#when I say men are trash it has NOTHING to do with him

[churipu]

hi i wanted to ask since your requests are open but can u write abt jjk guys (gojo, geto and maybe megumi as well) and how it would be like arguing with them? thank youuu~

ARGUMENTS WITH JJK MEN ˚｡𖦹

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing on toji's :)

note. hi nonnie, megumi's been done and you can just click right there to be directed to the said post — so, i'm going to change him to his father jsksdjdk. anyways, i'm so sorry this came out so late, i hope you like it. i was going to focus on my 1k event but then i realized that i'm holding up the requests in my inbox, so i'm going to try to upload them together one by one. / and ngl, i just did my nails done for the first time, aND I AM STRUGGLING TO DO ANYTHING. including typing, but i'm trying my best skdjs.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with him are just plain loud. for instance, we all know how gojo is, he'd be so petty during arguments. despite that though — i feel like he won't ever raise his voice at you, he's petty, yes. but he won't do anything that could scare you, raising his voice.

believe me when i say that he won't back down when he isn't in the wrong. he will argue back if you're wrong; and even with all that banter, both you and gojo will always resolve it together. he won't let you leave or turn away to discard the argument. gojo hates it when you give him the silent treatment — so he tries his best to not let you leave unless everything is talked about, face to face.

"satoru, i'm just saying that i didn't mean to do that. okay? i didn't even realize it!" you tell him, voice loud and bold.

gojo looks at you, brows furrowed, "this is the second time y/n, i'm sure you realize that — you're not a child anymore." you grumbled under your breath.

the past few days have been stressful. hectic for you. you knew though it wasn't an excuse, but when things get too caught up — you lose track of things, and honestly, you wanted nothing to do but to sleep and take a rest. work has been taking a big toll on you, both mentally and physically — and you can't bring yourself to argue with gojo right now.

"satoru, i know. it's just, things have been stressful at work. i'm sorry i forgot to turn off the stove," you tell him genuinely sorry that you almost, possibly burn the whole house down if he hadn't been the one to realize that, "i'm sorry, okay?"

his gaze softened. regaining control over the rhythm of his breathing, gojo reaches out to you, "d'you wanna talk about it?"

you shook your head, "i just wan' to sleep, satoru. i'm tired." he buries his nose into your hair before tossing you over his shoulder, you didn't complain at the way he decided to carry you — you just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

the male held you close as he climbed your shared bed, "'m sorry too," he mumbles, grazing his lips over your forehead.

"you don't have to be, it's my fault for being reckless," you replied, draping an arm over his torso, clutching his black shirt, "can we sleep now?"

gojo chuckles, "mhm. good night," he whispers, "i love you."

you smiled at him, burying your face into his chest, "good night 'toru. i love you more."

GETO SUGURU. arguments with geto can be pretty frustrating, although he never raises his voice at you. he just knows what to say, and he's always right too. whether it being about you forgetting to throw the trash out (once), or you being forgetful about some things — geto just knows the right words to say to you, without making you feel like you're doing something wrong.

see, the thing is in the house. you both divided your chores, geto does the dishes, and the mopping. you do the laundry and vacuuming. while the morning trash is yours, and he does it nightly.

he's usually never in the wrong. most of the time. but when he is, he will admit so. in conclusion, you don't argue with him often, because he will apologize if he knows he did something wrong. but this was on rare occasions.

today is one of those rare occasions. you swore you had left the house clean — and you remembered throwing the trash before you leave for work. yet, here he was, asking you about it.

"suguru, i promise i threw it in the morning. before i left for work," you tell him, taking off your shoes and putting it neatly on the shoe rack. having to come back home from work, you just wanted to eat dinner, have a nice warm bath, and sleep.

god, you hated arguments. you admitted that you sometimes forget to throw the trash out while rushing to go to work, but that was not intentional at all.

geto had asked your prior about it. you knew he wasn't sparking an argument, but the thing is — you remembered it well. going out of the door this morning while holding a plastic of waste, hell, you even remembered bumping into a neighbor on the way out.

"just . . . let me throw it out again—" geto has been awfully silent for the past few minutes, and when you approached the trash can, he immediately stops you.

his hand latching around your wrist gently as he pulls you over, "no, no. it's my fault, i remember now. i was the one who threw that in the trash can after you left," he said to you in an apologetic tone, "'m sorry."

you shook your head, "it's okay, it's just a misunderstanding. and it's not like you intentionally forgot about it, right?" he nods his head mutely, pulling you into a silent embrace, "y'okay sugu?"

"the next time i do that — i want you to smack me in the face, okay?" you chuckled, placing a wet kiss onto his lips.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. i don't know how to say it — he's just accepts his fate and does whatever you want him to do. he thinks arguments are a complete waste of time, it's not like he likes arguing with you in the first place. he just doesn't see a point to it since he never initiates the talking; you always do. but that's because he did things that sparked the said argument. you reap what you sow.

toji can be lazy sometimes. scratch that. most of the time. clothes sprawled out in the living room, on the kitchen counter which he claimed he forgot when he was grabbing water, on the couch, on the headboard of your bed, on the bathroom sink. and honestly, he's a grown man — he knows better than that.

"toji, how many times do i have to tell you—"

"put the dirty laundry in their place, yeah, y'reminded me that like . . . three times today." he grumbled under his breath as he yawned out loudly.

"then why are you still leaving them everywhere? god, this is so childish! it's like 'm taking care of a fucking baby," toji lets out a sigh, "i'm so tired of telling you over and over again. you're a grown man, why can't you act like one?"

toji's not dumb. he knows it's his mistake, and sometimes he genuinely forgets about leaving his shirt out while being too preoccupied with other things. he loves you, he really does. the last thing he'd like is you leaving him because he can't stop his habit of leaving his shirt everywhere.

he approaches you, taking the shirt out of your grip, "my fault."

"damn right it is. the next time i see another shirt, i swear to god, you're sleeping on the couch." you muttered out, crossing your arms — watching as the male meekly trotted into the bathroom where the laundry basket rested beside the bathroom cabinet.

"is that a threat?" he chuckles, peeking his head out.

"no. it's a warning."

he walks out of the bathroom, slithering an arm around your waist, hoisting you up onto his shoulder as he walked towards the couch. prepping you on his lap, "mm. noted, can you stop getting mad at me now?" he comments, grazing his finger over your neck.

and he did it again at night (and slept on the couch like you warned him, he still hates you for that).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru #geto fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader

[gildedkrone]

As long as you're next to me, just the two of us

request from somebody asking for military reader with internalised homophobia. john price x male reader

"You really ought to not blow your cigar smoke onto me, you know?"

The warm embers of spent tobacco, an all too familiar sight in the dark, starry night, and he's smiling, albeit faintly. He takes an audible suck of air, and the embers glow brighter and fade into a dull orange.

"Thought yer used to it by now," Price blows the hints of something scorched gently across your nose and you fan the smoke away with a flick of your hand.

"I don't smoke, John." He blinks and nods to take another chuff of the cigar as you look away then back at him.

He says he knows. Infernally glorious bastard of a captain and he's content with the warm tranquility settled into the space and the cigar is the last thing the mind's got time for. On the rooftop, the stars are ever distant in the cosmos’s grasp and he moves to lay with his back to the railing, almost close enough to touch. But he doesn't come any closer than that and a healthy distance remains between you and him.

"How many years has it been?"

Five. Five years since he appeared in his lieutenant uniform with SAS patches sewn neatly onto the vest and now? Now, he's a captain of a famed task force and chasing a terrorist halfway across the world with a short break in between his ever-growing catalogue of missions. The rank suits him well, suits him and his beard nicely as he grew into the man standing before you.

All's well. If all's well, then why does it feel as if there's a divide between you and him?

"You know," his head angles towards you when the silence fills with murmurs, "I never did congratulate you on your promotion, John."

"Never too late to do so, sweetheart."

"You call everyone that? Bet your lieutenant wouldn't take it well. That mask—"

"Not him." The words are scented with woodsy, "Nobody else gets to be a sweetheart." And he's saying it so sincerely, it’s impossible to doubt the truth and intensity in his words.

"Exceptions? You're not being fair, captain."

He scoffs and you take the time to admire his visage with a subtle lean towards him. The left eyebrow hitches a little, then it falls back to its place and he's smiling warmly as the cigar burns away in crumbling ashes falling to the wind under the pale moonlight.

"How's your love life? Still seeing Sandy?" The sudden change of topic and you cock your head slightly and he grimaces slightly to have felt some sense of chagrin at poking the sore wound in your heart.

"We broke up a month ago." He lowers the cigar, "She just, didn't want to be in a relationship with a military man, you know? All the absences made her mad and she just ... left."

"On a Thursday afternoon."

He listens so attentively; he's reminiscent of the cadets under your care when they first arrive at sergeant bootcamp. A little awestruck and very much eager to learn and get going and you lean in closer for a look at the new-ish scar marring the area above his eyebrows.

"You've gone and hurt yourself again, eh?"

Fingers brush across the region of his face gently as his face is pliant in your hands and tilts with each nudge to facilitate your examination of his new battle scar. Eventually, you release his face and he runs a hand through his scar absentmindedly.

"You datin' again?"

"No such luck. Tinder's trash these days. All you'll ever find are people down to fuck and run. 's not much better on the other dating platforms too."

"Just women?" The parting of your lips and nothing comes out; the words don't come as they should.

"Just women. I-I ... I’ve never considered other men, John."

"Why not?"

It's a moment of confusion—you entertain his queries about manhood and love. What do you say to that? It's a minefield of emotions and memories tangled with barbs and spikes laden with the flags of youth and curiosity shaped into a spitball refusing to be verbalized.

"I don't think another man could ever love me. And ..." The forgotten cigar in his hands dull and the soft cerulean eyes are gently imploring you to continue, "I ... well, it's wrong and I ... don't know if I can do it."

He nods empathetically and you lean back into the railing to find fleeting interest in the moon. How did the conversation morph into this weird mess of clunky and awkward conversations?

"Well, I have a problem when it comes to dating." Oh? Go on, and he does go on.

"I met a man, and I don't know if he fancies me the way I fancy him."

"Really? I'm glad for you, John. What is he like?"

It's cute how his brows furrow slightly when he's in deep concentration and he says—valiant and resplendent. The vigor of the sun, the ferocity of the lion, and the tenacity of the stars.

"Valiant? Resplendent? You must really like him to hold him at such a regard."

"It's not an exaggeration, lieutenant."

Who had managed to capture John's heart to such a degree? You lose interest in the moon to lay the brunt of your attention on him. His eyes dart away into inkiness night then back at you and its kept steady as a sniper's hands in a high-tension scenario.

"Have you tried telling him? About how you feel?"

"You have tips? ‘M not sure quite how to break it to him."

He seems mildly amused by the chuckle and you regale him with strategies and tactics to win over the mystery man Price loves so much. Everything you’ve learnt from the trashy romance novels stashed in your drawers never to be seen any other service personnel. Even if they would never find their place with another man.

"So, a hand grasp and a head tilt, lots of eye contact, and a heartfelt confession? It’s certainly shorter than the list on the web.”

“Mmhm, it’s that simple.”

He asks if you would entertain his request to rehearse it. You humor him and step away from the railing to face him head on. He clears his throat and warmth envelops your hand in a hand shaped like John’s. His body posture is open and inviting, and he’s putting in the effort to treat it seriously.

His hands clasped with yours is so damn warm and fiercely domestic, and his fingers are gentle when they tilt your head upwards slightly. Something in your heart twists slightly at the endearment in his eyes; you’ve been privy to aggression, bloodlust, and anger in them. But not this. Blood hammers in your ears and you keep your face schooled in blasé calm even if his grasp is uncharacteristically soft and yet, harbored the love he had in his being.

“I love you, sweetheart.” The words are painful to hear on ears not meant for them and instincts are warring in your head in tumult.

You cough gently to realign his focus with the moment.

“Yeah, so, that is how you do it, John.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you would say that to the man you love so much.”

His throat swallows harshly and his hand remains on your chin. He eyes search for something, and he says it again.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

What is he doing? He cuts you off before you can start.

“I’m saying it to the man I love.”

Whiplash. Whiplash at the revelation as your lips part to reveal hollow words and empty reconciliation of the revelation and your thoughts. No. This—

“I mean it. Whole heartedly. Fully.”

“John … I—I can’t love you, not—”

“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“Why? Why the fuck would you choose me? Of all the men and women in the world and you’ve gone and loved the one person who can’t give you anything! John, why?”

His hands are still clasped around yours and laced around your runaway heart. Don’t leave.

“Because it’s what the heart wants, love.” He tugs you in closer and in a moment of stupor, you feel the warmth emanating from him against the chilly night.

“It’s wrong—” And by god, it’s so fucking hard to tell him why it’s wrong when he’s looking at you like that. All worried and desperate to alleviate whatever you were feeling.

“I don’t want to be the fool who dies with a million regrets. And this is fixing it.”

He’s so close but he’s waiting for permission to breach the last barrier of that defensive wall built around the wastelands of the heart. He wipes away the tears which had formed, and soft lips are all you can feel when he closes the gap. Plush, soft lips press against yours and his embrace is all encompassing even as your eyes are shut to close out the world. He comes into view when warmth of his lips disappears and shakes rattle your body in his arms.

“I’ll be here for as long as you want me, sweetheart.”

He means it.

“’m not leaving, unless you tell me to.”

“John, I … I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure it out together. Me and you, we will find our way as a unit. Together, we’ll do it together.”

He is deadly serious again. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No … I—I don’t want you to leave. I’m so fucking scared, John.”

“I’m here.” He is here. His hands on your back are proof of his existence in a world bending into a pinpoint of focus that is only John and his features and his exhales on your cheeks. What were you supposed to say? Or do?

There’s no need to do anything.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough of a promise for you that everything is going to be ok—if it's John, and this was fine, more than fine. Your nod is what John needed to bring your foreheads together.

“Thanks fer trusting me, love.”

The hints of tobacco smoke don’t smell as acrid as they did a while ago and the night isn’t so cold anymore. Not when he wears his heart on his sleeves and draped over you in the moonlight.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #cod x male reader

[mikareo]

⌗ TWO SLOW DANCERS ₊ ˖ ་. gojo satoru x fem reader (1.2k)

⊹ ⠀⠀why doesn’t he love you?

contains; angst, rejection, reader just wants to be loved, gojo's kinda a dick, mitski did this to me, not proofread author's note; i'm thinking abt the guy who didn't want me rn sorry

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, your voice nothing above a faint whisper. Fear of judgment is laced within it, something you can’t help but wish you could get rid of. “It’s going to sound ridiculous, and if you think so you can just ignore me.” He’s going to ignore you.

However, Gojo sits up straighter. His eyes are intending to focus on you. “Nothing you say is ridiculous. I’m always here to listen.” You want to believe him so badly. There’s nothing else in the world that you wish for. All you need is a confession, him reciprocating the depth of your feelings, but you know that’s impossible. If he felt the same, he wouldn’t have started seeing that girl; no matter the fact that she’s wonderful for him, amazing, and kind. If she’s so amazing, what are you doing wrong? What is it about her that you can’t compare to? You know you’d be perfect for Gojo. He’s your best friend. He’s the person who knows you better than anyone, so why is it that he doesn’t love you the same way you love him? It doesn’t make sense. 

What are you doing wrong?

“...am I difficult to love?” You feel like you already know the answer. It’s a pointless question that’s been eating you up inside for years, ever since you first met and he instantly treated you as a friend when you wanted to be loved by him. “I know it’s silly, but I feel so helpless.”

Without realizing it, your words flow from your lips like a river streaming downhill. Not even the largest dam could hold in your insecurities. “I try so hard, everyday to be kind and patient and perfect; but no one seems to notice. Is there something that everyone else has that I don’t? What am I missing that makes me invisible? Why do I feel so stuck while the world keeps moving and progressing and making changes that I can’t keep up with? Why don’t you love me?”

There it is. 

There’s the question that you’ve swallowed down for the past ten years of knowing Gojo Satoru…and somehow…

…it seems that he already knows the answer. 

“I do love you.”

In half a second, your heart beats faster. It swells with an overwhelming pink feeling that practically causes it to burst. You almost see stars. In your imagination you’re flying through the night sky, weaving constellations together as you hold Gojo’s hand and ask him what he’s wishing on that shooting star, oh so close to you. So close, yet so far. So far, that it never reaches you; because nothing is ever as it seems. It isn’t a wish racing your way, it’s a meteorite. A meteor thats target is the home in your heart that you’ve made so lovingly for your best friend. The flaming rock finds your weakest point and begins to wither it away into nothing but hopeless shreds of dreams. In a half a second, you’re on the top of the world. In a half a second, your world is destroyed. 

“I just don’t love you in the way you want me to.”

You’re a fool. You knew this was coming.

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” Shut up. Why can’t he just shut up? You don’t need these filler words, these empty statements that he’s only saying to make you feel better about your worthless self. “You’re such an important part of my everyday.” Shut up!

It’s so hard to hold in the tears. Your dam already burst— but instead of a river, it seems that you’ve got an ocean of feelings. This ocean is polluted, though. It’s littered in trash and oil, after years of wanting something that was never yours. Other men have thrown their waste in your waters and Gojo’s always been the one to clean it up. He’s always made you laugh…made you smile…made you believe that everything is going to be okay as long as you trust him. Now, you’ve made the mistake of trusting him with your heart; when he’s never cared if it shatters. 

“Please don’t say those things to me.” It’s pathetic, the whimper shaking from the tip of your tongue. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Gojo isn’t even replying to you. He’s simply staring with the most pitiful look in his eyes, as if you’re a dying animal that he’s just shot with a rifle. How do you make him stop looking at you like that? You’re better than this! Just suck it up and smile!

Somehow, you find yourself laughing. “Don’t worry about it, Satoru. I’ll be fine, it’s just a silly little crush.” You’re lying. 

It’s so obvious you’re lying. 

He’s never been a crush. If he was a fleeting crush, then you wouldn’t spend your nights thinking of how you made him smile earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know his favorite place, song, and movie at the top of your head. You wouldn’t imagine his face whenever you picture your wedding day— at the end of the aisle, smiling at you with tears in his eyes. If he was just a little crush, it wouldn’t feel like your entire world is ending. 

“I know you’ve liked me, it’s a little obvious.” He shrugs. “I just assumed you’d get over it?” 

He knew? He’s known all this time?

There’s a war raging between your heart and your mind. It’s a battlefield with logic on one side and love on the other. The rational part of you knows that he can’t help his feelings. He can’t force himself to reciprocate something that he’s never felt before. That’s unfair to him, and you can’t make him love you…

…but the other half of you can’t accept that. 

After all these years of waiting for him. Years and years of watching your closest friends find love, be loved, and experience all of the firsts that you’ve always wanted to experience with him by your side. He doesn’t love you. You’ve known Gojo Satoru since you were ten years old. You’re twenty now and still so delusional that you believe he can feel the same way. Why can’t he, though? Gojo knows you from front to back. If there’s anyone in the world who could write an encyclopedia titled with your name, it’s him; and he still doesn’t love you. You’re the person who’s been there for him through countless breakups and temper tantrums. You’re the one who he trusts most in this world, yet he will never…ever…want you back. 

Someone is writing the story of the world. Someone is tying the strings of fate, the line of destiny, or whatever you want to call it; and that someone isn’t on your side. They never have been and they never will be…

…at least not in the case of Gojo Satoru. 

“I’ll try my best.” A phony smile graces your face and you’re now realizing that he’s never once called you beautiful. Yet, you still want him. Perhaps it’s human nature to wish for the things that are terrible for you. “You don’t have to worry about me, Satoru. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, maybe in ten years. 

“I’ll be able to forget about this.”

You don’t think you will.

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Your feelings are an inconvenience.

“It’s nothing.”

It was love.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

#i listened to mitski while writing this #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ my writing #i.e. two slow dancers #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo ff #gojo fanfiction #gojo fanfic #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru ff #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk anst #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk drabbles

[tbgkaru-woh]

100 Dialogue prompts

Trying this out (feel free to tweak out any grammatical errors) so writers who are bored, have at it! ♥ Mix of Fluff, Angst and Smut

“I don’t see you that way”

“I will just do as I’m told. As I’ve always done”

“Have you never ridden a bike/horse before?”

“You don’t have to be so…formal”

“What happened to us?”

“Good things don’t happen to me”

“Interested in palm reading?”

“Bowing to you felt right”

“There, let me help you.”

“Next time, listen to yourself and not me”

“Why do you want to get in trouble so badly?”

“It’s him/her…isn’t it?”

“Are you keeping it?”

“Good to see a familiar face”

“You never had to ask me anything, let alone beg”

“Oh you again?!”

“I need to take you somewhere”

“With you gone, everything went wrong”

“Insufferable, see you at dinner”

“I wasn’t kissing you, I was saving your life!”

“You did all this already, why not finish the job?”

“I will look for you”

“I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t breathe”

“You knew about it?”

“I will atone for what he/she did”

“You need to start having some faith.”

“Say what you want, I know what I’m feeling is right”

“It’s okay, you will move on. We will move on.”

“How much do you miss him/her? And what if you didn’t have to?”

“Focus on my hands, on my voice…”

“Perhaps you need to be reminded where you belong”

“I was fine having a non-sexual relationship with you, but instead I’m having non-relationship sex with him/her.”

“I wanted to do it for you and in hindsight it was a terrible idea”

“I’ve been inside him/her more than outside him/her”

“Don’t ask me with ‘please’, you’re paying me”

“Oh why won’t you just die already”

“Sometimes I wonder for how long have you wanted his/her heart and if you will ever stop”

“Filthy cheater, we go again!”

“Didn’t you pay your debt already?”

“I can’t get sick/injured.”

“You act like you’ve never been defeated”

“Diamond thrown into the trash still has the value of a diamond”

“I got engaged”

“All this was decided for me, I had no choice”

“I’m beginning to think not even the jail guards/cops want you around, given how many times they’ve let me bail you out”

“You, sir/madam, should watch your alcohol intake”

“I’ve been denying everyone, you’re not special”

“I’m not looking for a romance”

“Isn’t that immoral enough to tempt you?”

“We’re two sides of the same fucked up coin”

“That’s what I like to see, you are your parents’ best indeed!”

“You have nothing to lose right?”

“Oh I can’t wait to hear you sing”

“Anything you’d like to add to the conversation?”

“Hi.”

“You need to stop making me pick you up in places someone may see”

“I thought I was a puppeteer pulling the strings but instead I was a back seat audience”

“I want names, I want addresses, I’m gonna make them pay.”

“You know where to find me if you ever want me again.”

“My mother is visiting in like 5 minutes”

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

“Not being able to reciprocate has been the hardest part of my life”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Envious of my youth, are we?”

“The others may have gotten away…”

“I found you. Found you looking like you didn’t want to be found”

“Did we use to be a thing?”

“I can fix this. I can fix this…”

“Weird question, are you a supernatural being? Be honest”

“We should have never played Gods”

“Must you be so harsh with me all the time?”

“What did all these men/women do to deserve you?”

“We have a reputation to uphold”

“May I have this dance?”

“I am a bad influence on you!”

“Let’s make history”

“Who the hell wants to live forever.”

“Feeling any different?”

“Time waits for no one”

“You got your happy-ever-after. And for all I know, it’s because I didn’t.”

“Try that again and you’re gonna lose it”

“Didn’t I say one of these days you’re gonna be the death of me?”

“Do you know what my answer was?”

“You look pathetic.”

“Almost didn’t recognize your voice when it’s not yelling at me”

“I often find myself talking to those no longer here as well”

“Excuse me, this is not a buffet”

“I don’t suspect you because I’m the one who put him/her in the ground”

“You look like someone who likes a good gamble”

“I am poison”

“Feel free to stay as long as you need”

“You don’t need to understand, just be a good little thing”

“I’m gonna need your driver’s license, your ID and your phone number please~”

“Say my name”

“You…are telling the truth”

“Is that why you did that? Back there?”

“Stop reading my mind”

“I can teach you”

“How can you laugh?”

“Pretty pictures. I don’t have any”

“Heaven may fall, but __ can’t die.”

#dialogue prompt #writing prompt #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #prompts

[buckttommy]

Imho henren just doesn’t spark for me. They just kinda bore me and it’s okay to admit you don’t like every queer ship a show gives you.

You're right, it is 100% okay to not like every queer ship you are given. This is actually something I'm really passionate about, because it's deeply similar to the idea of recommending a piece of media based on the fact that it has queer rep and not based on what other value the media has. Both accepting a ship because it's queer and recommending a piece of media based on its queer components come with an inherent, Capitalistic demand to disregard quality in favor of quantity (i.e. "Yeah, that book is mostly porn, but at least it's got gay men in it!" or "That show is trash, but at least the queer couple is kind of cute.") So to that end I say, you are absolutely right. If Henren doesn't spark for you, it doesn't spark. There's nothing wrong with that.

The problem arises when people erase the fact that complex, meticulously crafted, realistic, healthy, and beautiful queer characters have existed on this show from the very beginning. Michael's storyline alone — a gay man who stepped into his identity later in life, despite already being married with children — was so deeply moving and impactful on its own, as was watching him develop a genuine relationship with Bobby, his ex-wife's husband. We never get stories like that on television. Someone is always left out. Someone is always hurt. Queerness is always seen as a permanent betrayal where no one gets to move on from that pain. But 9-1-1 gave us a story where these people became a unique and cohesive family, and that matters.

Henren doesn't spark for you, but the weight and significance of their existence is undeniable. For one, neither of these women are stereotyped and sexualized. Karen is the "femme" in the relationship but she's never put into clothes or situations designed to appeal to the male gaze. She is a mother, she is a wife, and she acts like one. For another, Queerness is not the sole focus of their arcs and is considered just a part of their lives like anything else. They have careers, they have a family, and yes, the cheating storyline in Season 1 reeks heavily of Ryan Murphy's homophobic ideology, but the way they chose to grow past it cannot be overstated. Stories where we get to not just live, or not just love, or not just be messy, but where we can do and be all three cannot be overstated.

So, yes, I get upset when people ignore the existence of these characters and these stories for the sake of Buck. I love Buck so deeply and, as a bisexual person who knows what it is like to realize, step into, and subsequently settle into that identity, I'm excited to see where his story takes him. But he's not the only queer character on the show, nor has he ever been, and whether you yourself are queer or not, I think we can all agree why speaking out against that particular false narrative is so important.

#jack answers mail #tv: 911

[guywrestlingaddiction]

What Turned me Gay: How to Introduce Someone to Gay Wrestling

It's no secret that wrestling turned me gay.  High school wrestling turned into a passion for pro wrestling, which evolved into an obsession with gay wrestling.  Now, while my journey is unique to me, I wondered, how do you turn someone on to gay wrestling? 

What turned me gay (not really) ... 

Troy & Brian Baker v Vinny Trevino & Joshua Goodman (bgeast.com)

This post, inspired by the sidelineland.com blog, takes a tongue and cheek look into "what made me gay (not really)" and in thinking about the topic of introducing someone to gay wrestling, it's helpful to go back to the beginning - at least my beginning.

My first exposure to gay wrestling was on bgeast.com and boy do I still have vivid memories of that experience. Those wrestler profiles, the exciting match descriptions, all of it worked to overly stimulate my young imagination.  Reading about those grunting and groaning men made me feel like I was there, in the ring with them and feeling every strained bicep or the pain of a perfectly timed ball claw.  One particular image forever sealed in my memory from that day was an aggressive Brigham Bell flex-straddling a helpless Dino Serra in a schoolboy pin.  Brigham's cocky look, that vain bicep flex all worked to supercharge my interest.

Brigham Bell v Dino Serra (bgeast.com)

Later, after months, maybe even years of research, when I was finally able to buy my first Bgeast DVD, I picked up Tag Team Torture 3 - specifically because of Mr.Troy Baker.  Now it wasn't intentional but what's key here is that I picked a gay wrestling match without the sex.  As it happened, Troy Baker simply didn't do nudity and after all my 'research' there was no stopping me from wanting to see him.  

Troy & Brian Baker v Vinny Trevino & Joshua Goodman (bgeast.com)A gay wrestling match without the gay sex

I mean can you blame me? 

All that to say that my first introduction to gay wrestling was less about guys doing it and more about the wrestling. Of course I visited other gay sites devoted purely to sex, but somehow keeping them separate - gay wrestling and gay porn helped. In fact, it intensified my gay wrestling passion since there was just nothing hotter than being taken to the edge of excitement, only to be denied it.  Gay wrestling wasn't just a cheesy prelude to the sex, it was an epic story of powerful emotions, humiliation, and masculinity.  Needless to say I was hooked. 

Flyboy v Jose (bgeast.com) Another gay wrestling classic without the sex.

I won't go as far to say that I didn't need the release that typical porn had to offer, but what I will say is that the images of hot guys straining their muscles or the guttural moans each fighter made was simply hotter than anything else I had seen before. Whether it was the intense cries of defeat or the shakiness in their voice when the adrenaline was flowing; all of that was heaven to me.

Mars v Bjorn (wrestler4hire.com)

But the thing that did it for me was the intense realness that gay wrestling brought.  The sweat that proved each man was a fighter, the trash talk boasting how they would dominate each other, and the humiliation showing there were real consequences to all this, all worked in concert to fuel what was rapidly becoming my obsession.  

Grant Phelps v Mark Molina (movimuswrestling) Movimus: The most wrestling focused studio. 

At stake in each wrestling match was a piece of a man's masculinity and pride, with the winner stripping the loser of everything they had. Gay wrestling to me was everything but the sex, everything but the climax, all of which made it a thousand times hotter.

So how do you welcome someone to all that gay wrestling has to offer? Following my path I'd recommend jumping into a classic high quality match minus the sex from a studio like Bgeast then alternating between a studio that offers more sex to one that offers more wrestling. 

After awhile you'll figure out where you land on this spectrum (wrestling and sex) and really begin to see where the stars align for you.  Now for me, if I had to guess what the perfect mix would be, it would be something like 75% wrestling and 25% sex, but to each their own.  

Ron Masters v Cody Brooks (can-am.com) Can-Am: The most sex focused studio. 

Jonathan Bennett v J Durango (bgenterprises) Bgenterprises: Sometimes all wrestling, sometimes all sex. 

Logan v Drake (nrwrestling.com) Nrwrestling: The most non-gay gay wrestling studio.

Luke Truong v Mack Mahoney (muscleboywrestling.com) Muscleboywrestling: More sex focused than wrestling. 

Cali Boy v Christian Thorn (wrestler4hire.com) Wrestler4hire: More wrestling than sex. 

Cody v Tanner Ripley (undergroundwrestler.com) Undergroundwrestler: Gay wrestling with everything but the nudity. 

Kid Leopard v Sean Cannon (bgeast.com) Bgeast: This studio has everything on the wrestling-sex continuum. 

When I first started watching gay wrestling there were really just a few options but now there are countless variations to entertain yourself with. Some of you may prefer more sex, others more wrestling, but whatever the type of gay wrestling you ultimately become interested in, it really is up to you. You see this story, this journey of how I came to obsess over gay wrestling is unique to me as it is to every other person's passion and without a doubt something that turned me gay (not really).

#gay wrestling #bgeast.com #thundersarena #wrestler4hire #muscleboywrestling #undergroundwrestler #nrwrestling.com

[vacayisland]

@!; I love you. Floyd / Reader

"Summary"! "I love you" I always had and I always do. "Tags"! Floyd's POV. angst/hurt. This was more experimental in my writing so please enjoy and I accept any feedback you might have <3

@storydays @chamille-trash @valvalentine69

Floyd stood in the crowd, surrounded by a hundred faces that he did not know. He stood under the starlight sky, silent and deserted as others' cheers flooded his ears and made him deaf. The lights from the stars, which could not shine as brightly as you, drowned his vision and made him blind. His voice was all but silent. His spirit all but drained as he stood there, not one with a crowd yet a husk in a body that he no longer knew was his. With a mind that tried to barricade the disappearance that tried to flood out in a crowd of faces he did not know. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that blurred, his eyes fixated not on them nor on you; For you shined too brightly for him to bear, too brightly for him to hold, too brightly for him to keep. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that didn’t care as the stars smiled down upon him with a taunting grin, a sickening grin that made his stomach heave and quelch. Floyd stood upon the crowd of blank faces, all screaming and shouting the name of a lover that couldn’t be, trying to remember how he ended up in this crowd. In this place, in this time, in this situation. His brain tried to search for an answer, any sort of sign from the sinister stars that did not help yet laughed upon his misfortune why? Why! He wanted to scream and cry out, shout until he could no longer do so, until he was hoarse and dead. Why did it have to be you, the one who was born with the kiss of the sun, who would rival the stars above you and make them envious, who could be everything and nothing at once. Who was he compared to you?

“Floyd this is madness!” Branch had cried to him once as he followed him, trying to convince him to change his mind, go back on the words he had just spoken, anything other than this. Other than this cruel fate. This cruel, cruel fate that someone should not bare let alone Floyd who has done so much for you! Yet Floyd would not listen, his heart set on the path he had chosen knowing it was the best for you; The best for a star that should not follow another that did not burn as brightly as you, who’s light had been dimmed far beyond repair. You deserved to dance with those who were like you, who burned as bright as you and who could dance alongside you without this gut stabbing remorse for even being near. No, no…. You shouldn’t be stuck with someone who is so burnt out that they will weigh you down, drown you until you're extinguished like a light that had never shone in the first place when you were the brightest of all. No, no… Floyd could possibly not do that to you. Never to you. For you were the light that lit his flame, burned his heart, and awakened his days. For you were the one dancing around his head, countlessly, as you sang songs above a love that Floyd desired for you and only you. A love he could not push you through. A love he could not burden you with, so what else could he have done other than to say… goodbye? “I wish we were to other people,” You used to dreamily say to Floyd upon summer nights, out on the cold green grass as fireflies danced around your heads like stars who had descended to grace you and only you. Never him, he didn’t deserve such beauty. “I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye, I wished I could stay by your side.” You had told Floyd with the dreamist of sighs, a smile upon your face that made him forget about the dancing stars and the moonlight sky. God you looked so beautiful tonight that it hurt Floyd, it hurt him so much. Countless men tried chasing you down, tried asking for your hand, tried to be yours and yet Floyd had always taken your attention.

Selfish; Is what chastised him in his mind as he watched your love-struck eyes mingle with his that did not deserve to gaze upon your beauty. Beauty that Floyd could not describe; could not justify into words as it left his mouth dry. You wished that you both were different people, in a different time, at a different place, but why? Floyd could never understand the reason why your heart burned like his for a man who could not live next to you. For a man who had fallen from grace and from heaven while you still danced above, singing with all that heaven has given you to bless the ears of this selfish, selfish man in front of you. “I do not wish the same,” Floyd had told you, his words coxed in honey to make you believe that his heart did not yearn as well for this time, that his heart did not beg for you to be with him constantly. Selfish, crude, monster-ish. The words rang in his head, banging against the walls and stabbing him through the heart over and over until he felt it bleed. Selfish. He had made you cry that night, tears running down your flushed cheeks like impure stains that should not have been near you. He shouldn’t have made you cry, you didn’t deserve to cry, yet he did so anyway. What a crude man, what a monstrous man to make a star cry.

To make you cry hurt Floyd more than denying his heart, which was broken and torn into pieces as he watched you leave with such disdain and despair that he was sure someone else could repair. Not him, never him; a selfish greedy man that stood upon the summer grass, who stood upon a crowd full of people he didn’t know, who once stood next to you and your heavenly throne. Selfish. Is a word Floyd never used lightly and he would be damned if he gave himself leeway this time, any time. Never has Floyd ever been so disgusted with himself like he had when he was around you, but it was never your fault; It could never be your fault, it was his own. A burden he carried that weighed him down until he could no longer stand it, thrashing about for a way to escape. For a way to stop the pain. Away. Away from you and away from what you two had become. Never again does he want to taint you with who he has become; diminished, a star with no light. How could you have ever stand being close to someone who could never burn as bright. And then he watched as he took your flame but all for a short time. You cried and screamed, shouting with frightening might one night, “You never loved me… You knew that I loved you and you used that!” Your brightness was now a flame, anger burned instead of beauty and Floyd was scared that he had soiled who you once were. “No,” He had barely croaked out, trying to watch his tone. Yet it was useless as your words were like a scorching stone. They bruised his hair, burned him with bruises too much to bare, and he sunk to the floor in despair. For he loved you so, yet knew you should never know. And now he stood, in a pit in his own despair, within a crowd with faces that could never compare. And you, you stood upon the stage with light so fair. And oh he loved you so, he would repeat the phrase a dozen or so times in his head for the only answer to ring back dead. For you had given him your heart, and he yours. “Be careful,” He had told you oh so long ago, “As you walk home.” For since that night, you had his heart captured and chained and you always gave it a start. For since that night, he knew who he loved and no one, yes no one, could ever replace that feeling he held all so dear. And you had been careful, just as he said. You had held onto his heart with the utmost care, with the utmost importance, and with the utmost love. You were tender and soft, you fed him love. Love that was simple and love that was fair, love that was sweet and could not compare. Love that was soft, and that will forever be there. Forever be there in the corners of his mind. Forever be there, as the stars turn him blind. He would never hope for this fate for you, as it’s too cruel to bear. He would hope you would forget about him and let time head its course, and like the stars patch the wound he had embedded upon your heart. He hoped you didn’t search for his face among the crowd or call out his name in the darkest of night. For you would see only a shadow and gain no response back and it would sully your heart, and he was sure it would make you sad.

Selfish.

The word came back to him, one last time, as he slowly existed the crowd of nameless faces, upon a dark summer night. He slowly backed away from his final chance to mend the heart you had gave to him, now broken and bruised and torn and cut. His final chance to make things right to tell you how much you’re loved.

“I love you, …” Would be the words that died on his lips that night, along with his heart and diminished light.

“I love you” Were the words he wanted to say as he wrapped you in a hug, as he hid you from the pain.

“I love you”, Never again would he burden you with the possibility of those words. For he was not the one to tell you them, he could not claim your heart.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I really do. For my heart was always yours, and your heart was always mine. We were stars, you see, at the start of the world. We were atoms next to each other, always compelled by force. I love you, I love you, oh I love you so. Please stay with me, let us make our hearts whole. I love you, I love you, I love you more… but the words died from his lips before he could even give them a start, a chance, a second of thought.

Maybe, if things were different.

Maybe in another life, if we were different people. Maybe you would be me and maybe I would be you. Maybe we would be lovers, maybe even friends. In every universe I’m sure I will find you and cure your ills.

Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to mend my weeping heart. Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to face the brightest star.

Making a wish is something I had told you to do before, “Maybe a wish my love,” I had said with a tease. Yet the shooting star had shot out too quickly, leaving you with a wishing dream. And now maybe it’s my time to look upon a shooting star and wish to tell you the words that were stuck in my heart:

“I love you,” Without a frightful start. Full and truly, with my whole chest and heart;

“I love you.” I always had and I always do. I was just too scared to tell you.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

#floyd trolls x reader #floyd x reader #brozone x reader #trolls band together #trolls fandom #trolls 3 #trolls dreamworks #trolls #brozone #dreamworks trolls #floyd trolls #trolls floyd

[norrisleclercf1]

First of all amazing writing for the poly max and charles. It was perfectly written since I can see Charles giving the silent treatment for something like that, and for max to react that way omg it hurt but its such a max thing to do.

And since you said you need a few ideas here are some.

- Does the reader have to get involved and force the boys to talk to each other and its a whole bunch of fluff with maybe charles making it up to max by taking max and reader on a cute karting date at a track they rented out and we get a happy ending

- Or does the tension keep going because the boys avoid each other and the problem and it carries on into a race weekend and Charles feels the need to prove himself and does some reckless driving and has a really big crash that leaves him unconscious and his car in shambles. And he gets taken to the hospital. Where the reader and max are going crazy not knowing whats happening. And then we get the fluff of max and charles making up and everyone being happy

Just a suggestion to maybe jump start some ideas

Hope you have an amazing day!

A/N: These are both such good ideas but we all know that I went with the second one

Warnings: Angst, Hospital, wrecking, etc.

The tension has been thick. You so much couldn't even start a conversation without he two of them turning it into a huge fight. Max was furious that Charles wasn't talking to him. Charles was furious that Max simply couldn't understand or sympathize with what he's going through.

It doesn't help either that Max and Charles have been trashing each other in the media. Max has been a wreck, staying with Daniel or Christian as much as possible. He couldn't be home.

Charles was with his mother and brothers, refusing to come home because he didn't want to run into Max and cause another argument. You have been left alone in your large bed with both the men you love gone.

You actually texted them one night, alone and tired of this.

If you two can't fix this, then we're ending this

You know they both read these because they both texted you saying not to do this, and that they're sorry. You don't answer them, not until they talked to each other first.

A new race was coming up, and while you normally spent it spending time with the boys and calming them down. You stayed away and spoke to them with curt replies, simply letting them know you would be at the race.

You hated to do this, but you couldn't be near Charles at the moment, so when you entered the paddock, you walked right past Ferrari and went to Red Bull. Newey was the first to see you, he was well aware of your relationship with both drivers.

"Y/n, how are you?" A wobbly smile is what you give him, unsure how to answer the question. "Newey, have they," You look around, stepping in closer so no one else hears the words. "Have they spoken to each other at all? I know they had the interviews together." Newey sighs, rubbing a hand over his head.

"You didn't watch them?" This has your stomach dropping, hands buzz from the anxiety you have been feeling all day. "No," "Don't." Someone calls Newey's name which has him kissing your cheek and walking off.

Max rounds the corner, stopping when he sees you flexing your hands. He hates that this is the first time he's seen you almost 3 weeks. Max never should have left home, his home with you and Charles.

The feeling of eyes on you causes you to look up, Max's blue ones skate over your body seeing if anything is wrong. "Baby." in 3 strides he's by your side, grabbing your hands. He knew that your anxiety was making them feel funny.

"Have you spoken to him?" Pulling your hands away you keep a small distance between one another. "Y/n," Sighing in anger you knew he hasn't. "Max, you make him speak to you. I'm not going to be the referee in this one." Wiggling your fingers you spin on your heel, leaving Max to stare at your back.

Charles noticed you right away, how could he not. He's done nothing but stare at yours and Max's pictures since he left. "Nemo." Seeing Charles, face drawn tight, eyes sunken with skin pale as snow has your heart burn.

Nemo, he was the only one to call you that. The first movie you 3 watched together as a couple. You love that movie. "Charles." His lips tip down, hearing how cold your voice is. "I'm sorry." You don't react, you can't.

"If you're sorry, then apologize to Max. He's done nothing wrong." Charles's sadness quickly becomes anger at those words. "Nothing wrong? He's the cause of it all." Licking your lips you look down, the numbness in your hands growing. "Charles, if you keep this is, you'll be the one to break us." He says nothing as he turns and walks off, dissolving into the sea of red.

------------------------------

"The fuck is he doing?" Flinching you watch as Charles moves the Ferrari at angles and speeds no one, not even Schumacher or Max would do. He was being reckless, trying to get around Max. "Charles, stop." You plead to no one but yourself.

"He's going to fast into that corner, OH GOD!" One of the commentator's voice fill your ears as you watch the red Ferrari flip endlessly and slam into the barriers. "No." Knees weak, someone catches you helping you into a chair. You say nothing, the numbness all over your body.

The roar of the engines doesn't shake you from your daze. Not the scared voice of Max, his shaking hands, or the frantic yelling of everyone around you.

"He's not moving." Max whips his head down, dropping to your level. "It's okay, he's going to be okay." Max doesn't know who he's trying to comfort, you or him. "Go, they're taking him to the hospital." Max nods at Newey who tells him he'll make an excuse as to why the two of you are gone.

--------------------------------

Max just stares at the sleeping body of Charles, your own is curled up into his chest. Max fixes your position kissing the top of your head, keeping a close eye on Charles's heartbeat. For 10 hours, they didn't know what was wrong with Charles, or even if he was alive.

You had tired yourself out from crying and multiple anxiety attacks later, you were fast asleep. Max was numb to it all, having just stared and mumbled few words. The soft beeps of Charles heart spike, Max shooting out of the chair.

"Max?" He's next to side in an instant running his hands over his bruised and cut up face. "You fool, you fucking fool." Max hisses, pissed beyond years. "Don't," Charles whispers, hand moving to cover one of Max's.

"You almost died, died to just pull some fucking dangerous move. I wouldn't even do that, Red. Why?" Choking on the words, Max screws his eyes shut. "My own selfish pride. I hated that you kept winning, hated everything." Max presses his head against Charles's kissing his cheek.

"Red, Charles. You should've told me. We could've talked about this." Charles makes a pained expression, the pain medication fading away. "I'm sorry, I hate feeling this way. I love you and to feel like this, has torn me to shreds." Max sighs, placing another kiss on Charles's bruised cheek.

"Don't go," "I'm not, I'm waking up Y/n." Charles relaxes, Max whispering soft words into your ear. Sitting up you blink away the sleep, looking into Charles's eyes. "Charles?" He smiles moving his arm slightly. "Charles." Whimpering you move laying yourself next to Charles.

"Easy." Max hushes helping you two lay next to one another. "Join us." Chuckling, Max fixes Charles's messy hair. "No, I'm staying awake. You two sleep." Max pulls the chair closer, holding Charles's hand.

Max couldn't help but watch the two of you sleep, and to listen to the steady beeps from the machine

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x charles leclerc

[jongseongsnudes]

thirty.

warning; nothing but the end is coming! 🥂🥳 1.3k words. masterlist.

“sunghoon seems to take such good care of you,” one says, her hand brushing your arm, “his future wife is going to be so lucky.”

“speaking of which... what do you think about me as your sister in law?”

“no no! how about me as your sister in law!”

somehow, you found yourself cornered in by a bunch of beautiful women the moment you stepped into the function hall, all the daughters and granddaughters of the rich rich. at first they were all very sweet, complimenting you about everything and anything.

then the questions came, all about park sunghoon and his dating life.

the topic of his marriage had been the talk of the town as of late, more so after becoming ceo. you know for a fact that women dream of becoming his dear wife and although you don’t want to admit it, it’s in the back of your mind somewhere too.

“i hope i’m not interrupting,” sunghoon’s voice causes everyone around to you to gasp in unison, their eyes immediately twinkling at the sight of him behind you. the man extends his hand out to you with the most charming smile on his face, making you instantly swoon.

you take his hand, allowing him to pull you towards the stage where he was due for a speech. everyone’s focus is immediately on you, some with envy, some in awe and some with just plain hate. but you’ve become used to it. being a park has given you many things, including much thicker skin.

“you’re very popular,” you whisper, just loud enough for sunghoon to hear, “feels like i’m watching the bachelor.”

“you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

“i am not jealous.”

he turns to you, brows raised and with that stupid, know-it-all grin on his face. he knows you’re jealous, hell, YOU knew you were jealous.

it sucks but you are, knowing these ladies had a higher chance of getting with him than you because at the end of the day, your relationship was in so many ways, wrong.

“don’t fall in love with me while i give my speech.”

the man walks over to do his speech while you’re left standing behind him, ironically speechless because it was too late for that warning now. way too late.

there was a noticeable change in sunghoon recently that you assume was from the responsibility of a new position. although the man still enjoyed annoying you on the daily, he was evidently more attentive, more thoughtful, more mature in general.

a true man.

you’ve barely gotten to spend time with him these days, the man too busy with work but every moment that you did, he made sure it was worth it.

and this sunghoon really did something to you, having you fall deeper and deeper for him without even knowing it.

“wipe your drool, you’re making a mess.”

but of course sunghoon being sunghoon, still had that trash mouth of his that manages to ruin any given moment.

“funny,” you scoff and softly knock his chest, even stepping closer as an intimidating stance. what you forgot though, were the hundreds of watchful eyes and how the playful scene might’ve looked to them.

sunghoon raises a questionable brow and glances around the place before looking back down at you, “oh. in front of all these people? you want me that bad?”

“you are unbelievable.”

the man laughs whole heartedly and offers his arm, in which you take for him to lead you back down the stairs. the charity event continues on, with sunghoon mingling with the crowd and you by his side. nights like these really gave you a glimpse into what it would be like if you really were with sunghoon.

not as his step sister, but as his partner.

“just a little longer.”

“hm?”

“i know you’re tired, we’ll leave soon,” sunghoon keeps his voice low only for your ears, his hand rubbing your backs soothingly, “then you can have me to yourself.”

“whatever. i’m going to the bathroom.”

leaving sunghoon be, you head for the bathroom, only to be stopped by the loud mention of your name. the conversation between two men in the hallway immediately peaks your curiosity, your legs quickly stepping behind the wall to hide.

“he’s quite close to his sister don’t you think? they’re always together,” you hear a male voice, one you recognise as someone from management, “i think they’ve fucked at least.”

gulp.

“same but at the same time, i don’t think he’s that stupid,” the other responds with a laugh, “that’s like sabotaging the company and his own image. they’re step siblings but it’s still pretty fucked up.”

“someone apparently saw them cosying up in his office the other day.”

“shit really? oh i’m so ready to watch his downfall in this company.”

voices and laughter eventually drown out as they disappear around the corner, leaving you and their words to finally sink in. if their words did anything, it’s solidifying your thoughts.

that you and park sunghoon can’t happen for everyone’s sake.

“why do you look so suspicious?”

sunghoon’s sudden voice makes you jump for the second time tonight, having been too deep thought to even notice him. he watches you with amusement as he comes over to stand in front of you, eyes never once moving.

“i’m not doing anything.”

“liar,” his gaze bore into your face as his finger probes your chin up, making you look directly at him, “what’s wrong now?"

silence.

“what are we?” those words come out before you could even process it, surprising not only him but also yourself. so many times have you brought up a similar topic but time after time, the man would laugh about it and sweep it under the couch.

but you’ve finally done it, asking him the one question you’ve been wanted to for so long.

“is that why you’ve been sulky all night?”

“i’m serious sunghoon.”

“you don’t like what we’re doing?” the man takes a step closer, hand naturally grabbing hold of your waist, bringing you flat against him. he leans in but you hurry to turn away, much to his amusement, “you don’t like the secrecy? you don’t like the fact that you get me and these women don’t?”

“so we’re going to live like this forever? in secrecy?”

“okay fine. lets get married. is that what you want to hear?”

“what-” you were left speechless, not only at the suggestion of marriage but because of the sudden cockiness in his tone, “why can’t you take me serious for once?”

“i am serious.”

“you know that’s not possible. our parents are married, what will people think of the company and you?”

“then i’ll quit and we’ll run away. simple.”

“sunghoon. you’re the ceo, you can’t just quit-”

“i can’t do this, i can’t do that,” he interrupts you mid sentence, his tone evidently higher than before. you know when he’s not happy and right now, he’s definitely not. “i became the fucking ceo for you, i don’t know what else i can do. so tell me. what do you want from me?”

silence overtakes the conversation as you both stand there, eyes glued on each other, his hand no longer on your waist. the unspoken tension is so heavy, you feel suffocated, like there’s so much weighing down on your chest.

“i only want what’s best for you sunghoon,” you finally mutter up the courage to talk, not wanting to drag it on for any longer. “i’m going to study abroad. i’ll be leaving next week.”

end.

-

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#the enha universe #enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen drabble #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenario #sunghoon; step brother #enhypen smut #enhypen reaction #enha #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon fic #park sunghoon fanfic #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon drabble #park sunghoon imagine #jongseongsnudes #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fic #sunghoon fanfic

[dream0fschism]

are your nsfw requests still open? if they are could you do one with könig and medic!reader? the rest is up to you

god i’m such a konig slut

i'm back, my darlings!

PAIRING: König x f!reader

“I’m getting tired of seeing your hooded face, König.”

He never spoke much, a thing not uncommon for men in his field of work. Many preferred the comfortable air that the silence brought, enjoyed how it was such a stark contrast to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, screaming. It made your dingy, makeshift clinic a refreshing stop for most.

But the man in front of you had made trips to your room so frequently you’d figured he must have broken some kind of record. You’d treated gunshot wounds, minor burns, patched up his bloody knuckles countless times… there wasn’t an inch of skin you hadn’t laid your fingers upon. Each time you cared for his cuts or stab wounds, some of which hash-marked atop of old and stubborn scars, it was as if you gathered more intel about his personality otherwise untold.

König was a machine, dangerously dedicated to proving his worth - dangerous for the receiving party, of course - with a willingness to sacrifice as much of his flesh and blood as it takes. If necessary, he would nurse his own injuries, albeit terribly, in favour of granting himself an advantage or winning battles. You recall a few times in which you scolded him for his amateur efforts. “If you cauterise one more wound this terribly I’m going to refuse you of future treatment.”

Of course, he’d remained silent. But you swore you saw the slight crinkle in the skin around his eyes.

And in his dedication you couldn’t help but see a deep insecurity. Sometimes, but only on the rare occasion, he would show up barely alive. He would always be alone, never needing his comrades to waste their energy and strength on carrying him to safety. But you would always worry the most in these situations, when his skin was pale and cold and he still refused to remove his hood. “Anything below here, I can take care of myself,” he’d struggled to grumble out.

If he wasn’t so unbelievably skilled, you’d assume he had a death wish.

“I’m sure you’ve said that before,” he answered, the sudden sound of his accented voice gifting you with slight surprise.

“I suppose I’m running out of things to say,” you chuckle, continuing to swab at the dry blood clinging to the skin of his sternum. “And you’re just about running out of unmarked skin.”

“Mm, my gear does seem to be quite useless,” König nods. “Perhaps fighting naked wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

The harmless joke has heat creeping onto your cheeks, and you’re really baffled by your own brain because of it. As if you hadn’t seen ninety-percent of his body already.

“Perhaps not.”

"You are blushing," he notes. "Yet this isn't your first time you've rubbed at my bare skin."

The hand you had placed against him stilled momentarily as his point only intensified the bubbling heat in your face, swelling a ruby-red shade along each of your cheekbones. You continued your aid, with a strict refusal to allow your gaze anywhere else except for his wound.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," König breaks the short silence that followed.

You laugh dryly as your awkwardness fizzles away a little. "You're all finished."

König brushes a hand over the gauze, inspecting your work. When he says nothing, you stand on your feet and gather the used swabs, kicking your wheeled stool to the side to make your way to the bin.

Before the lid had even closed the trash behind it, you felt the warmth of his towering presence at your back. It startled you all the same, a sharp inhale sucking its way through your parted lips.

"I have to ask.. Do you like seeing what's beneath my gear?" He presses each of his long fingers into your shoulder as his hand cups over it.

"Isn't that question a little inappropriate..."

"If I'm crossing a line, then tell me to stop."

You open your mouth to reply, unsure of what exactly you'll say when the hand at your shoulder slowly begins to move. He's agonizingly slow, careful as he explores over the layer of your white button-up, and you feel utterly insane for being unable to use your words and put an end to it.

Instead, you stare blankly at the off-white wall in front of you and allow his hand to roam.

"Can I tell you something?" He asks, edging his hand to cup below your right breast. The touch causes you to lean into the tower of his body, a sudden tenderness and sensitivity wracking each nerve in your chest.

"I enjoy coming to see you," he continues, prompted by the way you relax against him. "In fact, I refuse to see anyone else when I'm injured."

It makes you cock an eyebrow. "I thought it was strange, just how often you needed medical attention. Were you slacking out there? Hoping to get injured so you could see me?"

König huffs out a dry laugh. "No. But part of me did want to be indebted to you."

Liar.

"Why?"

"Because I needed an excuse to give you exactly what you deserve."

You swallow a dryness in your throat, the hand on your breast gives a generous squeeze as you do so. You almost choke on your own saliva.

"If that's something you want..."

"And what do I deserve?" Though you feel as though you already know the answer, you ask anyway, subsequently causing a heavy pulse at within your heat.

"I'm much better with actions than words."

"They do speak louder, I suppose..."

König takes your response as agreement, the hand at your breast moving to dig desperately beneath one of the spaces between the buttons of your shirt. He finds purchase and, in one swift pull, violently rips open the shirt, each button clicking gently as they bounce against the tiled floor.

You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him that he owes you a new shirt pronto - but König is determined to waste no time as his hands are already tugging the band of your bra down to expose your tits.

"I've wanted to see these for a long time," he breathes, and you hear the tremble in his exhale as he does so. "So perfect."

It dawns on you that you must be an obsession of his, that he may be interested in you significantly more than you are in him. It's the only viable explanation for his reckless behaviour, and yet it still didn't make sense why he would risk his life even more than he already did just to be in your presence.

"I.. hope you realise I have no other shirt to wear," you say, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his hot, calloused fingers brushing circles into the shape of each of your nipples. "How am I going to leave this room?"

König tuts as his hands cage around the mounds of your chest and pulls you flush against him.

"Who said you're going to leave this room?"

The pit in your stomach spirals into a trench, and then König is lifting you, using the leverage of your weight against him, before you can even stutter out a response. His hands guide your body along like you're no heavier than a bag of rice, a true display of his unbeatable strength that sends your mind numb - reminds you of just who you're dealing with.

A ruthless, merciless killing machine.

When König settles onto the examination table, he makes sure that you're positioned perfectly onto the tautness of his giant thighs, and you finally win against the babbling, incoherent flurry of thoughts inside your skull and speak.

"This... Surely we're violating multiple codes of conduct.. protocols... I-"

König allows you to cut yourself off, relishes in the way you hiccup at the sensation of linen on skin as deft hands begin to slide up your skirt.

"We can stop," he suggests, halting the movement of his hands but continuing to brush his fingertips back and forth, so awfully close to the insides of your thighs.

You squeeze your eyes shut and drop your head to rest just below his shoulder. Every single horny neuron inside of your brain fires at you, reminds you of just how neglected you've been sexually, what the countless hours of constant shifts have denied you for so long. And then it dawns on you.

"König, we can't. I'm not on birth control."

The man laughs. Laughs. It's the first time you've ever heard such a soft, genuine sound escape his mouth. You feel a twitch below because of it, the heat between your legs only solidifying the way his display of amusement has made your want for him so much more intense.

"Love, I'm only interested in your pleasure."

And you know better than most that a man who prefers giving rather than receiving is a rare find.

It would be a tragic waste.

When you spread your legs unconsciously, your skirt ruffles up until it can't no more and König reacts accordingly to the invitation your cunt is giving to him. But he spends too much time massaging the sensitive skin between your thighs for your liking, and you lift your hips to encourage something more.

What you get is rather unexpected, and would be a little annoying if you weren't so drunk on your own arousal. König hooks a finger under the material covering your hip bone and jerks his wrist, tearing your panties with ease before moving to finish the job at the other side.

"Please," you murmur, eyes trained on the large hand between your legs. He shushes you, with a gentleness you didn't suspect he had in him.

"Quiet now," he hums out. "Let me show you how grateful I am to you."

You feel your clit screaming for pressure, but König's fingers seem to ignore the cry as he toys with the wetness around your hole. The sensation tickles slightly, until he's pressing his middle and ring fingers inside.

Immediately, your hands fly up to brace at the arm that begins to move, long fingers filling you enough to bring a whimper from you. It feels good, but not perfect, and the man seems to read your mind as he curls his digits to rub at your sensitive, spongy spot.

"Oh, fffuck," you sigh, digging the back of your head into him with more force and following with a series of guttural groans.

"Quiet," he scolds, a slight venom in his tone. "Or I'll have to stop."

"Don't," you almost growl with a buck of your hips.

You almost forget the other hand that rests over your left breast until it starts to knead and pull at the skin, almost miss the sound of König's pants as they ooze with arousal from behind his mask.

With only the sensation of König's palm brushing against it, your clit is desperately swollen. You're willing to look the other way when you feel yourself constricting around the now three fingers pumping in and out of you.

When he speaks, his movements don't falter.

"I'm going to stop, and when I do, I want you to lay on your back on this table. Understand?"

"Yes," you obey. You're pretty much putty in his hands at this point anyway.

And so you splay out on the cold metal of the table - which your white coat does nothing to protect you from - skirt bunched up around your hips, shirt ruined and ripped open and completely exposing your chest and belly.

"Lift your legs," he commands, hand ready to hold them in place as you do as you're told.

At the end of the table he stands, lanky arms reaching over to grasp each of your ankles as he slides you along the metal until the backs of your thighs butt against his own.

You feel uncomfortably aware of how exposed you are as he spreads your legs and examines the sight before him. His eyes are cold, fierce - akin to the eyes of a hunter eyeing its prey. Your body feels as cold as the surface beneath it underneath his stare.

König releases your ankles to let your heels rest at his shoulders as his hands begin a slow trail down and along your trembling thighs. Each of his thumbs hook around your corresponding hip bones, calloused fingers cupping in place at your lower back.

His baby blues eyes are considerably darkened to a shade of grey as they flick up to meet your own, and moments later the hem of his hood is brushing gently over your swollen slit.

You've never seen his face, but you've never wanted to more than you do now. His hold on you is intoxicating in a way that staggers your cognition, robs your brain of any chance of comprehension as you can only watch him lean further forward and dip until you can feel the heat of his breath against your cunt. His tongue is hot, completely saturated in his own saliva as it makes contact with your puffy clit. It snatches the breath from your lungs with violence, and when it starts to massage on and around the nerve you can only mewl and whine meekly.

König continues his watch on you the entire time, evidently enjoying the pained look that the struggle to keep quiet brings to your face.

You lift your hips into the onslaught of his mouth, and his grip around them becomes vice-like as he forces you into place and sucks harshly at your nub. This only serves to fuel your physical struggle under his pleasure more, and he grunts at your display of disobedience, lifting you higher until only your upper back and head touch the table.

The new position makes any movement too difficult for you, forces you to submit against him as he groans into the taste of your pussy. "König, I-God, I can't--" You flail your arms until they slump defeatedly back down to your sides, nails scratching at the frigid surface below you.

He manoeuvres his grip for comfort, lifting you further, until his forearms are encircling and squeezing around your waist and your calves hang over each of his shoulders.

"König, please, fuck--"

The man hums into your heat, all but abusing your clit with the vibration that follows through the sound. You're forced to slap one hand over your mouth to muffle the repetition of cries falling from it. König's lucky, his hood seems to dull his grumbles of pure satisfaction that reverberate against you. But you still hear every bit of them.

Your body spasms when you come undone against König's relentless mouth, legs jittering with a force that wobbles your entire body against his own. His hold on you helps stabilise you through the orgasm, but your hands fail to suppress the desperate, hopeless wails you release from behind them.

"That was beautiful," you barely hear him say through the ringing in your ears. "But I'm not done, Doctor."

#konig x reader #konig x you #König x reader #König x you #konig smut #König smut #konig fanfiction #König fanfiction #König call of duty #konig mw2 #König mw2 #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #könig x fem reader

[wxnheart]

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩

note: Soap is so ruggedly adorable. I couldn't help but pick this gif. He looks so awestruck. Imagine him looking at you the same way. The sequel is here, guys!

Unconventional seemed to be the story of your life. Or that's what others thought. For you, it was as normal as eating and sleeping.

But of course, nothing was normal when it came to Ghost and Soap. Mm. You wouldn't call it unconventional. You'd call it exciting. Yeah... they're exciting. They keep you on your toes and you on theirs. And damn if you didn't enjoy everyday life with them.

Of course, you two can be (lovable) pains in Ghost's ass. But to be fair, everyone is a pain in Ghost's ass so you're doing something right if all he does is stare glare in longsuffering Ghost. And stare glare in longsuffering Ghost he does...

But yeah, it's the little things that make this relationship worth it.

Like the fact that Ghost has to be in the middle of everything. Literally. He sits in the middle of the couch, he's in the middle when you sleep. He's the neutral to your chaotic and Soap's... somewhat-but-not-really chaotic nature. He's, uh... he's in the middle of everything. ("...But I'm bigger than you both." "All the more reason to keep you in the middle, Lt." "What the fu—")

He also may or may not be the little spoon no matter what. Spoiler alert: he is. If it isn't Soap with an arm around his waist in the bed, it's you with your... everything pressed against him. You're probably copping a feel, too, and Ghost just sighs. You better not be touching anyone else's body but his and Soap's.

But hell, you love to cop a feel of Soap's beautiful body too, and he'll wink at you. Sometimes, he'll flex those big arms of his, and holy shit, you're swooning. Simon rolls his eyes.

And let's not forget the most recent argument about who snores. You say Johnny, he says it's you, and Simon says it's the both of you because you've ruined his 'beauty sleep' more than once. ("...Beauty sleep?" "Can't let these good genes go to waste." "....") You decided to record yourselves one night and come find out, all three of you snored. Ghost will call bullshit.

Fun fact: Simon does snore but it's really noticeable when he's REALLY fucking tired and Soap has a tendency to sleep like the dead and be alert at the same time. You bore witness to this a couple times. What the fuck?

Oh yeah, back to the little things: watching television together is a hoot and a half, too, if only because you're usually in control of the remote. You're really the only one who watches tv. Or so you think. Soap usually doesn't care what you watch unless it's clichè (and he will talk shit about how cliché the show is) and Ghost would rather the telly watch you three fuck. He already knows what's going to happen to the main character anyway because he and Soap binge-watched and trash-talked the show when you were out running errands.

When they're gone on assignment, they're confident you'll hold the fort down but that doesn't stop them from worrying about you. It always makes your day when they call to check on you.

You also tend to flood the group chat with memes or just start random conversations. Simon has banned you from posting risqué photos because all he'll think about is coming home and fucking you into the mattress. Soap is in agreement.

And when they do come home, the first order of business is holding you. Group hugs and cuddles are a must, especially for Ghost. And yeah, you can't deny how good it feels to be in between two muscular and handsome men.

And it's such a sight to see when you're the first one awake and you watch your boys sleeping so peacefully.

Let's not forget when they huddle closer together when you get out of bed. You took a picture of one such instance. Simon rolled his eyes and Soap was tickled by it.

Yeah, it's the little things that make this relationship worth it...

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #task force 141 #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john 'soap' mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #poly palooza. #nsfw. #just 141 things. #just ghostly things.

[nanamimizz]

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐕𝚬𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘

tags: 18+ minors dni, fem reader, condom usage, established relationship, raw sex, creampie, mating press, overstimulation, dacryphilia, cervix fucking (mentioned once), manhandling - let me know if i miss something

synopsis: it’s your three year anniversary and barou knows exactly how to celebrate it, you don’t think you can take it.

Barou’s neat freakiness was well known but no one knew just how far it ran. In the same way, Barou had a specific routine for his day by day so did he have specific rules that would not be broken. Roll towels -do not fold them over, pair all socks immediately and keep all baskets in the washroom. He has rules about personal care too, his long warm-ups and cool-downs, and brushing his teeth three times a day.

And most of these things charm you in a way - seeing how detailed his red gaze makes you laugh behind your hand in a way that Barou thinks has no reason to be that cute. Well, all but one rule makes you laugh like that. Barou Shoei in the three years you’ve been dating after meeting at a high school reunion that ended with phone numbers being exchanged to tonight’s dinner coming to an end has been maintained without room for budging.

He always has to wear a rubber.

It was nice the first couple of months, even with being on the pill at first it made you almost purr seeing how adamant he was on it. After a year the charm had half worn off, any pleas fell on deaf ears after he had pulled you aside for a quickie only to realize his condom had expired. What resulted from that was you getting your thighs fucked and coming around nothing from the silky head of his cock nudging against your clit. The second year you had admitted to him that you no longer planned to take the pill, clearly subtlety wasn’t the strongest trait in the men of his family as it only made him more adamant on condom usage. 

It wasn’t until tonight - it’s your third anniversary and you both were changing for bed. He was in the bathroom, his hair down and smelling of soap as he looked at how you gently hung the pretty dress you wore for him but Barou can’t help but think about how much prettier you are dressed in ultra-soft leggings and a dark green long sleeve. He catches one last glimpse of you before turning back to the sink for the task of brushing his teeth. He had left his wallet on the counter, letting it flap in any way it wanted to and his eyes were caught on the raunchy yellow packaging almost neon in the soft lighting you installed in the bathroom.

Barou thinks profoundly for a moment and thinks about you and all the ways he loves you. He’s introduced you to his sisters that call him a loser whenever you are in their presence. You tell them to apologize as they whisk you away and he can catch their half-assed “sorry big brother sho!” on the air while he rolls his eyes at their antics. He gets you soy milk instead of cow milk, and he doesn’t call you a donkey or peasant. That might seem like a weird thing but for Barou that’s a big deal - is probably what you would say in his defense which makes him huff amusedly as he spits out the toothpaste in the sink. 

Barou takes the condom out of the folds of his wallet and it lands in the trash with a satisfying ‘flick’.

He comes out of the bathroom and he feels his shoulders drop at the sight of you carefully running a lint roller over his blazer before you zip up the covering, and tuck it away in the closet like you did with your own dress.

Yeah, Barou Shohei doesn’t need anything holding him back tonight.

Three years is a long time, and his hand twitched at the idea of finally having you the proper way, the right way. It’s apparent in the way he kisses you, big hands settling on the curve of your ass in those oh-so-soft leggings of yours that always make him ask you to walk in front of him. You gasp and whine when his tongue makes its way into your mouth - a king on a conquest and you concede without a battle. Your hands curl themselves into his shirt, fisting the fabric as Barou bends his back to have more of the taste of honey on your lips until his teeth ache. He’s sucking your tongue, tracing your teeth, groping, and grabbing at your cute ass. Barou delights in the wet and thin little sounds you make, and he pulls away when he has to not because he wants to. He takes joy in the thin glossy strings that trail after him.

You panting - all soft and thin little sounds that drive him crazy and you’re quick to bring a hand to cover your face when he squeezes your ass again. Barou is back to bumping heads with you, nudging your head with a hungry look in his eyes that makes you want to run and hide.

Lest you are found in the lion’s maw.

“More - I want more, I want to devour you.” He mumbles and you can feel the bass in his chest when he presses his own lips to yours and you gasp when you are met with tongue and teeth. You can only let out shudders of his name, gasps,, and whines because he keeps going until you feel your knees folding when met with the edge of the bed. A hand much bigger than yours goes from your ass to your chest and you find yourself flat on the bed. 

From above you, Barou is mighty, and from beneath him, you are divine.

“What’s - what’s gotten into you tonight?” You ask with swollen lips and stolen breath. Barou shakes his head, reaching under your comfortable clothes, and groans at the soft skin under his palms. You smell like the expensive lotion you splurge on, notes of jasmine and peonies are in the air and he thinks about how sweet the smell of your cunt would mix with them.

“It’s our anniversary you’re dumb if you think I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” He gruffs out, red eyes looking at the way you bite your lip and flush at his vulgar word choice. How someone as delicate as you got with him he’ll never know but he’s for sure not going to ruin his gift with insolence. Your shirt is off, his hands tug at the band of your leggings and he can’t help but let out a curse at the sight of pretty lace meeting him. He can see the curls of your hair through the sheer fabric and you hide behind your hand as he finishes tugging off your bottoms.

“You wear pretty things like this for me and you still thought I wouldn’t fuck you tonight?”  He almost growls at you and in return you turn away, unable to meet his gaze. Your undergarments look all the more dainty under his fingers when he tugs away the fabric and there’s a groan that is ripped from his chest when he sees the sticky strings of slick that cling to the gusset of the panties.

Your clit is hard, flushed among the petals of folds and your thighs jolt at his touch. His fingers can’t help but strum at it fast and rough, making you whine his name all high and pathetic. Red eyes look at how you shine in the soft golden lamps of the bedroom and moan at how just being played with the littlest bit makes you leak down his palm.

“Fuck, fuck you’re leaking it’s like you’re in heat for me.” He mutters from above you, letting a finger shallowly enter your cunt. Laughing when you tense up hips hiking and thighs popping shut, there’s something wicked in his vermillion gaze.

“You’re fucking cute, huh? Acting like you haven’t taken fucking my cock before?” He can see the sweat that drips down the side of your cheek and fights the urge to lick it up. You shake your head and it’s like your whole body trembles when you feel his finger sink further inside of you.

“It’s not that - just everything ah! Everything is sensitive t-today.” You gasp out and your eyes shut and you feel the telling sign of tears because Barou had slipped in another finger, curling it up into that spongy spot on your upper wall.

“Yeah? You need it bad, huh?” He asks you all mocking and cruelty because he knows, keeping a thumb at your clit and you feel like your brain is gonna melt out of your ears. You whimper into his smug grin and he laughs at your scrunched expression because you’re about to come for him. Despite being covered by your hair he can see how warm your ears are when your hands come to grip at the forearm of the hand that’s fucking your cunt with almost cruel precision. There are tears in your eyes as you cum with a squeal of his name - he can see his reflection in the shine and there is something vicious in his stomach that groans in approval at your pleasure-stricken face.

Barou tries very hard to be gentle with you, leaning into his better nature with tentative steps but right now with his head swimming with all the things he wants to do to you - he can’t help but want to be a villain. There’s nothing gentle with how he lets your orgasm crash and burn through you, your nerves buzzing and burning as you tremble beneath him. Your thighs are still shaking and your nipples are tight, his cock slaps against your folds; he moans with you at how the strings of your cum cling to the silk skin of its ruddy head. It rubs into your folds, and you feel tears drip down your cheeks because when one orgasm fuzzes out you still have more pleasure to traverse.

“Ah- wait, where’s the condom Sho-” You began to ask and you can only squeak when you feel the bare head of his cock being pressed into the opening between the petals of your cunt. Your hands had gone to clutch at his biceps - you had gotten your nails down for dinner tonight and Barou can’t help but moan at the sting.

“Not wearing one, I’m, fuck,” His head is in and Barou feels like the floor just swallowed him when he feels how hot you are. Barou is most familiar to your body, has seen it, and touched it the most intimately over the years. He’s felt your warmth and felt your slick when it would drip down to his balls but this..this was different. It feels like a punch to the gut, how you take him - a tight little fit because you’re in that time of the month when all your body can think about is cock. It’s like hot silk, pulpy and needy with how it drools around him and there’s a shiver that racks down his back when he feels a drop of your slick drip down a particularly sensitive vein down the left side of his cock. “I’m fucking you raw.”

His words are heavy in the air and you only let out soft girlish sounds when he pushes the rest of his cock in, long and heavy as it twitches inside of you. You’re losing your mind, it feels like the first time all over again and you feel like you’re going to sob your heart out with each inch that slips inside of you. Swallows around nothing and groans as he presses against your forehead when he feels himself slip the base. Is this how he could have had you for the past three years?

But it isn’t enough. Not like this.

 His hands go to grip your thighs so tightly you mewl at the sting, red eyes lock on where your bodies are joined and you feel the ache in your joints as his hands force your thighs further and further apart.

“A-ah, Shoei what are you doing?” You ask voice wobbling and thin as you feel yourself being manhandled, your weight shifting higher and higher on your upper back. The world tilts on its axis as you feel your ankles meeting the sturdy skin of his defined shoulders. The angle makes everything slip further - the head of his cock meeting a special sponge-like spot that makes you moan high and thin. It makes his cock twitch, eyes snapping up to watch how you keep the tears coming and you’re trembling all over.

“Trying to see what I've been missin’ all this time - tryin' to fuck you the right way.” He grunts out, voice thick and rough, racked with lust that he can’t contain. The first thrust feels like a freight train and you squeal like a mouse at the feeling of it, an adorable little tidbit but it isn’t what he wanted. He fucks you deeper, harder he’s sure there will be indents of his hips on your cute ass that ripples each time your bodies smack against each other. It’s too much for you, the weight, the length, and the strength of his cock. You’re too delicate at times and he feels your dainty hand come up to his pelvis, nails swiping at his stomach accidentally and he tries to [push past the way the sting makes him moan.

Barou wanted you to sound like a whore, just for him, just for tonight.

“You holdin’ out on me? Begged for my dick like this for years and now you have it you can’t take it?” He grunts at you, hiking you further up until you’re bent into a shape you’ve never been in. Your ankles are freely hanging in the air and your hands grip his biceps. Your shoulders and your cunt feel like a river - you don’t know how you’ll live with the embarrassment that you like being manhandled like this.

Barou feels like a beast and less of a man, he should have fucked you like this from the beginning because he can feel how you pulse, how you moan in time to the flutters of your walls and the throbs of your clit. You’re soaking him from tip to balls and he groans when he feels your slick drip down to his inner thighs. Thighs twitching at the idea of you creaming on his for the first time makes him ignore the burning in his core because Barou thinks if he’s denied that he’ll kill someone and he is desire is realized faster than he thought.

You fall apart with a wail - something too loud and deep in your chest he’s sure the next house overheard you and the thought makes him pump into you at an even pace. The stimulation makes the pleasure endure and it’s like watching the fibers of your mind being frayed right in front of you. Your cum is milky, thin, and opaque and Barou watches it froth at the base of his cock even spilling into the trimmed black hairs of his crotch. He moans because fuck, fuck this is what he’s been waiting for.

There’s a fog in your eyes and you wonder if you even have a brain anymore and when the too-hot pleasure pain from Barou’s thrusts keeps up you know you do. You peek down at where you two are connected and moans so weakly he wonders if he broke you. There are red scratch marks on his biceps and you gasping, stuttering over your words because God this is the best sex of your life.

“Di-did you cum, ah, Shoei?” You ask with a rocky voice and you whine in between the syllables because you feel the bump as the head of his cock meets a wall it’s never touched before.

“Nah - that’s just, fuck,” you twitched around him when he bumps into the wall of your cunt again,” that’s just fucking you and this messy cunt you got.” You moan with him at the same and your eyes have black rims around them from the remnants of mascara that you couldn’t get off but most certainly had cried off looking up to meet him. Barou doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more prettier than right now, and he thinks about how he’ll get to have this view again and again until you get sick of him.

Maybe that’s the thought that gets him - in time with the shuddering ache at his core of fucking you like an animal and he spills into you. You gasp his name, whining it out and Barou’s never felt like more of a man than right now as you watch how his cum leaks out of you; cunt swollen and puffy he can’t help but huff when he feels his cock twitch at the thought of filling you again. Your legs are still over his shoulders and he turns his head to press a kiss to the delicate slope of your calf.

“Hope you’re ready for the next round,” he mutters into your scented skin nipping at the delicate line of your ankles. “I still have more I want to devour.”

What a foolish thing you are, you’ve always been in the lion’s maw and what a lovesick thing you are turning away bashfully but still presenting yourself for him. Greedy things the two of you really.

#lamb.writes #barou smut #barou shoei smut #blue lock smut #bllk smut #felt insane writing this btw

[ecoamerica]

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[hyunniesgirl]

Call it what you want

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Hyunjin were never on the best terms but when you're cheated on and your ex is trying to get you back, Hyunjin does everything he can to prevent it from happening.

Genre: enemies(ish) to lovers, smut, fluff

Words count: 4,038

A/N: all my gratitude and appreciation to my bestie @baby-yongbok who proofread this chapter for me 🩷 thank you so much for the help girly!!!

Warnings for this chapter: gaslight, drinking, mentions of violence, sexual tension, insecure thoughts(if there's anything missing let me know)

Chapter two: Drunk

Previous chapter: shameless

Next chapter: the most precious thing

+18 minors do not interact!!!

You couldn't sleep a wink thinking about the whole situation. ‘Is there something wrong with me?’ Is the only thing that comes to mind when you think about your love life.

You're just so angry and not just because you were cheated on. You can't believe you got so worked up after kissing Hyunjin and his reaction was nearly nonexistent? NOTHING?

Of course you didn't expect it to be the best kiss of his life, he was doing you a favor after all but you got pretty excited and he didn't even get flustered? That's kinda offensive.

After your break up, Eric tried talking to you at school so your friends came up with a system so he wouldn't bother you until you felt ready to face him. You found out after a week that someone filmed Ryujin and Changbin beating the shit out of your ex after you left the party and that made you feel pretty satisfied, it's nice knowing that your friends have your back. So that's the reason he doesn't try getting close to you when your friends are around. Now you are never alone, you always have one of your friends in one of your classes and because you're finishing your course you could choose some electives that overlap with theirs. And luckily most of your class courses are with Chaeryeong.

The problem and the reason why you're so mad is that Hyunjin is sticking around too much, more than he ever did. He is always around the exact friend that's having class with you and you're starting to think that he's doing it on purpose. You’ve had to deal with seeing his disgustingly handsome face every fucking day and it’s been nothing but torture considering the kiss and all of its aftermath. Almost a month has passed since you and Eric broke up. The day after you told him to fuck off, you unblocked his contact just to inform him things were over between you two if it wasn't already pretty obvious.

After communication class you were pretty exhausted, so you and Changbin went to the cafe in front of the school so that you could repay him with a drink of his choice for going out of his way to help protect you from your ex. That's when Hyunjin comes barging into the shop. Why does he always look like he's glowing? He's wearing perfectly fitted clothes as if they were custom made just for him, his hair falls in glamorous waves, it's longer than most men wear but it's just right for him. Long story short: he's hot. You have to admit it and it's really annoying, actually. Why does the guy you dislike have to be so stunning?

"Hey", he says, taking his sunglasses off, bumping fists with Changbin and nodding at you in an attempt to greet you.

"I'm going to order, I'll get yours", he says, seeing the pager light up and buzz on the table.

He asks for a large Iced Americano and the attendant gives him your order. He sees that there's some writing on the coffee sleeve of your drink.

"Hey, saw you and thought you're cute. If you want to hang out sometime, call me: xxx xxxx-xxxx" Hyunjin scoffs, his jaw clenching. He tears the paper apart and throws it in the trash before heading back over to you and Changbin.

"They forgot to put a cup sleeve on mine", you say pouting as you take the drink from Hyunjin's hands. He finds you so cute it's difficult not to smile.

"I can get an extra when I get my order", he suggests and you frown, a strange urge to accept his kindness but you're too proud for that.

"No need, it's not that hot." That’s a lie, it is really hot, but you don't want to accept his help.

"I'm going to meet Chaeryeong, so you can wait for the drink with him, Binnie." You say as you put your bag on your shoulder and wave goodbye. Hyunjin's eyes follow you as you leave, watching you until you are out of his sight.

Chaeryeong was not far, so you thought it wouldn't be a problem to go alone looking for her. When you hear Eric's voice calling for you, you pretend like you didn't and just walk faster looking around for your friend, until he grabs your arm forcing you to look at him.

"Babe, I was calling you, didn't you hear me?", he asks and for a moment you think you're crazy. Didn't he cheat on you? Didn't you break up? Why's he acting like nothing happened?

"What do you want?"

"I missed you", he says, getting closer, giving you puppy eyes and caressing the arm he is holding.

"Don’t pretend like everything is okay." You shake your arm out of his grip. "We broke up, I don’t want to talk to you anymore."

"What did I do that was so wrong?" He asks, His expression void of embarrassment

"What did you do? Are you fucking joking right now?"

"Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?" He asks, pouting. "It meant nothing to me, if you just let me explain-"

'Is he trying to look like the victim while I’m the jealous girlfriend? Doesn't he have a conscience?' You knew this would happen, you knew he would try to talk his way out of this. You take your phone out of your pocket and show him the picture you took of him at the party. His eyes grow wide.

"I’m not going to let you gaslight me into thinking I'm crazy." He tries to take the phone out of your hand but is stopped by a very angry Changbin.

"I see I should have beat you more", he spits, coming in between the two of you. "Get her out of here"

Hyunjin comes over to you, he puts a hand on the small of your back and leads away from the both of them. You're worried about your friend, he could get into trouble if they fight, so you can't help but to take a few glances in their direction until you are too far to see them.

You feel tears running down your face and you can’t seem to stop them. You’re so angry, so hurt. If Eric had only admitted what he did, you wouldn’t hate him so much, but he’s just pretending you’re overreacting and trying to get his way. Everyday you try to push aside the hurt you’re bearing, the feelings of insecurity and anxiety. You have to convince yourself that you did nothing wrong, that he’s the one at fault. You’re afraid of falling in love again, scared of having to go through all of this heartbreak and pain again. Love shouldn’t be like this, love should be light and carefree.

"I can’t believe he showed up when you were alone", Hyunjin says, pulling you out of your worried and anxious thoughts. You look around and notice how far you are from Changbin now.

"I expected it" You say, sighing as you wipe your tears.

"He’s such an asshole, trying to deceive you like that." You scoff, feeling mad. He's not that different.

"Do you think you’re better than him?" You ask and he looks at you, frowning.

"You lead girls on over and over" You continue. You’re trying to hurt him. You want him to feel the hurt that you felt. You know it’s not fair, but it has not been fair to you either. Why do you have to be the only one feeling miserable? He stares at you for what feels like an eternity, sighing before answering.

"I never give false hope to other people", you take a deep breath, you really thought he would lie to you, say he doesn't know what you’re talking about.

"I never accept the confessions of the girls who have feelings for me", he continues, "and the ones I occasionally go out with know I won't date them, it's not my fault that they think they can change me or whatever they choose to take that risk." He sounds hurt, exactly the way you wanted, so why do you feel even worse?

"I don’t see how I’m like him." He finishes, making you feel like your chest is sinking.

"I-"

"We finally found you!" You hear Changbin’s voice and you look towards the sound, he and Chaeryeong look tired, they’re breathing heavily and sweating.

"We searched for you everywhere, why didn’t you answer your messages?", Chaeryeong asks, hugging you.

"I didn’t realize how much time had passed." You say as your eyes stay locked on Hyunjin. He’s avoiding your gaze again just like he did at the party, looking to the floor and making your chest ache even more.

"I’m sorry for worrying you", he says, "I gotta go"

You see him walking away, not glowing so much anymore. You wanted to call his name and apologize, say you shouldn’t have snapped at him like that, but you’re too proud for that. Too proud to apologize to one of the people that came to your rescue when you needed it the most lately. You suck. You really do.

•••

Hyunjin didn’t come around for the next week, your friends even complained about how distant he was. It couldn't be because of your conversation, right? He wouldn't be like that because of something you said. He didn't like you, it doesn't even make sense for him to care about what you say. When the weekend rolls around and you barely see him you feel weird, if you didn't know any better you would think that you're missing him and that wouldn't make sense.

Chan was cooking for the night, your Saturday had been awfully boring, so when he proposed a dinner at his house you accepted right away. His cooking is so good you're salivating with just the smell of onions and garlic. Changbin and Minho are playing Just Dance while Seungmin and I.N. are playing pokémon. Chaeryeong is by your side, complaining about a class you're not into, while Jisung and Felix are helping Chan. The only ones missing are Yeji, who's coming with Ryujin and Hyunjin, that you were informed is not coming.

"Why can't Hyunjinnie come, again?" Changbin asks while waiting for their points to be calculated on the game.

"He said it's school stuff but I bet it's because of a girl", Jisung says and you feel that weird ache in your chest once again.

What does it matter to you if he's with some girl? You not only rejected his request to be friends, you also said some pretty bad things to him. You deserve it if he never looks at you again, you still can't believe you said that to him, just because you were feeling bad doesn't mean you get to treat people that way. You sigh to your own thoughts receiving a suspicious look from Chaeryeong.

"Nah", Minho answers, "he's been hooked on the same chick for quite some time now".

You look at Minho, frowning. You didn't know Hyunjin liked someone. So why was he kissing someone else at the party? Weirdly enough, you swear you saw Minho eyeing you.

****

The moment that Chaeryeong introduced you to them, Hyunjin knew he was done for. Everything about you was appealing to him: the way you smiled talking about the things you liked, how you fixed your hair after the wind messed it up, the way you bonded with all the guys and tried finding things in common with every one of them so that you all would get along.

He couldn't help but stare, your voice was so sweet and your eyes sparkled when you laughed. He tried to be subtle but everytime you joined their group he had the same reaction like a fucking teenager that can't talk to a pretty girl. So when you began acting distant only to him, he felt bad and offended, he didn't think he did anything to make you dislike him. After a while he became distant too so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable, eventually you both started doing things to annoy each other. He only started bothering you so that you wouldn't just ignore him, he wanted you to acknowledge him even if it was in a bad way.

Hyunjin never disliked you the way you thought he did, when you started going out with Eric he was absolutely heartbroken but he wanted you to be happy even if it wasn’t with him.

So he put his feelings aside and started going out with other girls, maybe if enough time passed he could like someone else. You didn't see it, but his eyes were always on you. Always looking at you to make sure you were happy. He was right behind you when you found Eric at that party, after you walked away he could see your faltering steps, that's when he saw you fainting and caught you just in time. He told the guys about what happened before carrying you out of the house and taking you to his car, trying to be gentler than he ever was even with his paintings while adjusting you in the front seat.

You frowned even when you were unconscious, he couldn't even imagine how hurt you would be when you woke up. So he waited and waited till your eyes opened and he was relieved to see you were alright. He thought it wouldn't be good to drop the act at that moment, you could think he was pitying you. After you left the car he was sure you would cry your eyes out all alone and he couldn't do anything because the two of you weren’t close. So he urged your friends to message you asking to come by but they already had done that and you had rejected their offers. Of course you did, you like to look tough, someone that doesn't need others, but anyone that knows you a little better sees you're a softie.

When you showed up at the studio while he was painting he couldn't believe you actually came looking for him. He was so surprised to see you that he clumsily dropped the paints he was holding. He was planning to get closer to you, close enough so you would like him and when he knew you were over your shithead ex boyfriend he would go for it. Even if you didn't want to go out with him at first he would keep trying to woo you… Of course, he didn't want to force you to like him, he would wait for you to discover your feelings.

Everything went down the drain when you asked him to kiss you. Every bit of his self control just disappeared and when your lips touched his he was sure that you were it for him, the way just touching your soft lips made him feel like he was on fire, your hands wandering through his hair felt like the death of him. He could feel himself getting hard when the door opened abruptly, you silently left the closet and he fixed his pants so as not to show what was happening there. Hyunjin was embarrassed, if just one of your kisses could make him feel that way he could only imagine what it would feel like to actually have you. He couldn't stay there much longer, it was impossible to look at you without approaching you to get something more. But you weren't even looking at him, if you could just glance at him it would be enough, if you just looked at him he would be satisfied. Your eyes were staring at the floor, you didn't look pleased at all.

Did you regret kissing him? Was it that bad you couldn't even look at him? No one ever complained about that, so he thought he was good. Did he ruin everything?

He got out of the room, Hyunjin just couldn't be there for another second looking at your face full of contempt. He went downstairs looking for one of his friends and found Chan taking shots of tequila with a group of his juniors.

"Hey, wanna join us?" He asks and Hyunjin nods, maybe with one or two drinks he would feel better.

Hyunjin shouldn't have mixed drinks, he couldn't walk straight and his head was spinning. To make things worse he could swear he saw you coming in his direction so he went the other way to avoid you, he was afraid to say something stupid. That's when he found Chaeryeong, he asked her to help him get some water because he was not sure if he would be able to walk to the table where the drinks were. The moment his friend looked away someone grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. He wasn't sure of what was happening or if he was just imagining. He put his hands on the person's shoulder and stepped away feeling dizzy. Minho was close by so he dragged Hyunjin out of the party and gave him some water while he got some fresh air.

"Y/N", Hyunjin was babbling and Minho rolled his eyes.

"What is it?" He looked at his friend seated on the grass with his head between his legs, "Are you still hanging onto your crush on Y/N? Didn't you say that you would give up when she started dating?"

Minho asked those questions but he already knew the truth, his friend had never really stopped liking Y/N.

"Kissed her", Hyunjin grumbles rolling his tongue.

"What? When?"

"During that- that game" Hyunjin trips over his own tongue as he tries to answer.

“Dare…truth.. that one.” He answers, looking over at Minho with glazed eyes.

"And how did it go?" He asks, curious.

"Good, it was so so good I could die"

"Well, if you die you won't be able to kiss her again", Minho jokes seeing drunk Hyunjin pout with tears in his eyes.

"I wan kiss her again though" Minho laughs.

"Of course you do" He sighs bending down and slipping Hyunjin's right arm around his shoulder and lifting him, "Let's go home now so you can think about how to kiss her again"

Hyunjin could barely open his eyes when he woke up the next morning, he was really thirsty and his head felt like it could explode at any minute. However, he had one thing on his mind: Win you at any cost.

So he called all of your friends and asked which classes they picked this semester casually asking if any of your other friends were attending that same class. That's how he found out your schedule and sure, that sounds pretty stalkerish of him, but that's the only way he could get close to you without raising suspicion.

When you told him that he was the same as your ex he wanted earth to swallow him whole, he was so mad at himself for making you feel that way and he was hurt that you thought of him in that way. He couldn't look at you anymore, he was too hurt for that. He avoided you for the next week, afraid to meet your gaze and be faced with indifference or even worse, disgust. He didn't even attend the dinner Chan was doing because he couldn't bear to be in the same room with you. That's until he got drunk enough to make his liver beg for mercy, he couldn't even think straight anymore, so he went on a walk for some fresh air and he walked and walked until he was under a really familiar vertical garden.

•••

You got back from dinner after midnight, you are already in your pajamas ready to go to bed when you hear a "clank" coming from somewhere. You can't figure out the source of it so you ignore it until it happens again, you realize that the sound is coming from the door at the balcony. You get close trying to see what is causing the noise, You look down and notice a couple of rocks on your balcony. ‘Who the hell is throwing rocks at my window in the middle of the night?’ You open your window ready to curse at the culprit, when you look down you see Hyunjin looking at you with puppy eyes.

"What are you doing?" You ask and he smiles.

"I wanted to see your face" He answers simply.

"What are you talking about? Why would you want to see my face in the middle of the night, Hwang?"

"I like it when you say my surname" He giggles, "And the answer is: because you're beautiful" You blush wanting to die, why are you blushing? This guy is drunk for sure, bothering you in the middle of the night. So if you know that, why are you blushing? And why do you want to smile?

"Now that you got to see my face you can go home" You say, trying to close the window.

"Noooooo", he screams and you are sure he woke up half of the neighborhood. "I WANNA SEE YOUR FACE UP CLOSE"

"Shut up" You look around to make sure there's no one turning on their lights to see what's happening and when you look at him again Hyunjin is climbing the fence where the flowers are tangled in your vertical garden.

"What are you doing?" You whisper yell at him but he ignores you, continuing to climb until he's on your balcony.

You cross your arms in front of your chest looking at him, he's taking deep breaths but looking really proud of himself.

"I could have opened the door for you if you wanted to come up" You say.

"Oh" He says and smiles shyly, "I'm sorry, I wanted to be romantic" You feel your face hot before you can ask what the hell he's talking about. He looks totally disheveled, messy hair, clothes that look like pajamas and glasses he only uses at home or when he's tired and doesn't want to wear his contacts.

"Care to explain why you’re here?" You smell the alcohol on him so you can already guess.

"I already told you, I missed your pretty face", he answers, pouting like a child that has to answer to their mother after doing something wrong.

"No, you said you wanted to see my face and then said I'm beautiful, you didn't say you missed me" You pick at his words trying to think of a way to send him home without your friends knowing about this situation because you know that if they find out you're done for. They're gonna pester you for the rest of your life asking why Hyunjin would come after you while drunk and to be honest that's a question that you would like to know the answer to too.

"Ah, you're so smart, that's why I like you" He says walking and looking around your room.

"Is that right?" You ask, amused, maybe having him here while drunk isn't so bad.

"Yesssss, and you're pretty and nice and really funny and good at everything you do", you smile without even realizing, what is this guy doing to you?

"Okay, now you have to go home, alright? I have to sleep"

"Let me sleep with you, I'm really good at it" You choke on the air you inhaled, coughing violently.

"What?"

"Humm, I'm good at being the big spoon and I don't take much space in the bed and you can even sleep on my chest and I'll hug you" He's saying that and has the audacity to blush.

You decide to call the guys that lives with Hyunjin, you're not scared of their questions anymore because you're too afraid you're actually going to accept his proposition. You try Minho, and Changbin but no one's answering. Shit. You look back at Hyunjin and see him lying down on your bed.

"For god's sake, Hyunjin" You try shaking him to wake him up with no success. You sigh, what are you going to do now?

----------------

All characters in my writing are from my own imagination and don't represent nor reflect in any way the people in real life.

Taglist:

@hhwangsmoon @inara-a

#stray kids #skz #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #hwang hyujin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hwang hyunjin skz #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #skz fluff #skz hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin x you #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #writers on tumblr #writing #skz x y/n #skz x you

[seravphs]

beating hearts promised to bared teeth — part one: “The God Finds A Familiar” 

KITSUNE! GOJO x GOD! FEM READER; KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA AU

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

wc — 10k

tags — enemies to lovers, shoujo manga heroine type reader, Japanese mythology/yokai, age gap (1000 year old fox and high school girl), slowburn, cameo from Sukuna, Toji, and Nanami, cameo from original Kamisama Hajimemashita cast

part two — “The God Finds A Husband” (coming soon)

shoujo series masterlist

If your stomach growls any louder, you’ll scare off the squirrels fighting over the end of a baguette loaf by the park bench you’re sitting on. 

You’re currently in the middle of what others might describe as very hard times. To be honest, your very hard times have been going on for a while now - they just culminated at this specific moment. Regardless, these days are only temporary. You’ve promised yourself that one day, you’ll be able to smile from the bottom of your heart. 

It’s just that it was easier said than done when you weren’t homeless. Your father has never been the most reliable of men. You had to take over the household finances by the time you were eight, so you’ve always been accustomed to his lack of responsibility, but today really solidified his status in your mind as an absolutely useless, no good man. It’s unfathomable cruelty to have left his only daughter with no money, no relatives, and no home. 

You don’t want to call it cruel. For all of his faults, you still love your father. And it’s because you love him that you know this wasn’t a cruel act. Cruelty is intentional. It’s malicious. It comes from a desire to hurt. Your father has never wanted to hurt you. It’s just a byproduct of his gambling addiction. You’re collateral damage in his quest for the jackpot that would solve all his problems. 

You double over in agony at the renewed complaints from your stomach. At least you’ve gone from scaring mere squirrels to scaring passersby. That’s an upgrade, right? 

One woman clutches her purse closer as she walks past you as briskly as possible. You get it, you look bad. 

But there’s no use being resentful. Your father has been barely one step above a deadbeat all your life. At the very least, you’re used to fending for yourself. Your stomach growls again, but you’re determined to ignore it. You need a plan of action. One step after another, you’ll make it out of these troublesome times. 

Before you can start to plot, a loud cry for help catches your attention. It sounds like someone else is in even more dire straits than you are, which is saying a lot. 

The squirrels have long since scattered, run off not by the scary noises coming from your famished stomach, but a pack of dogs. Somehow, a man has climbed several feet into the tree next to the trash can, and now perched precariously in its branches. Below him, curious dogs tilt their heads and give cautious barks. 

“Aw, hello there, cuties,” you coo, rubbing behind their ears. They yip at you enthusiastically. One sets to chasing his own tail around the tree. They seem friendly enough, but you suppose one can’t help their phobias. A little regretfully, you chase them off. 

“Go on now,” you tell the last one, leading him away. He whines, but does as you say. What a good boy. 

“Thank you,” says the stranger stranded in the tree. He slides down the trunk, face slowly regaining color. “I owe you my life.” 

“It was nothing!” You smile, but he won’t let you brush off your good deed. 

“You’re a good kid,” he nods approvingly. “Gotta reward that. Is there anything you want?” 

A home. 

Not just the house you shared with your father, but somewhere warm to return to. A person who waits to see you safely inside the threshold. 

But you know a stranger can’t give you that, so you shake your head and smile. “Really, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.” 

As if he had heard your inner monologue, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “A home, hm? I might be able to help with that.” 

Before you can react, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Where his lips touched your skin feels faintly warm and tingly, almost like the sensation of your leg going numb, before you recoil from him in shock. 

He presses a map into your hand and tells you, “Go to this address. Tell them Yaga sent you, and you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” 

With that, he runs off. 

What a strange man. 

Well, you’ve had a strange life, taking care of your hopeless father and all. Perhaps these things really did happen. It wasn’t so impossible for strangers to appear out of nowhere and reward you for good deeds. Maybe all the fairytales your father had read to you back when he hadn’t been so terrible were true. 

Or maybe that was the wishful thinking of an optimistically delusional girl who needed somewhere to stay desperately.

The address is located on the outskirts of town. Pushing deeper into foliage and closer to forest than civilization, you find the location you had been sent to. 

It’s a shrine. 

A run-down shrine, of all places. 

Are you on a comedy show? Should you start checking for cameras? 

Against your will, you feel your eyes grow hot. That was a cruel trick to play. He had gotten your hopes up for nothing. 

It’s not just your eyes. Your entire body starts to feel warm. The world around you erupts into blue flame. Heat licks at your shins as you scramble towards safety, closer to the center of the circle that has formed around you. 

When the flames suddenly leap, as if they’ll consume the entire sky, you scream and drop to your knees, covering your head like it’s a bomb threat. Two childish voices ring in your head, as clear and crisp as bells. 

Welcome home, Yaga-sama. 

It’s a shrine. There’s only one logical conclusion. 

This is a haunting. 

There’s only one safe path out of the ring of fire, and it’s towards the building you’ve now concluded is the site of paranormal activity. Between being actively burned alive or facing spirits though, you know which one you’ll choose. 

Your frantic fingers fumble over the latch on the shrine’s red doors as the fire inches closer and closer until you can feel its heat on your back. Finally, you throw open the doors and all but launch yourself inside. The heat recedes, but the voices do not. 

“Back already, Yaga?” A male voice drawls. “I thought your pilgrimage would’ve taken longer. After leaving me to maintain the shrine by myself for sixty years -“

You shriek as an enormous, clawed hand comes down towards your face. Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the end. 

“I’m not Yaga,” you wail, hoping it will save you. 

“You have a lot of nerve?” The voice finishes, more uncertainly than before. When you deem it safe to open your eyes once more, what stands before is a young man dressed in all white. White hair and blue eyes make for a staring constraint, but his coloring isn’t what’s strange about him. 

It’s his clawed hands and the equally white fox tail behind him. 

“Megumi, Tsumiki,” he says authoritatively. “This isn’t Yaga.” 

A shining ball of fire comes forward, speaking in the little girl’s voice you heard earlier. “That can’t be right! Look, she has the mark of the god on her forehead.” 

You touch your forehead, remembering the warm tingly sensation you had felt when that man kissed you. Feeling slightly delirious, you start to laugh, only to grow alarmed when you find you can’t stop. You’re growing out of breath from your near hysterical laughing, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes. 

“Oh, great,” says the fox spirit. “She’s crazy.” 

“She’s the one with the mark,” the other ball of fire, Megumi, says. “That means she’s the god whether you like it or not, Gojo.” 

Tsumiki darts over to you, but halfway through her journey, she goes from fire to a little child just under 2 feet tall. She’s wearing a mask and plain blue yukata. 

“We have to celebrate!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Our god has finally returned!”

Gojo looks dismissively down on you. Your laughing fit is finally starting to die down, but he doesn’t seem impressed regardless. “What god? I won’t accept a little human girl as my master. She couldn’t handle the strength of a familiar like me.”  

His condescension only makes you giggle harder. You can’t help it. Something about the fluffy fox ears protruding out of his head makes it hard to take him seriously. 

“What strength?” You laugh in his face. “This shrine is so dilapidated, I doubt you’re anything special.” 

Gojo looks away. “If she stays, I’m leaving. I won’t serve this kind of pathetic god.”

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke before Tsumiki can finish saying, “Don’t be like that!”

The will-o-wisp children introduce themselves to you as shrine spirits who look after the building. It takes a while, but by the time they kindly show you to the room where you’ll be staying, you can distinguish Tsumiki from Megumi by the differences in the masks they never take off. 

Your room is simple and threadbare. The walls are paneled bamboo and the only furnishing is an old futon. Still, you’re grateful. It’s leagues better than sleeping in the woods, which is what you started this day fearing you would have to resort to. You’ve never been the type to complain, and you won’t start now, no matter how strange your life has gotten. 

Fox spirits and will-o-wisp children don’t exist. They’re the stuff of myths. Maybe you’re just seeing things because you’re tired, you muse as you drift off to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning after a nice, long rest. The events of today will feel so far away, and you’ll be able to start over. 

Or maybe you’re dead already, and you’re wandering in the Netherworld. Perhaps the reason you can see spirits is because you’re currently residing in their land. Your entire body seizes up as you jolt yourself back to wakefulness. 

“Kamisama,” Tsumiki has crept back into your room. “Are you alright?” 

You tell her to call you by her name. Calling you god just doesn’t feel right. 

Gently, she nestles down by your pillow and puts her cold little hands on your forehead. Rather than shocking to your senses, it feels pleasant. When you were a little girl and got sick, your father used to let you stay home from school. He’d pack a towel with ice cubes and place it on your overheated forehead, staying up with you all night just to chat. It’s a good memory. 

“It’ll be alright,” Tsumiki tells you in her gentle voice. “You’ll see.” 

For spirits that supposedly take care of the shrine, you have a suspicion that Tsumiki and Megumi are pushing their work onto you when they brief you on your chores the next morning. It turns out godhood is a lot less summoning storms and a lot more doing yard work. 

Tsumiki insists that keeping the shrine pure is important for keeping evil spirits away. For some reason, that means cleaning. When you ask about calling lightning or summoning lions, Megumi laughs at you. 

“That’s Getou-sama’s job,” he says. “Your specialty is marriage. Yaga was very good at tying peoples’ fates together. You will be, too.”

He has more faith than you do in that regard. When it comes to chores, however, you’re more certain of your abilities. Busy work keeps the absurdity of your situation from sinking in, and you’re good at running the household from years of dealing with your father. You’re grateful for something to do. If you think about the past day too hard, you might break down into shocked laughter and never get back up. 

Besides, even if you don’t feel particularly ready to be a god, Tsumiki and Megumi are letting you stay in the shrine. You have to earn your keep. Soon, you settle into the process of cleaning, letting the methodical, rhythmic nature of your movements erase any doubts in your mind. You think of nothing but the cooling sensation of the water when you dip your rag into the bucket and the clean, woody scent of the shrine as you scrub the wood. 

“Ooh,” Tsumiki says approvingly when she appears. “It looks better already! Can you do the lawn next?” 

Plucking weeds is notably less soothing than cleaning. With no gloves, you’re careful to avoid hurting yourself as you tug on spiky vines and knotted twigs, but it’s no use. Eventually, you lose focus and a sharp sting graces your finger. Blood drips down your hand. You hiss in pain. 

A hand with white claws instead of nails grabs your wrist. You yelp in shock as Gojo brings your finger to his mouth and laps at the blood. It stains his lips slightly red. He worries at the cut with his tongue, making your wound ache. You try to pull back, but he holds on. 

To your amazement, the cut closes before your eyes. You’re just about to thank him when he ruins the moment. 

“You really are useless,” he says. “You can’t even pluck grass?”

You yank your hand out of his grip as hard as you can, sending yourself tumbling back against the grass. You hate how it must make yourself seem even more human in his eyes, a weak, fragile thing. 

“Give up,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, the way his claws graze your chin as he holds your face in one hand. “You’re not suited to be a god.” 

You turn away, unwilling to let him see any more of your vulnerability. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Suit yourself,” he says with a noise of annoyance. “Brats who run away from home aren’t my problem.” 

“I didn’t run away!” You snap, whirling on him. “My dad was the one who ran! I don’t have anywhere else to go!” 

But he’s gone.

At least Megumi and Tsumiki are nice to you. Megumi takes the bucket of weeds you deposit at the front door and whisks it somewhere out of your sight, while Tsumiki prepares a nice, hot bath for you. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bamboo floor spread eagle. 

God, a voice murmurs in your head.

Not again. You don’t want any more spirits to deal with. When you raise your head, instead of another yokai, there’s an old woman standing in front of the shrine. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped in prayer. 

Please bless my daughter’s marriage so that she will enjoy a long and fruitful life with her partner. 

Her voice is coming from some place inside your head. It resonates like a bell, ringing crisp and clear. You stretch out your hands wonderingly. You don’t look any different. 

“You see?” Tsumiki says approvingly. “You’re a god.”’ 

But you don’t feel like one. You feel just like a normal person. 

“A god needs a familiar.” You can’t see Megumi’s face behind his mask as he speaks, but you can imagine the solemn little boy he must be. “You need to bind Gojo to you.”

“How do I do that?” 

“You have to kiss him.” 

You wait for them to tell you they’re joking. 

“What? I can’t kiss him! Is there-” 

Megumi cuts in. “It’s just the traditional way to seal the contract. Don’t think too much of it.” 

The fact that neither of them are bothered makes you feel like the ridiculous one for being off put by this, but you’re sure you’re not. Still, if you’re a god now, you have to put all of your mortal sensibilities aside. It’s like another culture, you tell yourself. Like how Europeans kiss each other on the cheek to say hello. Even if you can’t convince yourself, Megumi and Tsumiki are insistent. 

You were so fired up just a second ago, but now your head is filled with doubts. If such a simple matter can sway you, are you really meant to be a god after all? Maybe Gojo is right. Maybe you should just leave. 

“Please,” Tsumiki says. She looks distraught. “Don’t abandon us. Please don’t leave.” 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling defeated. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

You’ve always been good at chores. If taming Gojo is just another part of your new job, it sounds like it's time to get serious. 

“Take me to him.” 

Megumi and Tsumiki balk. 

“Right now?”

“Why not? The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?”

“He’s...indisposed at the moment,” Tsumiki says carefully. 

“Indisposed? Is he sick?” 

“Not quite,” Megumi says. He’s very expressive for a spirit. You can practically imagine him grimacing. 

“Then it’s fine!” 

You would soon come to regret your words. 

Megumi and Tsumiki lead you out of the shrine. They show you where to find the path that can lead you to the land of spirits and demons. Your entire body rebels at the feeling of being in this other world, but at the same time, you feel at home here. The god and the girl that coexist inside of you are mutually repelled by and attracted to this place. 

Even though you know Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t really children, or at least children in the way mortals think of them, you’re still concerned about letting them traipse around this dangerous place. However, they seem more used to this world than you are. That energy is better devoted to fending for yourself. 

They lead you under bridges where the running water smells like flowers and women’s voices hiss in the babble of the current. Tree leaves rustle with hands that disappear into darkness. You follow them through dark alleyways lined with red paper blessings, and doorsteps encircled with salt. Eyes follow you, leaving your skin crawling. 

You’re so focused on keeping your head down and staying out of danger that you almost don’t notice when they stop. You nearly run Megumi over. 

“He’s inside here,” Tsumiki says. 

Is it just you, or does she seem nervous? 

The lanterns inside this establishment are turned down to a dimness that barely illuminates the corridors. Sweet smelling smoke writhes around your feet from some unknown source as you head deeper and deeper into the maze of hallways, following the pair of shrine spirits. You pass women wearing fox masks, dressed in luxurious kimonos. Their hair towers over their head in elaborate updos, held in place with beautiful pins inlaid with chartreuse and gold. 

Megumi stops before a folding screen door. Like all things within this building, it’s beautiful. The silk screen is painted with images of flowers and more gruesome scenes as well, but somehow, it’s still breath-taking. A little like Gojo, in that regard. 

You hear the voices of women behind the screen, flattering Gojo. The light of a single candle illuminates the dim room, imprinting his silhouette against it, as well as that of the two women with him. They’re draped over him, hands roaming his body as they purr their compliments. Your face burns with embarrassment. 

“What are you doing?” Megumi demands of Gojo. “How can you parade around the red-light district like this? You’re the familiar of a god, not some common demon! If Yaga knew, it’d break his poor heart.” 

Behind the screen, Gojo merely brushes him off. “Yaga’s been replaced by some little human worm. Why should I care what he thinks now?”

“What about the shrine? Don’t you care about that, at least?” Tsumiki's voice is thick with reproach. 

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do,” he says. “Ha! You know what? Maybe I should thank that girl. Now that I’m free, I can do whatever I want.” 

“Gojo-“ 

“I’ll can indulge in every little vice Yaga never allowed me to touch before. Who would want to be a familiar when I can have all of this?” 

“Gojo, our god is here.” 

“What?” 

He leaps up and pushes the screen aside, coming face to face with you. He looks startled to see you, though you don’t see why he should care, since he so desires to lead a life of sin. 

You look upon him with disgust. You might want a familiar, but you’re not so desperate you’d stoop as low as this. Gojo cares so little for anyone but himself. If you’re going to be a god, you’re going to do it right. You’ll pick a good familiar, one who will genuinely love the shrine as much as it deserves. 

You turn and leave as he, half-clothed, frantically starts pulling on the outer layers of his kimono. 

“Wait,” he calls after you. “Tsumiki! Megumi! Why would you bring her here?”

“She wanted to see you,” Megumi retorts. 

“This isn’t the place for a human,” he says. “She’s going to get eaten!” 

The faster Gojo follows you, the faster you run from him. By the time you’re out of what you’ve come to realize is a brothel, you’re sprinting. Your legs carry you right into someone else as your face slams against a broad, muscled chest. 

“Oh,” says a voice above your head. “How pretty.” 

A hand caresses your face. This spirit has tattoo marks across his face and body. More interestingly, he has multiple arms. 

You’re frozen in place by fear as he brings his mouth closer and closer to your face. He’s close enough to kiss, but this is a spirit, which means he’s more likely to eat you. 

“Be good for me now,” he purrs in your ear. “Fear makes flesh all the sweeter.” 

Three of his six arms are consumed by fire. He pushes you away from him in favor of batting out the flame. 

Gojo pulls you towards him, hiding you in the folds of his billowing kimono. You press your face against his shoulder, swallowing back the tears of fear from nearly being eaten. Somehow, he feels safe, even though he’s been nothing but antagonistic towards you. He feels almost protective as he shields your body with his, securing you under one arm. 

“Scram,” he tells the other demon. “She’s mine, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna rolls his pairs of eyes. “You weren’t with her when I caught her. She’s fair game.” 

Fox fire flickers in Gojo’s hand. His white talons seem to elongate before your eyes. 

“If you want to fight over her, then by all means,” he says with a dangerous smile. “But we both know I’d win.” 

“Maybe later then,” Sukuna says, lazily as if Gojo isn’t threatening him. “Once I’ve eaten my fill.” 

He stalks off into the night in search of more prey. 

“This is why I told you to wait,” Gojo says, running his hand over his face. “You’re practically bait in this world. Come on, I’ll take you home.” 

You nod, not trusting your voice, but he catches on anyways. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, his face twisted in a grimace. “I won’t know what to do if you cry. Look, this is just your life now, okay? You’ll have to get used to it.” 

On impulse, you press your face into his shoulder again, still sniffling. You want to be comforted, even though you know he won’t give it to you. 

“Ugh,” he says, true to form. “Quit that.” 

By the time you’ve calmed down, Gojo has already escorted you back to the shrine. 

“Don’t come back,” he tells you. 

Of course, you can’t listen to him. On your second night in the land of the dead and monsters, not only do you have to hide from beasts who would devour you the moment they found out what you were, you also have to hide from Gojo. You’re wearing a disguise, courtesy of Tsumiki and Megumi. 

In your defense, it’s not like you want to be here. You need a familiar, and it’s clearly not going to be Gojo. 

According to Tsumiki, Gojo’s the strongest, but there are other familiars who would be willing to serve you. They’re all in the Netherworld, however, and you have to find them before you can contract them. 

You pull the curtain of the hat shielding your face a little closer around you as you peer at the faces surrounding you, trying to gauge who looks friendly. None of them do. You’ve been wandering around for hours, but not a single spirit has stood out to you. 

In the end, you don’t find him. He finds you. 

“A human god?” A hand grasps your wrist loosely. “That’s rare. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here?” 

The man in front of you looks normal by any standards - but you know better than to trust your gut in the netherworld. Still, he’s the closest thing to a human you’ve seen in a while. Surrounded by a maelstrom of monsters, he feels like the eye of the storm. There’s a quiet and a calm surrounding him, even as you walk among noderabo with withered, leathery skin and scaly yajo. 

It’s not like he’s in his own little pocket of the world, you realize. He is. Everyone is purposefully giving him a wide berth. 

“Who are you?”  

“I asked first,” he says. 

“You know who I am! You just said so - I’m the human god.” 

His eyes rake over you. “So you are. But what are you doing here, girl?” 

You throw his words back in his face obstinately. “You first.”

“I’m Toji.” That doesn’t tell you anything, but he’s clearly unwilling to divulge more. “Your turn.”

“I’m looking for a familiar.” 

“What about your familiar? I heard that Gojo-sama isn’t keen on sharing.” 

Somehow, the way he says Gojo-sama sounds derisive, even with the respectful honorific. 

“He doesn’t want to be my familiar.” 

The rejection stings coming out of your own mouth. 

“Sounds like him. Haughty bastard, he couldn’t stand to serve a human girl, could he?” 

“Yeah! He’s an asshole,” you say, feeling validated. 

When Toji laughs, the scar over his lip tugs one side of his mouth down. You kind of like it. And he must be strong, just looking at him. He’s well muscled and covered in scars. Of course, there’s the little matter of the reverence everyone around you is offering him. Tsumiki and Megumi had told you to just go out and find one. Could it be that easy?

“Are you interested?” 

He gives you a look of barely concealed amusement. “You’re funny, girl. I don’t think Gojo would like that very much, though.” 

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks.” 

“Oh, here he comes now. Don’t go running too far - you’ll worry him,” he says, slow and easy. His confidence is absurd - it reminds you of Gojo, actually. He must be strong. “If you’re really serious about wanting me as a familiar, why don’t you meet me here again in three days?”

“What are you doing?” Gojo snarls at you. His teeth match the rest of his fox physique. With wonder, you realize that his pearly canines are pointed beyond what’s normal. “I told you not to come back!” 

“But- He-” You turn around to point Toji out, but he’s gone. 

“Who?” Gojo says. 

“He was right there!” 

“You’re so annoying,” Gojo bites out. “I don’t care what happens to you, but if you die, Megumi and Tsumiki will cry, so stop wandering off on your own. You’re lucky you didn’t get devoured on the spot.” 

He’s starting to get really irritating. You shove his hands off. 

“You know it’s actually your fault I’m here, right? If you didn’t reject me, I wouldn’t have to scour the Netherworld for a familiar.” 

Gojo scoffs. “My fault? Maybe you should take a look at yourself. If you were less weak, I wouldn’t have a problem serving you!” 

“That’s- You’re impossible!” You splutter. “I can’t help being weak! I was born this way! Not everyone is so lucky to be born a kitsune, oh-so-great-Gojo-sama.” 

“Enough,” he sighs. Taking you by your wrist, he forcibly drags you through the streets back in the direction you came. 

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” 

“Gojo!” Megumi’s reproving voice breaks the argument up before it can begin again. 

He lets go of you almost guiltily, if you thought he could feel guilt. 

“I’ll take her home,” Megumi says. 

Gojo’s tail lashes behind him angrily, but Megumi doesn’t spare him a second glance as he ushers you away. 

“Thank you,” you tell him in relief. “What are you doing here?” 

“You were taking a long time,” he says. “Tsumiki and I were getting worried. Did you find anyone?” 

You think of Toji. “No,” you say. “No one.” 

The next day, while Megumi and Tsumiki dress you for your trip through the Netherworld again, Megumi presses three slips of white paper into your hands. 

“We should’ve taught you this sooner,” he says. “One of the powers of a god is to transform objects. Whatever you write on this charm will become true - within the scope of your power. Be safe.”  

Armed with your paper slips, you feel like a real god. Tsumiki pushes you out the door with a prayer for good luck, though you’re not sure you can grant prayers to yourself for yourself.

Outside the door, something whines by your feet.

“Gojo?” 

Or is that a regular white fox? 

It snaps its teeth at you. 

Definitely Gojo.

“I don’t need an escort,” you tell him, making shooing motions at him with your hands. “Go away!” 

He rolls over and yips at you, his tail wagging. 

“I can’t understand you like this!” 

“I said,” a cloud of smoke reveals him, mostly humanoid once again, except for his ears and tail. “I don’t want to do this either. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki.” 

Toji doesn’t seem to like him, so you don’t want to risk bringing him with you. Despite your best attempts to shake him, Gojo follows you as you retrace your steps back into the spirit world. You’re just starting to despair when you spot a bigger reason to be upset. 

“Hello, delicious,” Sukuna says. “Ready for round two?” 

Why does he look even more terrifying? Did he get bigger? 

“Leave her alone,” Gojo says, almost bored. “It’s pathetic. You can only bully things weaker than you, huh?” 

“I’m not afraid to fight you,” Sukuna tells him. 

You’re panicking. They both look serious. You don’t want to be caught between these two forces of nature. 

“You should be,” Gojo says, and steps in front of you. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Run. You’re in my way.” 

This is the chance you were waiting for. 

Toji’s dressed differently when you find him again. Last night, he was wearing a casual black kimono. Tonight, he’s dressed in a tight fitting black shirt and loose white pants. 

“You look nice,” you tell him, feeling anxious. Your mind keeps going back to Gojo. You’re sure he can hold his own, but you’re still worried for him. As you are, however, you’re of no help to him. The only way you’d be able to rescue him if he actually was in danger is by making a contract with a powerful familiar. 

“It’s for work,” he says. “Follow me.” 

“We can’t do it here?” 

“Do you want to kiss me in front of everyone?” He shrugs and reaches for you. “I mean, I’m down if you are, but I figured-” 

“No,” you squeak and dart away. “Privacy is good!” 

He laughs. “You’re as funny as ever, huh? C’mere.” 

Toji leads you off the beaten path and further into the woods. The only thing that keeps you from feeling more nervous is the moon shining overhead, illuminating your path. It feels almost like a friend is with you.

“Here is good,” Toji says, stopping at a clearing. 

“It’s so pretty,” you breathe out, dazzled. This deep into the woods, fireflies are lighting your way. Beneath your feet, a springy bed of flowers and moss covers the floor. 

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.” 

“Yeah, right,” you laugh at him, but you draw closer. You think you could trust him. You think you could be partners with him. 

Then Toji grabs you by the shoulders and dangles you off the edge of the clearing, over a steep drop you hadn’t noticed. The sharp cut off had been hidden by flowers, danger painted over with beauty. 

“Sorry, kid,” Toji says. “No hard feelings, right?” 

“Why?” You whisper. Gojo had been right. 

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says. “Getou has offered to grant the wish of anyone who kills you.”

His eyes turn wistful. “I have a kid. Haven’t seen him in years. You understand, right? It’s not personal.” 

The fall is brutal. The wind whips tears into your eyes, if you weren’t already crying from the fear of falling to your death. You have to do something, anything. Above your head, something white flutters. 

A dove? 

Then another. 

It’s one of the paper ofuda Megumi had given you before you left, caught in the updraft of you rushing down to earth. You snatch it out of the air. You can’t reach the pen in your pocket. With increasing desperation, you bite down on your finger hard enough to draw blood and trace the characters for a tree branch onto it. Holding it aloft, you pray. 

Between your hands, wood solidifies. You’re clinging to a scrap of a twig sprouting from the rocky cliffside. Megumi’s words echo in your head - only within the scope of your power. 

So this is it, huh?

That’s all there is of your godly strength. 

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” Gojo says. He has no problem balancing on the sheer cliff. His appearance is impeccable, completely unscathed from his fight with Sukuna. He perches like a bird, as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. “Do you need help?”

Thank god. He’s here to save you! You nod, turning teary eyes on him. You were wrong about him. Gojo really is a good guy, deep down. 

“If you say, ‘Please save me, Gojo-sama, I was stupid.’ I’ll help you. Throw in some crying and begging, too.” 

Your eyes dry up instantly. He’s a total bastard. You clutch onto the branch tighter. There’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of groveling for help. 

Your resolve weakens when you hear the first snap. 

“Time’s ticking,” Gojo calls in a sing-song voice. “What will it be?” 

The harder you hold on, the more your flimsy branch breaks. 

“Come on,” Gojo says. “It’s not that hard. It’s just seven little words. Isn’t that worth your life?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, and the branch finally snaps. 

Falling for the second time is just as bad as the first time. The icy wind snatches at you like claws, tearing at your clothes. 

To your surprise, Gojo leaps after you. He makes free-fall look elegant - surely a far cry from whatever you’re doing. 

“Just say it,” he yells, within arm’s reach. He’s so close he could snag you by the shirt and haul you to safety, but you know he won’t. Not without getting what he wants. “Would you rather die than just apologize?” 

You have an answer prepared. 

His eyes widen in shock when you press your palms to his cheek, pull him closer, and kiss him. 

You barely have time to register the taste of him, sake and something sweet, before the reality of falling to your death rushes in again. 

“Gojo, save me!” 

As if his body is piloted by someone else, Gojo catches you. For him, it’s a short leap back up to the top of the clearing, where Toji has disappeared. 

You climb down from his hold once you’re certain you’re safe. You never thought you’d miss the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet this much, but at the moment, you’re willing to kiss the earth. 

Gojo seems much worse off. He’s frozen in shock, muttering the same refrain to himself under his breath. “Me? Bound to her? Impossible.” 

“Let’s go home,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to get it until you tug him towards the path, and then he leads the way wordlessly. . 

You wake to Megumi and Tsumiki weeping over you. 

“I’m alright!”

They freeze, then burst into fresh tears. 

“We thought you would never wake up! Your first time using ofuda must have been too much for you,” Megumi gets out through his sobs. 

You feel sore all over. You can barely recall the events of the previous night, only that you kissed- 

“Finally up?” 

Gojo’s tapping his foot as he waits for you to get up. He looks furious. There’s an unmistakeable tick in his jaw that spells trouble for you. 

It’s too early to deal with him. You duck back under the covers. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls out as he seizes your wrist and bodily hauls you out of your warm cocoon of blankets. “You wanted to be a god, you’re going to be a god. It’s time for some training.” 

You shiver pathetically in the cold morning air. If you had known helping a stranger would lead to be harassed by a fox spirit, you would’ve never done it in the first place. 

“Try harder,” Gojo says at your sixth failed attempt to turn water into wine. 

“It smells alcoholic,” Megumi offers loyally. 

“I am trying!” You insist. 

“Harder,” Gojo snarls. 

The seventh attempt doesn’t change. Gojo throws up his arms and stalks out of the shrine, declaring the need to cool his head. Tsumiki frantically trails him, not trusting him to not attempt to run away again. 

Megumi tries to assure you that you’re doing well, but honestly, you need to leave too. The shrine feels too stuffy. A change of scenery will do you good. Sitting alone in the woods just behind the shrine, you try to focus. Slowly, stacks of ofuda disappear from your hands as you paste them to trees, willing them to blossom. Wilt. Do anything, anything at all. 

You’re out cold when Gojo finds you. 

“Divine power takes time,” he says as he prepares dinner. “Use too many talismans at once and you’ll pass out.” 

You drink a spoonful of soup morosely. “How do I get stronger?” 

“You’ll get stronger if you grant prayers.” 

Tsumiki perks up. “One just came in!” 

“I already looked at it,” Gojo says dismissively. “Not that one.” 

“Everyone’s wishes deserve to be looked at,” you argue. 

Gojo scoffs, “Not this one.” 

“Don’t be rude! A god can’t pick and choose.” 

He tosses the prayer at you. 

Morimoto Rika’s request touches your heart. She’s the spirit of a nearby lake - not just any spirit, as Megumi helpfully clarifies, but another owner of a shrine. A human boy visits her waters nightly. By the light of the moonlight, she fell in love with him, but she can’t meet him because they live in two separate worlds. 

And to think that you would’ve never known to help her if Gojo had continued keeping this from you. 

“This sounds like the perfect job for me,” you argue. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yokai can’t fall in love with humans.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Aren’t you bound to do as I say? Take me to her.” 

Against his will, Gojo summons what’s called a ‘night fog coach’. Only operable at night, as the name suggests, it’s a tall black carriage truly made for a god. You’re just wondering how Gojo expects you to climb aboard when he effortlessly lifts you by the waist. 

“You’re the one who wanted to go meet her,” he sneers. “Chop-chop.” 

Your supplicant looks like a fish if it were a girl. She has pale green skin and large, black eyes, with overly large teeth for her mouth. Black hair frames a heart shaped face. She’s cute, in her own monstrous way. And she’s desperately in love with a human boy. 

Gojo helps you transform her into a human body and make her over into a normal teenage girl. For a prayer granted, it feels like nothing more than dressing your friend up for a date. 

You’re even as nosy as you would be in that situation. It’s the first prayer you’ve ever granted. You know you shouldn’t, but you and Gojo watch the burgeoning romance from a distance. Of course, he’s completely disapproving, but you have high hopes for them - until Rika pulls out a ring. 

Aren’t they moving a little too fast? 

It only gets worse when Rika confesses that she’s been stalking him - sort of. Keeping tabs on him for his safety by following him around town is a little too close to the other, for your liking. Your head drops into your hands. 

But Yuta takes it surprisingly well. A little too well, in fact. It only seems to infatuate him even more. You knew there were certain types of men out there who loved crazy, but you had never seen it in real life - until now. 

Could this even be counted as a success? 

You’re happy for Rika and Yuta, as happy as you can be for their twisted little union, but you’re just waiting for Gojo to bite your head off for bringing a (real) monster and a human together as soon as you get back home. At least they’re happy, you think ruefully. Worse things could happen. Your first union as a marriage god didn’t fail. In fact, of all people, Yuta seemed the most likely in the world to accept Rika as she was, human or not. 

To your surprise, returning to the shrine, Gojo begrudgingly says, “You did well.” 

Any warm feelings you have for him the next day are replaced when he barges into your room and demands you strip. 

“You have guests,” he says. “Messengers from Toji-sama, the god of the wind.” 

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t known Toji was a god. Come to think of it, did Gojo even know the reason why you had been falling from that cliff? You weren’t sure if he had come in time to see who had pushed you. 

“What are you worried about? I’ll be at your side the whole time.” 

You’ll tell him later. Right now, you have a serious matter to prepare for. 

You tried not to discriminate on the basis of his master, but it’s not that at all. Toji’s familiar, Naoya, is simply annoying on his own terms. 

“So you’re the new god of this ramshackle little shrine,” he sniffs. “God, it’s disgusting. How poor are you?” 

“You must be the thirteenth familiar Toji’s owned. He goes through you like toys, doesn’t he? Of course you wouldn’t know that he used to live in worse conditions before. Deplorable.” Gojo laughs in his face. 

Naoya grits his teeth. “I’m surprised your little human dared to show her face. I thought she’d be terrified after what Toji did to her. They’re such weak little things.” 

Gojo looks at the other demon with a calm that worries you. As human as he is, there are moments when you can catch the monster lurking within. He’s like the sea, deceptively calm until you remember the threat of an unseen riptide. 

“If you insult my master again,” he says carefully, enunciating every word like he’s stabbing at them with a knife, “I will take your head and deliver it to your master as a present.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to be serving a mortal girl,” Naoya laughs. “Not someone like you, Satoru. How the mighty have fallen.” 

Gojo looks at him for a long moment, then he ignores him completely and walks to your side. The most painful part of Naoya’s digs at you is knowing he’s right. Gojo doesn’t like this. How could he? He went from being the strongest to being commanded by some powerless girl. Still, Gojo gazes at you with his inscrutable eyes. You can’t read him at all. 

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to you. 

With a gentleness you can hardly bear, he lays his head in your lap, as gentle and docile as a puppy. His neck is bared as if for an executioner’s axe, the delicate pulse of his heart open to you. He closes his eyes. His breath is shallow. He stays there, and says no more. 

“Oh, Satoru,” Naoya says in delight. “You really have become a tamed thing.” 

With an uncertainty you’re trying to hide, you lift your hands to Gojo’s head. His hair is sinfully soft. You’re almost scared he’ll try to take your hands off for it, but when you start to gently pet his hair, he almost purrs. His eyes close, half-lidded in pleasure. 

“I serve who I want to serve,” Gojo says. His tail lashes behind him. “Who are you to tell me my master is unworthy?” 

Naoya shrugs, clearly disbelieving. “Sure, Satoru. Keep telling yourself that. I’m just here to deliver a gift.” 

He tosses you a package wrapped carefully in beautiful, ornate wrapping paper. You’re sure it’s not Toji’s doing. He’s not the type. 

As soon as he leaves, Gojo pushes himself away from you. It leaves you a little sorrowful, the speed with which he tries to get away. He only did it for your sake, you know. He wanted to protect your honor in front of Naoya because you’re his master. But it must have disgusted him, to get on his knees for a human, if he recoiled so fast. 

“What did he mean, what Toji did to you?” Gojo asks over dinner. 

You know instantly that you’ll only draw his ire if you try to play dumb. 

“Toji pushed me off that cliff the day you found me.” 

Gojo’s eyes darken. The next time Naoya returns, he promises you, he’d set his tail on fire. No one besmirches his master’s honor like that. 

It’s about honor, of course. You’d be a fool to think otherwise. 

Alone in your chambers, you unwrap the package Naoya gave you. It’s an incense burner, beautiful and silver. As apology presents go, it’s a decent one. You set it aside for use at a later time. 

Naoya’s visit only makes Gojo’s training worse, but these days, you’ve grown used to him and his harsh words. The more that he yells at you for being weak, the more you can brush it off as Gojo just being Gojo. That only irritates him more, of course. 

But nothing pisses him off as much as you claiming that you’re returning to school. Gojo thinks that you have no need for school as a god. There’s nothing the humans can teach you that he can’t. 

In your eyes, Gojo is a kitsune. That means he’ll never understand a teenage girl’s heart. School isn’t about learning, it’s about the experience! You’ll never be in high school again - there are so many things you still haven’t experienced, like school trips. You only have one youth - you have to seize it in the moment! 

Gojo isn’t convinced. 

Like an overbearing parent, he nags you all day and night until finally, you strike a deal. He’ll let you go to school, but only as long as you cover up the god-mark on your head. Gojo is never one to make things easy for you. The hat he bestows you with is an ugly grandma print with faux fox ears. You’ll be the laughingstock of the school!

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “Who knows what wild beasts will be lurking about?” 

“You’re the wild beast,” you say. “I can’t wear that!” 

“I guess you can’t go to school then,” he sighs. “What a pity.” 

It’s all for show, of course. You know what he’s really like. There’s no use in arguing - either you agree to his compromise or you stay here, stuck in the temple for the rest of your life. You’ll miss out on all the joys of youth, never growing old in your cloistered shrine. The thought is unbearable. 

You snatch the hat from him in indignation. Putting it on before you leave the next day makes you cringe, but as long as you avoid mirrors, you can almost forget that it’s there - if not for your classmates staring at you. You can feel their judging eyes everywhere you go, and the whispers. 

You can’t even say you don’t care - you do care. You only have one high school life, and Gojo is ruining it. During lunch, you escape into the bathroom to mope and avoid all of your classmates. 

“Are you getting bullied?” Gojo’s voice is too bright and cheery for your dark mood right now. You can’t promise to remain calm if he stays here. 

“This is the girl’s bathroom, Gojo.” 

“Don’t be like that. I’m just worried about my master,” he says. “Well? How is it? Do you want to go home now?” 

He’s lying. You know he’s not worried about you at all, but you should be used to it. You don’t know why it stings as much as it does. 

You’re hurt even though you know this is just how Gojo is. Of course he’d be happy to see you miserable - he hadn’t even wanted you for a god in the first place. He’s bound to you by obligation, and nothing more. You had known from the start that he didn’t care about you, so why does it hurt that he won’t comfort you? It’s just like those nights in the demon world that seem so long ago now. He hasn’t changed at all. 

Gojo isn’t as shocked by your outburst as he is by the tears slowly welling up in your eyes. He stands stunned as you rush out of him and back into the hallway. 

Tsumiki appears next to him out of thin air, completely unimpressed. 

“You did a terrible job on that one, Gojo.” 

As if in a daze, he lifts his hand, where the crystal of one teardrop shines. He’d tried to reach for you at the last moment, but you were already gone. “I made her cry...” 

Megumi appears next to Tsumiki, his face red. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up and leave! We’re in the girl’s bathroom!” 

“Gojo was bullying our master,” Tsumiki announces. 

“I wasn’t bullying her!” 

“He made her cry.” 

Gojo winces. “Okay, yeah. I did do that.”

Megumi kicks him in the leg, which amounts to almost nothing. “Take responsibility, then!” 

When you return home, Gojo is waiting by the shrine door with an almost offensively polite smile on his face. “Let me take your coat, master.” 

Him being kind gives you the creeps. You can’t help but feel like he’s planning something, especially when he shows you the lavish dinner he prepared for you with all of your favorites. 

“What’s with the look?” He says, annoyed at your accusing eyes peering at him over your bowl. “I do something nice for you and this is how you treat me?” 

“This is really just for me? No ulterior motives?” 

“None,” he promises. 

The smile that breaks over your face is like the sun through rain clouds - sudden, dramatic, and almost painfully bright after a period of gray skies. 

“Thanks, Gojo!” 

The look in his eyes is unreadable as he reaches to spoon more food onto your plate. 

You don’t have anyone else in this world. Besides the shrine spirits, Gojo might be the only person in the world who will take care of you. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sting as much as it did this morning. 

The second day of school starts with pouring rain, as if it’s a direct reaction to your foul mood earlier. Gojo pulls you back when you try to leave. 

“It’s a bad omen,” he says. “Stay home with me today. I’ll worry about you if you go.” 

Normally, such sweet words might bring a blush to your face, but you can read between the lines. 

Stay home with me today so I can keep you out of trouble, you brat. 

I’ll worry about you if you go because you’re weaker than a worm. 

“Stop trying to keep me from going to school! I thought we got over this yesterday,” you huff. “I’m going to be late for the bus!” 

You leave Gojo with a handful of air as you dart under his outstretched arm and out the door. 

In school, all your classmates are listless. 

You’ve never been so unhappy to not be the subject of attention. What is wrong with everyone? Even the teacher doesn’t reprimand anyone for sleeping in class, half-asleep herself. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be caught in this spell of drowsiness, which insinuates paranormal origins. 

As you’re sweeping the classroom after class, one of your classmates lets out a disgruntled noise. 

“It’s a snake,” she says, not at all with the intonation of someone who’s just discovered a snake. Ami’s the type to go apoplectic at the sight of a fly, much less an actual snake, so you don’t pay much mind until you hear Kurama go, “Huh, she wasn’t kidding.” 

There’s a little yellow snake in the classroom. In their stupor, none of your classmates seem to care all that much about it. They just continue going about their chores. You feel bad for it. It’s such a small, fragile little creature. In their state, they might accidentally end up crushing it. 

With gentle murmurs of encouragement, you coax it into your hand. It’s surprisingly docile and twines itself readily around your wrist before you set it outside the window to be set free. 

Gojo doesn’t praise you for your act of heroism on the behalf of his fellow yokai, as you remind him. You saved his compatriots! Where’s the gratitude? 

He calls you a stupid little girl. “I don’t care about them, I care about you!” 

Your face warms with embarrassment against your will even though you know he doesn’t mean it like that. Time and time again, Gojo has stressed that he will never see yokai and humans as even remotely on the same playing field, much less capable of being romantic partners. 

“You’re my master,” he says. There’s your call back to reality. “Look at this mark on your wrist.” 

It appears like a normal bruise to you, though you’re not sure how it could’ve happened. Your new snake friend was very gentle when he was coiled around your wrist. He must have been someone’s escaped pet. You hope he found his way back home. 

Gojo’s mad. He’s enunciating every word. 

“This is exactly why I have to keep such a close eye on you. That’s no ordinary bruise. That is an engagement mark. Care to explain to me how I left you alone for one second and you got yourself engaged to a divine beast?” 

Your face pales. “Excuse me?” 

“That snake is going to come and claim you as his bride.” 

“As a bride?” Your head spins and you have to sit down. You’re too young to get married. You look up at Gojo, teary-eyed. You don’t want this. 

“Stop making that face,” he snaps, pushing a hand over your face to hide it. “As if I would let that happen. The master of the Yaga shrine, my master, could never be wed to a mere snake.” 

If Gojo says he won’t let it happen, you can put your faith in him. You breathe a little easier. As mean as he can be, Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t lying when they called him the best familiar. He’s the strongest and most capable person or rather, yokai, that you know. There’s not a single task you set for him that he hasn’t been able to complete. 

It’s still raining when you go outside to practice your talisman making. 

You find the weather quite pleasant, even though it’s a little damp. The chill in the air cuts through the muggy feeling of summer, and the raindrops cool your cheeks. When you turn your face up to the sky, you can taste ozone in the little drops that pelt your face. 

“You’re very beautiful, kamisama,” says a voice. 

There's a man waiting just outside the red gates. A supplicant? In this weather? You better get him inside in a hurry. You dash over to him. 

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll get wet!” 

Just as you reach him, he lifts his face. He looks like a statue, with high cheekbones, and solemn eyes. His hair is the same pale yellow as the snake you saw earlier that day-

“Gojo!” 

But it’s too late. 

The snake has a hold on your wrist, right above the engagement mark. He takes you away. 

One moment, you’re standing in your own backyard, the next, you’re surrounded by almost-familiar bamboo walls. It looks like your shrine but for little distinguishing touches. That makes you uncomfortable. 

“This is Haibara shrine,” the snake says. “I’m Nanami, the familiar of Haibara-sama. I’ve taken you away to marry you.” 

There’s a curtain over the center of the room. Haibara presumably rests behind it, but something strikes you as off about the whole scenario. That’s not what’s foremost on your mind, however. 

“I don’t want to marry you! You kidnapped me!” 

He tilts his head at you. “I couldn’t have kidnapped you. We’re engaged, you see?” He traces the mark on your wrist with one slim finger. “We’re going to be very happy together.” 

“You’re being creepy,” you push him away. 

At your rejection, something dark crosses over his features - not danger, but pain. He has some nerve feeling upset when you’re the one who should be upset here! 

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to stroke your hair. You won’t let him touch you. “I know it can take some getting used to. Here, let me show you to your room.” 

Nanami has clearly put a lot of thought into decorating for you. It’s beautifully furnished, with rich silk sheets and the fragrant smell of plum blossoms permeating the air. Here, there’s not a single thing you could want but- 

Gojo. 

You miss Gojo and you miss your shrine. 

When Nanami leaves you in your room, it feels like a tomb in the silence. You bury your face in your expensive, hateful sheets and try to resist the urge to sob. You want Gojo to come get you. You want to go home. 

Hours pass, but Gojo doesn’t come. 

Nothing but the sound of your breathing changes, passing from frantic to deeper, slower, steadier. As your head clears, you notice the window. It’s a beautifully ornate design, a red knot of luck. The center is just big enough for a girl to squeeze through, if you try hard. 

Resolve grips you. 

You’re not going to wait for Gojo to rescue you. You’re going to get out of here yourself, find him, and scold him for not coming to get you earlier. Aren’t you his most beloved master, as he so professes? You’re going to make him kneel for at least three hours practicing his apologies! 

Filled with renewed conviction, you hoist yourself onto the window sill and begin the tedious task of shimmying yourself out. Just when you’re nearly there, the sharp edge of the metal scrapes your shin, leaving a long, thin cut. 

The smell of salt replaces the plums immediately. 

“God?” Comes Nanami’s voice. “I smell blood. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine!” You panic. If he discovers your escape attempt now, he might try to put you in a more secure room, and then you’ll really never see Gojo again. 

The adjacent wall caves in. 

Gojo stands in the rubble, seething, each hand wreathed in blue flame. He doesn’t even notice you, his attention wholly focused on Nanami. “You drew her blood? Are you prepared to face the consequences of hurting my master, snake?” 

You grab his arm just before he attacks. “He didn’t! I hurt myself on the window- oof!” 

Gojo’s so much bigger than you are. When he folds you into his arms, his entire body surrounds you. His chin tucks itself over your head, his large arms wrap around your body. You’ve never felt more secure than you are here, now. “I thought you’d be crying.”

His voice is hoarse. 

You’ve never heard that before. 

“You came,” you whimper, burying your face into his shoulder.  

Nanami’s face is crestfallen. “Are you going to leave me?” 

You grab Gojo’s arm and duck into the other room, where Haibara’s curtain is. 

“Don’t!” Nanami cries. 

When you pull it back, there’s nothing but an old, dusty kimono. 

You were right. 

This place is godless. 

“You’re no familiar,” Gojo snarls, turning on Nanami. “Don’t even think to call yourself that. The difference between you and me is as clear as day, you vile beast. You’ll pay for your insolence with the loss of your shrine.” 

Nanami’s misery is written all over his face. You’ve realized what’s wrong with this shrine. It’s too quiet, as if no one has prayed here for generations. Haibara has been dead for a long, long time.

Nanami must have been lonely. 

“Don’t,” you tell Gojo.

He stares at you, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?” 

You tug yourself out of Gojo’s arms. Nanami’s crouched on the ground, trying to shield Haibara’s old kimono from Gojo’s foxfire. You kneel to his level. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for all this time, Nanami. I can’t stay with you, but if you come to my shrine, we can play again.” 

Nanami weeps and reaches for your hand. The mark of the snake dissolves. 

Gojo doesn’t talk to you on the way back to the shrine.

“Don’t be mad,” you say, tugging on the sleeves of his kimono. He gives you a deadpan stare. “Come on! I only did it because-” 

You can’t finish your sentence. 

Of course, that piques Gojo’s interest. He can never resist bullying you. 

“Because? Go on,” he goads you. 

You say it so quietly he can’t hear you, even with his fox ears. He spins around, grabs you by the waist, and hoists you up so you’re face to face. You yelp and scramble to grab onto his shoulders for balance. 

“Louder,” he demands. “I can’t hear you.” 

“I was thinking about what would happen if I died and you were all alone again. I couldn’t leave him alone because I was thinking of you,” you tell him. Thinking of Gojo watching after an empty shrine all alone like Mizuki makes your heart ache for reasons you can’t explain. 

He stiffens. “What a strange thing to worry about. I wouldn’t care.” 

“Ugh,” you smack him in the shoulder. You shouldn't have tried to be kind to him. 

He doesn’t put you down, shifting you into an easier hold. “You’re hurt,” he admonishes when you try to squirm. 

Just before you enter the shrine gates, he has a confession of his own to make. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You got hurt because I wasn’t protecting you.” 

You rub his ears, an indulgence you’re not sure he would’ve allowed if he wasn’t in such a mood. “It’s not your fault!” 

“I’ve never had a human master,” he says. “I have to be careful not to break you. You’re so easily hurt.” 

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you say, and then the shrine spirits are there to welcome you home. 

You hadn’t realized you thought of the shrine as home until today. 

Even though Nanami’s mood isn’t affecting the weather anymore, it’s still raining. Gojo tells you not to mind the weather, even though you’re certain that it’s not from natural causes, which means it is your job. Ever since you came back from Haibara’s shrine, Gojo has been extra protective of you. 

You hadn’t thought Gojo had needed to be protected too, not until the thunder god came. 

The god of storms and lightning is called Getou Suguru. He carries a mallet in one hand that can transform whoever it touches into their younger forms, and he used to be Gojo’s best and only friend. He’s also the one who called a bounty on your head.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Is the dress too much? I figure I might as well look good if I'm getting my boobs chopped off! Oh, did I not tell you guys? My bad, I've just been so excited! I think? I was going out the other day, walking along the boardwalk in my little blue bikini, picking up guys, normal Saturday. A guy approached me with a small film crew and started asking questions, telling me he runs a popular internet show involving beautiful young talent like me. He complimented my breasts and told me girls with 'oversized melons' like mine were exactly what he was looking for. He asked me if I liked being so big breasted, I said yes. He asked if I fantasize about my boobs getting destroyed or chopped off from time to time, I said yes, duh, what busty girl doesn't have that kink? He asked me if I've ever considered living out those fantasies, I said no, not really. He asked if I ever fantasized about having my clit removed, I blushed and said 'now I will, that's super hot!' He seemed very pleased by my answers, asking me if I thought girls like me ought to get their boobs destroyed for male pleasure. I asked him to clarify and he said if girls like me date guys who want us to get our boobs removed or reduced to nothing because it would turn them on, should we? I emphatically said yes!

He then revealed that he was gathering talent for his next online pageant. He told me it was technically adult content because his fans jerked off to it, but it was presented under the guise of a medical charity. That I and nine other girls like me would be paraded out into a packed auditorium of his fans. A staff of surgical students from a nearby university would be there, and he'd present the main event as a charitable pageant, of sorts. We'd walk out in formal wear, like any beauty pageant. Then we'd wear bikinis. After that we'd strip naked on stage and be lined up, sitting at a chair, with a sturdy tray in front of us. The surgical students would then numb our breasts, and we'd be forced to answer intimate questions about ourselves and our love-lives, all under the pretense of how being so big breasted has negatively impacted our lives and forced us to be oversexualized and overly sexual.

As we're interviewed, the surgeons in training would then remove our breasts, putting on a bit of a show.... playing with their food, basically. Cutting our boobs open vertically and showing the audience all the fat inside, any cysts or tumors (of which I maaay have quite a few, no surprises there!), for educational purposes, emphasizing how unhealthy they are..... piece by piece our boobs will be dismantled and tossed on a scale next to us. The weight of our breasts, how much was removed, apparently contribute a lot to who wins the pageant, so I should definitely stand a good chance of winning with these massive melons! After they're weighed our breasts are tossed in the trash, 'where they belong' the guy interviewing me made it a point to say. By this time in the interview I was straight up fondling my pussy and one tit in public, all caught on camera, available to view on his channel..... I watched the other girls get interviewed and they're so gorgeous, all equally excited to get their huge breasts chopped to mincemeat for this pageant.

It's only a couple hours away now, and I am a bit nervous. I obviously love having breasts this massive but the thought of doing this makes me sooooo wet! And seeing all these men comment on my video about how much they can't wait to jerk off watching my boobs get dismantled, I simply can't let them down! Wish me luck! I can't wait to stand on that stage with a bandage wrapped around my former tits, smiling and showing off my sexy new flat chest, along with the other girls. All for a good cause of course! How else do you make money to support breast cancer? Gotta show millions and millions of hungry eyes how dangerous and unhealthy my big fat perfect titties really are on the inside.... Ya'll are gonna flip when you see how many tumors and cysts these gorgeous fuckable titties have. I can't wait to show them off for you at long last! ❤️"

#breast reduction kink #breast shrinking kink #breast destruction #breast removal kink

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Twelve

Day: Friday, March 8th / 9th* Time: 10:30 PM EST

"Hello?" "Hello, Junior. Do you remember me?" Neil's heart lurches to a sick halt. It isn't his father or Riko, but he would know this voice anywhere. It is Lola Malcolm, one of his father's closest people and one of the two who'd tried teaching Neil how to wield a knife so many years ago. She'd been in and out of their house so many times Neil had thought for a while she lived there with them. She poses as Nathan's personal assistant, but her job is to get rid of the bodies Nathan's circle create. She is worth her weight in gold. Not a single one has ever turned up again. Neil tilts the phone away from his ear and takes a long, slow breath. It doesn't help. His lungs are full of shards of ice, chilling him to the bone and cutting him up from the inside out. It is an age before Neil finds his voice again and he can't keep a thick edge from it. "I didn't give you this number, Lola." "So you do remember me," she says. "Now you see, that's bad, because if you remember me, you remember who you are and where your place is." "I made my own place." "You don't have that right." She gives him a beat to respond, but Neil has nothing. "Are you listening? It is time to go. If you make this difficult for us, you will regret it for the rest of your very short life. Do you understand?" Neil wants to be sick. Lola trashed bodies; she didn't often make them. That was what the rest of Nathan's people were for. Neil remembered faces better than he remembered names, but he can guess who Lola has brought with her. Lola's business partner of choice is her brother Romero, and where Romero goes Jackson is never far behind. The three are Nathan's inner circle. They answer only to Nathan's right-hand man DiMaccio and Nathan himself. Neil could have tried outrunning one of them. He won't make it past three. For a moment he is so scared he can't breathe, but fast on the heels of fright is an irrational and wild anger. He is halfway to winning Andrew's trust, a weekend from his first vacation, and one month from semifinals. There are only four matches left in championships. Neil is so close to everything he wants and Lola is here to steal it away. "Put a hand on me and you'll regret it," Neil says. "Oh, what's this?" Lola says, entertained. "Has the baby finally inherited a spine? Your father will be glad to hear it." "My—" Neil chokes on it. "He is in Seattle. You'll never get me that far." "He is in Baltimore," she corrects him. "His parole hearing was on your birthday. They had to notify his family when his case came up. You must have missed the memo, being dead and all, so I'll fill you in. They made a final decision last week, and the feds swung it so he'd get released back to Maryland this morning. They're hoping being back in familiar territory will make him careless." Neil can hear the savage smile in her words. "Don't worry, kid. They'll never know you stopped by. I'll make sure of it." Neil blinks and see's that zero on his eyelids. He is out of time. For a moment Neil feels the weight of Andrew's mouth against his. He digs his fingers into his lower lip and tries to breathe around them.

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps!

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #tkm #the kings men #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game #kevin day #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #coach wymack #betsy dobson #abby winfield #matt boyd #dan wilds #renee walker #allison reynolds #artists #aymmidumps