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senualothbrok · 4 months

Text

Words

Summary: At your home in Waterdeep, you and Gale recall the early stages of your relationship.

Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: 18+. NSFW. Smut. (Unascended) Gale x female reader/Tav.

AO3 link

More disclaimers: Masturbation / mutual masturbation. Oral sex.

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You are sitting in the library, nestled into an armchair that is just big enough for the two of you. Gale rests beside you, frowning into an ancient tome. Your legs are draped over his, your tongue peeking out the side of your mouth as you read. The scent of sandalwood and book dust swirls around you. You feel a sudden tingling on your skin. You glance up.

Gale is watching you, his gaze full and bright. The intensity of it makes you faintly self-conscious.

“What?” Your hand flies to your cheeks, your hair.

Gale’s laugh is a warm bath.

“Nothing, my love. I’m just feasting my eyes, now that there’s nothing to stop me.”

After all this time, you still feel a flutter in your belly, a shyness, when he looks at you like this. When he does not look away. You smile at him.

“I still remember how flustered you used to get if I caught you looking at me.”

“Ah, yes.” Gale chuckles. “The early days of longing and budding love. The stolen glances, the lingering looks. The magic of words unspoken.”

A grey-brown strand falls over his eye. You brush it back, tucking it behind his ear. He kisses your palm before it drifts away.

“Mind you, it wasn't just nerves and awkwardness on my part. I truly had to exert all my efforts to control my excitement. The orb would have wiped out an entire city, or maybe more, depending on what kind of look you’d given me…”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I realised the extent of your excitement, or the threat it posed.”

He is stroking your leg under your skirt, up and down, gently grazing your flesh. Your skin prickles at his touch.

“Indeed. You drove me to distraction at every turn. Thank the gods for my disciplined mind.”

There is a familiar glint in his eye. A heat begins to quiver through you. You hold his gaze.

“Your mind must have been more disciplined than mine.”

You watch as his brown eyes darken and mist. The flame inside you flares at the hoarseness of his voice.

“How so?”

Gale loves words. Sometimes, your words alone can bring him to the brink of ecstasy, for touch to push him over it. He can read your thoughts at any time if he wants to. You have let him on occasion, with delicious results. But usually, he prefers the words you choose when you tell him. And you know, from the hitch in his breath and the curl of his lips, that that is what he wants now.

“Well.”

You bite your lip. You pause, savouring the spark that is gathering between you.

“I used to think about you, when I was lying in my tent at night.”

That flash in his eyes. That sideways lift of his moist lips. His fingers are drifting up your thighs, flickering with yearning. Your eyelids flutter.

“Did you?”

You nod. A throbbing has begun inside you, and will not be ignored. It grows with the intensity of his stare as he watches your every movement, hanging on your every breath. It burns with what you are about to tell him and show him.

“Night after night.”

Your hands move down to the hem of your skirt. You gather it up, lifting it further to rest above your waist. His hands linger on your bare legs as you draw away from him slightly to sit back. A frown creases his brow, as if he cannot bear your withdrawal. But you keep your eyes fixed on his.

“I thought about the things I wanted you to do to me.”

You are not coy as you slide off your lace panties. They cling to you with the beginnings of your desire. It does not escape his notice. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide as he watches you. There is a yearning ache that makes you tremble as you widen your legs to face him. Slowly, you snake your fingers downwards.

“That made me so wet, I had to touch myself.”

You lick at the pad of your middle finger, so that it is moist with your spit. You press it into the damp warmth between your thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you watch his tongue running over his lips as you stretch your slick folds to find your swelling centre.

“Like this.”

It does not take long to find it. You shudder when you touch yourself, drawing small and eager circles around the pulsing edges of your clit. Your legs shake as the thick sounds of your wetness fill the air. You push into yourself more and more, moaning as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Each time your vision wrenches shut, he utters a soft groan which surges through you.

You want him on you. You cannot wait much longer.

“What did you want me to do to you?”

His voice is low and husky, the brown of his eyes almost black. Your reply is a plea, your fingers a frenzy of wetness.

“I wanted your tongue all over me.”

He leans forward, mercifully, desperately. He slides his tongue inside your waiting mouth, over the fullness of your lips, against the girth of your twisting tongue. You cannot get enough of his bittersweet taste. You are ravenous, gulping and gasping and lapping, and when his greedy mouth leaves yours, you want to follow. But before you can, he is trailing his tongue across your cheek, flicking at your earlobe, licking at its edge.

“Like this?” he pants into your ear.

You whine as he sucks at your earlobe with wild fervour, barely stifling his moans. The outline of his cock bulging against his breeches is almost too much to bear. You flinch as your clit threatens to erupt. Your fingers stop moving.

He notices immediately. His hand leaps down to press against yours. Your hips buckle. You bite your lip to muffle a wail.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes.

You cannot keep going much longer. You look at him, begging. The grin that plays on his lips sends you grinding into his hand once more, desperate for relief. He grimaces, and you can see that he, too, is straining to burst.

“What else did you think about?”

He undoes the clasp on your shirt without effort. But even that fleeting moment of waiting is torture. You flesh is aflame as he glides his tongue down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, around your breast. When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, you cry out. It is so stiff, so hard, and when he wraps his tongue around it and flicks at it, you throw your head back in a silent scream.

“Tell me,” he whispers, your nipple still in his mouth.

You shudder at the burst of air on its tip. The fact that you can still form words is a miracle to you.

“I wondered…”

You writhe as he licks at the darkness around your nipple, the delicate underside of your breast. Your clit aches under your shaking fingers. It is a battle to continue.

“I wondered,” you murmur between halting breaths. “If you were in your tent, touching yourself as you thought of me.”

He looks up at you, flushed and dilated. And you see that this is the final straw for him. The words that have brought him to the brink. You are wet, so wet, as he unfastens his breeches. His lithe fingers flutter as fast as you have ever seen them. His veined, pulsing cock springs free as he edges onto the floor in front of you. You do not have time to grasp hold of it, but your dismay is short lived.

You gasp he hitches your trembling legs over his shoulders, pulling your ass towards him with a grunt. Your hands weave themselves into his hair, dishevelled with passion. He looks at you with a blind, unbridled hunger.

“This is what I think about when I touch myself,” he rasps.

He plunges his face between your thighs. As his tongue swipes at your clit with swift, smooth whirls, you collapse backwards in spasms. Your back arches, your toes curl. Each circle of his tongue brings you nearer and nearer to the excruciating edge.

You can tell that he is taking his time, listening and feeling for the corner that will be the end of you. And when he has found it, you realise that both of you are groaning. You suddenly have a frantic need to see his face. You lean up on your elbows, and it is then that you see him, jerking with the movements of his own pleasure as he laps and sucks at the centre of your fire.

The peak of ecstasy takes you. You dive over the edge, letting out a whimper so loud that you are sure half of Waterdeep can hear. You roll your hips into his mouth and clench your calves around his shoulders as you ride out the crest of the wave. In your haze, you are aware of the frenetic lurching of his frame, a long moan that rumbles out of him in spurts. And then he is still.

It takes you both a moment to come back to yourselves. You are still panting when he returns to his place beside you. You had thought the flames inside you would be doused, at least for a while. But you quiver at the sight of the moisture on his beard, the thick streaks on his breeches as he pulls them up over his cock, still half-hard and gleaming.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile. When he wraps his arm around you, you cuddle into him. You soak up the smell of his sweat, musk and pleasure mingled with your own. He is silent as you plant gentle kisses on his forehead, his nose, his cheek. And then he sighs.

“I’d say we both have remarkably disciplined minds.”

You clasp his hand and laugh.

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#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #gale fic #gale fanfic #gale smut #gale x tav #gale x reader #baldurs gate 3 smut #gale dekarios smut #gale of waterdeep smut

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sturnsdoll · 18 days

Text

SWEETER THAN CANDY -`♡´- - C.S

idea creds

pairing: chris x fem reader

summary: chris finds a rather creative way to teach you patience.

warnings: smut obvi, swearing, (very little) plot, light bondage, candy g-string, oral (f recieving), heavy teasing, dom!chris, sub!reader, orgasm denail, begging, degrading, praise, slight dumbification, cum eating(??), back scratching (?), choking

word count: 2,332

authors note: hope you enjoy ♥

"orange" = chris "pink" = reader

your boyfriend chris had been busy all day with filming with his brothers, shopping, a meeting for his brand and what felt like a million other things.

one of those million other things had been him trying to keep you from losing your mind waiting for him to be free. you hadn't seen your boyfriend in a few days and the impatience of wanting not only his love, but his touch, was driving you to insanity.

text after text, call after call. chris was sick of telling you he'd be free at 12 and that you just needed to be patient.

it was currently 12:05 and chris was filming a car video with nick and matt. his phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

you toss your phone down next to you with a sigh.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

1:07 AM

half asleep, you're finally in the triplets parking lot to pick up chris so you can bring him back to your place. after a few long minutes of waiting you look to the passenger side of your car, spotting chris heading over.

when he enters the car, there's a bit of a slam to the way he closes the door but you choose to ignore it. you smile brightly at chris "feels like i've been waiting forever for you i-" "do you still have the thing i got from the store last week?"

you're confused by the question and a little taken aback that he didn't greet you. although there's a glint of mischief in his eyes that makes you clench your thighs. "no hi? hello? chris i've been waiting all day.." you go to wrap your arms around his neck but he grabs both your wrists. "wrong. you've been an impatient brat all day. now is it still here or not?"

it takes you a minute to even think of what the hell he's reffering to. that's when you remember chris had bought a candy g-string at the store last week when his brothers hadn't been watching the two of you. you thought it was more of a joke that he had gotten it though, not really expecting to use it.

your eyebrows knit together in confusion. you look at where his fingers are wrapped around your wrists before looking up at in hiw eyes again "yea, it's on the backseat still chris but i-" he cuts you off again, not wanting to hear it. "good. go find somewhere private to park. better be close though" "seriously? what's wrong with you?"he drops your wrists and gives you a dead serious look. "now." the tone of his voice makes you decide to put the car in drive.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you found an empty parking lot out back of a closed fast food place. the whole drive there chris's hand squeezed at your thigh harshly and anytime you tried to ask what his problem was he'd just tell you to keep your mouth closed and drive. which you did.

now that you were here, you opened your mouth to question his antics but he didn't let you get the chance. that angry yet needy look glosses over his eyes again "get in the back n' put it on" he says with a quick hand motion toward the backseats. you raise your eyebrow at him ready to protest but he wasn't having it. "do i need to repeat myself baby?"

you pause for a second before shaking your head no and doing as you were told.

now, only in your cropped t-shirt and the candy garment, you watch curious and nervous as chris removes his belt. "hands above your head" he commands and you listen. he brings your wrists behind the head of the car seat, binding them together with his belt.

"i think.." chris starts as he moves to his knee's infront of you "that for whatever fucking reason" he spreads your legs "you think it's okay to start acting out when you don't get what you want when you want it" his tone gets you wetter than you already were. you can't help the smile that spreads on your face at the satisfaction of having gotten the rise out of your boyfriend that you were hoping for. if only you knew how much you'd regret it only a few minutes from now.

chris catches the sly little smirk on your face. this makes him smile back, only his is much more menacing. "oh you think you're getting what you want huh?" he says. you shrug, staring back at him smugly. "we'll see." he says, mocking your text from earlier before he his mouth latches onto your left thigh.

his mouth moves smoothly, leaving a small trail of purple marks up your thigh. when he gets to your candy covered cunt he hovers teasingly for a moment before switching to the other thigh. you sigh impatiently, earning a threatning glare from chris.

this time when chris makes it to your heat his teeth close in on a candy just above your clit, mouth is so close yet so far. he bites the candy before eating it excrutiatingly slowly. once he's done he flattens his tongue against the front of the candies, shortly giving you the smallest amount of pleasure as he drags it up to where the waistline of the g-string is.

his teeth latch onto another candy but this time he pulls back, bringing the candy clad garment away from you. he quickly releases his teeth from it, letting it snap back against you.

you jump a little at the unexpected sting. chris smirks at your reaction before his mouth goes for another candy that's sitting right over your clit again. "chris come on" you complain but he stays focused on consuming the little candies.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you squirm in the seat, wrists uncomfortably wriggling against his belt as he sucks on another candy, his lips just barely brushing where you need him. it's been almost ten minutes now and you're soaked and needy, clenching around nothing everytime his lips or tongue accidentally ghost you.

"chris m' sorry i need you please" you attempt to beg, pushing your hips toward his face. he wraps both his arms around your thighs to hold them down and apart. "should've thought about that before whining and complaining all day hm?" he taunts before his teeth grip another candy "n' stop squirming" he says through gritted teeth while he sucks on the sugary candy.

this goes for a couple more minutes before he pulls away to look up at your face. you look just about ready to cry from sexual frustration. he smirks as he rubs your thigh soothingly. "what do you want baby?" his hand snakes up to your waist to pull the candy string back and let it snap against your skin again. you wince before speaking "your mouth, fingers, anything. please" not caring how needy you sound you beg him desperately. over the candies, chris presses two fingers over your hole. the feeling of the cold candies against you instinctively makes you attempt to pull your hips back but there's really nowhere for you to go.

he wraps his fingers around the garment and pulls it to the side before his head dissapears between your thighs. he gives an experimental flick to your clit before diving in to suck and nibble on your sensitive bud.

you throw your head back, a nearly pornagraphic moan comes out at the pure relief. to make things easier for himself he gives a harsh tug to the part of the candied underwear he was holding, causing the string to snap. candy spills off most of the garment and it goes all over the floor of your car. you instinctively try to reach out to pick up the candies or somehow stop the mess but your wrists only strain against the material of his belt again. "chris!" you whine annoyidly.

you're quickly silenced by two fingers teasing your folds. wetness coats his digits without them even being in you. "did i really get you this worked up, sweetheart?" he asks before holding his fingers up to your mouth "open". you comply and are immedietly met with his fingers pressing down on your tongue."taste sweeter than candy don't you?" he asks rhetorically before unexpectedly latching his mouth back to your clit. you cry out when he adds his two fingers along with it.

his tongue switches between flicking, sucking and nibbling so often that you can't even keep up with what form of pleasure he's applying. his fingers pump in and out at an extremely rapid pace that makes your hips twitch. the windows are foggy and the air in the car is heavy from both your heavy breaths.

your mouth hangs open as incoherent words and whines spill. he lets your clit go with a wet pop. his fingers continue. he pulls his head back a little to watch the way your body reacts to him, the way your face contorts in pleasure. you're already clenching around his digits. his fingers push deeper and curl up into that one spot that makes your mind go numb. "mph- m' close" you mutter out between desperate whines. "yea? you wanna cum on my fingers?"

you open your mouth to say yes when suddenly he pulls his fingers out, shoving them in your mouth again. "suck" he tells you while simultaniously reaching up to release your wrists.

with glossy eyes you look at him and suck your juices off his fingers. once he retracts his fingers you pull him in by his shirt to press your lips to his. the kiss is full of tongue and teeth. needy. he climbs onto the seat next to you before adjusting you until you're beneath him. his hips press down into yours making you both whine. you push your hips toward his. he pulls his face back to look at you consideringly. looking at him through your lashes you reach between the two of you to massage his erection through his pants "please." your voice is needy but sweet. "yea? wanna be a good girl and let me fuck you?" he asks while moving to take his sweatpants off. you nod with a sickeningly sweet smile as he finishes removing his clothes.

once he's situated, he makes a point of dragging his tip teasingly along your folds. you go to complain but he knows you too well. "uh uh. remember what that mouth did to get you here in the first place" he reminds. "well techinically it wasn't my mouth since it started over text so- mph!" one hand covers your mouth as he uses the other to balance himself while he thrusts his length into you.

he watches you in awe as he slowly pulls back out "not another word out of you" his hips snap right back. everytime he fucks into you, you're crying out into his hand. his speed starts steady and slow but that lasts no longer than a minute before he's messily pounding into you. you wrap one hand around the wrist of his hand that covers your mouth. your other creates deep red marks down his back, nails dragging and grabbing for some kind of support.

at this point everything that comes from his mouth are all mindless filthy comments. "gonna- mm- make sure that i f-fuck the rest of that attitude outta y-you" he assures as he abuses your cervix repetitievly. clenching around his dick at his filthy words causes his head to drop, a moan slipping his lips. even when his pace is sloppy he doesn't dissapoint, continuing reaching deep inside you with every movement.

it's not long before your minds set on wanting to finish. you reach between the two of you to stimulate your clit but chris swats it away. one hand shutting you up still, he uses his other to rub fast circles on your sensitive bud. you whine and he does too from the way your nails dig deeper into his skin.

his thrusts become sloppier and his fingers work faster. you try to speak but between him fucking you and his hand over your mouth it's impossible. luckily for you he knows by the way your breath is becoming shallow that you're close.

"not until i say so" when his hips begin twitching he slides his hand from your mouth to your neck to steady himself. "jesus chris" you manage to whine as you drink in the air, still slightly restricted by his hand on your throat. your legs tense around his body and you both know you can't hold off much longer.

"you wanna cum sweetheart?" you nod, letting out a soft "yes" breathlessly. "then ask me. gotta make sure you've- mm fuck- learned your lesson" he looks in your eyes with a look of admiration at how pretty and fucked out you are for him. "wanna cum so bad, m' sorry for compla- ah oh god" you don't get to finish as he grabs under your knee and spreads you wider, managing to hit deeper inside you "i'm sorry for complaining, pleasee let me cum" you draw out the please in a innocently convincing way. "listen so well. go ahead"

as soon as you have his permission your lower stomach twists inside as your legs clench right around his waist. all it takes is one more thrust and you're dripping around his cock. chris curses out your name with a string of obsceneties as your orgasm triggers his. he makes sure you both completely ride out your highs before he pulls out and retracts his fingers from your poor clit.

you both take what seems like years to catch a normal pace to breath at. chris reaches to the floor, obtaining both your clothes. "shower when we get home?" chris asks you as he becomes aware of the sticky residue of both cum and candy left on your body.

"absaloutely."

(the plan wasn't for this to be that filthy idk what happened tbh but i'm not complaining if y'all aren't 😛 )

Tags: @ezziewinchester @sturnsblog @mattsrod @blue-for-percyjackson

#chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut #strnzslut #christopher sturniolo #sturnsdoll

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roesworks · 2 months

Text

keep playing, baby.

sub!satoru gojo x dom!fem reader

summary : you were tired of satoru choosing video games over you, so you punish him to change his mind. warnings : nsfw, oral (m receiving), blowjob word count : 1.24k

i actually found a red thoughts tiktok and thought of this so please im begging (i just wanted to post something ml)

~*~

maybe satoru needs a break from the gaming world.

you have been over at his house almost every day for a solid week and a half, and each and every one of those days, your boyfriend has been glued to his pc.

frankly, you were feeling a bit touch starved.

you entered his bedroom one night, where of course, he was stationed at his computer, and internally, you told yourself that you needed to get back at him.

how?

well, you had a few ideas.

you sat on his bed, and even though he invited you over, you were fully expecting him to not notice your presence. he was wearing a pair of blue pajama pants, a long sleeved white shirt, and his hair looked as if he came straight out of the shower. he looked beautiful.

you shook your head at the sight. "pity," you muttered. he didn't hear you over the ferocious tapping on his mouse and keyboard. you move positions and lay flat on your stomach, slowly inching closer to him.

you eyed the screen. he was playing with a couple of his friends, which, really you should've realized since he was practically screaming into his headset, but, you thought, what if you tortured him? in front of his friends, no less? a smirk crept onto your face.

you make your way off of his bed and start to crawl towards him on the floor. you made it under his gaming desk unnoticed and placed your hands on his pants. he jerked in shock, looking below him with widened eyes. "y/n..."

"shh... keep playing, baby."

you swear you heard him gulp.

he didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. that meaning being told what to do. he was curious, though, to see where you were headed with this.

your hands make its way upward toward the band of his pants, and you slowly bring them down, along with his boxers. he shifted in his seat.

"satoru what the hell are you doing? you almost got us killed!" you could hear through the headset. you chuckled.

"i-" he looked down at you.

"play your game. don't focus on me." you meant that directly.

he cleared his throat, regaining his posture. "i was drinking something." his friends on the other side laughed as they continued to berate him.

pushing his pants completely off, he leaned forward. "spread your legs for me, baby," you spoke, and he obeyed. his large dick, already hard, fell in front of your face. your fingers reached out in front of you and you began to circle his red tip that was beginning to drip with precum.

"don't..." you heard him whisper. the teasing was working. you smiled to yourself.

"pay attention," you replied back, and you licked your fingers. his dick was practically throbbing in your hands. he gulped again. through the headset, you could hear his friends yelling at him again. the moment he tried to retaliate, you started to lick the tip of his twitching cock. his sentence was cut off with a yelp escaping his lips.

"please," he whined above you, "don't tease, please."

he was so quiet that if you didn't focus on his voice, you wouldn't have caught on to what he was saying.

you removed his dick from your parted lips. you tutted. "leaving me all by myself while you were busy pleasuring your computer..." you circled the tip with your fingers again. "that was very selfish of you, wasn't it."

"i'm sorry-"

you pushed your precum-covered fingertips into his mouth. "shh, baby, i'm not done."

you rarely ever spoke to him that way. after all, satoru gojo was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the entire world; he could have you tied on that bed and have you eat your words... but right now, he couldn't. he physically couldn't move. you placed such a dominant hold on him that he had no idea what to do.

"right now," you continued, taking your fingers out of his mouth, "i'm going to make you regret ever leaving me by myself again. leaving me on your bed to pleasure myself while you're off screaming into your headset..." he clicked his mouse rapidly. "...when you could've been screaming my name instead. it's a shame. what a waste of a week."

"pleaaase." satoru's words seemed to be on repeat.

you shushed him. "i wanna watch you struggle. i wanna watch you be silent. all in front of your friends. how long can you go for, hmm? surely a while; you don't want to embarrass yourself. the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the entire world being dominated by his little girlfriend..." you chuckled as he shifted in his seat. "i can't give you the luxury of whining if you couldn't even show me an ounce of interest this week." he whimpered, his bright blue eyes connecting with yours as his mind went haywire.

you direct his head upward, advising him once again to focus on the game, and you stuck his dick into your mouth. you began to bob up and down slowly, teasingly.

he whimpered again above you, but this time, he was louder. "what the fuck was that noise, satoru?" you heard again through the headset.

he stuttered, trying to think of an excuse. "i-someone... i hit my elbow. sorry."

he sounded so pathetic. he was practically melting each time his dick hit the back of your throat.

he needed to be quiet. he couldn't speak, he couldn't moan, but god it felt so good that he just couldn't help himself. if he muted his mic, you would probably punish him even more than what you were currently doing. the point of the punishment was to watch him suffer in front of his friends. embarrassingly so.

finally, you quickened your pace. his attempts at staying quiet failed more often than not, but his friends were so invested in the game at hand that most of the time, they didn't really notice. all they managed to take in account was satoru's lack of performance, which still, they berated him more often than not.

it got to the point where he stopped playing the game completely. his headset stayed on, but his character stayed still. his hands were gripping your hair as his anguishing moans became louder and louder. he eventually would take his headset off and he threw it in front of him, not being able to withstand the silence. and god was he loud.

"keep going, please," he begged, his hands resuming its locked position in your hair. he let out another moan that echoed through the room. "fuckkk i'm gonna..." without warning (but you were expecting it with how loud he had gotten), he came down your throat. you swallowed a thick flow of cum, taking almost all of it down.

you removed his dick from your mouth, extra cum that you couldn't swallow dripping down your neck and face. "felt good, didn't it?" he nodded ferociously above you until he frowned.

"i'm sorry. really really sorry."

"i know you are." you chuckled. "that's the least of my problems. you better hope no one heard you on the headset." his eyes widened as he realized that his mic didn't disconnect.

if there was one other thing that his friends now knew about satoru gojo, it was that he couldn't be quiet for the life of him.

not proof read

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut

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lyssaluvs · 3 months

Note

Hi can you do a Percy Jackson x female reader.she is the daughter of Aphrodite

A little background Percy has this puppy love towards her.she has a fondness towards him but oddly enough even though she is the daughter of Aphrodite she comes off as cold.Ok so this takes place episode five of the series and they are arguing about who will sit in the golden chair.when he sits down and is turned into gold she tries her hardest to get him out.She has the talk with Hephaestus like how Annebeth did in the show.When Percy comes out of chair is was able to hear everything she ways saying.Figuring out she actually does really like him.

Trying Not to Love You - Percy Jackson

Summary: As above.

Warnings: Like one naughty word and a lil peck. Use of Y/n (Idk if that counts)

A/N: This is my first piece of writing so pls be nice, and pls leave feedback. Also, I know logically that they're like 12 and have probably known each other for like two weeks and therefore don’t actually love each other, but for the sake of the story, we're ignoring that. Also x2, I know Nickelback gets hate but they go hard and I'm DONE acting like they don't. (Listen to Trying Not to Love you, which is what this made me think of)

WC: 1.4k (I got carried away 😔)

For a daughter of Aphrodite, I sure don’t seem like one. My siblings and I get along just fine, but no one can deny the differences between us. We differ in that where my siblings are outgoing, smiley, and warm, I happen to be more reserved, more introverted. Many suggest I’m colder than my siblings, but that’s not the case. I’m just wary, and if that presents as being cold, so be it. We share traits, of course. We’re kind, socially aware, and well… beautiful. And with that, often comes an onslaught of suitors. Sure, I had a few, but none that I ever felt drawn to. And none that stuck out quite like Percy Jackson did.

“He’s staring again.” My sister said as she nudged my side. I look up from my plate and meet his gaze. He sends a panicked smile before a blush spread across his cheeks and he quickly looks back down at his food.

“Poor thing looks like a kicked puppy, you should talk to him, put him out of his misery.” My sister continues. I hum and tilt my head before getting up to make my way toward the fire. I scrape the last of my brisket off my plate as I hear him approach.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hi Percy.”

“It’s, uh, pretty warm out, huh. Not all that pleasant standing by the fire. Maybe we should, I dunno, go for a walk? By the lake maybe?” He presses his lips together and looks at me with those puppy dog eyes. Were his eyes always that pretty? No. Stop it.

“Sorry Percy, we’re having girls night in our cabin tonight, I can’t” I quickly explain. Sure, it’s not nice to lie, but it has to be done. What are my options? Keep saying no until he loses interest, or give in to the temptation, and eventually have to break his heart? He doesn’t deserve that. The former it is.

I quickly make my way back to my cabin, and into bed. Not turning around to see that he does, in fact, look like a kicked puppy.

---

“Y/n”

My head snaps up and I quickly glance around. What? Me?

“Customarily, one waits to at least hear a name or two before choosing. Are you sure you don’t want to hear more?” Chiron states apprehensively

Apparently not… I think to myself as Percy goes on a spiel about how he must choose those he trusts most. Why me?

---

Cold, wet, and coughing. That pretty much sums up my state right about now. Somehow, I had made it out of the water when I surely thought I was going to drown. Had that been Percy?

I fumble my way off the ground, taking Percy’s outstretched hand.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt?” He rushes out as he looks me up and down franticly.

“I’m fine, Percy. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no, of course. Sorry if I was too rough, I’m kinda making it up as I go along.”

I just smile as we direct our gaze to the grand, golden statue in front of us. There it was, the shield we’d almost drowned to get to our hands on.

“How are we supposed to get that thing down?”

I look between the statue and the chair that say at its feet. “These things are connected somehow. It’s a machine, but how do you start the machine?” I say as I scan the mechanism for any clues.

Percy seems to retreat into his mind for a moment before coming to a realisation. “It was a gift with a hidden purpose. Hephaestus offered it to Hera, but as soon as she sat in it, she couldn’t get up.”

Percy continued to explain, and it finally clicked. One of us has to sit in it. One of isn’t getting out of it.

“I’ll do it.” I say without thinking. I didn’t need to think about it, it was a no-brainer. Between the two of us, Percy needs to continue, and for some reason I don’t let myself delve into, I have no objections giving my life for his.

“What? Wait a minute!” He grabs my wrist to stop me from proceeding towards the chair.

“No, Percy. It’s me or you, and I’m not going to let it be you.”

“Y/n, no! I brought you on this quest because I couldn’t bear the thought of you not being by my side. I didn’t want to go anywhere you wouldn’t be.” He let go of my hand and I immediately missed his touch.

“Percy- “

“Y/n. Listen to me. It’s ok. Even if you sit in the chair, the outcome would be the same. A piece of me would go with you, and I’d be no use to the quest. You’re strong. You don’t need me.”

He took a lunge and planted himself firmly in the chair. Molten gold crawled its way up his legs and I could hear cogs and wheels spinning within the machine. Oh gods, this is really happening.

“Percy, stand up! This isn’t funny, Percy, please!”

“It’s ok. It’s ok, Y/n. I’m ok.”

And just like that the gold had made its way across his face and it was done. He’d been turned into a statue, and it was my fault.

The shield dropped to floor with an echo, but I barely heard it. I need to fix this.

I made my way around to the back of the chair and dropped to my knees. I brushed my hands across the machine, praying to whoever would listen. Mum, please. Help me out here.

And just like that, a man had appeared at the platform above the statue.

“Hephaestus” I heard a small voice whisper, from nowhere, yet everywhere.

Thanks, Mum. I won’t let you down.

“Can I help you? Do you need some help finding your way out?” He played a melodic tune on his harmonica and a ladder appeared, leading up to the platform.

“I’m not leaving without him, Hephaestus. And if you’re not going to help me, can you please leave me alone so I can focus?”

“In spite of what you may have been told, I am not someone who can be pushed around.”

I let out a sigh and deflated my shoulders. Tears blurred my vision, but I pulled them back. Now isn’t the time, I need to focus.

“Hephaestus, please. I can’t do this without him, despite what he may think. I know you know how this feels. To love someone you know you can’t have. But you got another chance when the gods gave you my mother, I won’t be afforded such a luxury. My mother has been more than generous giving me someone like him, someone I don’t deserve. I won’t get that again. I’ll never find someone like him, never love someone like I love him. Please, Hephaestus, I’m begging. Let him go. Let me have him, let me love him.”

The man hung his head. I couldn’t tell if he was moved by what I had said, or if it just pissed him off. I just hope to the gods I wasn’t the latter. He turned his back and I mirrored him in hanging my head. I had failed.

Another note played from his harmonica and my ear perked up, along with my hope. I shot to my feet as I heard the gears in the chair start to move. Making my way around to the front of the chair, I saw him again. Those sea green, puppy dog eyes I had tried so hard not to love. He took a gasping breath as the last of the gold melted off of him.

He stood from the chair and immediately pulled me into an embrace. Without thinking, I let myself hug him back, indulging in his hold for once.

“I heard you.”

“What?”

“I heard what you said when I was in the chair, Y/n.”

What??? Oh fuck…

He moved his hands from my shoulders to my cheeks and rested his forehead against mine. “I feel the same, you know I do. And I know you don’t want to let yourself feel that way, because you think you’ll break my heart, but I don’t care. Please, Y/n, let yourself love me. Gods know I let myself a long time ago.”

I stared into his eyes at a loss for words. I placed my hands on either side of his face and pressed my lips to his.

“I’ll take that as-”

I just kissed him again.

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider!!!

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson fluff #fluff #pjo x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo x you #pjo imagine #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #pjo tv show

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tinycozycomfort · 7 months

Text

trust fall

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day two of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: fluid exchange -> read her day two here

summary: This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nice enough.

warnings/tags: pwp!, fluid exchange (come eating/spitting), oral sex (f receiving), anal play, dirty talk, mention of unprotected piv, dom/sub dynamics, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), praise kink, edging

word count: 1.6k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: arguably the filthiest thing i've ever written (nervous) but wow was it great practice. thank you for reading!

main masterlist

“What a mess. Who’s gonna clean all this up, sweetheart?”

He’s thumbing at the crease of your thigh where it folds into your core, pulling against the bend so that your seam widens. You can feel him looking, each cool swing of his breath fanning over the heat at your center. The slow trickle of where he leaks out of you makes your skin tighten, shrinking uncomfortably over muscle in little welts.

Joel doesn’t take well to your lack of focus, choosing to demand your attention instead; the press of his thumb turns harder, meeting the end of his pointer to pinch. The pain is instant, but the delay from your haze makes you skip a yelp all together, straight to words like he wants.

“I’ll clean myself.”

He hums, releasing your flesh, petting the wound where it thrums, “Now how can you reach all the way down here?”

You know this game well—where he means to reduce you to less than incapable, framing it like you’ve lost your way after what he’s just done to you. He wants to act like he can help you, when in reality it’s done to service himself, only further fueling his need to be in control—a role that toes the line between offender and caretaker. He aches to relinquish you of every responsibility, even that of thought.

Joel swipes at the come that refuses to let up where it’s dripping out, making a slow show—one that only he can see and only you can feel—of gathering and pooling and reinserting it, just to watch it slip out again.

“I-I don’t know. But I need to get clean.”

He’s smiling something horrible, eyes shining when you gaze down to plead your case for assistance.

“Oh, poor thing, I know. It’s not your fault,” he dips his thumb into you before trailing up just under the bead of skin above your opening, “There’s just so much. But you’re right, we can’t have you ruining the sheets.” Joel bares his teeth again when you hiss, narrowly missing your clit when you try to maneuver your way into his hand.

You pant, barely able to piece together your cue, “How?”

“Hard to think after the way I fucked you, hm?” He brushes his free hand across the hill of your cheek, pitiful, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “I guess I could help you, sweetheart. Do you want that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, please.”

“There she goes. My polite girl. Same one who begged for all this mess in the first place—isn’t that right?”

You can’t bear to try and find the words, just letting your head loll to the side so you can nod without the pain of keeping your neck straight. He’s unraveling your grip thread by thread so you can become the soft, helpless thing he needs you to be.

He shoves himself down, ducks his head to be level with your cunt, the hot vent of air around his face bleeding onto you. He’s worked up—you know it from the delicate shudder in his hands, the uneven half-steps in his breathing—and while he swears he can’t, you wish he’d fuck you again. You wriggle, back flat to the bed and knees spreading instinctively.

Joel starts at the slip of skin separating your cunt from what sits beneath it, careful to catch what he couldn’t collect on the last sweep. His mouth is warm and his tongue gentle, but the breath it punches out of you is hard—furious.

You’re humming high in your throat, past the point of well-mannered, and he’s delighted, slipping the muscle between his lips inside of you, tilting his head just enough so that his nose can’t touch where you’re throbbing for him most.

You beg, “Joel. Joel, please,” rolling the knobs of your spine forcefully enough to sting, trying uselessly to make contact. He huffs, forearm mashing haphazardly against the curve of your hip, flustered.

“You don’t need it, honey. Now keep still.”

You’re full-on whining now, little pieces of sound, reedy and loud and not enough to make him feel bad, apparently.

He nestles himself back in, the wide flat of his tongue pressing hard enough to breach your hole, spooning out everything you saved for him inside you and you start to seethe, a thin film of sweat breaking out across your chest—boiling.

The hand you haven’t felt in a while returns to a different place, the tips of his pointer and middle brushing under where he’s eating you, the hole there wet with whatever continues to evade his mouth.

He circles it and you fidget, begging him for anything more, the slow working of his jaw not enough to bring you to the edge.

There’s the other half of the game—if you can’t come before he’s deemed you clean, you don’t get to at all.

A sticky curl of love swells in your belly at how familiar you are now with this routine, how far he’s come—peeling away enough of his distance to show his face, to bring you to this. This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nicely enough.

Joel’s uncovered desire to see you need him, beg for him, just to make him relent in your favor, was intoxicating. In turn, he continues to make it harder every time for you both, upping the stakes after you barely manage to satisfy his last demand; narrow wins that remind you of just how much power he holds. Always sweet and comforting and protecting, even if from the severity of himself.

Your stomach clenches, trying frantically to pace your breaths, to focus on the feeling of every too-long pass that has him nudging the underside of your clit, the way his fingers tease against your asshole. He hums in warning, almost done, and you knock a fist against the bed in frustration.

He pulls away suddenly and your shoulders cave, upset by his unwarned finish, and you’re ready to apologize within an inch of your life when he pipes up.

“Am I not enough for you, honey? You liked my cock, plenty. Why can’t you do it for my mouth, too?”

“Joel. Joel, you are—you’re enough. I just– right now I need more.”

“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you again. Now—” he uses the hand not already playing with you to dig into the meat of your thigh, nails drawn, maybe a little upset by how many words you’ve managed despite his ministrations, “Make me happy.”

He sways low again, the return of his mouth against-underneath-inside of you making your hands curl, a warm buzz floating up through your legs and forearms to meet together in the middle. He’s fervent, determined to prove you wrong now that you’ve challenged his ability and you’re squealing, so light-headed from the effort to breathe that you’re close to stopping all together.

Joel feeds his lip between his teeth against you reflexively, like he’s trying to hold himself back for a moment, and the idea that he’s gearing up for a long night makes you heave.

He tries to hide his tell, taking the quickest pause to spit onto his fingers, prodding at your asshole to divert your attention, hardly sliding in as to not give you more than you’ve earned, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Haven’t worked for much of anything yet.”

“But–”

“Show me you can be good, first. Shouldn’t be so hard for you, honey, c’mon.” He inches closer once more, breathing out against you, alternating between little puffs of cold exhales and firm pants of hot air.

You writhe, so pent up you feel restricted by your own body, like climbing out from a pool fully-clothed—heavy and sopping and always tipping back with resistance. Your face is on fire, fingers twisting to try and take the brunt of your need to move.

Joel is ecstatic—you can hear the wet slide of his grin—and you’re right at the cusp of giving in when he breaks the gap, hot mouth latching onto your clit and you’re gone. You can feel it spread the length of your core first, filling out quickly to everywhere else and you jolt, legs snapping together fast enough that your knees knock above his head.

He repositions his hands, squeezing between them to pry you open. You wedge a wrist behind you, trying to lift yourself in an effort to stop him but when you peer down, the look on his face is serene, pleading. An exercise in trust maybe—that he’s acquainted enough with your body to know your limit.

You let yourself rest again and inhale deep, letting him work you down to a stop, the feeling of overstimulation falling into a wash of fuzzy static . Only after you unfold does Joel remove himself, pressing light kisses to the peak of your hip bone on his way up—proud.

He leans over your torso, his chest parallel, the damp rub of your skin setting your heart off as you breathe in tandem. Selfishly, you scrabble a bit, wanting desperately to have more claim on his body.

“Hey, hey. Shh. No need to do all that. I’m right here for you.” Joel gathers up your palm between his fingers, sliding your limp knuckles over his cheeks, the little curve of his lip. A moment passes and you reclaim ownership of it, caressing the underside of his jaw faintly.

“Was I good?” you whisper.

“So good. See, I knew you could do it.”

He nudges at the band of rib under your breast, “Maybe even a little too good—looking very empty now, sweetheart. What do you think we oughta do about that?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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bakubunny · 5 months

Note

😁 Alphabet for Bakugo or Kirishima, then. Your choice as I can't choose between them myself. 😋 Lol. Thank you for doing this! (I love these things)

nsfw alphabet: katsuki

enjoy! tw: f!reader, bodily fluids other than cum

aftercare -> he’s quiet and cuddly. also unexpectedly sappy and romantic in his own grumpy way. dom!kats follows your aftercare routine to a T and doesn’t deviate unless you ask.

body part -> even i can’t deny that katsuki is an ass man, no question about it (tho i kinda wish it wasn’t true). he’ll use your ass as a pillow any chance he gets. on himself, probably his shoulders or his hair.

cum -> i’m with @callm3senpaii on this one, he cums a lot. he also leaks a lot. he eats clean so it doesn’t taste terrible. he likes to see his cum on and in you.

dirty secret -> yes, he’s possessive as hell, but he’s okay sharing with friends… as long as he fucks you last, and gets to show everyone that he fucks you better than all of them.

experience -> either he’s very experienced because he’s hot and had a fuckboy era in his early 20s (or maybe just a long term partner), or he’s absolutely clueless because he’s been so focused on his career that he didn’t really get into a relationship. no in between.

favorite position -> doggy or modified doggy. anything where you’re bent over and he can fuck you like a ragdoll. special mention to missionary & holding you up to fuck you against a wall bc he’s more intimate than you’d think.

goofy -> he’s very serious in bed. there’s no question.

hair -> he’s cute and blonde all over. 🥺 katsuki likes to keep everything neat or shaved for comfort, but he’ll let his cute lil happy trail & a lil bit of a bush grow if he knows it turns you on.

intimacy -> he’s surprisingly intimate and romantic - at least when he loves the person he’s fucking. he’s almost too intense sometimes. his eyes bore into yours as if you’re the only person that matters, the only other person in existence, and he needs you to know it.

jack off -> he’s the type to fuck a fleshlight like he’s on top of you. he’ll let you watch if you ask nicely and play with yourself for him.

kink -> i actually don’t think he has a lot of kinks. if i had to pick, i’d say anal play/sex (giving) and rimming (giving and receiving) to start bc see above. also probably receiving praise.

location -> literally anywhere but beds/couches are nice. why do you think the couch in his office at the agency is way bigger and comfier than it needs to be?

motivation -> he won’t admit it, but he likes massages (especially his neck and hands) and when you run your hands over his body. loves it when you run your hands through his hair, kiss his neck. and frankly, just looking at you is enough to drive him crazy.

no -> cnc. he’ll rough you up as much as you could ever want, make you a snotty, drooling, fucked out mess, maybe even degrade or humiliate you if he knows without a doubt it’s consensual. but the second there’s any kind of resistance or fear in your eyes, he’s done. it scares the shit out of him to think you’d ever fear him, even if it’s all play.

oral -> katsuki prefers giving. he’ll let you suck his dick as much as you want, though. enjoys it more than he lets on; it makes him feel vulnerable to feel so much at once, so he’d rather give and hear you fall apart.

pace -> it’s katsuki. he’s fast and rough, but not because he means to be. he underestimates his strength and his natural inclination is to rush. slow and sensual is something he has to learn, and he eventually comes to crave it more and more the older he gets.

quickie -> he enjoys them a lot, but his dick size gets in the way. he finds ways to make it work, assuming you’re willing.

risk -> yes, he’ll experiment to a point. he’s not quite as “try anything” as say, kiri, but he’ll try most things.

stamina -> katsuki can last long enough usually, but he goes multiple rounds per session. i’m gonna say 2-4 before he’s done but i might say more if it didn’t seem too unrealistic. his refractory time is a few minutes to almost nonexistent; increases as he gets older.

toys -> he has silicone sleeves for himself and maybe a couple of small backdoor things but he’s also got a high powered wand and might get toys specifically for his s/o that he keeps separate.

unfair -> i eluded to this yesterday; at least in his 20s, i see him as being impatient and having a difficult time slowing down enough to do much teasing, let alone edging. the older he gets though, the more he enjoys it and the easier it is. dilf!bkg can keep teasing for a while - until you’re begging. but i think ultimately he’s probably more into overstim than teasing.

volume -> probably not as loud/vocal as you’d expect given how loud he is in general. he’ll groan some and whatnot but he’s more focused on other things. he talks some as well and likes to hear you respond (or rather your inability to).

wild card -> see below the cut if you so wish. this one’s gonna be truly gross and maybe a little controversial, sorry fam. cw: mention of bodily fluids. bonus hc: he’ll kiss your feet unprompted assuming they’re clean when your ankles are on his shoulders.

x ray -> i’ve gone into specific detail about what’s in his pants before, so i won’t dwell on it much. but katsuki is a fairly big guy - everywhere. including his dick. he’s not so big that it wouldn’t be believable if you’d overheard it or smth, but big enough that he’s gotten turned down because of it.

yearning -> damn near insatiable, at least in his 20s. he could go multiple rounds once or twice a day.

zzz -> it depends. sometimes he’s out like a light, other times, he’ll have more energy after than he did before.

wild card -> he would try piss play at least once or twice if you asked. has probably wondered what it would be like to get peed on, but has spent more time thinking about pissing on his partner… specifically face and tits. and surprisingly, his interest in it doesn’t stem from humiliation or degradation. it’s just a really intimate and vulnerable thing to engage in and that’s the part that interests him.

#bnha smut #mha smut #ask games #n.sfw alphabet #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #f!reader #bnha #mha #bakubunny #bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #aged up characters

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you.

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations.

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets.

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest.

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled.

Until now, of course.

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all.

And Simon?

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh.

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious.

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more.

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now.

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking.

The woman stares for a moment before sighing.

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.”

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest.

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts.

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation.

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told.

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping.

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals.

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless.

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened.

Simon’s bike had been tampered with.

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs.

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered.

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns.

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly.

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset.

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be.

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh.

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.”

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.”

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil.

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either.

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud.

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from.

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently.

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for.

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop.

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet.

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath.

This man saved your life.

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest.

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?”

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters.

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling.

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.”

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things.

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff.

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull.

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite.

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors.

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again.

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating.

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all.

Graham.

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound.

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you.

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins.

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you?

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse.

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it.

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress.

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle.

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!”

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.”

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat.

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.”

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press.

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down.

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck.

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants.

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning.

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale.

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed.

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water.

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face.

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You.

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor.

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh.

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment.

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream.

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance.

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room.

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?”

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire.

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him.

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that.

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen.

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake.

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone.

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts.

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door.

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh.

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face.

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!”

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest.

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat.

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp.

You needed to figure something out. Quickly.

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds.

It wasn’t like the termites could help.

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature.

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all.

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does.

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!”

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression.

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling.

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.”

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking.

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff.

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness.

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up.

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain.

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt.

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie.

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material.

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward.

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars.

Run. Run. Run.

Every rush of your blood sings the same order.

Lose him in the storm.

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards.

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping.

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools.

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass.

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well.

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet.

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder.

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out.

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic.

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches.

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!”

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in.

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt.

Simon Riley was dressed for war.

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth.

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt.

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked.

You nod, but he still waits.

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around.

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling.

Your body is shielded in an instant.

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.”

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind.

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind.

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night.

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest.

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink.

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint.

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need.

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off.

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price.

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you.

Nothing else was touching you. Ever.

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds.

But Graham.

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!”

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech.

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke.

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up.

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent.

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush.

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all.

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately.

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room.

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh.

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase.

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines.

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright.

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better.

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.”

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him.

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses.

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below.

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up.

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

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bungalowbear · 6 months

Text

Wolves of Tokyo: Savage Good Boy

Pairing: alpha!Fushiguro Toji x omega!f!reader

Summary: Pressured to choose a husband, you make a rebellious choice after a stranger comes to your rescue.

Warnings: abo dynamics, misogynistic themes, some violence, creepy alphas, love hotel, smut (fingering, p in v, knotting), biting, mutual bonding, mdni

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Here goes my first nosedive into abo. This is going to be a whole series with different jjk men and their readers. First up is Hana! But even though I’ve given her a name it’s more to make writing/reading easier the further along we get. I try to be as inclusive as I can therefore there are no physical descriptions, so anyone can read and hopefully picture themselves. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist / Playlist

There are many wolf clans in the city of Tokyo. But the Gojo, Kamo, and Zen’in families stand above all others. Power, wealth, and status are the pillars that have supported them for generations.

Your family is less prominent, just one rung below, though sought after for its long history of birthing powerful and gifted offspring. A blessing, your father says, the heavens bestowed upon your clan. But you’ve only ever regarded it as a curse.

Not only do you have the unfortunate luck of being born a woman, but also an omega. You’re even more unfortunate to have been born to your father, the head of your clan and the one forcing you into an arranged marriage.

“Do you know how many omegas would kill to be in your position?” he asks, voice tinged with frustration.

“Probably, like, a ton.”

You’re upside down on the sofa, legs hanging over the back and face looking out through the floor to ceiling windows of the living room. Your father’s penthouse offers an enviable view of the city. Among the patchwork constellations of lit windows of office buildings, you marvel at Tokyo Tower, turned upside down from your position, shining in all her glory.

“And yet you treat this with such contempt?”

Your father’s voice interrupts your city gazing. You hear his heavy footsteps echo against the hardwood floors as he comes to block your view. You refuse to raise your eyes to him, already familiar with the image of his crossed arms and rigid posture when he scolds you.

“Forgive me, father,” the words roll off your tongue dry and indifferent, “for not being so eager to sell myself off like some prized cattle.”

“You can’t keep pushing this meeting off,” he argues. “The other clans are getting restless. Soon they won’t be asking, but demanding.”

You roll your eyes and sit up so your feet are planted on the floor and your head is upright again. This time you turn your gaze up at your father, not cowering under his stern expression.

“You realize we don’t care about any of this, right? Satoru and I have been friends since we were children, and we both agree this is so archaic. Choso spends more time at that animal shelter than at home.” Your hands clutch the edges of the seat. A sour taste settles on your tongue. “And I’d claw my own eyes out before marrying Naoya. He’s the only one you’ve all successfully indoctrinated into this misogynistic bullshit.”

Pushing off the couch, you stride past your father and plant yourself beside the window. You pull your legs against your chest and rest your head on your knees. Your father’s footsteps come closer. His hand reaches toward your head and gives you a gentle pet, but you shake him off and scoot further away.

“What am I going to do with you?”

You can hear fondness creeping in his voice, but you won’t allow it to sway you.

“How about not forcing me to marry someone I don’t want to,” you quip.

Your father sighs.

“Our clan has kept itself alive and thriving for generations through marriage pacts. If we—”

“Maybe we don’t have to anymore,” you interrupt, looking at him with imploring eyes. “It’s a new time, father. Things are different now.”

“Not for us.”

He looks at you like you’re a child again. A sad smile that suggests you don’t understand anything about the way the world works. But you do know, and it’s not a world you want to live in anymore.

You and Satoru talk about the changes you want to make within the top clans. And you’re committed, you want to see it happen, but sometimes it seems impossible. At times you feel so small and so lonely. As a male alpha, Satoru doesn’t fully understand your fears, just like you don’t his. And you know he gets insecure like you do. The only difference is that he has someone to confide in, to support him unconditionally. You don’t. Which is why it’s so important for your husband to be someone of the same mind as you. Not someone who will keep you trapped underneath his thumb.

“If mother was here she’d be on my side.”

You huff, burying your head in your arms. You feel the warmth of your father next to you as he comes closer again. This time when he puts his arm around you, you don’t move away.

“If your mother was here she’d want you to make a smart decision.” He speaks with a sorrow you can’t fully comprehend. You lost a mother, but he lost a wife. A mate. “She’d want you to be protected and provided for. Each of the clans is offering that.”

“Wouldn’t she also want me to be happy?”

He chuckles. “You’re just like her.”

You lift your head. He stares at you with glassy eyes.

“Beautiful and wise,” he says. A loving smile curves his lips. “And stubborn.”

Your father’s expression turns somber. You already know what he sees in your face, in every feature that composes your physical identity. You see it every time you step in front of a mirror. A near identical copy of your mother. A living, breathing reminder that she once walked the earth, long enough to give you her likeness.

“I miss her,” you say, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

“So do I.”

You make sure your father is asleep before leaving the apartment. You close the door carefully behind you and take the elevator to the lobby. It’s nearly midnight, the usual time you step out, and your neighborhood is as you anticipate, quiet.

The walk to the train station is quick. You tap your fare card on the reader and head underground to catch the last local train to Shinjuku. You’ll most likely have to take a cab home, but you’ll figure that out later. Conversations with your father always leave you mentally drained and the only thing you can focus on right now is getting your hands on some yaki udon.

Once you arrive at your station, you exit up the stairs and onto the street. The diner isn’t far so you keep your head down and let your feet lead you along the familiar route.

It’s a bit crowded for a Thursday but you don’t mind. You can blend in better. Disappear among the mixed scents of the other designations that crowd the sidewalk. You mostly catch the sweetness of omegas in the air. They travel in groups and you assume they don’t have mates of their own. It’s rare for an alpha to allow their mate to be out this late. Thankfully, you don’t have that problem. Not yet, at least.

You’re not sure how long you can keep stalling your father. You understand he pressures you only because he’s pressured by the other clans, but you don’t understand why he doesn’t just stand up to them and refuse. You don’t know what he’s so afraid of. He’s already been through the worst time of his life.

The death of your mother was the lowest point not only for you and your father, but also the entire clan. Only with her absence were you able to realize the influential woman she was and what she meant to the other branches of the family. Their support through your grief and your father’s brief depression, their unwavering loyalty and devotion, their presence the purest form of unconditional love, was the foundation your mother built that gave the clan a foot to keep standing on.

You and your father had endured your mother’s death with the clan by your side. When the mourning period ended you promised yourself you would be a leader worthy of your family name in return for their support. You’d be as resilient as your father, and as influential as your mother.

But the only way you can achieve that is through the right opportunity. Clearly your father won’t be the one to make one happen for you, so you have to find it yourself.

A voice calling out stops you in your tracks. As your mind clears itself of your previous thoughts your ears listen for the voice again. You look over your shoulder at the opening of a dark alley and wait. After a few seconds you hear the same cry for help.

You backtrack a few steps and peer into the alley. Cautiously, you enter and follow the whimpering sounds and scared scent of an omega. There are several overhead light posts lining the walls, and it’s beneath one of those lights you see a woman cowering beneath two burly men with her hand pressed against her red cheek. She peers between the two with tears in her eyes and finds your gaze, relief pouring out of her as if you’re an angel come to her rescue.

“Hey!”

You shout, too fast for you to think about the consequences. But it gets their attention and gives the omega the opening needed to get away. One of the men tries to grab her but she quickly evades him and sprints away toward the other end of the alley.

“Big mistake, girl.”

They turn to you and you realize too late that they’re both alphas. Angry and irritated alphas. And you’re alone with them.

You try to make your own escape, but a harsh grip on your arm pulls you back. You’re shoved against the wall and the space is too narrow to put any distance between you and the increasingly overwhelming spicy tang of their combined scents that fill your nostrils.

“What do we have here?” The one that holds you in place has shaggy brown hair. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes with a salacious grin. “Another little omega to play with?”

In the brief moment his eyes are shut, you shift your feet so that your right foot is slightly behind your left. Using all the force you can muster, you thrust the palm of your right hand up and into his nose. He steps back with a shout, hands flying to his face as blood trickles out between his fingers. The other man steps around his friend and roughly pins your shoulders to the wall.

“A feisty one, eh?” His bald head shines beneath the light post as he leans in close. He takes a good whiff of you. “Doesn’t matter. I can smell how scared you really are. A little sour mixed in with all that sweetness. Just how I like it.”

His nose inches toward the sensitive gland on your neck and your body revolts. You’ve acted mostly on instinct so far, but you’re intentionally defiant as you gather a pool of saliva in your mouth and spit it all out onto his face.

“What the—” He jerks back, wiping away your attack with the back of his hand. An angry growl crawls out of his throat as he raises a hand to strike you. “You little bitch.”

You shut your eyes, waiting for the sting of his palm to sharply make contact with your cheek.

But it never comes.

Your eyes open and your brow furrows at the hand hovering in mid air above your face. When your gaze lowers you realize it’s because another hand has it locked in place.

You didn’t hear him, couldn’t even sense him approach, but this new person is no doubt another alpha. Your lips part in awe at the size of him. He’s massive, towering over you and the others. His broad frame is intimidating and his arms and chest are barely contained beneath the fibers of his plain black t-shirt.

The bald alpha tries to pull away but the grip he’s in is too strong. In a flash, your savior turns him around with a yank of his arm and sends a powerful kick to his backside. The smaller man goes flying forward onto his hands and knees. His friend with the still bleeding nose helps him up from the ground, and they both turn back to the giant of a man now standing between you and them.

“What the hell, man?” the bald one complains. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Now it does.”

The deep timbre of your savior’s voice makes your knees shake. It suits his powerful presence and makes you thankful he’s on your side.

All three alphas seem to be locked in a staring contest. But while the two become visibly nervous the longer it goes on, their opponent’s cool expression doesn’t waver. He folds his arms and his muscles strain against the short sleeves of his shirt. The two others seem to come to a decision and start backing away. They spare you a quick glance, and your savior a scowl, before they turn and escape down the alley.

You watch from behind the alpha’s frame until the two round the corner and are finally out of sight. Letting out a sigh of relief, you step away from the wall. But it’s short lived when the remaining alpha turns his sharp gaze on you.

“Be more careful next time you decide to play hero, yeah?”

His shirt looks too small for him, and you wonder if it’s on purpose to show off his insanely fit body. You notice a hole in the left knee of his sweatpants that sit low on his hips and the white socks dusted brown with dirt slid into a pair of black slides. Your gaze snaps up to his face and zeroes in on the scar at the corner of his lip, then to the black strands of hair that fall in his face, shading a pair of emerald green eyes. You decide that despite his semi-homeless presentation he’s actually very attractive.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He looks down his nose at you, appraising you like you just did him. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth is meant to unnerve you, entice you, or maybe both. And you wonder why, since you run on instinct so much, do you go against your designation’s expectations and make so much trouble for your father.

“You hungry?”

He tilts his head. “What?”

“I was heading to a diner,” you say. “Let me buy you something. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes narrow for a second as he contemplates your offer. Though you already know what his answer will be.

“Sure.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever.”

You smirk and motion for him to follow you. The noise from the street is a welcome reprieve from the dark and quiet alley, but being back on the sidewalk means navigating through the crowds again. You’re so used to walking alone, swiftly weaving through bodies, that you almost forget your new companion. You look over your shoulder to make sure you haven’t left him behind and your brows rise at the empty space behind you.

He is only about five or six steps behind, but his broad build and being several heads taller than nearly everyone on the street makes them steer clear and create a path for him to walk unimpeded. Your eyes meet and he grins. The way his scar stretches and his eyes narrow make him look dangerous, and like he’s certainly aware of his presence.

You hum, curious about who this man is, and turn your head forward to continue walking. Several blocks later and a right turn onto a narrow street, the diner finally comes into view. Kanji characters glow in red neon above the entrance.

“It doesn’t look like much,” you say when you’re standing in front of the dark wood sliding door. “But they’ve got the best curry you’ll ever eat.”

He doesn’t say anything as you slide the door open and wave him in first. You weren’t close enough before to notice, but when he ducks his head and passes in front of you into the diner you catch his scent. Cypress with an underlying hint of spicy cinnamon fills your senses and you have to shake your head to keep from focusing on it too long.

You enter after him and slide the door closed. He looks over the menu options on the ticket machine to the left of the door while you peer past him to the long counter. The sound of running water in the kitchen stops and a familiar face appears from behind the corner. When Momo’s brother sees you he says your name.

“Welcome.” He smiles at you warmly. Then his eyes cut to the large man beside you, who doesn’t take his focus off the food options, and tilts his head in silent inquiry. But you shake your head and he understands that now isn’t the time for questions. “Sit anywhere you’d like. Momo will—”

He pauses, looking around the diner with a frown for his sister. It’s a narrow room with a counter that spans almost the entire length of the space with room on each end to exit through the doors. The right wall is lined with tables that seat two and leaves a small aisle in between for passage along the length of the diner. The back door leads to the restroom, which is a separate room in the alley with easy street access, and where you’re certain his sister is.

You chuckle, knowing when Momo reappears she’ll be in for a scolding. Turning your attention to the machine, you feed it several notes and select your udon and toppings.

“Get as much as you want,” you say.

Your companion doesn’t hesitate to start pressing buttons, choosing a bowl of ramen and the large portion of curry. After he selects an order of gyoza and tempura the money slot blinks green and you slide in more notes. He looks at you with raised brows, probably not believing your initial offer, before he makes his final selections of yakitori and two beers. You add another yakitori and a beer for yourself before accepting your change and fishing out the tickets from the dispenser.

“Let’s take a seat.” You turn to the alpha beside you. “I’m sure—”

Suddenly the back door slides open and all eyes are on the flustered omega as she enters the diner. She straightens the apron around her waist before swiftly closing the door, but not fast enough that you don’t catch the blur of white hair dash behind her. When she looks up you can see the smudge of gloss around the corners of her mouth and you have to hold back your giggles.

Her mouth splits into a wide grin when she spots you and hurries around the counter toward you. With a tilt of your head in his direction, the alpha follows your lead down the aisle and toward a table along the wall.

“Hey, Momo,” you greet your friend. You lift your hand and use your knuckle to clear away the stray gloss on her skin. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she answers, shyly averting her eyes. Her hands smooth down the front of her apron. “Really good.”

You raise your brows in amusement, lips parting to tease her, but Momo takes the tickets from you and tears them in half before scurrying off to the kitchen. You watch her go with a fond shake of your head.

“She’s cute.”

Your attention shifts to the alpha now seated at the table. He grins while making the observation. His gaze lingers on the entrance of the kitchen, where the low murmurs of Momo’s scolding reach your ears.

You take the seat across from him.

“Thank you,” you say, “for, uh, helping me back there.”

“You always pick fights with alphas?”

You think about your father and the clan heads, always aware of the power they hold. You’d learned about it all from Satoru growing up, your only confidant in this repeating generational cycle, and yet you refuse to give in. All your life you knew what awaited you and you took every chance to delay it. Ever since your mother’s death you wanted something more for yourself. You wanted a different future.

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself. “I guess I do.”

“Pretty stupid for an unmated omega.”

He scoffs. You roll your eyes.

“We’re not helpless, you know.”

“You got in a good hit, so maybe not helpless.” He chuckles, tilting his head down to narrow his eyes playfully. “Still a weak little thing though.”

“I literally made him bleed.”

The smirk he gives you makes him look less intimidating.

“You’re not like other omegas,” he says.

It’s not a question. Ever since you met him you’ve felt his calculating gaze on you. Not heavy or intense, but just there. A silent presence that maintains its patience, watching and studying and waiting for the right time to take action.

“Here you are.” Momo appears with your beers, placing them on the table with a steady hand. She looks from you to your companion. “Who’s your new friend?”

“I ran into some trouble,” you vaguely explain. “He was kind enough to get me out of it.”

She frowns. “Trouble?”

You wave off her concern. “It was barely anything.”

Momo turns to him, bowing her head in gratitude.

“Thank you for taking care of my friend. I’ll bring some dessert, on the house.”

“Momo, I can—”

You start to decline her offer, but the deep, rich voice of the man across from you cuts you off.

“I appreciate that, sweetheart.”

Momo perks up before flitting away with a promise of ice cream. You watch the alpha as he eyes Momo’s backside. You clear your throat.

“She’s spoken for. And your competition won’t fold as easily as those creeps in the alley.”

“Just lookin’,” he says, reaching for his first beer.

You take your own beer in your hands, bringing it up to your lips for a sip. You eye him over the rim, take in everything about him. His hair, his face, the bored expression he near constantly wears. The more you see, the more familiar he looks.

“So…what’s your name?” you ask.

“Why do you wanna know?” he counters.

“Isn’t it normal for me to want to know the name of my knight in shining armor?”

He laughs before taking a large gulp of his beer, slamming it down onto the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tilts his head to look at you through half lidded eyes. You’re sure he’s trying to be seductive, and you have no doubt he can be, but after countless alphas from various clans trying to attract your attention you’ve built up a sort of immunity to pretty words and manipulative men.

He pouts when you show no sign of wavering.

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffs.

“I think it does,” you insist.

Like with the alphas in the alley, you’re caught in a staring contest with the man before you. But after a minute of you matching his impassive expression he smacks his teeth. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What’s it to you anyway?”

You shrug. “You look like someone I know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You’ve got the same eyes.”

He hums.

“And the same hair,” you add.

He raises his brows. His green eyes light up in mock interest.

“Even got the same frown.”

“Wow,” he leans forward, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his large palm, “the same frown.”

“He’s like a carbon copy of you. Almost like you could be father and son.”

At this, he straightens up. His expression hardens and he eyes the diner warily, as if he’s been unknowingly lured into some nefarious den.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I asked you first.”

You wait for his answer, patient as you take another sip of beer. He clenches his jaw.

“Toji,” he finally answers.

“Family name?”

He hesitates. It seems any answer he has prepared for you won’t allow him to remain anonymous. But he could also give you a fake name, though something tells you he won’t.

“Fushiguro.”

He whispers the name, one you’re familiar with. You nod your head.

Before Fushiguro, he was Zen’in. Everyone knows the story of the alpha who deserted his clan after years of being ignored and put down by his family. An alpha who couldn’t shift into his wolf form was considered a blemish on the Zen’in name. But what Toji lacked as a shapeshifter he made up for in his human form. Physically stronger, faster, sharper than nearly any man or wolf, he made a name for himself as a hunter. You don’t know how you feel about him hunting other wolves, but from the stories you heard he was quite impressive.

“Okay,” Toji says, “so what’s your name?”

You tell him your full name, then add, “But my friends call me Hana.”

He scoffs. “So we’re friends?”

“We can be.”

“Why do your friends call you Hana?” he asks instead.

“Because they think they’re funny, dubbing me the blooming flower of my family.”

He chuckles, scratching at his chin. “So what’s the daughter of a clan leader doing sneaking around at night?”

“Needed to clear my head.” You trace a line down the side of your glass, breaking through the condensation. “I’m expected to choose a husband soon.”

“Right.” Toji nods. “Your family has the golden womb.”

You scrunch your nose at his wording. That’s all you are to any of them. A pawn. An object. You could just run away, you think. You’d ask Satoru to lend you some money until you get settled somewhere far away, then you’d live your life free of clan traditions. On your own terms.

But you know it’s nothing but a fantasy. Even if you ran they’d send someone to track you down and bring you back. Someone like Toji…

You lift your gaze to the alpha, and slowly an idea begins to form in your mind. You recall a thought you had: find your own opportunity.

“What do you think about marriage?”

“The first time wasn’t so bad.” Toji shrugs. “Second time was more for convenience.”

“You know,” you pause, gauging his expression, “they say third time’s the charm.”

His brows pinch together. He’s obviously puzzled.

You smile. “What do you say?”

“Marriage? To you?” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head back there?”

“Think about it. If we get married your family will have to bring you back into the fold. You’ll be bankrolled by them again and I’ll get to rub it in all the clan leaders’ faces that I found away around their ancient tradition.”

“What makes you think I want their money?” Toji frowns. “Or would even go back if they asked?”

“Well, word around the packs is that you’re a bit of a gambler, so whatever money you acquire on your own is yours to do with as you please,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “And if you don’t want to go back to your family then you can live with me. I’ll take care of your food, housing, and other essentials.”

“And be, what? Your sugar baby?”

“Essentially.” You chuckle to yourself. “Also, I’m sure they’ll want a stake in decisions about our children. That’s going to be so much fun.”

“Eh?” Toji scowls. “Now we’re talking about children?”

“Obviously we’ll have to have at least one,” you say. Avoiding children is hard in your position, but becoming a mother is not entirely out of the question. Having a mother like yours, a part of you had always been eager for your turn. “And I’m curious to see how they’ll turn out. I’ve heard stories about you. With your strengths and my “golden womb” perhaps our child will turn out to be very powerful. God, I can just picture the looks on the faces of those old men.”

Toji smirks. “You’re a spiteful one aren’t you?”

“Since I’m an only child, my father will pass on his business to whoever I marry.” You’re talking to yourself now, your future laying itself out before your eyes. “And after he does you’ll tell him you aren’t interested in running the company, then you’ll announce that you’re turning it over to me. I know everything about that place. I’ll keep growing the company, make sure the clan continues to prosper, and start making changes from the inside. Of course you’ll be free to do your own thing.”

You pause, really looking at Toji now and see a glint in his eyes as he stares back at you. You can tell he’s considering your offer.

“What about divorce?” he asks.

“You’ll have to sign a prenup, so there’s really no benefit for you if we get divorced. My father will also make sure that I have full custody of any children we have. You’ll essentially be right back where you are now. Just older.”

He’s silent as he rests his cheek in his palm.

“I’ll make sure you won’t want for anything.” You express the same sentiment your father did to you. How strange, you think, an omega offering protection and security to an alpha. “And if you want to see Megumi, I can ask—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” Toji pointedly avoids your gaze. “But we don’t have to involve the kid.”

Your heart clenches. You wonder if he’ll be this indifferent to your own children.

“Okay.” You extend your hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”

Toji’s hand is warm around yours as he takes it and gives it a firm shake. Momo comes back to your table with your small feast. You thank her and she’s off again. Toji already has chopsticks in hand, but before he can take the first bite you speak up.

“For my father to accept this betrothal we’ll have to show him we’re serious. That there’s no going back.”

Toji looks at you with ramen hanging in front of his open mouth. “How do we do that?”

You smirk.

“With a little bonding time.”

After your meal, you pay for a cab to take you and Toji to Love Hotel Hill in Shibuya. You’re dropped of at the entrance of the hotel, but before going inside you take hold of Toji’s elbow and turn him to face you.

“This is your last chance to back out,” you tell him. “If you walk through those doors with me there’s no going back.”

Toji’s head pushes back slightly. His brow furrows and he looks almost…offended. His lips part and he looks like he’s about to speak, but then his brows rise. His eyes scan your face and you wonder what he sees.

Does he see how hopeful you are? Does he realize that you’re both desperate for the same chance to change your lives?

“Don’t worry, omega.” He smirks, taking your hand that’s still touching his elbow. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist. A tingle zips through your arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief washes through you and you smile. You don’t think much of it as you wrap your arm through his, pulling you close to him as you walk through the automatic glass doors of the hotel.

The lobby is empty except for the reception desk where you know an attendant sits behind the opaque window. The rest of the space is finely decorated with warm overhead lighting, lush green plants, and a long leather couch placed against the far wall.

Your shoes tap softly against the tile as you and Toji step up to the board on the right wall lit up with pictures of available rooms to choose from. There are a few themed options, but you and Toji decide on a standard room for the night. So you choose a room on the top floor along with the “stay” option then go to the reception desk to pay. After you exchange notes for the key card a soft feminine voice bids you a pleasant stay.

After thanking the attendant you and Toji move to the elevator. He pushes the call button and you stand, your arm still around his, and wait. When the bell dings to signal the elevator’s arrival you prepare to step forward, but when the doors open a couple is already inside. The man removes his hands from the woman’s hips. He clears his throat and she giggles. You avert your eyes as you and Toji step aside for them to exit. When you’re inside and the elevator doors are closing you can hear the sounds of their infatuated exchange as they walk through the lobby and back out into the world.

You and Toji ride to the top floor in silence. The key card weighs heavy in your hand and you can’t help the racing of your heart as the numbers above the doors keep climbing. When the doors open you and Toji move at the same time to step into the hallway and toward your room.

Not only are you on the top floor but also in the north east corner. Although the walk to your room seems a mile long, it gives you the sense of greater privacy feeling so far away. There are no sounds from the other doors you pass that you can detect. Knowing Toji’s heightened senses, you wonder if he hears anything. You peek over at him but his face sits in the same flat expression.

When you arrive, you swipe the key card above the handle and enter the room. There’s a small area at the entrance where you both take off your socks and shoes. Toji is barefoot in less than a minute while you’re still bent at the waist working your shoes off.

Once you’re done and are upright again you stride further into the room. It’s not unlike any other pricey hotel you’ve stayed at with its marble counters and hardwood floors. The only difference would be that there’s only one window with the curtains pulled shut for privacy. You do, however, like the large circular bed in the middle of the room.

It’s on a raised section of the floor, and instead of hardwood the bed is surrounded by soft carpet. It’s sunken into the platform and dressed in white bedding. A round light fixture hovers directly above, like a spotlight on the main event.

It excites you. So you follow the feeling and waste no time getting everything prepared just the way you like it.

“Feel free to grab anything from the bar,” you say over your shoulder.

You hear the mini fridge open and close then the hiss of a bottle opening. You feel Toji’s eyes on you, watching as you flit around the room and grab towels from the bathroom along with extra blankets from the closet by the door. You toss them onto the bed and arrange them to your liking before jumping on top and rolling around your makeshift nest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. He takes a sip of his bottled beer.

“I want to make sure it smells like us before we get started.” You roll around a bit more. Spread your arms and legs out like you’re making a snow angel. “Come here.”

When he doesn’t move you crawl on your hands and knees and take hold of his arm. You try pulling him down to you but he doesn’t budge. Not a single inch. You try again, but are only met with Toji’s laughter.

“Told you already,” the smile he gives you is nothing short of mocking, “you’re a weak little thing.”

Your lips press together tightly, not appreciating the way he taunts you. So when your hand lets go of his arm and your fingers glide over to tease at the hem of his sweatpants you grin triumphantly when he jerks away.

“Oi!”

You giggle at the scowl Toji throws your way. He downs the rest of his beer and tosses the bottle onto the floor carelessly and it rolls away onto the hardwood. Your eyes follow him as he purposefully walks in an arc to get to the other side of the bed before plopping down onto it, landing on his back with a huff.

“You have to roll around so your scent gets everywhere,” you say.

“M’not a child.” He crosses his arms under his head, shutting his eyes. “Not gonna roll.”

“Fine.”

You surprise him for a second time by swiftly darting across the mattress and straddling his hips. His green eyes fly open and he looks at you like you’re absolutely insane. But you pay him no mind as you grab the edges of the blanket beneath him and fold each end over his front. You hold them closed tightly and sway him a little back and forth. You’re impressed with yourself that you can even manage that with how huge he is.

“Having fun?” Toji deadpans.

“A little,” you admit.

Next, you grab a towel from behind you and place it over his head, rubbing hair with it like you would if you were drying it after a shower. Toji says something but it’s unintelligible beneath the towel.

You pull it away from his face. “What was that?”

“Said it smells nice.”

“Really?” You give it a whiff. “What’s it smell like?”

“Like a plum. Tart with just the right amount of sweetness,” he says. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Smells like you.”

“You’re not going soft on me now are—”

You gasp when Toji’s hand shoots out to take hold of your arm. He presses his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. The intimate action makes your lower belly erupt with butterflies.

As if sensing your reaction, Toji sits up. His face hovers just an inch away from you and he holds onto your hips to keep you from scooting backward. Your noses touch, lips just barely brushing. Lust swims in the pools of his green irises and you see your own eagerness reflected in them. You spend several long heated seconds exchanging warm breaths before you lean in, closing the gap and pressing your lips to his.

It starts out slowly, both of you acquainting yourselves with the taste and feel of each other, before it picks up. You’re not sure which one of you initiated it, but when the kiss turns needier and hungrier neither of you protest. You moan when his tongue passes through your lips, the wet muscle hunting for more of your taste.

The heat between you starts to rise and your mind tells you that you’re both wearing too many clothes. Your hands scramble to the hem of Toji’s shirt and start tugging until he raises his arms and you pull it over his head. Your lips are disconnected for a moment, but find each other again when his torso is bare.

Your hands wander the expanse of his sculpted chest, fingers pressing into firm muscle hidden beneath hot smooth flesh. Your touch ventures further down to his stomach where you explore every dip and crevice of abdominal muscle etched to perfection. You pull a gasp from the alpha beneath you when your fingers ghost over where the thin trail of hair on his lower stomach disappears into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Toji growls into your mouth before taking the bottom of your shirt and jerking it upward, impatient in his movements. You lift your arms and he rips it the rest of the way off you, leaving only your bra to cover your chest. The shirt is discarded before Toji attaches his mouth to yours again, but he doesn’t stay there. Hot lips start making their way lower, leaving a wet trail down your throat until his teeth are nipping and teasing at the gland on your neck. You gasp at the sensation and feel the vibrations of Toji’s laughter against your collarbone.

“Asshole,” you say, breathlessly.

He smiles against your skin, not bothering to argue, as his hands settle on your waist and give a firm squeeze. “Stand up.”

It’s not an alpha command, but you move as if it is. Your feet sink into the mattress and you hold onto Toji’s shoulders for balance. He undoes the button and pulls down your zipper, and in one motion he has your bottom half completely bare in front of him. His face presses into your hip as he helps you get each foot free.

Now you stand only in your bra, watching as he tugs down his sweatpants to reveal himself to you. He’s half hard but you can already tell he’s definitely the largest you’ve ever had. While he works his pants off you reach behind and undo your bra, letting it fall off your arms before you toss it onto the floor to land with the rest of your clothes.

Toji’s touch is on you again. Warm, calloused hands brush up and down your thighs before hooking at the back of your knees. He pulls you down so you’re once again straddling him. He kisses you, briefly but with more fervor, before he leans his head down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

You bring a hand to the back of his head, fingers threading through the strands as you keep him close. A whimper escapes you as the tip of his tongue expertly traces circles around your sensitive nub. Your lower body clenches when he moves to your other breast, lips firmly attaching themselves and giving a light tug.

Your free hand reaches down between your bodies to take hold of Toji’s cock. His base is nestled among a patch of dark curls, and the more your hand works up and down his length the more of him you feel. Mentally, and maybe physically, you’re drooling at his girth. And the thick vein running on the underside of his shaft makes you eager to have him inside you already, so you pump him earnestly until he’s fully erect. You keep at it until suddenly he swats your hand away.

“Toji? What—”

Your words catch in your throat when his hand suddenly dives in between your legs. Toji’s fingers run through your folds, humming in satisfaction with how soaking wet you already are. He only gives a single teasing prod at your entrance before he plunges two thick fingers inside you.

Gasping, your hands clutch onto his biceps. You pant as his long fingers reach deeper than you ever could on your own. He sets a fast pace from the start, making you choke on your own moans as he finger fucks you without mercy. His fingers curl to find that special spot inside you that has you sinking your nails into his skin. And when his palm presses down on your clit your heart literally skips a beat. Every precise movement of his fingers has the coil tightening in your belly, has you teetering on the edge.

“I’m almost—” You let out a whimper. “I’m close.”

“Yeah, you are.” Toji pushes his nose against your cheek, tongue licking at the curve of your jaw. “Can feel how tight you’re squeezing my fingers.”

You’re almost there. Just a little bit more and then you’ll—

The tension, the heat. It’s gone. The end you were so close to capturing is suddenly ripped away. You stare at the pair of fingers that should be inside you, but instead are shiny and glistening before your eyes.

“Toji.” You whine as your bottom lip juts out into a pout. “Why’d you do that? I was—”

But your protests are silenced when Toji shushes you. He lowers his slick covered hand and you watch as he strokes himself. You swallow as he delves back through your folds for more lubricant. Your hips twitch at the contact and your pussy clenches hungrily around nothing as it waits for Toji to finish preparing himself.

“Don’t worry, omega.” Toji’s voice is barely above a whisper. A soft promise just for you. “I’ll give you what you want.”

You raise your hips as Toji lines himself up with your entrance, pressing his tip against you before slowly entering. Your breathing comes in short spurts as you try to adjust to his size. Each inch burns but it soon gives way to pleasure when he bottoms out.

You’re both panting when you’re fully seated on top of him. Toji leans back on his hands, green eyes staring up at you.

“Take it,” he says. “Take what you need.”

You lean forward, holding his face in your palms, and kiss him. When you lift your hips, you whine into his mouth and bring yourself back down. You plant your hands on his shoulders and set your pace. You pull back as you bounce on his cock, feeling the familiar tightness once again.

“That’s it. Keep going.” One of Toji’s hands comes to rest at the base of your neck, a subtle guide to your actions that barely registers in the back of your currently one track driven mind. “Doing so good, omega.”

He’s called you that several times tonight, but you can’t help clench around him when he says it now. Full of pride and encouragement. A primal instinct in you is reacting to this man, this alpha, and you like it.

Suddenly, Toji pushes forward and pulls you to his chest, one arm around your waist while his other hand takes hold of your chin and points it upward. His mouth hovers over your exposed flesh, over the sensitive gland on the side of your neck. He doesn’t need you to tell him when, you can feel the way you’re coming together.

You slam down onto him once, twice, and then you cry out as the tight coil within finally snaps at the same time Toji sinks his teeth into you. Sharp canines pierce your mating gland, sending a shiver down your spine.

Blood trickles out of the wound and Toji laps away at the trail of crimson, leaving none behind. You wrap your arms around him. You want him closer, as close as you can be.

You feel dazed, like the world has shifted on its axis. Your head drops as a fog clouds your mind, struggling to conjure up any other thought besides Toji. But all you feel is the hot aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as the familiar scent of cypress and cinnamon surrounds you.

The world shifts again and this time you land on something soft. You blink your eyes open, realizing you’re on your back now. Toji hovers above you. His broad shoulders take over your field of vision so all you see is him. His black hair hangs in sweaty strands down the sides of his face. Those emerald green of his eyes are locked onto you. It makes your heart flutter.

“Alpha.”

Toji’s expression softens when you call to him. Plead for him. He lowers his head to nose at the mark he’s just made. You flinch, still sensitive.

“Did so good for me, omega.” His praise makes you keen. You arch your back to touch your chest to his. “Now it’s my turn.”

He’s still hard inside you, not having found his release yet. He wraps your legs around his waist and starts moving. Like earlier, he doesn’t wait to set a quick pace. His hips pound into you as he chases his own pleasure.

Whimpers escape you as he bullies your sensitive pussy. He braces his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his back, keeping him trapped inside your locked limbs.

“I’m gonna…fuck,” Toji hisses in your ear. “Wanna cum inside you.”

“It’s okay.” You hold onto him tighter. “M’on birth control.”

After your admission his thrusts turn erratic. You feel the swelling at the base of his cock grow larger and larger. He’s hot and heavy inside you. All around you. He’s overwhelming but you don’t want him to stop.

“Almost there,” Toji grunts.

“Please, Alpha.”

Toji moans, both from your plea and the way you tighten yourself around his cock. Your body wants him. Can’t get enough. You’re his and now it’s time to make him yours.

One last powerful thrust sends Toji over the edge. His knot swells inside of you, sealing you both together, as his hot seed paints your walls. He sighs, heavy and satisfied as he continues to gently rock into you.

The haze of your mind is beginning to clear. Your body slowly becomes heavier even as small shocks of pleasure continue to jolt through your system. You raise a trembling hand to the back of Toji’s head. Taking a fistful of his hair, you sharply yank his head to the side and bite down hard enough to pierce the gland on his neck.

Toji grunts. His body stiffens as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. You smooth a hand down his back as you lick away any remaining blood, and his body gradually relaxes until he’s pressing his full weight on top of you.

You huff, trying to shift to get a better chance at not suffocating. But when you pull away a little too quickly, you both hiss when there’s a harsh tug at where your connected.

“Sorry,” you apologize. Your hands are quick to soothe, helping Toji adjust his body so you’re both comfortable. “How do you feel?”

Toji still has his face hidden in your neck. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Although the bonding isn’t as potent as it would be during your heat it doesn’t lessen the connection you’ve created with this man. You both cling to each other as you struggle to take it all in, anxious about how this decision is already changing you.

Instincts you’ve ignored until now are already clawing their way out of the deep pits of your subconscious. The urge to soothe, to nurture, to submit is nearly overpowering. It will completely consume you if you let it.

Toji’s large hand is splayed out across your rib cage, thumb caressing the curve of your breast. His mind races while his heart beats wildly as he clings to you. His actions aren’t lining up with who he’s been up to this point. He’s never been the type to attach himself to anyone or anything. Thankfully, you feel his building resolve to chip away at the unwanted bits of his new appetite as a bonded alpha.

You sigh, relieved you made the right choice, as you card your fingers through Toji’s hair until his breathing evens out and he’s fast asleep.

But you stay wide awake well into the early morning. How could you surrender to sleep with all your life’s new possibilities waiting for you to conceive of them?

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gojos-fr-bae · 5 months

Text

Liar pt.1

GIF by bakemono04

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Pairing: Gojo x fem!eader

Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, mass k1lling, heavy themes kinda, angst, not proofred

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Finally done😭 This took so much energy and honestly I'm still deciding how I feel about it. Hope you like it tho.

You looked up from your bed, buried in your blankets as you watched your husband hurriedly get dressed in his sorcerer uniform, buttoning his jacket and rushing to reach for his phone before realizing that you were awake.

He looked deep into your eyes, his being covered by his signature blindfold, and although you couldn’t see them, you could tell that they held a chaotic medley of heavy emotions.

He slowly leaned closer to you, placing his right hand against your cheek and pressing his forehead against yours.

“Where are you going?” your feeble voice whispered.

“I have to work,”

“Do you have to go now?”

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll be back before you know it,” His heart ached as he lied to you. He knew his words weren’t true, but he had no choice.

“Promise?”

“Ofcourse, baby, I’m-”

“The strongest, yeah yeah, I know,” You croaked, feeling sleep begin to take over you once again.

Satoru chuckled softly as you slowly began to drift back into your dreams. His left hand slowly rubbed your swollen tummy.

“Keep our little Kikufuku safe until I get back, okay? He said softly, placing a kiss above your belly and then your forehead.

As you hummed in agreement, he slowly moved away from you and walked towards the bedroom door. Every fiber of his being was telling him to stop. To turn back and stay with you. But alas, he had a role to play, and he was needed elsewhere, and there was nothing he could do about that.

As he closed the door behind him, he dragged his body away from you, from your child, and to his students and fellow sorcerers. He begrudgingly trudged himself towards the Shibuya station.

He didn’t want to go but he had no choice, no matter what he wanted, he had to go…

He HAD to go.

Week One

You stirred from your restless slumber, shivers running down your spine from the cold latching to your skin. You groaned at the aches and pains that have been plaguing you for the majority of the latter half of your pregnancy.

As you were still waking, you heard your doorbell ring. You slowly pushed yourself off the bed and lugged yourself down the stairs.

As you opened the door, you were met with a somber looking Ichiji. He could barely meet your eyes as he whispered an apology, bowing his head and holding a letter out to you.

“What’s this,” you asked, heart racing because you knew exactly what it was but you didn’t want to accept the glaring truth.

“It’s from G-Gojo Sensei,” He feebly whispers, voice cracking slightly.

Your shaky hand reaches out to grasp the letter, thanking Ijichi before closing the door. You made your way to your couch and went against every fiber of your being to open and read the letter.

Dear Y/N

Hello my love. If you're reading this it means something has happened to me.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I know you deserved better and my biggest regret is not being able to give you a life you deserved.

I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone, and as much as it would pain me to let you go, I can’t bear the thought of you having to deal with all the burdens that come with being with me.

If you choose to leave, I fully understand and don’t blame anyone other than myself.

Please take care of our kikufuku, I know you will be the best mother in the world.

Always know that I love you more than life itself, I always have and always will. Please never forget that.

-Satoru

Your hand covered your mouth as a sob was ripped through from your lungs. Tears flowed nonstop from your eyes as you cried and cried and cried.

You clutched your belly as you tried to stop crying for the sake of your baby. All you could think about is how you were going to raise the baby alone and you only ended up crying even more. But you decided to be strong. You had to for your little mochi.

Month One

You squeezed your mother’s hand as you pushed through the most excruciating pain you may ever experience. The nurses were trying to coach you through your breathing as you went through labour.

“One more push,” your doctor instructed you, causing you to put all your energy into birthing your precious angel.

Suddenly, the room was silent except for the crying erupting from the newborn.

“Congratulations, he's a beautiful, healthy boy!” the nurse whispered, placing your son on your chest.

Tears blurred your vision as your precious angel on your chest, your mother hugging you and at that moment, all you could think about is how much you loved and would lay your life down for the happiness of your little prince.

“As he slowly opened his eyes, you were mesmerised by the sea of blue that met your eyes, matching his white hair.

“Hello Kaito,” you said with a happy but simultaneously sad smile as you gazed down at yours and Satoru’s child.

Like father, like son.

Month 2

Satoru

Gojo layed silently, eyes bare and staring into the seemingly unending void of the prison he has been submitted to, and all his mind would drift to his thoughts of you and his presumably unborn child.

In the prison, no time would pass, and considering you were 8 months pregnant when he was praying to every being willing to listen to him that you wouldn’t give birth to your child without him by your side. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you had to go through that and handle the Jujutsu higher ups without him.

Although he was surrounded by darkness, his mind was racing because on top of all of this, he was trying to understand why he had seen his best friend’s being in the station, but that wasn’t his priority. That was getting back to you and his baby, but from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon

Y/N

Ever since you had given birth to your little prince, you had been constantly harassed by your husband’s parents as well as all the upperclassmen of the Jujutsu world. You hadn’t even been able to leave your house for the past week because It was surrounded by men trying to take your son away from you.

You had always known that bearing the son of the strongest sorcerer in the world would come with its consequences but you and Satoru had always agreed that you would be able to face these things together. However, ever since his sealing two months ago you have been under constant pressure and harassment from the Jujutsu world telling you to give up your son, but you would rather take them all to the grave with your bare hands than even think of giving up your son to them.

All of this had been building up even before your little mochi’s birth and it had reached a point where you don’t think you can handle this anymore. Although you were also a sorcerer, and a special grade at that, you wouldn’t be able to protect your baby from the dangers and toxicity and dangers of the Jujutsu world. You had to leave.

You wanted to raise your son in a place where he could be safe and grow happy and healthy. And although you didn’t want to leave your job and your students at Jujutsu Tech, you had to do what you had to do for the sake of your child. Even if that meant abandoning your marriage with Satoru.

Your heart ached as you looked back at Japan from the airport, baby in hand and family and friends bidding you farewell before you slowly made your way to the boarding gate. Tears filled your eyes as you thought about your now technically ex husband. You looked down at your now bare left ring finger, thinking of the future you could have had together, but you had to do it. Not just for yourself, but for your son as well.

You had to leave.

Month 3

It had been a month since you had left Japan and although it had been extremely difficult to settle in a new country with new cultures, a different language, and different people whom you know none of. Finding a new home and job to be able to provide for your son, but it was beginning to feel worth it by the end of the month you had finally begun to feel comfortable.

However, as you looked over your son, clutching his blue and white monkey plushie, your mind couldn’t help but drift off to Satoru.

Was he back?

Was he still sealed?

Would you ever see him again?

Although you knew he would never find you where you are, what if you met him one day. You had kept in touch with megumi throughout the move considering to you, he was always going to be your son. But other than him and your parents, you never really spoke to anyone back home, and you decided that you need to look forward and focus on bettering yourself and making sure you give your baby a happy home. And you weren’t going to turn back, at least not anytime soon.

Satoru

Gojo Satoru is free.

He had finally been released from the prison realm and before he could do anything, he went on a rampage, killing every curse and curse user within a 20 km radius, painting the city in all of their blood.

He finally stopped seeing red and immediately thought back to you. He warped back into your shared home, hoping to find you asleep and wrapped in the warm duvets on your shared bed.

His heart began to race as he warped into a dark, empty and cold home.

“Y/N!” He called, running through the house searching for you before reaching your presumably shared bedroom.

As he burst through the door, his eyes met your bedside clock. Three months. He had been gone for three whole months. Panic began to seep into his bones.

This means you must have already given birth. Were you okay? What if you didn’t even survive labour?

He quickly rummaged through the drawers, moving to the vanity, and his heart sank as laid atop the table were a picture of you in a hospital holding a bundle of blankets covering your precious child. The life you created together. As he held it with shaking hands, tears cascading onto it, his gaze shifted from the image to a letter, and to his regret, your engagement ring.

In the letter, you told him about the harassment you and your son had to endure, turns out you had a boy, and how you had to flee the country for both of your safety.

His heart shattered and he hated himself more than he ever had anyone else.

“No, no, no, no, no, no no” He whispered, hand gripping your ring so tightly its gems began to cut into his palms.

He was overrun by countless emotions. Guilt, grief, regret, self hate, anger, all of them.

Sobs Ripped through his chests so violently that it ripped his throat, causing it to bleed. His knees gave in and he clutched the ring and picture to his chest and he cried. And as he cried, something inside him died. His happiness, joy, his smile, all left him at once, and his eyes lost their shine.

That night, Satoru passed away, and left behind Gojo, an empty shell of what he once used to be. What he could’ve been.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

I tried. Longest imagine I've ever done, I'm so tired. lemme know if ya'll want a pt.2

@porridgesblog , @giannitaa , @c0pkiller

#gojo satoru #gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo imagine #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo angst #gojou satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #suguru #jujustu kaisen #geto suguru

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butch-corvid · 11 months

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I want someone to force themselves on me. Get me so high I can’t push her off or even protest as she starts to grope me. i want to have my hands pinned above my head as she reaches under my shirt even as I tell her no, and laughs at how hard my nipples are. I’m so touch starved and weed always makes me horny, so I start getting wet even as I try to resist. she pushes her weight on me, kisses me as I try to squirm away. I shout for help and she shoves her fingers in my mouth. Maybe she wears me down eventually, telling me how much she needs this, how much she wants me, that it’ll be over soon. Maybe if I keep resisting she pulls out a knife and tells me to choose between her cock in my pussy or. Her knife. Wherever the fuck she wants it.

Once I spread my legs, tears shining in my eyes, begging her not to hurt me, we both realize that I’m dripping wet. She thought she’d have to use lube on me, but my body already knows its purpose. She folds my legs above my head, makes me watch every second of her cock stretching me open. I beg her to pull out but she just fucks me harder, until I feel her pressed deep inside me. It’s almost like the more I protest the more turned on she gets. She puts the knife to my throat, makes me keep begging her to stop, to pull out, even as I get closer and closer. She makes me cum on her cock over and over, telling me that “for a victim you sure are enjoying cumming your brains out on my cock” and telling me how good it feels to violate my fuckhole. By the time she finally cums inside me, throbbing as I feel her fill me up, I haven’t resisted or called for help at all. In fact, I’m moaning, begging for her to breed me. She takes some pictures of me afterwards, eyes glazed over with pleasure, cum leaking out of me, my cock still hard and sensitive.

and god the added humiliation of having to hold the knife against my own throat at some point during her fucking me. she straight up gives me a weapon and all I can do is threaten myself with it because i know im just a fucktoy that needs to be used. because I like being taken by force. being forced to admit it, camera held up to capture every part of my humiliating position, as I say that I love being used, that any woman is free to treat me like a cheap sex toy whenever she wants, and that if I protest, I just want her to be more forceful. I’m just bratting. You’ll make me like it eventually

#cnc.#mine.#breeding.#edge.#intox.#lesbian nsft #t4t breeding #lesbian breeding #knife.#cnc wlw

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literatecowboy · 8 months

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The King With No Name

1. An Unconventional Princess

Part 2 here Summary: König - the king of Caldera - has been called upon by your father to choose a bride from his daughters in order to establish an alliance to keep peace over the lands they rule. When he arrives, he is enraptured by you, your father’s eldest child - an unconventional woman by all standards. He pursues your hand in marriage, doing his best to make you fall in love with him like he has fallen in love with you - much to your dismay Author's Notes: Inspired by the royalty fics I’ve been seeing around lately Warnings: Arranged marriage, eventual smut, pining, dogged pursuit of reader’s love and affection

-----

Kaustav Castle was well-positioned and well-fortified and as a result, had stood the test of time and war. Built at the intersection of three rivers on a large, grassy plain, it had served as the seed of a kingdom and a city had sprung up around it.

Many kings had walked its halls and ruled from its throne. Blood had been spilled on its battlements and fires had ripped through the chambers but she stood strong through war, flood, and plague.

The times were peaceful now and your father intended to ensure they remained that way, so he had invited a guest into your home. Gates creaked open and drawbridges crashed to the ground. Banners waved and fanfare played as the king of the neighboring empire, Caldera, rode his large black stallion into Kaustav Castle’s courtyard to be greeted by your father the King, and many of his lords.

Your sisters gathered at the window above in the dining room, watching as he came into view.

“Is that him? Why is he still wearing that hood?” Sadie asked, peering around Lydia to get a better view. She smoothed her hand through her hair and fanned herself slowly.

“They say he never takes it off, not even in his castle. He must be quite the terrifying sight on the battlefield.” Lydia murmured, watching as König dismounted and shook your father’s hand firmly.

“He’s so…big. The stories did not do him justice.” Sadie murmured. Her cheeks pinkened and she giggled. You rose from where you were seated by the fire, sharpening your hunting knife, and tucked the blade into its sheath at your side.

“Let me have a look,” you grunted, pushing the curtain further aside and looking down on the scene with your arms folded. König knelt and kissed your mother’s hand through the hood - you knew she would be impressed by his chivalry.

“You still want to marry him?” you turned to Sadie and leaned against the wall, concern etched across your face.

“If he chooses me, I will go. He…intrigues me,” she said with a soft smile, blushing.

“And what if he chooses you?” you asked Lydia. She frowned.

“I know that you’ve been speaking to Lord Henry and father seems to favor him. What will you do if König wishes to marry you?” you asked. Lydia shook her head.

“I will be making myself scarce, though I do not plan to avoid him outright like you do,” she admitted.

“Father wishes for him to marry me and I wish for the same. I will charm him and distract him from you two.” Sadie said, a twinkle in her eye. You snorted.

“Oh, Sadie, what would we do without you?” you said, smiling and embracing her gently. Outside, König and your parents walked into the castle.

“I ought to leave before they get up here. I’ll be in the stable preparing for a hunt if either of you needs a break from the formality.” you offered. Your sisters bid you goodbye as you slipped into the hidden servant’s corridor and raced downstairs and towards the outside world.

You had always been different from your sisters. Your father had hoped for sons, but when you were born and quickly followed by your sisters, he had elected to raise you like the son he did not have. While Sadie and Lydia had been raised as proper ladies and were doted upon by your father, he had raised you to ride and hunt and govern and had pushed you almost to the point of being controlling.

Your mother was still unsure about her oldest daughter going about like a man, but as your father was in poor health and there were no male heirs to the throne, she was relying on you growing up strong enough to maintain power after your father’s death to protect her, Sadie, and Lydia.

When you reached the stables below you called out a greeting to the stablehand who waved back to you. Your family was beloved by your father’s people and you made sure to spend time socializing in the village to build good relationships with the people you would someday lead.

“Going out for a hunt?” a voice called out to you from the back of the stable as you brought your little tan mare out of her stall and hitched her to a post. You raised your head and made eye contact with one of the lords visiting for König’s arrival.

“Ah, good morning, Lord Marrick. And yes, I’m off to look for game before dinner. Will you be joining my father and König?” you asked.

“Call me Ferdinand, please, my lady. And yes, I had planned to - will you not be attending?” he asked, leaning against the stable wall and offering your horse a snack.

“I’m doing my best to stay out of sight of König,” you admitted with a laugh. “My father has offered him the hand of any of his daughters, after all, and even though I am not…conventional…I wish not to risk marriage being forced upon me.”

“Will you never marry?” Ferdinand asked, his voice softening. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t read as he came a little closer to you. You hefted a blanket, then a saddle, onto your horse’s back.

“No. When Father dies, I cannot risk having the control of my kingdom wrestled away from me by a man who means to harm the people,” you admitted. Ferdinand nodded slowly.

“That is…a shame, I must admit,” he said softly. Your cheeks felt hot. You and Ferdinand had known each other since you were children and had always been close. He cleared his throat as you tightened the straps of the saddle and buckled your bedroll onto the back.

“I have a gift for you,” he admitted. You turned and smiled at him.

“Oh, Ferdinand, you didn’t have to get me anything,” you said.

“Nonsense, your birthday just passed, did it not? This might help you on your hunt today,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. pulling out an item wrapped in cloth, and offering it to you. You took it and unwrapped it slowly, gasping when you saw the contents.

A small charm on a chain laid against the leather, delicately carved from a deer’s antler and decorated with silver. It was the symbol of the goddess you held most dear to your heart - the goddess of the woods and plains.

“It’s for good luck. I had it blessed by one of her priests in town before I came.” Ferdinand admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh, Ferdinand, it’s lovely. I will surely have bountiful hunts with this attached to my quiver.” You embraced him warmly, smiling against his chest as he hugged you tightly.

“Here, help me put it on!” you invited, slinging your quiver off your back and unlacing the leather at the top. You held tightly to it as Ferdinand gently laced the leather through the charm and tied it into place securely.

“Get going now, before the sun sets!” he said with a laugh, smiling as you took your horse’s reins.

“I’ll come see you later and tell you stories of my hunt should anything exciting happen,” you said, eyes gleaming as you led your horse out into the courtyard and prepared to mount up.

—

König sat in the parlor with your family chatting idly with your mother and father as Sadie leaned forward attentively and Lydia busied herself in the corner of the room behind him. Movement outside of the window in the courtyard drew his eye and he watched as you led your horse outside. He was instantly enraptured by your beauty, your boldness as you waved goodbye to someone in the stable, and your strength as you controlled your horse.

“I believed you to have three daughters?” he asked suddenly, cutting off your father as he discussed local harvests. Your mother and father glanced at each other warily.

“Yes, I do. The third is…a rather special case,” your father admitted, taking your mother’s hand. König watched as your horse nosed at your pocket and you laughed, pulling out the apple you had inside it and giving it to her. His chest tightened and he leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed on you intently. He watched the horse nibble at the apple in your small hand and imagined how it might fit in his.

“She is special?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on you as you swung the reins around and mounted up. Your father followed his gaze.

“I have had no sons. I suppose that as a result, I raised her as I would have a son.” The room lapsed into silence.

König watched as you spurred your horse forward and took off at a gallop, laughing as you raced out of the castle gates and towards the open plains. His heart thumped faster in his chest and he was thankful for the hood that covered his flushing cheeks.

“I should like to meet her.”

—

Your hunt was largely uneventful, and you spent more time enjoying the sensation of the wind flowing through your hair and shooting at random tree targets than you did hunting game. As hours passed and the sun set, you felt sure that it would be safe to return home now. Sadie had surely charmed König and he had declared his intention to marry her to your father.

After reaching the stable and untacking your horse, you sorted everything away and fed her before bidding her goodnight. Ferdinand met you at the castle’s backdoor, concern in his eyes.

“Your father is looking for you. König seems set on wanting to meet you - he kept asking after you at dinner tonight,” he warned, following you as you slipped inside.

“Seriously? Do you know what he wants?” you asked, your eyes widening.

“Just to talk, I guess. He didn’t seem interested in Sadie or Lydia at all,” he said, following you as you headed into the kitchen.

“Fuck, Ferdinand, that’s the last thing I wanted,” you growled, snagging some leftovers one of the cooks had left for you and sitting down at the table in the corner. Ferdinand sat across from you.

“Just lay low, okay? I’ll warn you if I hear anything else.” he offered before taking his leave. You ate quickly and quietly, lost in thought, before rising and hurrying out of the kitchen and going into the servant’s stairwell. You thought it best to avoid the main halls for now - who knew where König may have been lurking?

When you reached your room you breathed a sigh of relief, shutting the door behind you. You had failed to see the looming shadow in the hallway behind you, and as you stepped behind the partition in the corner of the room to undress, the door slowly creaked open.

You froze - you were wearing only your underclothes - and slid your knife from its sheath on your belt which you had hung on its hook.

“Sadie? Lydia?” You called out softly, stepping slowly around the partition. You squeaked and dove back to safety as you caught sight of the looming mass standing at your door.

“Get out!” you whisper-shouted, doing your best not to wake your sisters sleeping across the hall.

“I am sorry. I had to see you…to speak to you. You are a thing of beauty.” he said, his heavily accented voice almost breathless.

“You have no right to come in while I am dressing!” you hissed, pulling your sleeping gown over your head so that you were covered and striding out into your room, your knife leveled at his chest.

“Get out!” you snarled, jabbing at him and fixing your stance to hold your ground.

“You are not capable of hurting me with that little thing, maus,” he murmured but did not come closer. Your hand trembled slightly as he drank you in.

“You are even more beautiful up close.” he breathed, eyes wide. He clasped his hands together and fell to his knees. He had not felt so flustered since he was a young boy.

“I would choose you from your sisters as my wife, maus, if you would have me. Please,” he begged softly, offering you his hands.

“Get out. I won’t warn you again. Marry Sadie.” you hissed dangerously. His heart fluttered - he was falling for you hard.

“If you will not agree now, you must come to know me and I will come to know you. Yes? I will come to see you tomorrow.” he breathed, the plea evident in his voice. You surged forward, pressing the tip of the knife where you guessed the base of his throat was.

“Out.” you snarled. König got up slowly, and taking the knife by the blade gingerly, kissed your hand as it was wrapped around the handle. You jerked away, leaving him with the knife.

“I will see you…gute nacht, maus,” he murmured, taking the knife with him as he left. Your heart thundered in his chest as you slammed and locked the door behind him.

What the fuck?

#könig #konig #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty #cod #konig modern warfare #konig fanfiction #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #mw2

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