab and everyone else followed. Ford found himself lingering for a moment- his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the remains of his portal. It’s gone. It’s all gone.

“Hey, bro. Let’s get out of here, ‘k?” Stanley put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, offering a hopefully comforting smile.

“We have a lot to talk about Stanley…” Similar to any other earth tremble, the earth shook following the signs of a beast approaching.

“Yeah, yeah. Can we do that later?” Stanley tugged his brother along by the back of his coat leading him out of the lab. Stanford followed behind- occasionally wincing from the pulling on his jacket.

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