#to make people feel like they have someone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bbyseok · 3 days

Text

at first sight? — GOJO SATORU

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

word count: 10k (idek i was possessed)

banner by @/bbyseok , dividers by @/bunnysrph !!

a/n: um hi. its finally here ! thanks to all who liked the teaser, this is my first jjk/gojo fic ever but i really think everyone needs some comfort after jjk chap 261.. and fuck u gege !!

content: soulmate au, gender neutral reader, minimal use of they/them pronouns for reader but gender is not specified, sorcerer reader, nicknames ‘sweetheart’, ‘pretty’, ‘baby’, fluff, mild angst with a happy ending, slowburn??, several pov switches, suggestive/implied nsfw at the end but nothing explicit, brief swearing/explicit language, brief violence/injuries, alcohol consumption, reader gets mildly drunk but nothing else, implied satosugu as past soulmates: can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic, fic takes place after jjk 0 but before the show starts

analysis: this is a world filled not only with curses, but soulmates—in which you know someone is your soulmate when you first make eye contact with them. but for your case, things can get a bit complicated when someone is wearing a blindfold.

here, in this universe, you can tell that someone is your soulmate by simply looking at them. so with that, the saying of “love at first sight” is actually pretty accurate here. you see them for the very first time and barely know the person and yet, somehow, they’re the one you’re destined to be with.

with that, you’d think it’d be pretty common for two random people to run into each other while crossing the street or something and bam! suddenly you’ve found the supposed love of your life!

and you? well, for you, that hasn’t happened yet.

to be fair, it’s not like you’re actively trying to look for your soulmate. handling curses as a jujutsu sorcerer is difficult enough. (maybe you’ll run into them one day after saving them from a curse or something. how romantic!)

it’s better to leave it up to fate. it’s fate who decided your pairing anyway, right?

your transfer to jujutsu tech had been fairly smooth. after being stationed in kyoto for a while, tokyo was a nice change of pace.

coincidentally, you had been out of the country during the incident known as the night parade of a hundred demons. a scary event that proved the threat of curse users to be formidable.

because of that, your decision to transfer to tokyo seemed like the right thing to do. and so far, it’s been decent.

it’s a nice change of scenery. the students are aspiring; while maki and megumi aren’t the friendliest, they’re warming up to you. toge and panda are gradually improving.

nanami’s pessimistic outlook on jujutsu society and shoko’s overall unenthusiastic demeanor are certainly interesting for the most part, but your coworkers are pleasant to be around.

well. except for one.

gojo satoru knows that you are his soulmate. he has indeed known this fact right from the very start, ever since your first meeting.

even with his blindfold on, he could see your own eyes before him. his six eyes can see everything. the thing is.. he didn’t know he could have another soulmate.

his situation with geto suguru is something he doesn’t talk about with anyone. maybe shoko at times, but even then, it’s rare. it’s not that he doesn’t want to, but it’s pretty hard to talk about.

after suguru defected, gojo could still obviously feel their bond. even though they were no longer together as the strongest duo, did it really matter when their souls were still connected to one another? it was a factor that played in avoiding (and perhaps meeting up with) each other as the years went by.

satoru felt their bond die that day after the events with okkotsu and rika. and it had frightened him. that lingering presence of the bond was no longer there.

so imagine his surprise when he sees you.

a new sorcerer in kyoto, now transferred to tokyo. normally, gojo doesn’t seek out the new recruits, but yaga had dragged him over regardless. besides, he might as well get to know his possible assistant teacher that would be helping him out with the new first years.

“i guess i can check out some new faces,” he relented with a sigh, adjusting his blindfold and looking to the side as yaga’s steps slowed as they approached you.

gojo rolled his eyes–not that you’d see it anyway–as yaga introduced you with your name and your sorcerer grade. he stopped to stand next to the principal.

you extended your hand to offer a handshake, and gojo finally turned his head.

that feeling as his gaze fell upon yours beneath the blindfold was familiar—frighteningly so—and unfamiliar at the same time. as if he could breathe for the first time in ages. your eyes are unaware, but they’re so revealing to him.

satoru stuttered in his movements, reluctantly taking your hand. the skin that touched yours felt like it was on fire. he briefly held on to see if you felt it too.

but you simply smiled up at him.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo,” you said, blissfully unaware of the revelation currently dawning on the man before you and the turmoil it brought as he abruptly retracted his arm back.

gojo stiffened. he merely offered a curt nod before turning on heel and walking away briskly. he could faintly hear yaga protest about his sudden departure before apologizing to you hastily. satoru shook his head.

how was this be possible? how could the universe give him two soulmates? he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. he wondered if there had been a similar occurrence before.

gojo couldn’t help but feel nauseous. was this the world playing some sort of sick, cruel joke on him? or was it perhaps giving him a second chance?

and truthfully, it wasn’t like gojo even wanted another soulmate. not after what he had been through with suguru. he hadn’t given it much thought.

was it really worth it?

what if he couldn’t protect you too?

so satoru had decided on one thing that day: the blindfold stays on. concealing his eyes from the world not only for him, but for your sake too. he was certain in his choice; he would never tell you the truth.

as far as you were concerned, you haven’t met your soulmate yet.

and never will.

your first meeting with gojo wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t something you could describe as good either. you’ve been left with the impression that he’s cocky and indifferent.

and that he doesn’t like you.

it’s been around.. two? three weeks? it’s been a while since your encounter with the white-haired sorcerer, and you’ve only seen a few glimpses of him here and there on campus.

okay, he doesn’t display any outright mean or ill intention towards you. on the very rare times the two of you do interact, he is obviously curt and clipped. seems like he’s deemed you worthy of the only either nods or one word responses.

you’ve yet to actually participate in a lesson or mission with gojo, but you prefer it that way. providing individual training and advice for the upcoming second years has been going great. at this point, you’re sure it’d only be awkward.

besides, the strongest sorcerer alive doesn’t necessarily need assistance in dealing with curses after all. that much is understandable.

you’re currently in the teachers’ lounge room with nanami. even though he isn’t actually a teacher, he pays visits sometimes. he’s good company anyway.

“it’s nice to hear that you’re settling in well,” the blonde says with a nod. he loosens his necktie absentmindedly as he adjusts the newspaper in his lap. “especially with that gojo around. he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

you frown at the mention of the sorcerer, crossing your arms. you’re seated across from nanami, watching him idly look through the newspaper.

“oh, well, actually, he isn’t too much trouble. for me, at least,” you reply, brows furrowing, “he barely talks to me.” (in fact, he seems to avoid you like you’re carrying the plague or something.)

nanami looks up, raising a brow. “huh. you should be grateful then.” he then hums, “but maybe that’ll change once there’s actually new first year students to teach. you both are assigned to them after all.”

you lean back in your seat, your shoulders committing to a halfhearted shrug. “maybe. it’s not like i never did anything bad to him though..”

nanami sighs gruffly. “don’t think about it too much.” before he can continue, there’s the sound of footsteps. nanami brings his newspaper back up, muttering, “speak of the devil.”

“nanamiiii!” gojo’s voice sounds from around the corner. it almost startles you how lively he sounds. you realize you’ve never actually heard or seen how he acts without you around.

nanami doesn’t respond, rolling his eyes.

gojo strolls in enthusiastically, blindfold on. “heyy, nanami, we should-” he cuts off when he presumably sees you, falling quiet and stopping short.

you blink, a bit hurt. does he dislike you that much? but you don’t let it show, resorting to greeting him politely like you usually do when you occasionally pass each other.

“good afternoon, gojo,” you muse, offering a little wave.

nanami notices his reaction too, but doesn’t comment on it. he continues to ignore the sorcerer’s presence in fact, eyes still roaming over the newspaper.

gojo clears his throat and resumes his pace. “afternoon,” he responds, focusing his attention back on nanami. he reaches the two of you, giving you no further acknowledgment.

you don’t care if he can see you looking at him, you opt to stare at the black blindfold covering his face. you have a hunch that he can see, or at least feel, you staring at him.

“can i borrow you for a sec, nanami?”

nanami emits an exasperated sigh, but stands nonetheless to follow gojo out of the room for some discussion not meant for your ears apparently, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

do you make gojo uncomfortable? you don’t know what you could’ve possibly done so though. from what you’ve heard from the others, he can be rather eccentric and overbearing.

does he just not like you? perhaps he views you as inferior, too below his level and power to actually converse with you. while it seems a bit of a stretch, you’re sure it’s not out of the possibility also based on what you’ve heard about him from others.

your frown returns. before you can dwell on it any longer, nanami comes back into the room. “well, i certainly see what you mean from what you said about gojo earlier,” he announces.

his words do nothing to falter your frown. “right.” you then shrug once more, “it’s okay. it’s just a bit.. strange.” you then shake your head, trying to be a bit optimistic. “but also like you said earlier, that might change! who knows?”

who knows, indeed.

megumi tucks the cursed tools inside their designated box and closes the lid. he moves on to the next one right as gojo enters the shed, beaming a smile.

“hey, megumi. you almost done wrapping up things here?” satoru asks, undoing his blindfold naturally. there’s a pair of glasses in his hand ready for use.

the teen nods. they had used a few cursed tools during training session today, and the storage did need a bit of tidying up. “almost done.”

satoru makes a noise of approval as he places his glasses on. “great! do you need help setting up your dorm room?” he looks excited at the idea, still grinning.

meanwhile, megumi looks disinterested at his offer. “no thanks. i think it’ll be easy enough. it’s not like i’m decorating it anyway.”

“oh, boo.” but gojo doesn’t insist on it any further. he actually falls strangely quiet, which causes megumi to glance at him curiously.

his teacher looks.. distraught. it’s hard to actually tell, but he seems to be looking at the floor, maybe lost in thought. before megumi can say anything, gojo’s expression changes and he starts talking again.

“you’re, uh, with the new teacher for tomorrow,” gojo then informs. he shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at the floor absentmindedly. (he’s fidgeting. subtly.) “it’ll just be you two, i think, on a small mission. so they can get used to actually working with students on field. it’ll be good for the both of you.”

megumi nods. he tilts his head afterward. “you can say their name, you know. it won’t kill you,” he says a bit pointedly, “and they’re not technically new anymore. it has been a few weeks now since they’ve joined the school.”

“right, right.” megumi’s face scrunches up as gojo’s hand comes down to ruffle his hair gently. (a habit that has not died since his younger days.) “whatever you say, megumi.”

despite your minimal interactions and his rather closed off demeanor, megumi is actually one of your favorite students. (and yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have favorites, but oh well.)

your mission with megumi, or rather, the mission you’ve been assigned to supervise the student on, is rather simple.

there’s been reports of a low grade curse roaming the premises of a supermarket neighboring a nearby cemetery, so megumi is to obviously exorcise it under your watch. the area has been closed off with a small veil. megumi had decided to check the parking lot first for any lingering traces, so here you are.

“i think we’re good here,” the teenager confirms as his demon dogs return to his feet, seemingly in the clear. you nod and let him lead the way towards the inside of the store.

as the two of you begin to walk down each aisle with one of the demon dogs trailing behind, megumi says your name in an inquisitive tone. “what do you think of gojo-sensei?”

the sudden question has you blinking in surprise. your eyes scan megumi as you both continue to trek down the aisle. “what makes you ask?”

“no reason.” he doesn’t meet your gaze.

you bite down on your lip in contemplation. you’re not sure what brings this question to mind for him, but you’re willing to indulge him for now. “well.. i think he’s.. alright.” you pause. “as a sorcerer, i admire his strength. though, i think a lot of people think that obviously.”

“and as a person?” megumi presses, turning to investigate the next aisle. he still doesn’t glance over to you, still preoccupied with searching for the curse.

(hell, for a teenager, he sure is perceptive.)

you choose your words carefully, thinking it over with a brief pause.

“i’ll admit, i don’t think i know him well enough to be sure. as a person, i think he’s.. self-centered and rude. sometimes, i see him act very carefree in a way. he’s.. obscure, i guess.” you clear your throat and reiterate, “but again, i don’t really... know him.”

you can see megumi go over your words silently. the quiet continues. the conversation seems to be dying, but it doesn’t matter when monstrous gurgling sounds up ahead.

a curse appears in front of you, the shelving of the aisles toppling over as it gargles some unintelligible roar. megumi doesn’t hesitate, using his technique to summon his demon dogs once more to swiftly engage in combat.

the fight is easily handled in three minutes top. (they weren’t kidding when they said it’d be easy.)

after the commotion has settled, you allow megumi to do one more check up around the store just in case. just as you are prepared to exit and bring down the veil, you decide it’s your turn to ask him now.

“and what about you, megumi?” you inquire lightly, giving one of the demon dogs a few head pats for their good work. “what exactly do you think of gojo?”

megumi hums.

“i agree with most of what you said actually,” he answers honestly, causing you to chuckle in amusement. the teenager tilts his head and finally looks at you. “but i also think he’s kind when he wants to be.”

his frontward honesty surprises you once more. this kid sure is something. you believe his words; he has no reason to lie to you, especially about gojo of all things. still, you poke at him teasingly, “really now?”

you don’t really expect him to answer, but then megumi says in a mumble so quiet that you nearly miss it.

“well, he did sort of raise me after all.”

“i just don’t think he likes me, shoko,” you puff out a sigh, watching as she puffs out smoke. “i’ve seen the way he is around other people, and he’s not like that with me.”

she’s on break right now, so you thought you could talk to her about a certain blindfolded sorcerer who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

it’s interesting to hear about the different sides of gojo satoru from your peers. from nanami, you’ve learned that he’s pretentious and troublesome. from megumi, that he can be caring in his own way. and shoko?

“he’s crazy.” the doctor waves her cigarette at you with a shrug of her shoulders. “but it beats me on why he doesn’t particularly like you.”

you groan, slouching in one of the chairs set up in the infirmary. “maybe i should’ve stayed in kyoto,” you mumble. it’s more of a joke than anything; your.. weird terms with gojo isn’t enough to actually deter you.

but shoko puts the cigarette back to her lips and tilts her head. “want me to ask him about it?”

you straighten your posture abruptly and look at her. “what? you don’t have to. he might think i asked you to or something.”

she shrugs again. “your call.”

your brows furrow. “maybe we just got off on the wrong foot somehow. even though all i did was shake his hand.” you snort. “maybe i can get him something to break the ice. what does he like?”

shoko doesn’t even hesitate. “sweets. he likes his sweets.”

oh. oh, okay! you blink and nod. who would’ve thought? the strongest sorcerer in the world likes sweets. “i can handle sweets.”

you, in fact, cannot handle sweets.

why are there so many? you’re at a local bakery staring at the rows and rows of pastries they have on display, looking as if you’re trying the decipher the world’s hardest math problem.

shoko never specified what kind of sweets he liked during your conversation with her a couple days ago. cake? ice cream? cookies? you might as well buy the whole damn store at this point with your luck. the last thing you want is to buy him something he won’t actually eat.

“oh, fuck it,” you mutter and finally decide on a small piece of cake. it happens to be your favorite kind of cake, but oh well. if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it! it’s the thought that matters anyway, right?

as you exit the shop with your newly acquired dessert, you try to devise a way to give it to him. do you just.. hand it to him? or maybe it’ll be better to leave it in his office. or have shoko give it to him!

ughh, who knew how hard it’d be to give a man a cake? okay, okay. you’ll simply give it to him in person since he’ll know it’s directly from you. problem solved.

well, actually, problem is not solved. how are you supposed to give the cake to gojo in person when you have absolutely no clue where he is right now? after returning to the school, he’s no where to be found, so you eventually turn to yaga for help.

“he’s on a mission where??”

you stare at yaga with wide eyes as he names some city so far away you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to find an affordable ride to get you there in a reasonable amount of time.

“oh, alright,” you say, feeling a little disappointed. the cake suddenly feels a little too big and heavy in your hands.

the principal’s gaze flickers down to your little intended treat for his former student. “these kinds of missions are no trouble for satoru. i’m sure he’ll be back soon, so you can leave that in his office.”

you brighten up at that and nod. “thank you, yaga.” you then dismiss yourself with a polite bow after he informs you where gojo’s office is exactly, and you start to make your way there.

it’s only a few minutes until you get there. you open the door and catch sight of a desk. it looks rather plain, which is understandable since it doesn’t seem like he uses this space often. (though, there is a chair that looks more expensive than your entire rent.)

either way, you walk inside and set the container down on the desk with a small sigh. hopefully the gesture is appreciated! if he really does have a sweet tooth like shoko says, you’re not sure why he’d turn it down. again, you can only hope.

you sigh again and turn to leave when the sound of the door creaking open sounds again. you freeze in place when it swings out fully, revealing the very man you were thinking about.

(yaga was not kidding when he said that gojo finishes his missions pretty fast.)

gojo perks up at the sight of you in his office, and even with his blindfold on, you can tell he’s got a surprised look on his face. “can i help you.. or do you have a reason on why you’re snooping around in my office?” he inquires, walking in.

while not evidently hostile, his appearance and words suddenly have you anxious. “oh, well, i-’’ you want to mentally smack yourself for fumbling over your words. “i’m sorry for intruding. i, uh, just wanted to leave you a little something.”

it’s only then does gojo look past you and makes a small noise. you can’t really decipher it, but you watch as he walks by you to open the small packaging to see the slice of cake meant for him.

and when he makes a small noise again, you can tell it’s one of delight. “you got me.. cake?” he asks, looking to you again questioningly.

“i did,” you clarify with a small nod, summoning a small smile and rubbing the back of your neck a bit sheepishly, “i didn’t know what kind of sweet you would like, so i just ended up choosing my favorite cake. um, i really hope you don’t mind the flavor, but if you don’t you really don’t have to eat it so-”

“kikufuku.”

you stare at him, confused. “what?”

“kikufuku,” satoru reiterates, and it’s his turn to smile. (it nearly catches you off guard because although very small, it’s pretty.) “s’my favorite. or.. one of my favorite sweets. crepes are good too.”

his newfound friendliness has you smiling a bit more evidently, pleased that this interaction is your most pleasant one with him so far in the weeks you’ve been here. “oh, okay,” you chuckle, “noted.”

gojo opens the container and unwraps the plastic fork that had came with it. he takes a bite of the cake and hums in approval. “can see why it’s your favorite. it’s not bad.”

your face lightens up at that. “oh, i’m glad.”

he hums, popping another slice of cake into his mouth. “any particular reason on why you’ve decided to give me cake, if i may ask?”

you falter once more, now nervous in telling that you’re hoping to.. resolve this one-sided tension with you. ultimately, you decide to be straightforward, inhaling deeply and looking at him. (well, his blindfold.)

“well, i’m not an idiot, gojo. you haven’t exactly been.. friendly to me. i’m not trying to win you over or anything, but if we’re going to work together with the first year students, consider this a gift for a truce. or um, a peace offering so we can act somewhat decent with each other.”

the white-haired sorcerer falls silent at your confrontation. you’re half expecting him to brush you off and walk out of the room entirely. especially since he seems to have stiffen up (similarly to the way when you first met, you had noticed).

he seems to contemplate for a bit. you don’t know where he’s looking at; the floor, the cake in his hands, you? it’s suddenly nerve-wracking.

“you’re right,” he finally speaks up, “i.. i’m sorry for my previous behavior towards you. can we start over?” he places the cake aside and walks back over to you to hold out his hand.

“gojo satoru.”

your eyes flicker to his blindfold to his hand, then back to where his eyes are hidden underneath. the rumored powerful and breaktaking six eyes concealed from your ever so curious sight.

against your better judgment, you repeat your name and take his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo.”

your new relationship with gojo is steadily becoming better. he’s no longer curt with you, and actually engages in conversations even with no other people around.

though, you can’t help but feel like he’d avoiding looking at you for some reason. which is pretty far off since you can’t technically see where he’s looking, but it’s a hunch you have nonetheless.

but hey, it’s progress, progress that you’re somewhat happy about.

like now, as satoru leans over your shoulder to peer at the clipboard in your hands. you’ve just finished wrapping up a lesson with the soon-to-be second years out on the field.

“ooh, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow, teach?” he pries.

“assistant teach,” you remind him teasingly, going over the contents of the clipboard. “more sparring. oh, and the registration for that new first year.”

“the one from the countryside?” gojo hums.

you nod. “yep. a.. kugasaki nobara. we won’t actually get to meet her, but arrangements for her arrival are getting finalized.”

“oh, boo. s’just more paperwork,” the sorcerer beside you whines, kicking at the grass.

“at least megumi isn’t the only one now,” you point out and finally turn to him.

just as you expected, satoru glances away to look at panda and toge finishing up. you squint at him narrowly but don’t comment on it.

“that’s true. not like that kid cares anyway, but it’ll be good for him,” gojo agrees airily, shoving his hands into his pockets.

you eye him. “hey, gojo?”

“yeah?” his head remains turned to the students. (further proving your point! you feel like you’re collecting evidence here; the gojo satoru cannot look at you in the eye!)

you hesitate. “wanna grab some kikufuku?”

he perks up at that. (like a puppy, really. it almost makes you laugh.) “mm, whatever happened to not trying to win me over with sweets?” he teases.

you laugh at that then, shaking your head in soft denial. “no- that’s not what i-”

“well, you did said kikufuku.." satoru interrupts you with a dramatic sigh and heave of his shoulders, “so how could i ever possibly resist?”

satoru doesn’t dare to look down at you.

“care to join me?”

but you smile up at him cheekily, and he hates the way the sunlight is hitting your features just right. it looks like the color of your eyes is glistening.

you’re just.. lying down on the grass of one of the training fields, admiring the drifting formations of white clouds on the blue canvas that is the sky.

satoru keeps telling himself that shouldn’t be doing this. his first mistake was accepting your cake. allowing himself to get closer to you. but when you look at him like that, he feels like he can do anything. which is odd, becaues really, he can do anything. it goes without saying as his status as the strongest.

but with you, it’s starting to feel a bit different.

when he doesn’t give you an immediate answer, you tilt your head and continue to blink up at him. “you can see the sky even with your blindfold on, right?”

he snorts. “yeah, i can.”

you pat the space on the grass next to you welcomingly, a beckoning that he just can’t resist again. “well, come on and join me,” you persist.

he hesitates, shifting his weight on his legs for a moment. against his better judgement, he joins you. it’s surprisingly comfortable, he finds, as he kicks out his legs and sighs.

it’s a comfortable silence that it’s almost startling. how easy it is just to be around you. (which is the exact reason why he had been avoiding you in the start, in fear of slipping up around you. he still might.)

“you get headaches, right? if you don’t cover your eyes.”

he chuckles at your question. “yeah.” it’s a half truth, half lie. he does get headaches, but for another reason now. you can’t get out of his head. (he’s got a suspicious feeling it’s because the soulmate bond is incomplete. but again, that’s just a theory of his.)

“‘m’sorry. that sucks.” you pout subconscously, still looking up at the sky to admire it.

he scoffs fondly, clapsing his hands over his stomach. “it’s no biggie. you think headaches can take down gojo satoru?”

“hey now, tough guy. they can take down me sometimes.”

(he’d fight off headaches from you if he could.) his heart is thudding against his ribcage, warning him. but he doesn’t heed the warning, and continues to lay down with you on the grass.

it’s a nice feeling. he doesn’t feel like the greatest sorcerer in the world with his colleague. it feels like he’s just satoru, pointing out the different shapes and animals you can spot in the sky with his soulmate.

“hey, that one looks like you!”

“hah?!”

“i’m guessing you and gojo-sensei are getting along now,” megumi bluntly comments.

it catches you off guard slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. (of course he had noticed how the both of you interacted from the beginning.) “oh, uh, yeah.”

and as you watch satoru go down the steps of the stairs to head over to you both whilst waving an arm with much more enthusiam than needed, you can’t help but smile.

“yeah, we are.”

this is a mistake. he shouldn’t be doing this.

but satoru can’t help but be so selfish, selfish in indulging in your looks, in your scarce touches. when you had confronted him with your peace offering as you had so called it, he had given in.

and now he’s spending more time with you. be it after lessons with the students, on random days where you have nothing to do, during weekends when there’s no authorities to bother him—he can’t help it.

was it the bond wanting to be complete? you were still unaware of his true identity, of what he could possibly mean to you, so why does he feel like he needs to be so close? he gets antsy at times when you’re not in his sight. it’s starting to affect him.

the soulmate bond, or lack of it—that has to be the only explanation for it. because he knows that you’re his soulmate, he’s subconsciously drawn to you and your presence. (it’s definitely not because he likes the way you smile, or laugh, or-)

fuck.

after a relatively tough mission, you’re obviously sent to see shoko. you’re not fatally harmed, maybe a scratch here and there. and okay, maybe a gash on your shoulder..

it had been enough to sort of knock you off your feet, but you’re fine. totally. exorcising a semi grade two curse at 1 a.m. in the morning was no biggie at this point.

once she’s finished tending to your wound, she dusts off her hands and places them on her hips. “you’re all set.”

you smile gratefully. “thanks, sho. can always count you to patch me up.”

she snorts. “well, it is my job.”

gojo suddenly appears right next to the table and you yelp, startled by his teleportation. shoko, on the other hand, looks unfazed, as if she’s used to this.

“gojo!” you blink, your voice taking a scolding tone soon after, “geez, you scared me! what’re you still doing awake??”

the blindfolded man falters, looking apologetic. “sorry. heard you got back from your mission.” he sounds worried, but before he can voice his concern, shoko rolls her eyes.

“they’ll be fine,” she says.

gojo’s shoulders finally drop down and he plays off his previous display of concern with a laugh. “ahaha, yeahhh, i knew that,” he scoffs with a wave of his hand, “i can’t bless you two with my presence?”

shoko gives him a displeased look before she turns around to tidy up her tools. you chuckle at her annoyance. “thanks for checking up on me, satoru,” you say sincerely. your eyes go over his appearance; he’s dressed more casually: a pair of dark slacks and shirt that expose his collarbones. not that you’re.. particularly looking.

but his shoulders seem tense again at your words and he hums quietly. (huh, strange. at least he’s not refusing to look at you anymore, you think.)

“well, i say this calls for a little celebration,” satoru suddenly purrs in delight, waving his hands in the air.

“celebration? for me getting kinda beat up?” you blow a raspberry at him, only for him to blow one at you right back. even though you had done it first, you can’t help but giggle at his childish antics.

he grins at that, then shakes his head. “heyy, i heard you beat up a semi grade two curse!” he says, “i think that does call for a celebration, does it not?”

you stare at him, unsure on whether he’s joking or not. wait, how did he even know that? well, maybe he had gone through the mission reports and assignments. still, you’re surprised that he knows. “you can wipe those out in less than a minute, gojo,” you point out with a raised brow, “don’t try and humor me.”

his grin lessens. “well, yeah, s’kinda easy for me, but i think that goes without saying. you’re telling me don’t wanna celebrate an accomplishment of yours?”

you look to shoko who is almost finished with cleaning up. she just shrugs. you look back to satoru and shrug yourself whilst rolling your eyes. “alright, we can celebrate.”

gojo fist bumps the air. and here you are again, giggling at him.

eventually, when he leads you out of the infirmary and to the teachers’ lounge. he digs through one of the fridges and hands you a bottle of what seems to be alcohol.

“i didn’t even know this was allowed here,” you mumble, settling down on what of the high chairs near the counter. you wiggle in your seat to get comfortable as gojo takes the one next to you.

you offer it to him but he shakes his head, nose scrunching up a little. “i don’t drink.”

“wasn’t this your idea?” you blink. “suit yourself, more for me.” you shrug and open the bottle to pour yourself a glass. and another. and another. and then another.

(you don’t know what particularly drives you to keep drinking as you talk with him, but perhaps it’s the way you know that satoru’s eyes are lingering just underneath the blindfold. you can practically feel his stare.)

and gojo watches you gradually drink yourself to being mildly drunk.

“okay, no more for you,” he laughs as he takes the bottle away from you and holding it above your head when you try to reach for it.

“awh, man.” you pout and rest your head on your arms on the table, looking at him the best you can. “you meanie. you got me drunk on purpose. give it back.”

he snickers, amused and endeared by your drunk antics as he pushes the bottle aside. “sorry. you’ll thank me later, pretty.”

pretty. he’s never called you that before. you wanna hear him say it again. (amongst some other things.)

“pretty.. you’re pretty. i bet your eyes are pretty too,” you say into your sleeve, your other hand reaching out to his blindfold, “everyone else says they’re v’ry pretty.”

he leans back to avoid your hand, heart pounding in his chest a little too loud for his liking. he wonders if you can hear it. “sure. i guess they are,” he says softly with a small chuckle.

“i wonder who my soulmate is,” you then mumble out. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s your incoherent slurring, but you sound.. sad.

before he can dwell on it, you’re slurring out another question that has come to your head.

“d’you have a soulmate?”

satoru’s eyes widen under the blindfold. he knows that you’re drunk. that you’re just saying things. but your hazy eyes stare up at him with a glint that makes his heart lurch.

and you won’t remember a thing in the morning, right?

before he can answer, you’re out like a light.

you wake up in the morning with a splitting headache.

with a groan, you sit up in what seems to be a bed that seems way to be to be your own, legs kicking the sheets that had been draped over you in alarm.

you have no idea where you are, but there’s a glass of water along with some painkillers on the nightstand beside you, which you down gratefully. there’s also the smell of food coming from outside the room.

you can piece two and two together that you’re probably in the home of someone you know.. your brain racks for information of what had happened last night but it’s only causing it to ache even more.

gojo.

you shake your head and make your way to what seems to be the bathroom to tidy yourself up. you notice that your’re still clad in your clothes of last night, so gojo had done the courtesy of tucking you in.

after you’re done, you take a deep breath and head outside.

you navigate your way down the hallway and follow the smell of food. as you turn the corner, you catch the sight of satoru in the kitchen. not that you doubted that the greatest sorcerer could cook, but for some reason, he looks so domestic.

he’s simply wearing sweats and a loose fitting shirt, your back turned to you as he tends to the stove, but the mere sight of it has your heart leaping into your throat. you have a feeling that it’s a sight meant for you, for you to see.

you don’t no how long you stand there, but suddenly a laugh rings through the kitchen from satoru teasingly. “take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer.”

you yelp, embarrassed. (sweetheart? you try not to think about it, but you hate the way it makes your heart leap again. he’s just.. messing with you.) “erm.. sorry. good morning, gojo.” you approach the kitchen and take a seat at the counter.

when he finally turns to you, he’s not wearing his usual black blindfold, but instead what seems to be white bandages. you haven’t seen it on him before, but you don’t comment on it though.

he says good morning back before serving you some food, which you thank him for gratefully. “thank you for the painkillers too. i didn’t do anything embarrassing last night, did i?” you inquire, half jokingly.

you try to remember what had happened last night, but your memories are still a bit hazy. all you can recall is talking with him about things and staring at him. (you’re not going to tell him that though.)

“nah,” he waves off, “just told me your darkest secrets, s'all.”

you straighten up. “what?”

“kidding, kidding!” he snickers.

you groan and drag your plate to you. “i didn’t know you could cook.”

satoru looks mildly offended, emitting a dramatic gasp as he waves the spatula at you in a petulant manner. “hey now, i’m no expert. but i can at least make some sort of breakfast.”

(he totally did not look up a tutorial on how to cook for you. definitely not. but he’s a natural at everything, so at least his naturally gifted skill is in his favor this time.)

“thank you, gojo.” a smile tugs at the edges of your mouth.

“satoru.”

“what?”

“c’mon, you’re literally eating breakfast in my kitchen,” he laughs, sliding a mug of coffee (probably with extra cream and sugar because it’s gojo) towards you across the counter. “satoru’s fine.”

you test the name on your tongue, paying little attention to the way it makes the man before you stiffen up as you grab the coffee. “satoru.. thanks, satoru.” you think you can get used to saying that.

(he does too.)

satoru turns away back to the stove. “you’re welcome.”

“hey satoru, what did you say what you wanted again? i’m thinking bubble tea but i dunno..”

he likes the way his name sounds from you.

“uh, satoru? satoru? helloo, earth to gojo satoru? satoru!”

oh.

fuck, he hadn’t realized he had spaced out. gojo lifts his head in a sudden motion, making a surprised noise. he smiles sheepishly. “what’s up?”

“you feeling alright, satoru?” you tilt your head.

keep saying his name.

“awhh, i’m feeling more than alright, sweetheart.” he shoots you a grin, liking the way your eyes reflect the café lights, giving it a warm hue. “i’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“you seem to be in a good mood lately,” megumi points out. ijichi, in the front see, looks at the two of them through the rear view in silent agreement.

(a lot of people have noticed actually.)

gojo pauses, halfway through unwrapping the plastic of a popsicle. it’s the same one he used to consume during his youth, but his taste really hasn’t changed after all this time. “oh?”

the teenager eyes him narrowly. “yeah.”

gojo merely hums and pops the icy treat into his mouth.

“heh, i guess i am.”

you can hear gojo and shoko’s voices coming from the infirmary, causing you to smile absentmindedly. you didn’t think you’d be enjoying their company this much in the recent months—especially satoru’s.

(strangely, it feels so natural to be around him, you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same. you try to write it off as spending so much time together for a while now, but you can’t lie when you say he doesn’t make the stomach churn with butterflies.)

you turn the corner and announce your presence to the two with a smile and wave. you catch sight of them when they glance over to you, noticing something different.

shoko is wearing her usual white coat with a cigarette in hand, but she’s got her hair tied up in a rare bun to keep any strands from her face.

but that’s not what’s different as your gaze strays to the man next to her, the familiar frame of gojo catching you a bit off guard.

he’s wearing his glasses.

you’ve never seen him wear anything but his blindfold.

how does he look even more breathtaking than without it? you can’t see his eyes still, no—it’s a deep, deep shade of blue that still blocks his gaze from anyone else. but it’s a more casual look, seeing as his hair isn’t being help up and a few strands fall down and you can see his sharp facial features a bit more and-

and then he’s gone.

you audibly make a sound of confusion and hurt, because one moment he’s there and the next he’s no where to be seen. he had vanished without a single world.

he’s fucking avoiding you again; the realization of it makes your throat close up. after all you had been through with satoru.

“what the fuck was that?”

shoko stares at the space gojo had just been standing, just as lost as you.

there’s a distance between the two of you again. it’s painstakingly familiar to when you had first met gojo and he had kept himself strictly professional with you.

and you don’t know why.

it’s back to the cold shoulder from him; you’re seeing him less and less around campus, and those times where you did hang out off duty are practically a thing of the past now.

satoru is going to be the death of you one day, you’re sure of it.

and you and satoru aren’t even.. a thing.

then again, you’re not even sure what you are. you’re friends, yes, that’s much more than clear, but why does it feel so much more intimate than that despite the fact that the two of you have never even done anything?

however.. a part of you knows that you want more. more of those days lying in the grass with him, more of those mornings eating breakfast with him in his home, more of those afternoon café runs, more of everything with satoru.

is that why does it hurts so much now that he’s pushed you away again?

satoru is praying that you’re not in there with shoko as he approaches the infirmary a week later. she had called him over, and though he could’ve easily refused, he found himself obliging anyway.

“hey, what was that the other day?”

shoko is blunt and straight to the point once he arrived, striking him with a petulant and expectant gaze with her tired eyes.

gojo blinks innocently, tilting his head at shoko. “what was what?”

shoko then rolls her eyes. “you know what i’m talking about. what was that. you just- walked out like they we’re going to kill you or something.”

that’s the thing. you just might.

the white-haired man frowns and continues to feign innocence. he’s starting to wonder why he bothered coming here. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

his avoidance causes shoko to frown as well and she crosses her arms. “you’re doing the same thing that you did with them when they first joined here.”

when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “avoiding them, pushing them away. i thought you didn’t have any problems with them. at this point, make up your mind because you’re just toying with their feelings and it’s not going to-”

“we’re soulmates,” satoru blurts out.

shoko is cut off, staring at him all wide-eyed for once. “you’re kidding.”

satoru falters. “i’m not. s’why i always wear the blindfold. and that’s why i.. i ran last night. just my glasses was too risky.”

what if he had angled his head the wrong way, what if you saw his eyes, what if you finally realized that you were fated to be together at the whims of the universe? he couldn’t do that to you.

“how long have you-”

“since we first met. i.. i could see it because of six eyes,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know why. i didn’t think i could have another one after-”

the two fall quiet at the mention of suguru, a heavy feeling hanging in the air between them.

“what are you going to do?” shoko asks quietly.

satoru sounds wrecked. “..i don’t know.”

“well.” shoko smushes her cigarette against the surface of the metal table. “you better do something before it’s too late.”

unfortunately, the higher ups have also noticed.

(the push and pull that has been going on between the pride of the gojo clan and a random transferred sorcerer from kyoto. nothing goes unseen by their tight hold on jujutsu society.)

and you are none the wiser when you’re an assigned a mission late so at night, at a secluded edge of tokyo. you would’ve questioned it, but after looking over the details, it seems easy enough since it was a low level curse.

ijichi drops you off near the location and bids you luck. the night is dark, with the shape of the moon only peaking out every now and then due to the clouds to offer minimum light, and then the veil is coming up.

it’s fine though, as you start walking to get this over with. the faster, the better.

what the fuck? the cursed energy here is much stronger than you had anticipated, almost as if it’s suffocating. now uneasy, you continue your search with more caution.

a low growl sounds from somewhere behind you, and you turn on heel to brace yourself in case the curse decides to catch you off guard with an unexpected attack.

your heart drops.

it’s a grade one curse.

something’s not right.

satoru can feel it. he can sense it in the air. something is lingering, a presence that makes even him feel uneasy, and he doesn’t know why. nothing makes him feel uneasy. but it’s a gut feeling, it’s the bond tugging and tugging and-

you.

something’s not right.

and then gojo is teleporting and finding ijichi in record time, giving the poor man a scare. gojo’s voice is on edge and leaves no room for argument as he demands the assistant director where he had driven you minutes prior. the veil still stands, undisturbed.

fuck, fuck, fuck- shoko was right. he should’ve done something before it was too late, because now it might actually be too late as he steps through the veil.

it’s too quiet for his liking, but the lingering silence only lasts for a few heartbeats before he hears you scream.

you’re going to die.

you don’t want to think that, but you’re definitely not going to make it out of this unscathed as you dodge the curse’s scarily accurate attacks, as if it knows where you’re going to move and land.

the curse screeches out something ugly, and you’re too stunned to react in time as one of its malformed limbs swings down with a speed that you can’t comprehend.

your throat cries for help even as the air out of your lungs, but then there’s the sudden brilliant flash of red that blinds your vision.

satoru?

you can’t see and your body aches everywhere while the sounds of the curse fade out. it’s replaced by the sound of someone speaking frantically. it is satoru as he crouches down at you, hands coming to lift you up gently. his infinity is off. “hey, hey it’s me,” he voices, “it’s me, sweetheart.”

satoru, it’s satoru. satoru is here.

you emit a sigh of relief, cloudy vision gradually focusing. you try and focus it on satoru, tracing over his features repeatedly, trying to engrave it into your memory.

“shit. those damn higher ups,” gojo grits his teeth into an angered scowl. the higher ups? were they behind this? you don’t know, but you know that you’ve ever seen him this furious before. “i am going to rip those old geezers apart limb from li-”

“satoru, we need to head back.”

he looks dazed, tufts of snowy hair now hanging a bit loosely over his blindfold compared to when it’s normally pushed upright. he even sounds dazed, the great gojo satoru, when he says, “yeah. yeah, okay.”

he’s holding on to you tight and suddenly everything seems to get blurry for less than a second before you blink. you realize he’s teleported you both not to the school, not to shoko’s infirmary, but to his penthouse.

the interior is at least familiar: white walls, a little messy, a couple of decorations, and—

“my place,” he clarifies, as if he had read your thoughts. he sets you down on his couch, uncaring if you’re staining the color of the cushions. but he doesn’t let go, hands still cradling your form so tight that you don’t know if you’re still shaking or that he is.

“are you okay?” you utter out weakly and scan him for any injuries while clutching at his arms, which is ridiculous because he’s untouchable. but you’re not in the right mind right now, and you have a feeling he isn’t either.

“i should be the one asking you that,” he retorts, and you also have the feeling he’s doing the same thing with you with the help of his six eyes.

“i’m alright,” you try to reassure him with a small shake of your head. it only aids you in wincing, but the pain is the last thing on your mind. especially with him here. “it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he argues, his hold tightening even more on you, if that was even possible. is that a slight tremor in his voice? “you almost died.”

“and why do you care?” it’s not a malicious question from you. it’s more of confusion, of genuine. after all you’ve been through with satoru, you’re not sure where he stands. what he feels.

he seems startled by your question, like he can’t believe you could ask such a thing. “of course i care! why-”

you clench your fists in your lap, eyes tracing over his face repeatedly. “i don’t know what you want anymore from me, satoru! you’re not- you’re not telling me the truth.”

“i didn’t want to hurt you,” he tells you hoarsely. god, you wish you could see what he’s thinking. what’s going on in that head of his.

“you did hurt me.”

gojo trembles. “i know.”

“you seem to know a lot of things.” your voice sounds tired. your hand goes to rest on his chest, where you can faintly feel his heartbeat underneath. (oh, to be the only one who can touch gojo satoru like this.) “what are you hiding from me?”

“i can’t hide anything from you.” he draws a slow intake of breath. he then whispers,

“but how am i supposed to tell you that we’re soulmates?”

your heart skips a beat.

gojo satoru is your soulmate?

astonished, you now stare at him with wide eyes. “why- why didn’t you tell me??” you ask, voice cracking. to think, all this time, your soulmate had been right there, right beside you, right in front of you.

then it all clicks. his off-standish behavior, his reluctant interactions, his avoidance. his blindfold. he didn’t want you to see his eyes.

he’s known all this time somehow—and oh, oh. his six eyes. your lips part in realization as you stare hard, as if you could see his damned eyes beneath the cloth that hides you from the truth.

“i thought that if you knew that we were soulmates, you’d-” satoru shakes his head. “something always happens to the people i love.” he hesitates, “you still have a chance. you can find someone else.”

“what if i don’t want someone else??” you say out softly in protest, gripping the lapels of his uniform.

gojo shakes his head again. despite this, he doesn’t let you go. like he can’t, like he doesn’t want to. “we’re not bonded yet,” he says your name shakily. “please.”

still gripping the collar of his uniform, you tug him closer to you desperately. it’s so clear, so obvious that he wanted this.

“satoru, have you thought about what i wanted?” you breathe out, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “that maybe, there’s a chance that i want to take the risk? that i want to be bonded to you?”

your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily. “that i want you too?”

satoru’s breath stutters.

“you haven’t seen my eyes.”

you cup satoru’s face in your hands, swiping your thumb under the space where his eye is hidden with a fierce tenderness that makes him listen.

“satoru, i didn’t need to see your eyes to fall in love with you.”

your confession has him stilling.

(all the times he had stiffened up in your presence, he had been falling for you, bit by bit. you know that now.)

his hand comes to cover yours, the one that’s still resting on his cheek, fingers smoothing over your knuckles. and then his hand continues to go up, up, up, and-

he tugs the blindfold up and over his head, revealing his eyes to you at last.

his eyes are gorgeous, a blue that seems to spill into your vision and take over your senses. a blue that you can get lost in, a blue that reminds you of the summer sky, a blue that tethers your soul to his, and you both can feel it.

the bond between you is so electrifying that you nearly forget how to breathe.

and then satoru is surging forward, closer, even closer, until your breath is his and you forget how to breathe for a whole different reason entirely.

he’s kissing you.

he kisses you like you might disappear right before him, his head angling into yours to capture your lips with a force that makes your world spin.

and you return it tenfold, one hand still cradling his face while the other sneaks to dig its fingers into his undercut, and he’s making a noise into your mouth with fervor.

you’re all too aware of his heat against you, the frantic touches he’s now giving into as he draws you closer. the surface of the sofa dissipates into nothingness and then-

suddenly he’s teleporting you both again—or maybe he’s kissing you dizzy. but you realize you’re now in space that’s not overly familiar with you, but you can tell it’s most likely his bedroom based off of the feel of the lush satin sheets underneath you.

less than an hour ago you were fighting for your life, and now you’re fighting for your life on gojo satoru’s bed.

“satoru, s’toru, wait-” you’re gasping for air, for something as he engulfs you with his presence. he’s everywhere all at once, and it feels as if the bond is intensifying everything he’s doing to you.

“nuh uh. think we’ve both waited long enough for this, baby,” he gasps against your lips, like it’s impossible to be separated from you again, “don’t know how much i wanted this, wanted you. drove me crazy.”

his words makes your head all fuzzy. you don’t even know if it’s the bond anymore, or just the way he makes you feel. maybe even both. your lungs feeling like they’re burning, but even then, you manage to get out,

“you have me, ‘toru, you have me.”

“yeah?” when he pulls back, it’s not even a few inches, his nose brushing against yours. his alluring eyes glimmer in the darkness of the room, and you’re almost so mad that you feel like kissing him again because he’s kept them from you for so long.

your hands hook over his neck again. when your fingers run over his undercut again, you can actually feel him shiver, causing you to giggle in delight. “yeah, ‘toru.”

“yeah, pretty,” he sighs out and he’s losing himself in everything that is you once more so willingly. your eyes, your very being, compels him to give you everything, so he does. “y’have me too. all of me.”

his confession rings through your ears before he’s kissing you again, kissing you breathless. it’s a blur on what happens next; feverish touches and passionate symphonies, but one thing’s for sure,

the magnetic glow of his eyes in the dark of that night is something that you’ll never forget.

as your stir amongst the tousled bedsheets, you can feel the warmth of a certain someone creeping over you, like a cozy cat searching for cuddles.

your eyes peer open to meet the blurry sight of the ceiling, along with the sight of messy white hair tickling your chin.

“good morning to you, sweetheart,” a voice says cheekily, followed by cascading kisses down your jawline, prompting you to giggle softly.

you watch sunlight spill over into the bedroom, engulfing the man above you in an angelic glow as he finally pulls back to look down at you.

so maybe you didn’t fall in love at first sight with gojo satoru.

that’s okay.

cause as you stare up into your soulmate’s pretty ceruleans in the morning light, you think you can fall in love with him like this a little more.

BONUS!

“you owe me.”

nanami drags a hand over his face as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. “this is the first and last time i make a bet with you,” he grumbles.

shoko merely smirks. “you have such little faith in gojo.”

“bet or not, can we go back to before they were together?” nanami looks like he’s close to investing in a pair of one of gojo’s glasses that can block any normal person’s vision.

satoru is clinging onto you like a sloth.

“babyyyyy,” your boyfriend whines, resting his chin on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your torso. you can’t help but giggle, endeared by his clinginess. (he had claimed it was to make up for the way he had acted in the past and for lost time.)

he’s like another part of you now. not that you mind. being his soulmate is everything and more—from the tender touches to the passionate ones, to the talks of everything: to the mundane to the serious. after all, your soul is his, and his soul is yours.

(and then his hands are sneaking off to places they shouldn’t be.)

“‘toru, not here!”

nanami heaves out another sigh as his hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “is it too late to quit being a sorcerer again?”

TAGLIST : @spn-obession , @deepestartisanhumanoidshark , @scarasw1f3 , @kalopsia-flaneur , @90s-belladonna , @peachipeachy , @chrystinaamanda , @kalulakunundrum , @hunnyheavenn , @dekusdante , @dontmindmelove , @cherries-lostgirls , @rv19 , @etherealstarlightqueen

+ a/n: this fic ended up being way no longer than i expected omg.. but thanks to all who asked to be on the taglist !! some didnt work so im sorry about that </3

like this fic? feel free to go ahead and check out my other works here! -> masterlist

691 notes · View notes

luuuuucyscorner · 2 days

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮- 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐧

Info: Tashi takes it too far with art and her protege

Tags: Angst I think? , Kissing, Tashi being a bitch, sort of reader x Tashi

Word count: 1,530

A/n: I'm rusty sorry if this is trash

Art and Tashi are greedy, and they know it. How else had their marriage come about, after all? If not greed, for one another—for different parts, different pieces, different people. And then, you had come along.

You'd practically dropped into their laps. Since Art had retired, Tashi had been itching for someone to sink her claws in, to sharpen raw talent into excellence. You—a pretty young thing, short-skirted and starry-eyed as you wielded your racket like a weapon in the Juniors Australian Open, to France to Wimbledon and all the way to a Grand Slam.

Tashi wanted you. Had to have you—and what Tashi wanted, Art wanted.

You melted like putty in their hands. Art's Career Grand slam was still fresh, and even if it weren't—you've known their names for as long as you've been able to hit a ball with a racket.

Its been a year since then, and under their tutelage; the world has become your oyster—the tennis world, anyways (which is the only world that matters). It's why, currently, you're sandwiched in-between Art and Tashi on the couch of a five-star hotel; TV replaying your game footage as Tashi gives commentary—harsh, but in-fucking-valuable.

Tashi's midway through an extensive analysis of your backhand, when her leg shifts and you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way her thigh presses into yours. Her words bleed away in the rush of warmth to your cheeks.

Art also seems more pre-occupied with kneading his hand in slow, tender circles down your back. It feels nice. Familiar. It doesn't help the way your thoughts are drifting, as if the two people crammed beside you are not literally married, and why would it matter that they're still leaning into your sides even though there's so much space on either side of the couch—

"Hey." Tashi's hand squeezes your knee, nails digging into your skin. "You want to be good or not?" She's sharp, scalding—but a smirk plays at her lips. Your cheeks burn. Art exhales, a low, breathy chuckle. Wife, husband and protégé.

"of course i do" you tell her nervously

'So easy', Art can't help but muse to himself, and his own eyes are drawn to the faintest pink flush of your cheeks. Tashi's face remains neutral. Her eyes fix on the screen. No expression, no expression. The only tells are in the slight, nearly imperceptible stiffening of her shoulders.

“So.” Tashi cocks her head, her dark brown eyes flicking to yours for a moment. “You’re not hitting as hard as you could be from your left side.”

"You know I've had an injury recently" you mutter.

“It’s been months.” There’s a tinge of impatience in Tashi’s voice now. “Do you want to keep making excuses, or do you actually want to fix the problem. Your game today was sloppy—your forehand needs work, L/n.”

your mouth presses into a thin line and you look away from her reservedly.

“C’mon, love.” Art tries to offer some semblance of assurance. His thumb strokes across the line of your shoulder blades, a touch that’s soothing and tender—but also possessive. Greedy.

Tashi’s nails dig just a little harder into your knee. “We’re only trying to help you out,” she adds. There’s a beat of silence. Then— “Do you think we like watching you lose, L/n?”

"I won today Tashi. I was good"

She scoffs sharply. “You were good? Don’t make me laugh. You know, I’ve seen your junior games. I’ve seen your first few grand slams since you started going big. This year? You’ve been—,” Tashi gives a short, dry laugh, shaking her head.

“You can’t even finish a game with less than five unforced errors. Your game today was so full of mistakes… it’s a wonder you even won the second set.”

She's still touching you. both of them are still touching you. tears begin to well in your eyes "I understand".

Tashi sees those unfallen tears, that first hint of fragility, and her expression hardens. “No, no, you don’t understand. You need to be hard—you need to be better. You’ve let too much get to you, L/n, and it shows in your game.”

"fine" you raise from the couch, their hands falling off of you, and walk to the door of the hotel, sitting in the hall outside.

They watch you walk out, and when Art makes to follow you, Tashi’s hand snaps out, latching onto his wrist. “Wait.”

Art raises a brow. The look in her dark eyes is hard and implacable as iron, with a hint of something dangerous flickering within. Tashi leans in, murmuring quietly so they can’t be overheard.

“It’s getting to her. You know it is. She’s too sensitive for her own good—not mentally tough enough.”

Then Tashi raises her eyes to Art's "she's like you"

At this, Art stills. The breath in his lungs hitches, his pulse stuttering in a flicker of panic. A million different insecurities and fears flash through his mind.

He manages a laugh—low, nervous—but Tashi’s expression remains implacable. It doesn’t even waver.

“She’s—she’s not like me,” he insists. "I made it to a Career Grand-slam"

Tashi scoffs again. “Yeah, on your second try. And Y/n’s on the fast track to the same. She’s good Art—great, even. But you know she’s not tough. You know she’s soft—she’s gonna break if we’re not careful.”

"if you're not careful" he says carelessly.

That makes Tashi give him a look, and it’s suddenly sharp, a little dangerous. The grip on his wrists tightens. “Art. Listen. You need to get tougher. Not just with her—you’ve gotten too soft, too. And that’s how you lose—that’s how you lose everything."

There’s something almost pleading under her words. Like she’s saying something more.

"cant you just let me be retired?" he begs, voice almost a whisper.

“No!” The word is sharp as a whip, and Art’s eyes widen in surprise as it rings out. Tashi stands, the line of her body stiff. Anger flickers in her gaze. “You don’t get to do that, Art. You’ve been retired less than a year, and you’re already slacking. Letting yourself go soft—slacking off on training, and working, and…”

She huffs out a sharp breath and turns away, clenching her fists. “I hate it when you do that.”

She turns away dismissively and Art walks over to the door and sits down next to you on the hallway carpet.

You're a pitiful sight. Curled up in the hallway of a five-star hotel, face buried against your knees, shoulders shaking in nearly silent sobs—and as Art settles beside you, the shuddering of your shoulders grows stronger, and your tears run more freely.

Wordlessly, he draws you into his embrace, wrapping you up in his broad, warm arms and pulling you against his chest.

Art lets you cry. Lets his hold tighten a little as you lean into him.

"I-I'm try-ing" you sob.

“I know. I know…shh…” Words soothe you gently, hands rubbing against your back and soothing the shivers in your spine in slow, tender circles.

Art's face is pressed into the top of your head, breath hot against your hair as you're half-curled into his lap. He's so careful around you, always, so gentle—because you're too easy to crack, too fragile, too inexperienced to know any better.

"We have to go back in" he mumbles into your hair, "We can't let anyone see you like this"

He doesn’t have to say the reasoning—it’s obvious.

If the press got a sniff of this? Of a junior player crying in the hallway? You’d be mocked to hell and back again.

Tashi would never let you live it down.

“Hey…shh, come on… it’s alright.” Art’s voice is soft and soothing. His breath is warm against your hair, every bit of him warm and gentle and caring.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, a gesture you could almost mistake for affectionate—if he weren’t married, and you weren’t his protégé.

You begin to calm down and allow Art to pull you gently onto your feet.

Once you’re standing, Art’s hands are careful, guiding you back into the room and onto the couch.

Tashi glances at you for a brief moment; there’s no trace of pity in her gaze or emotion. It’s cold, analytical—but you notice the way she takes in the way you’re tucked under the protective shadow of Art’s broad figure. There’s something like jealousy in her eyes for a moment.

"Tashi, I'm sorry." you mumble tiredly "If it's alright with you, I'd like to go to sleep now, I promise to get back on track"

Tashi’s eyes are still fixed on you for a moment before she gives a soft exhale, nodding. “Go.”

Art offers no opposition, and a moment after she’s finished speaking, he guides you out. His palm rests on the small of your back, a hand far too large to be that delicate but still moving with a gentleness that’s almost reverent.

He sends an appreciative nod to his wife as he leads your tired body into the bedroom and helps you position yourself under the sheets. He runs his fingers soothingly through your hair until you begin to drift off, sighing heavily.

#challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #mike faist #josh o'connor #tashi duncan #patrick zweig x reader #zendaya #tashi donaldson #tashi x art #tashi duncan x reader #angst

507 notes · View notes

yeyinde · 10 hours

Note

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival.

At first.

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising.

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever.

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.

Protection, he calls it.

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.

Vile man. Awful.

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.

“Need somethin', pet?”

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.

It's gross. Disgusting.

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says.

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.

you don't want him to stop.

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.

He hides his need under a layer of derision.

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full.

Mangled.

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.

He's—

Pretty.

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him.

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you?

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine.

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.

It coils around you. Thick, smothering.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan.

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao #hope you enjoyedddddddddddd #i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you

513 notes · View notes

babyleostuff · 2 days

Text

[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 9

いつで��君のそばにいること / それが何より大切さ君も / 僕の隣にいるなら完璧 ay ya ya / 広い like the sky

☁️ "24h" by seventeen

being loved by kim mingyu means having a small big teddy bear as a boyfriend. the fact that mingyu is quite clingy not only means that you always have someone to hug, kiss, or cuddle with - but also that he is your oasis who is able to ground you. his touch, whether it's a thumb brushing your cheek, strong arms around your shoulders, or just a hand on your thigh - mingyu is always able to convey so much emotion through a simple touch, as if he was silently telling you "i'm here, don't worry." besides, there is no place where you would feel safer than in his embrace - he is your home, your safe haven, your other half that makes you feel whole.

being loved by kim mingyu means having a travel buddy with whom you could travel the whole world with if you wished. apart from physical touch, mingyu thrives off quality time - he would spend all his time with you if he could, because what's better than spending time with the people you love? and combine it with his love of travelling and discovering new places? exploring the world with mingyu would be the most beautiful adventure of your life, because this boy has the power to turn every moment into a magical and unforgettable one. whether it would be sunny italy or ice-cold iceland, every place and every thing you did would be a memory that you would treasure for the rest of your life.

being loved by kim mingyu means having someone who will always be by your side to help you get up when you fall. he's always there for you when you need him, it doesn't even need to be mentioned, but while some people coward when they see their partner going through harder times and needing more support, mingyu would go through even the hardest part of your life with you. no matter how ugly it would get, how hard it would be for you to get up - mingyu is your pillar who would always stand by you.

being loved by kim mingyu feels like a warm home to which you come back after a hard day, like the smell of the sea, like hot chocolate on a rainy day, like a hug that you don't want to end.

“i’m yours for ever -- for ever and ever. here i stand; i’m as firm as a rock. if you’ll only trust me, how little you’ll be disappointed. be mine as i am yours.” - henry james, portrait of a lady

486 notes · View notes

neo-percs · 2 days

Text

BOY NEXT DOOR:: lee haechan

WARNING:: unprotected sex, grinding, hair pulling, spanking, oral f! receiving, fingering, vaginal sex, choking, biting, overstimulation, masturbating.

SUMMARY:: the image that your best friend has grown amongst your community is not the same one you’ve grown to know over the years, stubborn and attention seeking is all Haechan can be described in your, even if he’s fucking you in the raunchiest ways.

A/N:: we’re back in business!!! I just graduated, it’s almost been 4 months??? But now that it’s summer break I will be trying to post more often key word TRYING.

Haechan is a nice guy, everyone knows him, wants to be him, Hell even has crushes on him. You would know, you're his best friend, his neighbor, you had people coming up to you in class asking for his number and were bold enough to assume the two of you were dating.

I mean from anyone on the outside, or that lived in your neighborhood, people could painfully see how the two of you made heart eyes at each other. Yet every time Haechan was sneaking through your window at 3 am it's when he drops the act.

The boy next door who was so sweet to everyone didn't have a care in the world, his innocence shined brightly to any bystanders. Yet why was that when he sneaks into your bedroom after climbing the small treehouse the two of you made in your adolescence just to make out or even hook up?

It had gotten to the point you would continuously leave your window cracked just so he could come in. And like any other night, he pushed the window open and climbed right in, no shoes, just regular fitted sweats, a hoodie. You were laying in bed comfortably and looking down at your phone while he shut the window seeing how the winds began to pick up.

One of the lamps on your desk beside your bed keeping the room dimly lit, your bed was calling his name. Haechan had gathered his thoughts and courage before he decided to climb through that window yet now that he was situated under your sheets and putting his head on your shoulders watching you text someone he had felt a pang in his chest. A feeling he didn't know what to call.

You weren't dating, so why did he not like seeing you text someone else? This wasn't high school. You guys are friends and old enough to talk about how you feel, so why was it that Haechan was struggling to find the words on the tip of his tongue? These were all questions he had an answer for but refused to conclude.

Jealousy is a bitter bitch, and Haechan just so happens to be casually introduced to said bitch. He let out a sigh as the voices in the back of his head shouted at him to snatch your phone out of your hand and make you pay attention to him, and only him. So that's what he did.

His honey slender fingers find their way to your phone snatching it out of your loose grip and tossing it to the other end of the bed. "What the fuck?" You question looking at him with furrowed brows while he makes the same back at you.

The look on your face just made Haechan get pushed over the edge. Cupping your jaw he pulled you in for a kiss as he sucked in a deep breath, you arch your eyebrows pulling back "what is with you?" You ask as he continues to peck at your lips you hesitantly kiss him back his eyes were shut while yours were wide open.

"I just want all your attention" he whispers as his hand's trail to your waist gripping and pulling you closer and closer. Your lips pressing against his as you're content with his answer, your kiss is firm and addictive. Your warmth was enough to make his head spin, he had no idea what you were doing to him but he surely was hooked on the feeling of you.

Your legs are tangled with each other as you feel his tongue lick a small stripe on your bottom lip as he waits for entry. Opening your mouth in an instant you feel his warm tongue glide against yours as the both of you are breathing heavily and letting out small groans and whimpers.

The room was becoming warm but the feeling of his cold hands slipping under your shirt and rubbing at the bare skin on your waist set your skin ablaze, you've never gone weak in the knees over a make out with Haechan but this- this was completely different from any hookup or 20-minute make-out session.

It was more passionate and needy, all things you've ever done with your best friend were the complete opposite; rough, lust built. You couldn't blame Haechan though, he was rather the character in high school he decided to be headstrong and not follow the crowd of sex-crazed teens, yet once he made it to college he finally realized what the craze truly was.

the pleasure was a huge factor for Haechan outside of the public eye, he lost his first kiss and virginity to you, so he couldn't help but feel that attachment to you, some lines blurred and somewhere in the mix, he forgot to truly play a role as a best friend and not a boyfriend.

"You wanna do this now?" You asked as your wet lips ghost over his and your foreheads are pushed together gently. You knew Haechan was worked up but from the way he was acting, you weren't sure if he wanted to have sex or just kiss a bit and ache for attention.

But when his lips trail from the corner of your lips to your neck as he whispers out a "yes" you know exactly what he wanted. He felt himself slipping into a space nothing like before, he just needed you and it was almost like you were some snake with a death grip on his heart as you slowly but surely snake him into your grasp.

Your thighs clench and rub together as that incessant warmth between your legs becomes stronger and stronger. You bite at your swollen bottom lip letting your eyes roll back at the feeling of him sucking harshly on your skin leaving small hickeys that would bloom into pretty little splotches of red and purple.

Haechan learned what made you feel good and what didn't, your body was like a maze of wonders and he knew every curve and edge that could be marked up and tainted by him was nothing short of him knowing you like the back of his hand.

His hands trail up your back finding the clip of your bra and unhooking it, of course, your shirt was in the way making Haechan groan, let his hand slip from under your shirt to the hem and pull it over your head. The straps fall down your arms.

Your bare chest being exposed to the cold air, your nipples being hard as Haechan lets his palms rest against your chest, you let out small whines at the feeling. You lift your left leg over his making you straddle him, your ass pushing down on his bulge.

You fight your urge to grind against his lap to get yourself off. But once his hands find your waist he begins to guide them back and forth your panties that still cover your pussy rubbing against his gray sweatpants.

You could feel the vibrations sent up your body as he groaned against your lips as they needily pressed into yours. His hips began to move as he became more and more addicted to the feeling of you pressed against his restrained dick.

Once you stop rocking your hips against his, Haechan uses this as his opportunity to lift your leg over his and press your back softly into the sheets. He was casting a shadow over you as he found himself bent over between your thighs kissing down your chest to the waistband of your panties.

Haechan grabs hold onto the elastic band with both of his index fingers slowly pulling them away from your soaking core, Haechan felt a moan bubble in his chest when he saw the way your panties were practically sticking to your skin as it was covered in your slick.

Pulling the thin fabric down your legs and past your ankles he tosses it somewhere on your floor leaving you completely naked. Haechan began kissing from your lower stomach down until he was near your slit. Fighting the small smirk on his lips he kisses up your thigh leaving behind small hickeys.

You let out a small whine from his teasing "Haechan please" you beg under your breath not wanting to let the begging get to his ego, yet here he was with his face between your thighs looking up at you with faux innocence asking "what was that? Can you say it louder?" You knew what he was doing yet of course you were going to say it again because the tingling between your thighs was becoming unbearable.

"Please," you say with slight frustration, he didn't need to hear anything more than that. He wrapped both his hands around your plush thighs as he puckers his lips letting a small Pearl of spit fall into your glistening pussy. You throbbed at the feeling meanwhile Haechan lifts his hand and lets the pad of his thumb rub the saliva against your clit making you bite your lip with pleasure.

The feeling of his warm tongue lick a small stripe against your clit made you gasp, flattening his tongue he eases more into you, sucking on your clit you let out a breathy moan while your hand reaches into his hair tugging in the semi-wet strands.

His warm tongue lapping you up made your eyes roll back, his hand resting on your lower stomach began to find its way to your entrance, his fingers waiting for a moment to let his two fingers push inside you knuckles deep.

Your small moans and whimpers were making Haechan rut into the sheets as his bulge desperately begged for friction and in this best-case, he began to weakly hump the mattress and sheets that pressed his dick in all the right ways. His fingers push into your rigid and silky walls making your back arch in utter euphoria from the feeling of being stuffed with his fingers.

Your hands tug at his hair even harder as he begins to plunge his fingers inside of you at a bit of an excessive rate. The way Haechan along fingers curled inside you made your eyes roll back, his nose brushing against your pelvic bone as his tongue practically completely licks you clean.

You were gasping at the pressure at the pit of your stomach, Haechan let out muffled groans against your pussy as he continuously licked and sucked on your clit while his long finger rubbed against your rigid walls in places that your small fingers compared to his could never reach.

kissing your clit as he added another one of his fingers, a total of three now roughly pounding into you. He was bringing you closer and closer to the edge, ready to catch you. "Fuck!- oh my" you gasp feeling his suck on your clit harshly making you cum.

Kissing your clit gently as you come down from your high you feel your hips twitch at the feeling, your mind was utterly blown away from how good Lee Haechan is at giving head. You could hear the sheets rustling and clothes sliding off the boy's skin and dropping to the floor as you stared at your ceiling in an utter daze.

Your thighs glisten with slickness as Haechan's knees dig into the mattress while moving between your thighs, this time he's completely naked. His hard dick pushes up against his lower abdomen while you look at his toned body.

You don't know what was up with Haechan today, he's being more passionate with you and you liked it. It wasn't easy accepting the request of your long-time crush to be friends with benefits, yet you took what you could get.

His hand grabs at his base as he jerks himself off at the sight of you, your dazed face, your pretty pussy on display from him with your legs wide open and him managing to squeeze into the space between your thighs.

"You ready?" He asked looking down at you with hearts in his eyes, you nod and let out a hum confirming that you did want to continue. "Okay, turn around," he says softly. He almost moaned watching your chest bounce as you lifted yourself and turned onto your stomach arching your bag while the bed dipped under your knees.

"Fuck" he harshly whispers as his palm rubs against your ass. Guiding his tip to your slit he teasingly rubs in the precum that was building at his blushed tip making you whine at the friction on your sensitive clit. Haechan let out a small groan, finally letting himself be vocal.

Prodding his tip at your entrance and pushing it in until he felt your rigid walls accept his tip, both of you wincing as he slowly continues to thrust deeper inside of you until he bottoms out. His hips touch your ass as he gently begins to thrust, feeling the way you tighten at his shallow strokes.

The sound of yours and his moans with the low squelching of your slick was all that could be heard within the walls of your room. The way your walls hugged Haechan so deliciously made his grip on your waist tight as his nails dig crescents into your skin as he continues to give you shallow thrusts.

Your moans were weak and it made Haechan want to hear you, even more, he wanted everyone to hear you. His hips began to push harder into you making you moan louder in huffs. Your chest pushed against the sheets as your sensitive nipples rubbed against the fabric making it harder not to moan.

"Fuck- Haechan you feel so good" you slur as your hands clutch the sheets, the sounds coming from your lips make it hard for the boy to choke back his moans his hand leaving your waist to your neck putting little pressure as he pulls your back to his firm chest.

You let your hips bounce in his lap with every roll of his hips as the sound of skin against skin resides in the air. Your eyes were fixated on the ceiling as you fuck yourself on his dick and you were just overwhelmed with pleasure while hearing his moans in your ear.

He's picking up his pace Haechan lifts his head from your shoulder and lets go of your neck as he grabs ahold of your hair pushing you back down onto the bed, his grip was tight yet you didn't mind as he pounded you into the sheets at a bruising pace.

Haechan was hitting spots he had never even touched before when you had sex that made you slur out whines gripping at your sheets "right there! Please don't fucking stop" you moan letting your eyes roll back at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix repeatedly with each hard thrust.

Pushing your back down a bit harder to the point it almost hurt to arch your back Haechan felt himself tipping over the edge at the feeling "right here? Does it feel good like this?" He moaned breathily as he practically shivered at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him harder.

You nod eagerly as you feel the same pressure at the pit of your stomach "touch yourself for me" he groaned tossing his back, you let your hand slip between your spread legs that jiggled with each hard deep thrust as your middle and ring finger rub small circles on your clit.

You whine as Haechan lets out a string of moans continuously pounding into you, the headboard on your bed practically thumping into the drywall, you were surprised the bed hadn't broken the way Haechan was fucking you like a bunny in heat. You let your head fall into the mattress as you moan his name loudly, the feeling of your orgasm approaching vastly you lift your head "I'm gonna cum" you say as your lungs burn.

"Wait. I'm close too" he ordered and you listened, you tried hard to hold your orgasm and it wasn't until you felt Haechan start twitching inside your spasming walls had you decided to move your hips against his speeding up the pace as you were crying out for your orgasm.

The pressure finally releases as you both cum at the same time, you continue to move your hips as you fuck yourself through your high feeling how his cum paints your insides white with a warm feeling. "Fuck you feel so damn good" Haechan sighs as you continue to clench down on him. You hiccup as you feel yourself become overstimulated.

Haechan grinds into you seeing how your hips shake from overstim earning a whine from you "I- I'm too sensitive, please" you whimper as your voice becomes higher. Haechan was becoming addicted to the small sound he was hearing slip past your lips.

His hips thrusting into at a fast pace yet not enough to shake the bed, "you can give me one more right baby? Hm?" He asked as he felt himself becoming overstimulated as well, he didn't care as he continued to sloppily pound you.

Your hands shakily reach behind you to grab at his hands that were resting on your hips "please- it's too much" you moan as his hands simply swat your hands away as he gives a harsh slap to your ass making you moan at the pain and pleasure.

Your breathing was shaky and all you could do was try and push away from by closing your legs or even trying to pull away yet with each attempt you felt Haechan's hand crack down on your ass leaving a red hand print. You feel yourself shaking as your orgasm abruptly hits you, the feeling of clenching down sends shivers down Haechan's spine as he cums again.

Finally letting himself soften inside you he pulls out watching as a mixture of his and your cum dribbles down your slit and makes a small stain on the bed sheet. Haechan lazily crawls to the other side of the bed to lay down with a huff, doing the same your sweaty and fucked out face lays against the pillow almost falling asleep.

Being brought out of your hazy mind state he fills you against his chest that was thumping like crazy as he still had an adrenaline rush. "Don't go to sleep yet we're gonna shower and get cleaned up okay?" He says looking down at you who was now slowly blinking away the sleep in your eyes "okay" you whisper making him smile and kiss your temple letting the moment sink in.

Haechan knew he had feelings for you, maybe this moment just was an exclamation point on his mind finally settling with the words spelled out for him.

©neopercs

#𖦹—( neo percs )#haechan smut #haechan hard hours #haechan hard thoughts #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan x reader #haechan imagines

436 notes · View notes

fefern · 2 days

Note

How about some jealous headcannons for jiyan, calcaro and scar? Do they even get jealous at all? I just think about how I would flirt with them all, Rover is stronger than me. Anyway, have a lovely day ❣️

✧˖° when they're jealous. | jiyan, calcharo, and scar headcanons.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ synopsis: jealousy, jealousy...or whatever that oliva rodrigo song is. what's it like when these wuwa men are feeling a bit jealous?

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ characters involved (separate): jiyan, calcharo, scar, and gender neutral reader.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ warnings: none!

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ notes: hi sweet anon!! thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy these jealousy hcs, i hope i did you justice since i'm not a very jealous person myself > <;;!! requests are open, and all nsfw asks can be sent to @jiayouqi!

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ jiyan ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

the general of the midnight rangers is a pretty tough guy; he understands that you’re a sight for sore eyes, so of course people are going to look at you.

i don’t imagine him getting very jealous, he knows that you can handle your own and trusts that you wouldn’t flirt back with any of the people that try to hit on you.

but, if someone’s flirting with you for longer than a few minutes, or you’re looking uncomfortable, he’s quick to stir into action.

after all, you’re his partner, no one gets to flirt with or dote on you except him.

will smoothly slip a hand around your waist, give a quick glance at whoever’s hitting on you, and usually one look is enough to drive anyone away since he’s in a position of power in jinzhou.

if for some reason they’re stupid enough to fight back on him, that’s when he’s quick to snap back, mentioning how you’re his beloved and to back off.

jiyan will always turn to you and ask if you’re okay after anyone flirts with you, wanting to make sure you’re not uncomfortable.

he’s kind of like a dragon in that sense, guarding his lovely treasure with a level of protectiveness.

he sometimes gets jealous also when you’re gone for long period of time or vice versa, because he loves spending quality time with you and being unable to do so makes him jealous of those who can spend more time with you.

after he’s done being jealous, the feelings subside quickly and he quietly will hold your hand for a while, as if to let people know to back off.

overall jealousy score: 4/10, not easy to stir to jealousy but will be protective and stand up for you if you need him to. knows you can handle your own and that you’re strong enough to deal with the situation.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ scar ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

very vocal about when he’s jealous, the opposite of jiyan.

“BABEEEEE come on pay attention to me please please please,” puppy vibes

he loves having your attention, so when you’re getting flirted with or your attention is elsewhere, he gets very pouty very fast.

you’re meant to only have eyes on him! how can you be talking to someone else?

“love why were you talking with them and not me? :c” “scar that was a child-”

if someone has the guts to flirt with you while he’s around, he’s there in a flash and stands behind you protectively like a bodyguard.

very confrontational. he’ll tell them that you’re taken and that you have the best boyfriend in the world so he suggests they piss off.

will not hesitate to get physical and fight someone if it means protecting you and getting someone to lay off the flirting.

the only way his jealousy will subside is if you give him the attention he wants or tell him to stop getting upset before anything escalates.

he’ll immediately comply, even if he’s resistant or grumbling about it.

scar just wants to make sure no one else makes a move on his beloved, and even the simple idea of someone taking you away is enough to make him see red.

gets clingy when he’s jealous too, always wants to reassure himself that you’re his and his for life.

overall jealousy score: 10/10, it doesn’t take much to rile him up, and he gets very snappy when anyone even dares to look in your direction. you’re his and his only. some kisses and sweet words of affirmation will calm him down fast though.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ calcharo ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

in the middle of the pack when it comes to being jealous.

the main reason he gets jealous is because of possessiveness, but he’s almost never vocal about it. a silent guardian of you.

he can control his temper well, but his whole aura changes when someone even gets close to you, and it’s enough for most people to turn away from even flirting with you.

however, one touch from someone other than him and he’s ticked.

quickly grabs their wrist with a strong grip and gives them a deadly look.

“leave.”

his voice is deep and drips of venom, and if looks could kill, they’d be dead in an instant.

afterwards, he silently will just give you a nod and the two of you will go back to whatever you were doing.

he gets on the defensive though after someone flirts with you once during an outing, and he’s almost hyper aware of everything going on around him now.

is also the type of person where, if someone’s persistent with their flirting with you, or if you tell him that you’re uncomfortable with the other person, he’ll simply nod his head in acknowledgement.

the next day, they’re either dead or seriously injured, and it’s the talk of the town; you know he was the cause of it.

he won’t mention anything about it unless you say something, and if you do, he’ll huff.

“no one makes my lover uncomfortable.”

overall jealousy score: 7/10, not very vocal about it and is level headed, but if someone dares to try and flirt with you, he’ll turn the scene dark fast.

564 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 days

Note

hi mae, if its not too much trouble could you do something with james and r where r has to deal with likr a creep on a train or smth. ive just had a real weird experience rn and its just.hm

Ugh I'm so sorry babe, I wish we each had a James with us all the time

cw: man being creepy (no sa or harassment, just gross behavior)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 934 words

You clock the danger long before your boyfriend does, but you suppose it’s a lot more drilled into one of you than the other.

The man gets on a few stops after you do, and his gaze seems aimless until it lands on you. It’s not a busy time; the bus is nearly empty, but of course he goes and stands next to you as if there are no open seats. You should have known better than to sit by the aisle.

James’ chatter fades into the background as your mind starts to whirl with possibilities. What if this man grabs you? What if he tries to keep you from getting off at your stop? What if he waits until you get off, and then follows you home?

“Hey.” James is looking at you quizzically. He reaches for your opposite arm, scrubbing up and down lightly. “You okay?”

You use the touch as an excuse to lean into his side, murmuring so the man can’t hear you. “If that guy’s still here when it’s my stop, will you get off with me? Or I could ride to yours, if that’s better.”

James looks past you, noticing the man for the first time, and you see clarity dawn on his expression as he does the same math you had. You can feel the man’s stare burning into the side of your head; he’s not even being subtle about it. James pulls you closer to his side.

“Hey, mate,” he says, tension underlying his jovial tone. “Do you wanna take a seat? There are plenty open.”

You chance a look over, and the man’s eyes lock with yours like it’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. You feel James’ arm tense.

“You have pretty hair,” the man says.

You smile tersely. Polite, carefully unfriendly. “Thanks.”

That seems to satisfy him; the man does take a seat. The one directly behind you. Anxiety prickles over your skin at not being able to see him.

You at least feel better now that James is aware, too. He keeps his face turned to you, one eye on the seat behind you, as he picks up your conversation about the film you’ve just seen. Remus and Sirius were the ones who wanted to see it in the cinema; they thought it was artistic and meaningful, whereas you and James are in agreement it was dull and pretentious. Odd, aimless dialogue, experimental camera angles, hardly any plot. James thinks if you can get Sirius away from Remus he’ll agree. Competitive thing that he is, he’s hatching a plan to do so when the man leans forward and pushes his nose into your hair.

The sound of his inhale sends goosebumps racing down every inch of your skin. You go rigid, attempting subtly to lean forward while all the nerves in your body scream at you to run.

“Hey, what the fuck?” James doesn’t take care to lower his voice.

As though you’d been waiting for permission, you jump away, getting as far out of reach as possible before turning around. James’ arm has barred across the back of your seat, his hand gripping the pole on the opposite side and the muscles in his forearm strained with tension.

“What makes you think you can do that to someone?” he asks, equal parts incredulous and irate.

People in the bus have turned to look. The bus slows as you approach the next stop.

“Let’s get off,” you tell James.

“What?” He turns to you for a second before seeming to remember he should be keeping an eye on the man. Who has been silent, but for what he said to you. He looks entertained by James’ outburst, which almost scares you worse than anything that’s happened thus far. You know James is very fit, but you don’t want to get him in a fight. “Why should we get off? We haven’t done anything wrong!”

The doors open, and people start to file off. “James,” you say, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and giving a slight tug. “Please.”

He hesitates a second longer, looking somewhere between bewildered and outraged, before he says, “Fine, okay,” and grabs your bag. You tug him into the aisle, careful to keep both of you out of reach of the man. Once you’re off the bus, you start walking quickly, pulling James along and casting glances over your shoulder to be sure the man from the bus doesn’t follow. It’s only when the bus pulls away and he hasn’t gotten off that you stop.

“Ugh.” You heave a tremendous sigh, hugging James around the middle and dropping your forehead to his chest. “Sorry.”

“That was fucking insane,” he says, cupping the back of your head protectively. “Does that happen to you often?”

You let out a little laugh. “That specifically? No. But I know better than to talk to guys like that.”

“Sorry.” James kisses your hairline. Lets his lips rest there. “I thought it was going to help.”

“It’s not your fault, he was going to be weird either way. I’m really glad you were there.”

He squeezes you tighter. It helps you release the tension from your shoulders, giving in to him. “That was fucking disgusting,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m ever not there.”

You shudder. “Is it weird that I feel like I need to shower?”

“Nope. But do it at mine. I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that guy finding your place for the next several days.”

“How would he do that, James?”

“Dunno. But just to be safe.”

478 notes · View notes

peppermintquartz · 2 days

Text

"Kinard, you're not staying to watch the game?"

"Sorry boys, I got someone waiting." Tommy waves at the guys and flips the bird at the two who start making kissy faces at him. It's friendly joshing, he knows; he's not the only gay man here in Harbor, it's more about him finally having a boyfriend.

Boyfriend. It's a sweet word that makes him all tingly. He supposes that is how teen girls feel when they have their first boyfriends too. Mentally laughing at himself for comparing himself with teenage girls, he makes the long drive over to Evan's loft. His overnight bag is in the passenger seat. Tommy resolutely refuses to think too much about it.

There's nothing too forward about this, he tells himself, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel while he waits for the light to change. We are adults, we have had relationships with other people. And it's Evan who told me that I can stay the night after we watch the game - oh my GOD who am I kidding, I don't even care about the game. He exhales long and slow, licking his lips as he thinks about Evan's bright smile. He wants to kiss the breath out of Evan, and preferably all over the younger man too, without the obstruction of clothes.

Adjusting himself discreetly in his seat, Tommy turns on the radio, letting idle chatter wash over him. Traffic is at least cooperative, so he gets to Evan's loft only about ten minutes later than he expected.

"Hey!" Evan grins the moment he throws open the door, and in the next moment they're kissing. The overnight bag drops to the floor. Tommy blames the long shift earlier for the soft moan that Evan's kiss draws out of him. Evan may not know it, but he drives Tommy crazy with his pretty eyes and long legs and that mouth-

Except when Tommy tries to push Evan towards the wall, Evan resists. Tommy pauses, wondering if he's crossed some boundary he didn't mean to.

Evan is flushed in the most delightful way, and his breathing is just a touch heavier than just now. His tongue flicks over his lower lip. "I don't mean to stop you," Evan says in a low whisper, "except, uh. We have guests."

Only then does Tommy look to his right and see Eddie, Christopher, Howie and Maddie around the kitchen island all staring at him, with varying degrees of surprise and amusement. A little girl is on Maddie's knee, too busy munching on chicken nuggets to pay attention.

Howie is grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "Hi Tommy. Glad you made it."

Maddie whispers something to her husband and they both giggle, acting more like high school sweethearts than grown adults.

"Hey guys," says Tommy, a little embarrassed. "Guess we're watching the game together."

"We made empanadas," Christopher offers. His gaze goes from Evan to Tommy and then to his father. "The two coolest guys I know are dating and you didn't tell me?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gasped in mock outrage. "They're the two coolest guys you know? What about me?"

As Evan joins the group at the kitchen, laughing and teasing, Tommy feels his heart grow warm and light. This is what I want, he thinks as he drops his overnight bag next to the stairs. To have someone welcome me at home, to have dinner with people I like and love, to enjoy a great time together.

I'm gonna fight to keep this for the rest of my life.

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #idek what i'm doing #i have not watched anything outside of clips #anyway i like lou ferrigno jr's performance very much

433 notes · View notes

yumeboshi · 2 days

Note

Mmmm, may I order myself a bloody pomegranate sundae? Looks quite delectable! ♥️

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @yandere-romanticaa .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚BLOODY POMEGRANATE SUNDAE：disturbingly red but it smells good at least．．

𐙚 dish desc。．yandere hsr men’s reactions to getting caught in the middle of one of their messy crimes.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。general yandere themes, mentions of gore and violence, manipulation, filthy, light minors dni warning

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。aven, sunday

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ “so what if i’m crazy? the best people are”

。no literally 。this man has no shame at all. he’d give you the widest smirk in the world, staring at you straight in the eyes with those intimidating eyes of his while carelessly wiping off some blood from his expensive attire. 。“oops, you caught me.” 。it would be rather unsettling about how unfazed he is. when you call him a murderer and all sort of insults you can think of, he’d just laugh and tell you it’s all part of the ‘game’ you two were in. 。he’d love the horrified look on your face, though, so do be prepared for now intentional bloody corpses anywhere you go. 。aventurine himself knows what he’s doing is wrong. unlike a certain someone but he will submerge the voice of reason inside him if it means that it’s needed for his ‘end goal’ — which is securing you all to himself. he knows you’re breaking him apart, ruining his mind with your thoughts that gnaw on his morals like parasites, but at some point he had just decided to succumb to it. after all, he does not have anything left to yearn for if you’re gone. 。it is almost like he clings to you for his own sanity, ironically enough. you are the cause of him breaking down and yet you are also the one who lets him know why he’s still alive, so for him, killing someone is equal to reminding himself about what he’s living for. 。this gambler won’t know when to stop— he relishes in the thrill of it, he even likes getting caught by you. his sick mind thinks it’s hilarious.

“YOU DON’T have to stare at me that much,” aventurine chuckles.

how could you not, with the obvious residue of blood splattered all over him, he doesn’t even bother wiping it off. the dim candlelights flicker to illuminate your mortified face, because the seat that was occupied moments ago before you excused yourself to get something, was now empty. your dinner date with your friend was cancelled by force.

the man in front of you carelessly slides the scarlet chair out to sit in the formerly occupied place, the chair making an ugly creak as he does, crossing his legs- leaning back leisurely as he smiles at you through despicable eyes.

“i know my attire is ravishing tonight, but please, feel free to order anything else.” he gestures to the spread menu. you can’t even touch it with the substance that contaminated it, no, contaminated the whole table you were sitting in— the angelic white rose jar decoration is broken and red is bleeding into their fragile petals, the ravishing steak is inedible, broken utensils are scattered everywhere on the luxurious tiles of the restaurant, and it’s eerily quiet except for the soft romantic jazz that echoes creepily across the silence.

when you try to leave- to get away from this insane monster that is him, he stops you and pouts, telling you he’s waited for so long, surely they could have an impromptu date. you were his fiancé, it was natural for him to want to treat you to dinners alone- he’d say with a chuckle.

“dates out of the blue are always fun, don’t you think?” he would say with a smile as he eats the steak without caring much about the taste- he has his pretty princess all to him, that’s what matters more. that should be the only thing that matters.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ justifies himself

。this paranoid and obsessive man will have the most difficulty suppressing his desire to make a complete massacre 。he just can’t stand seeing someone even close to you. but as the head of the oak family, he’s also the most reputable person so he cannot risk that to succumb to his needs. 。he still will though, just not obviously. his murders are calculated and too well-woven to be suspicious of from the public eye, he knows how to pin crimes on someone else and it’s certainly not his first time doing this. 。when you raise eyebrows- he’d smile and laugh about how you’d think such lowly of him. he was your sweetheart, so you didn’t think much of it either. 。“please, love. now im quite offended.” 。he was definitely pondering over how you caught up though, so he’s going to put in extra effort to cover his tracks. 。but there’s times he loses his composure and doesn’t bother to cover up his crimes. he snaps, letting go of the thin string of sanity that held him together- and when you see that, he’d suddenly go all sweet, cooing to you that this was all for your own good. 。“they were hurting you, angel. hurting you. you’ll never be heartbroken again, not in my arms.” 。sunday is a master manipulator. human emotions are something he has dealt with tons of times. he will know what to say and what to do to pull on your cogs as if he’s performing clockwork. 。when even his reasoning and silver tongue doesn’t work on you- he would hate to do it, he doesn’t want to artificially make his darling, but for the greater good, he would, brainwash you. like mentioned, he’s a firm believer of the end justifies the means.

STANDING upon you is a fallen angel with his attire drenched with blood that isn’t his. you can tell with the way his pristine gloves are stained to oblivion.

you see his business smile crack slightly when he sees you standing in the doorway, horrified. “apologies,” sunday says with a smooth voice, but his eyes waver a little, but soon harden- as if there’s a completely rational reason why he has done whatever he did to your poor friend that was waiting for you in your room.

“what…?”

his cold eyes suddenly melt at your mortified look- he sighs with condescension, as if somehow you’re the one in the wrong. “it’s my sincere apologies i intruded your room without warning, but I must say, the situation was rather… suspicious, hm?” he slowly walks towards you- every step pronounced and clicking against the tiles as if death is knocking on your door.

“another man sitting in the bed we share? I don’t think that’s appropriate, don’t you think?” he’s close enough to push you onto the wall- blocking your escape route. “isn’t he the same person who forgot to send you presents on your birthday?”

sunday doesn’t actually care about the presents part- he was the one who discarded his gift before you could get it, anyway. he’s using it as an excuse to reprimand you.

“y-yes, but that’s not an excuse to—“

“ah ah, I don’t think there’s much of an excuse to make here. you’re dodging the point. tell me, am i not enough for you?” his sickly sweet voice isn’t paired with the sweetest gesture- in fact, you can feel his stained hands press your neck ever so slightly.

you have no other choice but to say you’re sorry- begging him that you really weren’t cheating on him; and it was just an unfortunate coincidence your friend was on the bed. every time you pleaded, he’d sigh and shake his head as if he’s giving in to your desperate begging to not leave you here alone, but inside, his heart pounds with delight seeing you break down and lose your reason.

“oh, you pathetic little dove. always needing someone to protect her from evil.” his hands caress your head, leaning into you to envelop you in a tight embrace he doesn’t plan to let go of. “you keep trying to fly away, yet you know nothing about the world around you.”

your pleas echo louder as his fingers touch your lips, stinging your nose with the metallic smell on them, and he pulls you in for a kiss that makes you choke, his tongue intruding your mouth that spills out drops of saliva from the lack of breath.

“—so I’ll make you a lovely cage, sweetheart.” he whispers against your lips, smiling through his devilishly handsome gaze before devouring them once more.

#𐙚．。articles #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #sunday x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail yandere #sunday smut #sunday x you #aventurine smut #aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yes I only write for these two at this point

384 notes · View notes

hxnbi · 2 days

Text

⸻ ɞ "for you and only you"

them buying gifts for you ﹒﹒wind breaker boys ♡

꒷꒦ pairings: hajime umemiya, jo togame, ren kaji, akihiko nirei, hayato suo, haruka sakura, toma hiragi, kyotaro sugishita x gn. reader (separate)

HAJIME UMEMIYA | 梅宮一 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

A man who goes all out for occasions such as this, but not with the typical pricey gifts and extravagant items many might initially suggest. Instead, UMEMIYA chooses something somewhat whimsical, to the surprise of everyone and, at the same time, no one.

He dives headfirst into his garden, tending to plants with the same care and attention most people reserve for rare jewels. Why? Because in his eyes, nothing says "I love you" quite like a potted fern or a blooming orchid that he’s nurtured from a seedling and shoved into your arms. On various occasions when you would visit Furin, you would, to your surprise, unexpectedly catch your boyfriend with dirt under his nails and a triumphant grin on his face, presenting you with a beautifully grown plant.

"I grew this just for you!" he declares, utterly beaming with pride and happiness. "Don't you like it?!"

You laughed. Of course you did. It's why you fell in love with him, after all. It was like having a child in a teenage guy’s body. Of course, Umemiya loves to spoil you in other ways, too. If you were to ask him for anything, you would get it within a day. You ask, and you shall receive. He's all about giving you little thoughtful gifts on the daily and showering you with attention—his clinginess almost feels like a gift in itself, if you could call that so.

Still, he understands that material items and grand gestures only go so far. A cliche, yes, but regardless, Umemiya's gifts are not just plants—it's the love he pours into every small, thoughtful act. When he hands you a plant, it's not just a simple gift. It's a piece of his heart, cultivated and grown with you in mind. Some might say he’s overdoing it when he shows up with yet another rare flower or exotic herb, all the while practically suffocating you physically with all his affection as the others, like Hiragi, watch with either deadpan faces or in true horror like Nirei, the poor guy can never catch a break. Perhaps he is, but in Umemiya's eyes, showing his true love is never overdoing it. Never to you.

JO TOGAME | 十亀条 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Get yourself someone like TOGAME who pays attention to the little things. Not to say that the others don’t, but there’s just something about Togame that makes you feel truly seen at all times, even if he does initially seem like his mind is off in another dimension. At first glance, Togame might initally appear aloof, his eyes blank and glazed over as if he's contemplating the philosophy of life or trying to recall if he left the stove on when he left home that day.

He’s got that spaced-out look, constantly unfocused and seemingly lost in his own world. But don’t let that fool you—despite that continually distracted look of his, lies a man who notices and knows everything about you. Never in a creepy way, of course. Because beneath that absent-minded exterior is a man who catches all the little details. Togame remembers your offhand comments, the fleeting glances you cast at little things that catch your eye, and even the snacks you like to munch on during your and his late-night at-home dates together. It’s almost comedic how he can be so scatterbrained one moment and then present you with a gift that’s so spot-on it feels like he read your mind.

It’s impressive and a little baffling to see just how attentive he is. He’ll hand you a beautifully wrapped present and, with a nonchalant shrug, say, “I noticed you were eyeing this the other day.” Meanwhile, you’re left wondering when he even managed to notice, considering he now seemed wholly engrossed in staring at a cloud—but in reality, all he looks at is you and only you.

REN KAJI | 梶蓮 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

At first, KAJI may appear to know what he's doing, giving off an air of confidence and exuding an aura so convincing that even his own friends believe he's got everything under control and that Kaji had the perfect gift planned out for you. But, oh, if only they knew. Because internally, it is anything but controlled. Kaji is a frantic mess from head to toe and is just barely holding it together. For Christ's sake, Nirei one time even found the second year furiously muttering and cursing out a cluster of innocent plants on the school field, seemingly at being useless sacks of leaves.

Nirei would never understand quite why that happened, nor did he bother to ask, in fear of his potential demise by doing so...

Regardless, Kaji meticulously plans, second-guesses himself, and agonizes over every decision, to the point where multiple times, he would take off his headphones in the hopes of finding total concentration and that maybe, just maybe, an idea would hit him. Spoiler, it doesn't. It was a strategy that only ended in disaster. The sight is almost comical—Kaji, usually so composed, reduced to a bundle of nerves as he tries to decide if you’d prefer a handmade card or a store-bought one. Eventually, he abandons both the plants and his failed attempts at making a DIY gift of his own, pivoting to something that’s more “him.”

After all his frantic efforts and internal chaos, he sheepishly presents you with a handmade mixtape, carefully curated with songs that remind him of you and your time together. Each track is selected with care, and when he finally presents it, his nerves are palpable. Any kind of reaction that wasn't disgust, he would be happy with. Unbeknownst to even himself. However, your first reaction to receiving it was to immediately embrace him. It's a gift that speaks volumes, even if he struggles to express it in words. A blend of his love for music and his love for you. Because beneath his aloof exterior, and despite the chaos behind the scenes, lies a heart that beats just for you and you alone.

AKIHIKO NIREI | 楡井秋彦 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Enter NIREI, the human encyclopedia of your life, with a notebook thicker than a brick and more detailed than your school textbooks. Nirei probably has anything and everything you've ever said written down in his notebook. His meticulous, borderline frantic nature means he doesn't miss a single detail, capturing every word you utter with precision, whether you genuinely meant it or not. Seriously, the guy probably has a section dedicated to your favourite foods alone.

He’s constantly with a notebook in hand, furiously scribbling down every passing comment, no matter how trivial. To him, it's better to be safe than sorry—after all, he can’t afford to disappoint you, not when he's committed to being your personal mind reader, one way or another. In fact, it would come to the surprise of no one if Nirei had an entire 500-page notebook dedicated solely to you, complete with tabs, colour-coded highlights, and footnotes.

And those who do find out about this "notebook" and read through even just the first page are utterly deadpan at just how smitten Nirei was for you. The hearts in his eyes practically say it all. His dedication to cataloguing your every whim and fancy might seem a tad extreme to the common folk, but to Nirei, it's all in the name of ensuring your happiness. And when he does present you with a gift, it feels almost magical, as if he's read your mind. Sure, it’s a bit unnerving to know that he probably knows your cafe order better than you do, but hey, at least you’ll never have to worry about forgetting your preferences. It's more than just a gesture, his careful attention to detail makes every gift a meaningful token of his affection. With Nirei by your side, it's like having your very own walking, talking wishlist. Even if Nirei isn't strong physically—he can't fight like everybody else in Furin—his meticulous planning and thoughtfulness show just how far he's willing to go in order to make you happy.

HAYATO SUO | 蘇枋隼飛 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Now, let’s talk about SUO, Furin's resident memory master. Unlike Nirei, who hoards notebooks like a squirrel hoards acorns, Suo relies solely on the immense storage capacity of his brain to keep track of every single detail about you, retaining it all in his memory alone.

His mind is like a steel trap, capturing every little detail about you, his significant other. He can effortlessly recall every conversation, shared moment, and quirky little habit you have and stores it in his memory, all the while keeping it secret behind that enigmatic smile of his. He's a mysterious man, even to you, but you can always tell his intentions are pure, no matter how initially suspicious he may be.

Some might call it borderline telepathic, but to Suo, it’s all just part of being deeply devoted to you in his own way. When he comes to you with a perfectly timed gift, it’s not because he’s some kind of mind reader (although it sometimes does feel that way). It’s simply because you’re the most important thing in his world, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, even if it means sacrificing a little extra brain space for the cause—as if that’s even troubling to him. Gifts from Suo are always a surprise, even to you. He hides things incredibly well without you knowing a thing. But it's not without a touch of mischief, considering all the pranks and teases he often likes to pull. You frequently find yourself asking him, "How did you even know I wanted this?" only for him to aloofly reply with a cryptic smile or an offhanded comment.

"Oh wow, Hayato, how did you know I wanted this?!"

"Oh, I just happened to notice when I saw how your face lit up at the sight of it the other day."

"I- wha- …you got it from just noticing my reactions?"

"Of course! Who would I be if I didn't notice such a thing from my significant other?"

"A stalker..."

"Now now, don't be like that!"

HARUKA SAKURA | 桜遥 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Anyone and everyone with ears that day who are unlucky enough to cross paths with SAKURA that day would no longer be the same after getting a panicked earful from his guy. Just imagine him, frantically running around like a chicken with its head cut off, who turns gift-giving into a mission worthy of a military operation, and that is Sakura Haruka.

He’s the guy who interrogates his friends about what to get you, practically hosting a roundtable discussion as he frantically brainstorms the perfect gift. Picture him pacing back and forth, sweating bullets, and badgering everyone in sight for advice. He consults everyone he knows, hoping to find some idea of the ideal present that will light up the smile on your face—one that he has grown to love and cherish. Sakura's desperation knows no bounds; he's calling up acquaintances he hasn’t even bothered to speak to until now, just to get their input on this seemingly not-important dilemma. But once the dusk settles and he's had a moment to gather his thoughts, Sakura is the one to make the final call.

And in the end, he gets you a gift that is perfect and oh-so-thoughtful. The effort he puts into his choice shows just how much he cherishes you in his life and will continue to do so. It's not just a gift; it's a heartfelt expression of his love, chosen all with the intention of making you smile. Though he will never admit to you how long it actually took for him to get that singular gift for you. Not even on his grave.

TOMA HIRAGI | 柊登馬 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Poor HIRAGI, who, at first, dives headfirst into the idea of gift-giving with all the enthusiasm in the world. He's got that determined look in his eyes—a look enough to scare off any middle-schooler within a mile—ready to craft the perfect present for you. Fast forward a few hours, and he’s surrounded by a chaotic mess of craft supplies, looking at his creation with dawning horror. Realization hits him like a pound of bricks. The gift is utter garbage, something you’d never like... Hiragi first tries to salvage it, maybe gluing on a few more sparkles or attaching a heartfelt note, but deep down, he knows it’s a lost cause.

His mind goes into overdrive, perhaps popping more than a few nerve pills into his mouth as he hurriedly rethinks his plan, determined to make things right. In a moment of panic, Hiragi scrambles to come up with something better. His mind races, and he quickly pivots to Plan B. He ditches the failed craft project and decides to give you something far more meaningful—a date, an entire day planned around your favourite activities.

From a breakfast at your favourite cafe to a scenic walk in the park with an amazing view of the sunset, followed by a movie marathon of your beloved films, this time, he is confident. Hiragi pours his heart into creating an experience rather than a physical gift. It's a corny move, sure, but his dedication to making you happy shines through. Your happiness is the true present Hiragi strives to provide and cherish with all his heart. Ultimately, it's not the material items that matter but the love and effort he puts into spending time with you. His actions speak louder than any physical gift ever could.

KYOTARO SUGISHITA | 杉下京太郎 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

To him, this was something not to be taken lightly. Thus, his plan was put into motion. SUGISHITA's quest to ensure perfection involves quiet observation that borders on creepy, with intense staring sessions that would make even the most seasoned blush just to get the perfect gift for you. You can practically feel his eyes boring into you as he notes your likes and dislikes, all while maintaining an innocent facade—at least, in his eyes. From your perspective, you beg to differ, but you let him have his moment. Through this, Sugishita tries to gather intel on your favourite foods, movies, and even the type of socks you prefer. His dedication to the art of gift-giving is both impressive and slightly unnerving, but hey, it’s all in the name of love, right?

And when he finally presents you with a gift, it's like he's unveiling some kind of masterpiece he's been working on for months. And in a way, he has been. Even when you know what he has been doing all this time, your heart still melts. Tears fall, and all Sugishita does is frantically comfort you in the best way he knows how—which isn’t saying much, but hey, he's trying his best. He may not wear his heart on his sleeve, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. His methods might be a tad unconventional, but there's no denying the thought and effort he puts into making you happy. After all, who needs words when you have Sugishita's silent but effective gestures of love? His silence all but screams his genuine heart for you. Because each time he's with you, he feels comfortable in your presence, no matter what, without ever needing to say a word.

EXTRAS

CHOJI TOMIYAMA | 兎耳山丁子 ─ ✦ . ⁺ ♡

Hmmm, his gift for you?

It's him, of course!

…Don’t give him that look.

335 notes · View notes

shortbreadly · 10 hours

Text

ok i’m gonna try and make this coherent but i’m not promising anything cuz I’M FEELING FEELINGS

so normally when blitzo clashes with someone his first instinct is to either defend himself or fire back some attacks at whoever he’s arguing with. we’ve seen him do it with moxxie, fizz and others that i can’t remember right now.

the only person so far that he hadn’t done that with is barbie (which i made a more in-depth post about when that ep came out). not until today’s episode at least

for the first time we see blitzo try and defuse the situation or even try and deny it:

yes he somewhat alludes to blaming stolas, but it’s not nearly as fiery as normal and he forgets it pretty quickly

then he tries to fix the situation in the only other way he knows how, the way that he and stolas have resolved things for god knows how long. through sex

and then, then it is literal begging

(ignore the shitty auto captions)

blitzo has NEVER been this desperate to make up with someone ever. maybe barbie sure, but seeing blitzo literally beg on his knees to a ‘royal blue blood’ is so incredibly out of character for him and shows deep down how terrified he is to lose stolas

sure, maybe it’s entirely for the book, i thought that too. but then he makes this face when stolas proposes ‘breaking up’

LOOK AT HIS FUCKING FACE. HE’S TERRIFIED

the point i’m slowly making my way to is that blitzo often retaliates quickly and aggressively. maybe because he feels he’s already burnt his bridges with the people he clashes with (e.g fizz) but stolas was an exception. stolas was someone he could keep at a distance until it fitted him, someone who he thought he could always rely on. someone who he hadn’t pushed away completely

now blitzo thinks he’s burnt this bridge too, and doesn’t that just hurt like a bitch?

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss the full moon #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss stolas #stolas goetia #helluva boss season two #helluva boss stolitz #stolitz

237 notes · View notes

vivelegalite · 2 days

Text

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

#please interact w me please please please i need dbd moots <3 #dbda #dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #paynland #payneland #painland #paineland #chedwin #charles rowland #edwin paine #edwin payne #dead boy detectives agency #dead boy detectives analysis #aough jayden your mind #my art #<- my umbrella trashcan tag

399 notes · View notes

shelbygraces · 4 hours

Text

got a comment on my instagram post today saying “it’s so unfair she is ace”… there’s a lot wrong with that statement, for starters it makes me feel really uncomfortable. but it also includes a major assumption about all asexual people that’s just not true and i always like to use that as an opportunity to educate people. for any other sexuality, it isn’t about how much sex you have, so why do we still assume asexuality is about having no sex. it’s about sexual attraction (and let’s not forget sexuality is a spectrum and some ace people still experience sexual attraction), which doesn’t tell you anything about someone’s comfort with intimacy. how about we let ace people be, and stop speculating on their sex lives at all because it’s no one’s business either way. we can talk about ace people without jumping to conclusions about their sex lives and reducing the whole community to “people who don’t have sex”. it’s not accurate representation. this also isn’t me saying anything about my own private life, my point is you never know! i wish people wouldn’t speculate about it at all because it makes me very uncomfortable and it’s not something you need to know about me!! so let’s all stop assuming and spreading misinformation and let people tell you about themselves if they feel comfortable and let it go if they don’t ❤️

390 notes · View notes

wososcripts · 1 day

Text

Face to Face (Part 1)

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

Summary: After months of a toxic back and forth with Frido, things reach a breaking point.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I know it's been forever but that's what being a full time uni student will do! I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I do, its been a wip for a while now!

As usual this is all fiction and in good fun! Nothing is meant to represent reality. All italicized dialogue is in a language other than English, and I promise... things will get better in this fic eventually.

Warnings⚠️: unhealthy situationship lol, injury, light medical description

"Get out!" You screamed, repeating it over and over until you were alone in your bedroom.

You hated yelling. Absolutely hated it. You couldn't remember the last time before today that you had actually yelled in someone's face. Plenty of people in your sport lost their tempers and shouted on the pitch—whether at a ref or another player—but it wasn’t your style. You always managed to keep your cool. It was your sport, yes, but not your life.

You'd been yelled at too much as a child to think it had any productive effect on a situation, which may have been part of why you immediately felt horrible once Fridolina left the room. You pulled your comforter around your half-naked form, wishing you were less exposed.

This was the end. Whatever you and Fridolina had, it was over. Finally.

You'd been trying to build up the will to make this happen for weeks, and yet your heart felt like it was being strangled with every moment you sat here alone. The worst part was, you knew Fridolina didn't care. She was probably angry, sure, but she was not feeling the heartbreak you were.

You weren't sure how you were going to make it through the next few days. You had to fly to Germany tomorrow for national camp—and then on Friday you were playing Sweden in a friendly. It was hard to imagine that you had been excited to get the news about the friendly last month. It meant you got to be around Frido more, got to see a few of your old teammates from Chelsea like Magda and Zećira, and you genuinely enjoyed being around the German girls. It was still home to you, there, even if you hadn't played for a German league in nearly a decade.

Now you just wanted to stay in Barcelona while Frido left. You wanted to call Alexia, or Patri, and ask them to come over and comfort you. You wanted Patri’s jokes and Alexia’s solid presence, but you were afraid of the questions they might ask. Your eyes were red now, tears running down your face, and your room was a mess. Everything had a trace of Frido, and you hated it.

Ingrid and Mapí, who you would usually call if you wanted to get your mind off of things, weren’t an option either. Though you were fairly certain they wouldn’t ask any pressing questions, Ingrid was Frido’s best friend. And that made her off limits for now, for anything regarding this.

You just had to make it through the night, and the next morning. Then you could collapse into the familiar arms of your national teammates, your family, your language, and try to forget all about this.

—

Your mother knew something was off the second you appeared on her doorstep, Laura in tow.

She wrapped her arms firmly around you, holding you tight for a minute. It had been three months since you were home for Christmas, and you hadn’t seen each other since then. You melted into her, wanting nothing more than the comfort of her protective embrace after all that had been swimming around your head lately.

Your mother greeted Laura next, and you were instructed to bring your bags up to the guest room. You’d have to share, but it wasn’t all that big of an issue. You and Laura often shared rooms when you were at national camp anyway, so this wouldn’t be much different.

“Wie ist Barcelona? Gefällt es? ” Laura asked you quietly that night, rolling over in the bed to face you.

It was late, too late to still be up. Tomorrow you’d have to be at training bright and early.

“I love it there.”

Something about your voice must have been off, because Laura stayed silent. You knew she fretted over you. She was protective too, something you experienced first hand when people were rough with you on the field—Laura hated most of your exes too. You’d known each other since secondary school, when you were barely tall enough to reach the top of your lockers.

“I’ve always wondered if it’s difficult, fitting in with the Spanish girls…”

“And I’m shy, which doesn’t make it easier.”

Laura laughed lightly.

“Well I wasn’t going to say anything!”

You poked her side playfully, and smiled.

“They’re all very welcoming. It can be intimidating when you don’t speak Spanish at first, but I’m pretty good now so I don’t have many issues.”

Laura began playing with strands of your long hair, putting it in small braids.

“What is it, Lau?”

“I can tell something is bothering you. In your texts, the way you looked when I picked you up at the airport, something is off.”

You weren't sure what to say. Laura didn't know anything about you and Frido. Nobody did. You'd have to explain the whole thing, start to finish. You'd have to explain why you stayed even when she treated you like garbage. Why you made excuses for her, compromised things you told yourself you wouldn't.

"It's hard to explain…" you mumbled.

Laura continued to play with your hair, pushing a few wisps back from your forehead.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

You needed an ally in this, you realized. Desperately.

"Just be prepared, it's kind of a long story."

And so you launched into how you and Frido had been attracted to each other immediately when she was playing at Bayern and you were at Frankfurt. How you had danced around each other when you were signed in Barcelona. How she kissed you one day after a game, before she was even out of her relationship, and then ignored you for weeks—a pattern you didn't realize was going to dominate your life for the next year.

By the end you were crying. You hadn't cried in so long it felt foreign. Everything had been building up for months and nobody had been there to help you carry the weight of it until that moment.

Laura pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you sobbed into her neck.

"It's okay, you're okay," she whispered.

"I feel like a fucking idiot."

"She's the idiot for treating you like that, not you. Not you at all." Laura looked at you sternly. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that all by yourself…"

You snuggled closer to her and kept quiet.

"If you need someone to accidentally slide tackle her on Monday let me know…" Laura teased.

You giggled into her hair, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

You were nervous. Typically friendlies didn't worry you much, but you didn't want to see Fridolina. You had been playing well in training sessions, but your teammates could tell something was on your mind.

"Hey—" Sara's voice broke you out of your thoughts. The two of you had played together at Frankfurt for a little while, and she was like an older sister to you. She placed both her hands on your cheeks and pressed her forehead to yours. "Whatever it is, put it out of your mind. Leave it here and just play. Just for a few hours."

You closed your eyes and listened to her, letting her voice ground you. You squeezed her hands and nodded. Just a few hours. Then you could avoid Frido for an entire week before you had to fly back to Barcelona.

You assumed your position on the pitch, the roar of the German fans filling your ears. That was the benefit of playing at home. You spotted a few of the Swedish girls you knew: Magda, Zećira, Stina, and Rebecca. All of whom gave you small smiles.

In the few seconds before the match began you closed your eyes, counting down from seven as you always did before a match. Then the whistle blew and you began.

It was a tough match between the two teams. Where the Germans were weak the Swedish girls pounced, and vice versa. You were constantly fighting for the ball, the defenders packed onto you. Stina was the first to score, slipping the ball into the box amidst a chaotic mess just the way she was good at.

From there on out you were determined to score. You were playing all out, more than necessary really. It was a throwaway game, but you just had to get a point on the board.

When your quick pass to Lena had the ball soaring into the back of the net you thought you might explode from joy. You jumped into her arms, letting her twirl you around, laughing. In your head you might as well have won the Olympics.

At halftime it was still 1-1. Your heart was pounding. Laura made you drink some of your water, massaging your shoulders in an effort to get you to calm down. Popp was side eyeing you, considering pulling you out. This behavior wasn't like you.

The second half was considerably more intense than the first. Both teams wanted to score, and the more physical players on both sides were pushing hard. It was a miracle nobody had been carded.

And then suddenly you had the ball at your feet. There was a golden opportunity in front of you. Eyes facing forward, you raced down the pitch, completely blindsided to the weight that slammed into from the side. Suddenly the world went sideways and you were slamming into the ground, not enough time to even think about trying to catch yourself. Your hip and shoulder took most of the initial impact, but something about how you'd been standing, or how you'd been hit, meant your head followed, hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

You came to a few seconds later. Someone was kneeling next to your head, and their hands were on your cheeks.

Fuck. Everything hurt. You kept your eyes closed, thinking maybe that would lessen the next wave of pain you knew was coming. At first you weren't sure what had happened.

"Are you okay?" You heard Zećira's voice in your ear.

"Zećira?" You mumbled. "What happened?"

"You went down and hit your head."

You had gone down near the goal, that was right. Things were a bit blurry. You figured it was a bad idea to move your neck, what with the severe headache you could feel blossoming, and opening your eyes seemed to run the 50/50 chance of you vomiting.

"Do you remember that now? Do you feel okay?"

So you gave her a weak thumbs up, hoping it was clear you needed the medics.

After a moment in which you gathered your resolve and swallowed your nausea, you opened your eyes. There was Zećira looking worriedly down at you. She glanced upwards, probably at the medical team that was surely coming.

"Fuck, fuck…" you heard another voice, those of your German teammates beginning to filter into your awareness. And further away, the sharp sound of yelling.

The medical team finally arrived, clearing the space around you. Your hand shot out, grabbing onto Zećira's you gave her a look that said it all. Fear and panic met in equal amounts as she squeezed your hand lightly.

"You're gonna be okay, älskling, everything is gonna be alright." If anything, her tone scared you even more. You knew Zećira, and she wasn't someone you would describe as warm and cuddly. For her to be using that tone with you meant something had gone wrong.

"Okay, we're gonna sit you up now." The medic warned you, and you felt two pairs of hands rest on your body, one on the back of your neck, slowly pull you upright.

Your nausea came back in full swing, and you fought to keep your breakfast in.

"Can you hear me?" You nodded.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" You nodded again, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Can you squeeze my hand?" You squeezed his hand tightly.

"Okay, I'm gonna shine this light in your eyes for a moment, can you try and follow it for me?" You did your best, but it wasn't easy.

"Okay," he put the light away and you thanked whatever God in the universe for that. "We think it's likely you have a pretty bad concussion. We'll have to run a few more tests to be sure, but she definitely has to come off."

He must've been talking to your coach at that point, because the next thing you knew Zećira and the medic were helping you up to your feet, the man supporting you heavily with your arms draped across his shoulders.

"I'll visit you after the match, okay?" You heard Zećira assure you, to which you gave another thumbs up.

You cringed slightly at the sound of the crowd cheering you off.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #fridolina rolfö #fridolina rolfo x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #barca femini x reader #my writing #fc barcelona x reader

247 notes · View notes