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gojonanami · 2 months

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❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 ❞

❝ I CAN'T BREATHE WITHOUT YOU, BUT I HAVE TO... ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader (canon / multi au)

✧ summary: "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, jjk manga spoilers (236 spoilers), multiple lives, assassin!reader x duke!gojo, actor!gojo x singer!reader, prince!gojo x knight!reader, model!gojo x photographer!reader, oral (f!receiving) in a car, semi-public, making out in public, pantyhose ripping, canon compliant except towards the end, angsty, but also bittersweet / implied happy ending

✧ wc: 6,589

“Do you think we would be together in another life?” you ask, not thinking much of the question, as your fingers draw lazy circles against his bare chest, your head resting right between his shoulder and chest.

Satoru chuckles, vibration against your skin, “Of course we would, sweetheart,” his arms curl around you, tugging you higher, as he gazes up at you, “you think I could live any lifetime without you?” He murmurs, his lips finding yours, “I know we’d find each other, time and time again,”

“How do you know?” your fingers brush against his cheek, shaking as he presses his cheek into your palm, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Because, I love you,” he kisses you again, sweet lips gliding against yours, his breath warming your lips as he parts.

“You did say love is a curse,” you give a small smile, and he presses his forehead to yours.

“Then I’d want you to curse me — in every life.”

“I swear on my life,” you press the dagger to his throat, blade digging into his formerly perfect porcelain skin, drawing scarlet to the surface, “I’ll kill you, Satoru Gojo,”

“I’m flattered to be a target of the infamous blueblood assassin,” his cerulean eyes glinted like stars in the candlelight, flames flickering across his eyes like burning comets, “but I didn’t think you would announce yourself as you did — what if I called for my guards?”

You scoff, fingers flexing against the hilt of your dagger, “Then you would be dead before you uttered even a single sound and do you think I left your guards to chance? All of that schooling to be a duke and you haven’t learned a single thing have you?”

“And what have I done to end up as your target?” he hums — as you bit back a sigh stuck in your throat — you preferred your marks to be much less chatty, but all he had was his mouth you supposed, “you only target the rich and the corrupt — and while I may fit the former, I do not fit the latter,”

“You’re certainly sure of yourself,” and he’s unfazed by your reply, as his eyes wander the only thing visible of your expression — your eyes.

“Since you have not stated my crime, I can only assume that I’ve committed none, and the infamous assassin whose morals could not be compromised have been,” and your grip wavers a moment, and he takes advantage of your hesitance to disarm you, and pin you to a nearby chaise all before the clatter of your blade hitting the marble floor, “and now what’s an assassin’s price who has done all of this for no reward?”

“How do you know I’ve done this for no reward?” you squirm in his grip, but it’s ironclad, and you know all too well he could have broken from your grasp at any point, but he had chosen not to — your heartbeat roars in your ears as one question repeats again and again stuck between beats — why? “I very well may have taken a payment you don’t know of — you act as if you know of me,”

“Because I do,” the heir replies with a simple smile, “I have followed your work for a long time, and I found myself fascinated with what you do — and why you do it,”

“Honored to have caught your attention,” you say in mock reverence, your arm beginning to ache, “now do you plan to call your guards?”

“Didn’t know you were so eager to die,” he stares still, as you turn your head away from his piercing gaze, “shouldn’t you keep your eyes on your target or now your captor?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You mumble as you flinch as you squirm under his grip, sleeve riding up ever so slightly — and then he sees it. His eyes narrow, as his hand grasps at your wrist now, “hey! Don’t—“

In a moment his fingers nearly rip the fabric of your tunic to tug your sleeve up — angry red cuts and purple bruises litter your arm. Your breath catches as his eyes stare for several moments before sliding back to you — no longer a placid pool but a raging ocean.

“Who did this to you?” he says quietly, and you’re blinking, nearly slack jawed, as you try to rip your arms away, but he won’t let you, “who is it? Is it the same person who told you to kill me?”

“Stop—“

“Is it the same person who’s taken someone important to you?” and you grit your teeth in silence, “is it the little orphan you adopted? Yuji?”

And your eyes snap to his, “How do you know this? Who are you?”

His lips curl, “You told me yourself, I’m Satoru Gojo,” and his fingers brush your cheek, “it’s a shame you don’t remember where we first met — because I never forgot,”

You furrow your brow, “What are you talking about? I think I’d remember you. You’re…” you jerk your head, eyes looking him up and down — lingering on his white hair and eyes, “distinct,”

“Well what if I had black hair and green eyes, would you remember then?” And he whispers your name in your ear, and you pause, “the fireworks were nothing compared to you,”

And your breath catches — “You? But—“

“I had snuck out, had a disguise and everything, and I had planned to explore the festival alone but who do I find but you?” His grip on you loosens only to pull you a little closer, “the girl who had stolen two steamed buns and pinned me with part of the blame, making me run after you—“

“You didn’t have to run—“ and he snorted.

“Well, it was that or get caught sneaking out — so I chose the lesser of two evils,” you can’t help it, your fingers trace the curve of his jaw to the back of his ear, “are you seeing if I’m defective?” And you find it.

“No, he—“ you stop yourself, “you had gotten a small cut right behind your ear, it was deep enough that it would have left a scar behind,” and he had gotten a small cut from one of the soldiers who had grabbed them, bucking him with his sword, before you wrenched him out of there. The two of you spent the rest of the night eating food and sneaking around guards. And then finally climbing up on a rooftop to watch the fireworks.

“How did you—“

“One of my father’s advisers found me later that night, in exchange for never sneaking out again without telling him, he said he would keep tabs on you,”

You have no words, but one left — “why?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe it was because I’ve been surrounded by nothing but my family’s yes-men, and you were the one person who treated me like a person, maybe it was the fact that day was the only day I actually had fun,” and he glances at you, “or maybe it was because I was drawn to you,”

And you snort a little, “Do you believe in that fates nonsense they fed all of us as kids?”

“I think fate is a very real thing, and I think it’s up to us to seize it,” he releases you, holding your hand before bending to press the barest brush of his lips against the back of your hand, “so, will you seize it or continue to evade your fate?”

“We’ll never be able to evade the press if you do this,” you whisper, as he presses you against a wall of a secluded pillar of whatever place they had chosen to have this awards show, “and our teams will definitely chew us out if we don’t make an—ah,” you gasp, as his teeth nip at your neck, “Satoru, don’t leave a mark,”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he licks his lips, as he leans up, his normally messy white locks combed and parted to the side, his lips kiss bitten red from the liplock he had you in for the last ten minutes, and his white suit slightly ruffled and pressed against you, “you taste so sweet,” his thumb runs down your puffy lips, “and the desserts tonight sucked,”

You chuckle, your fingers toying with the hair resting against his undercut, “Think you would have been pleased with receiving the award for best actor, is that not enough Mr. Gojo?”

“The only thing that pleases me is my gorgeous wife’s singing and,” his lips find yours in a desperate kiss, and you could taste the fruity mocktail he had earlier on his lips, “and her moans when she’s under me,” his hand slides under your dress, dragging over your pantyhose clad thighs, “do you think anyone would notice if you came back without these?”

“Yes, I do,” you gasp as he tugs at the delicate fabric, “Toru, we shouldn’t—” but your pleas are half-hearted, as his lips drift to press butterfly kisses up your jaw, “you deserve me insane,”

“I know,” he chuckles, “that’s why you love me,” and you hum, your noses brushing before you meet lips again, “I love you so much,”

Your fingers cup his cheek, as he leaned into your touch, “I love you too — don’t you want to enjoy all the accolades, the interviews, the congratulations? You won such a big award, Toru, I want you to celebrate,”

“I am celebrating,” he grins, tilting his head, “I’m surprised at you, princess — and you’re the smart one between the two of us,” he teases, as he turns his head to kiss your palm, “in an entire ballroom full of people in there and all the places in the world, there’s no one place I rather be with than here with you.”

“How did I end up stuck with you?” you grumbled, your armor weighing on you heavier than other days, as you stood in front of your prince — the little sun of this kingdom and the future king, the man you were sworn to protect for the rest of your earthly days, and your best friend, for better for worse, “if the fates have written it, I must have done something horrid in a past life,”

“Do you really believe in that garbage?” Satoru raises an eyebrow, as he places his sword down from practice, waiving off his training partner, as he wipes off his sweat with a towel offered by a maid, “You know that stuff they fed to us so we wouldn’t throw tantrums during classes — so we didn’t turn into slugs for our next life,”

“Why turn into one when you are one already?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes, as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Has a slug ever looked this good before?” and you roll your eyes.

“Think your ego is going to be so large by the time you become king, your crown won’t sit atop your head correctly,” you sigh, rising to your feet, “now we must get you cleaned and dressed, you have a meeting with the—”

“I actually cleared my schedule for the rest of the day,” and you blink, frowning.

“His Majesty will not—”

“His Majesty will be fine — old man hasn’t kicked the bucket over the last fifty things I’ve done — I doubt this will be more than a ten minute lecture on decorum, fifteen if I decide to poke the bear,” he throws you a grin, as he pulls on a fresh shirt, “come, I have something to show you,”

“Show me?” you repeat, before his hand finds yours — his hands are smooth despite the constant swordplay and practice he put in — he supposed he owed that to the royal staff, tending to his looks as much as they did his health. The same could not be said about yours — riddled with cuts and calluses alike. Your cheeks burned as your unkempt hand held his — “your highness, this is—”

“‘Your Highness?’” he repeats, throwing you a smirk over his shoulder, “when have you ever called me that?”

The appearance of holding your hand as he pulled you down several hallways through the palace was beginning to attract the attention of several gawking onlookers. Your cheeks burn — and you’re not sure if it's from the stares, his words, or the fact he was still holding your hand as you both arrive outside his chambers. But you can’t stop him — but you never could stop him when it came to this, could you? It reminded you of the times he dragged you through the gardens, wanting to show you the rabbits’ hidey hole he had found in the corner of the royal gardens.

“Well I was made an official royal guard and appointed as your personal guard yesterday so I thought a little professionalism—” he unlocks his door, turning to look at you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“There’s no need for decorum between us, now is there?” his fingers find a stray strand of your hair, and presses his lips to it, as he opens his door. You glance inside to find a lovely decorated cake and a present wrapped perfectly on the table, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,”

“What—but—” and your mind realizes the date, “how did you—”

“You think I’d ever forget your birthday?” he tilts his head, as your eyes slide to him, “it’s the day we met,”

It was — the day you were brought from your home with your father who had been the king’s royal guard for many years, you were brought to be the prince’s — but you didn’t know you would find more than that in him.

“I didn’t know you did this for your personal staff,” you teased, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, “I certainly can’t imagine what they would think of you inviting a woman to your room for it,”

“Well, you are my personal guard, you’re here to personally guard me against anything, right?” and this was the nature of your relationship wasn’t it? Teasing and goading — toeing that line of proprietary before one of you eased off.

“It seems like I need to guard you only against yourself, your highness,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes sliding to you, as he says your name with a softness that you wished he wouldn’t, “you had no issue calling me that before,”

“We were only friends then, I’m your guard now—“

“Do you kiss all your friends?” And your cheeks flare, as your gaze refuses to meet his.

“That was—a mistake,” you whisper the last two words, “we can’t do this—“

“Why not?” You turn away, your eyes sliding to the cake, a frown pulling on your lips.

“Because you have a duty to your people and I have a duty to you,” and his fingers find your shoulder gently, giving you leave to pull away — but you can’t, you couldn’t.

“My only duty I desire is the one to you—I love my people, but I can’t be the king they deserve if you’re not the one beside me,” your gaze still cast downward, “I will cast away any responsibility, if I could have a chance with you, sweetheart—“

“The king has discussed your engagement with me,” you murmur, “he told me he plans to have you engaged with a princess from a neighboring—“ And his arm is wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer — your gaze lost in the endless blue skies of his eyes, “we can’t—“

“I’ll find a way,” and you scoff.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mutter, and his warm palm slides against your cheek.

“This isn’t me promising to find a unicorn when we were five, Princess,” and you chuckle at the thought of his child self trudging into the woods with carrots in hand and what he thought was fairy dust (it was ladies’ finishing powder), “I swear that we’ll be together,” and he reaches into his pocket, and holds a small box, opening it to reveal a beautiful infinity pendant, “and this is my promise,”

You bite your lip, staring at the silver glinting in the sunlight trickling in from the windows, “Satoru—“

“Finally giving in?” And you sigh.

“How can you be sure we’ll be together?” He chuckles, as he gently turns you, making you face the mirror in his room as he places the necklace delicately around your neck, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck before he clasps it. His arms slowly slide around your middle as he meets your gaze in your reflection, lips curling.

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, “Because I know I’d choose you, again and again.”

“Why did they choose him as my model again?” You groaned as you looked at the list, tossing it back on your desk, “he’s so impossible to work with—“

“The shoots are finished quick—“ your boss replies gruffly, as he stands with his hands in his pockets, “and he said he’d only shoot with you. Said he likes your work and you’re the only one who can ‘capture the real him,’ some crap like that,” he shrugs.

“Yaga, I can’t keep dealing with this man, can’t he shoot with anyone else?”

He sighs, scratching the back of his head, “Look, the magazine we’re working with chose him as the model, and he said he would only do the shoot if you did it,”

You sigh, leaning on your palm, elbow against your desk. “you’re not giving me a choice are you?”

And no, he wasn’t.

Because now you were at the studio for the sight of the shoot, getting everything ready that you could before your model arrived. You made sure his preferred makeup artist and hairstylist were available, you picked out his favorite snacks, got his preferred lighting (to be adjusted when he was on set), and had your cameras adjusted for his light sensitivity.

All of which reduced the amount of time you had to spend with this man — but not even the most divine snacks would stop him from running his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” you turned to see him, “miss me?”

“When pigs fly, maybe,” but your words don’t faze him, a mock pout on his lips, “why do you request me to do your shoots, Gojo?”

“Because it’s the only way you’ll see me,” and you sigh, as you continue to adjust your camera again, “you still haven’t given me a chance—“

“I gave you one chance, wasn’t that enough?” Before you turn to him, “look, I’m here because I have to be. I want to shoot — get in and get out and not have to—“

“One chance to talk to you — please, even if you don’t believe me or forgive me—“

“Fine,” you shake your head, frustrated, “go finish the shoot and we can talk for five minutes after,” and maybe he would stop forcing you into this situation.

Satoru Gojo was the top wanted model by all the agencies — agencies were looking to snipe him and others were looking to have exclusive deals with him — whether it was photography businesses or brands.

You couldn’t blame them, as you adjusted your lights and took a few test shots — he was gorgeous, even by model standards. From his skin to his body to his attitude, it was effortless for him. Even a bad angle or bad lighting did very little to detract from his flawless look.

The chiseled cut of his jaw put statues to shame, his eyes shone brighter than the shiniest gemstones, his charm the envy of the love goddess herself, and his smile was enough to change hearts and minds alike.

The shoots always look little time — the part that took the most time was choosing the best shots — you’d love to take one bad picture of him. Even for yourself — but that had proved impossible. Even deprived of sleep in the hours of the early morning, he was perfect.

Perfect — except for his loyalty, you supposed.

How had it gone so wrong so fast? And how did you let yourself become so carried away that you thought you were different from the others he bedded?

And the shoot was over in a moment, and just like he said, Satoru was by your side as you begin to break down the equipment, as the other staff filed out, “can we talk now?”

“If you have to,” you would give him an ear, but it didn’t mean you’d give him anything else.

“I never cheated on you—“

“Bullshit,” you reply, as you pick up the tripod you set up, “I guess you didn’t the full five minutes,”

“No, I didn’t—what you saw—“

“I saw you kissing another girl all over social media—“

“You saw me with Suguru,” he sighs, “and we weren’t kissing — we were hugging. You thought it was kissing from the angle of the picture, and before I could explain, you had blocked me on everything,”

You pause, “Suguru?” You repeat, as you pull out your phone and pull up the picture — black hair, hair half up, and they could have been hugging. And Satoru pulls out his own phone and shows you a selfie he took that same day, the meta data matching, “oh, oh fuck,”

“Was that an apology? Not familiar with those coming out of your mouth so—“

“Satoru, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, “I saw the pictures and I heard the rumors and I assumed the worst of you,” you run your fingers through your hair, “even though I knew you better than that,”

“You did, but I understand why you thought that,” he shrugged, “we had only been seeing each other for a month, but it meant something to me,” his voice softens.

“To me too,” you shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Satoru. I don’t know how to make it up to you,”

“I know,” he smiles, “have dinner with me,”

You blink. “why?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart? Everyone eats dinner, it’s a—“

“Satoru,” you sigh, “I didn’t believe you, I didn’t trust you, how can you forgive me like that? How could you want to be with someone like that?”

“Well, you made a mistake — you forgave me for the other mistakes I made during our time together, and if I hadn’t let my team convince me that my fake reputation as a playboy would help sell my image — maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with,” his fingers brush against yours, “besides, I want to believe in second chances — because I’d want to believe you’d give me one too,”

Your fingers intertwine with his, “Even when I don’t deserve it?”

And he lifts your hand to his lips, blue eyes glinting like an ocean dabbled in sunlight, “All the more for you make up for, right?”

This wasn’t right. No. No.

“Satoru, Toru, please,” your fingers cupped his face, your fingers smeared with his blood as Maki pulled gou away, “no, no!” You don’t remember screaming, but you know you did because your throat was raw, your tears streaming down your face as your hands shook, staring at the dried blood on your fingers.

He promised you he would win. He promised you he would come back. He promised you a life, a family, a home — something beyond jujutsu.

And now you were left with nothing but that.

“I’ll come back,” he had murmured in your ear the night before, his fingers tracing your cheek, “there’s no way I won’t. Have you ever seen me lose?”

You give a small chuckle, “You just got trapped in a box for almost twenty days?” And he pouts, as he tilts your head up, fingers sliding against your cheek.

“It was a one time fluke, sweetheart,” and his lips grazing your lips, “and I’m here now aren’t I?” you hum, “and I’ll always be there,”

“In every life?” He smiles.

“In every one.”

In every one — except this one.

“One would think you’re helpless, if you pout like that,” you teased, as you crawl into bed beside him, a smile on your lips, as he tugs you steadfast into his arms, “it’s only been a few minutes,”

“It felt like a lifetime,” he presses a kiss to your head, “Is he asleep?” And you nod, a sigh on your lips as you settle into bed.

“After about twenty minutes of arguing, he passed out while I was telling him a story. He’s still not accustomed to this mansion,” neither were you — you had spent a few nights lying awake after jerking from the clutches of sleep — the paranoia still rampant in your mind. But those thoughts were a little farther now as you lie against his chest, heart thrumming under your body — the very heart you were meant to stop, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

“What is it?” He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head.

“Why did you help me?” You draw circles on his chest, “you had every reason not to,” your fingers traced a line across his neck, “I even held a knife to your neck,”

“And that was very attractive,” and you roll your eyes, “what? I like a woman who takes charge,”

“Oh I know,” you chuckle, your lips pressing sweet kisses to his neck, “but I still don’t understand — you had every reason to distrust me, we barely knew each other, and yet—“

“You were still the girl I fell in love with that night,” he murmurs, “I just knew you were something special and when I saw what you were doing — trying to uproot corruption, I knew I was right. And I knew I had to make you my duchess,”

“Well I’m not your wife yet,” you tease, the words barely out of your mouth before he’s got you pinned under him, “Toru—“

“Now, I told you I was going to seize my fate when I saw it,” and he kisses you, stealing every thought from your mind and every breath from your body, his touch filling you with warmth in return, “and I see it right in front of me,”

“And what does it look like?” you smile against his lips, as he leans down to kiss you again.

“Bright.”

“Is it just me or do these paparazzi lights get brighter and brighter each time?” you rub your eyes as the two of you slide into your car for the night, the driver setting off towards your home.

“I don’t know, I was too busy being blinded by my gorgeous wife,” and Satoru’s hands are all but under your dress, sliding up and down your sides, before one cups your cheek, “did i mention how incredible you look, sweetheart?”

You hum, “about a million times,” your fingers slide against his shoulders until he’s practically lying on top of you against these leather seats.

“That’s a million times too little — you look incredible, sweetheart. This dress was made for you,” and his lips taste as sweet as his words, your fingers sliding into his snowy locks while his slide against your bare thighs, “and I can’t wait to take it off when we get home,”

“You’re going to take it off now if your hands slide any further up,” he draws a shiver from you as his hands do just that, daring further up your thighs, “Toru—“

“Don’t worry, the partition is up and it’s just you and me, sweetheart,” and he’s sinking to his knees on the floor, as his hands slide up your dress, “just keep your voice down, don’t want anyone hearing my wife, do we?” And his lips are grazing your inner thigh, his smirk against your skin, “good thing I relieved you of those pantyhose, huh?”

“Toru,” you whined, as his fingers parted your thighs, and he could see your all too soaked panties, a damp patch and the fabric nearly translucent while it clung to your clit, “please—“

“So needy — and now that mouth of yours is being as honest as this one,” his lithe fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties to expose your cunt, “all this f’me? Been like this since our make out earlier? Surprised I didn’t see your cum drip down your legs,”

And his words make you squirm, “Satoru, I swear to god—“ and his lips kiss your clit, as two fingers tease at your entrance, gathering your pre on his fingertips.

“You don’t have to call me god, Princess — just Satoru is fine,” he murmurs as his lips close around your clit, as his fingers work inside your walls, a delicious stretch that draws a pretty gasp from your lips, your head falling back against the leather headrest.

The sounds of the squelch of your cunt and the slurping of his lips against your clit rang in your ears — your fingernails digging into the seat as your other hand clamped over your lips.

“That’s it, just like that, Princess,” his tongue darts out to drag circles around your clit, while his fingers find the spot that makes you see stars.

“I’m—“ you manage, before you’re cumming around his fingers and lips, your toes curling as you do, head back against the headrest. Your eyes find him to see him looking all too perfect even ruffled, as his lips were glossy with your release, tongue darting out to clean it, before he licked his fingers one by one.

“And you were worried about the paparazzi noticing your missing pantyhose,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, a smirk against your mouth, “let’s hope no one saw that,”

And there’s a sharp rap on the window, “Sir and madam? We’ve arrived,” and his lips quirk, as he adjusts your clothes, cleaning your smudged lipstick with his thumb, as you reach up to wipe his lips where the lipstick had gone.

“Shall we celebrate my win properly?” He opens the door and slides out of the car, holding out his hand for yours.

“As we always do?” And your fingers find his, as he presses his lips to the back of your palm.

“Always, Princess.”

“Are you ready yet, Princess?” Your Prince’s arms slid around your waist, his lips already at your neck, as his ocean blues met your gaze in the mirror, “how lucky is our kingdom to have such a lovely future queen? And how much luckier am I to have her as my wife?”

“We do not know if the people will approve of me still, Toru,” you murmur, eyes shying away from his, your fingers finding the infinity around your neck, “you promised me forever, but will they grant it to us?”

“Do you have such little faith, sweetheart, in your future husband?” His fingers find your chin, tilting it upwards to meet your gaze, “I’ve already done the impossible — I charmed you over the last two decades haven’t I?”

“More like wore me down,” and he pinches your cheek, before he presses a kiss to the affronted skin, “re-defined the long game,” and he kisses your nose, “and stole my heart and soul while I wasn’t looking,”

“I never steal,” he smiles that same smile that was emblazoned in your memory all those years ago, when he emerged from the woods with not a unicorn, but a baby fawn he had frightened from very same thicket, “I only take what was given to me,” he smiles, “and you willingly handed over your heart the moment you let me into your life,”

“What was I thinking?” you murmur, cupping his cheek, “now I’ll have to deal with the politics of a kingdom for the rest of my days,”

His lips curl widely, as his lips find yours, a heat that simmers into passion and then into simple love, “I promise, in exchange, I’ll spend the rest of my days making you the happiest you’ve ever been,”

“The happiest, huh?” you murmur, foreheads pressed together, “that’s a tall order, so you think you can do it?”

“I know I can,” he smiles, his arms pulling you impossibly closer, “because I’ll never trying to make you happy, Princess.”

“You’re far too happy with this arrangement,” you say through the door, arms crossed as you pressed your back against it, “I don’t want to come out,”

“You agreed to this, c’mon sweetheart, you’ve taken countless pictures of me—“

“You’re a model — it’s literally your job,” you glare at him through the door, “I’m behind the camera — not in front of it,”

“But you’re just as beautiful in front of it as you are behind it,” and you can hear his pout through the door, “if you really don’t want to, sweetheart, I won’t make you—“

And the door opens, your lips curled in a pout as you emerge in a cerulean gown — the same color as his eyes, the very same that widened upon seeing you.

“Was this necessary?” you squirm in place, as he bites his lip, eyes raking over you, “Toru—“

And he’s in front of you in an instant, his arms winding aaaaaaaaround your waist, “I want to kiss you so badly, but I’ll mess up your makeup,” your breath catches, so his finger brushes against your lips and presses it to his own lips, a little of your lipstick sticking to his lips.

“Toru,” and his lips quirk at the nickname, “why do you want to take pictures of me?”

“Because, I want pictures of you that are just for me,” he gently takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “because I’ll never have this moment with you again, but I’ll have these pictures with you,”

“And when do I get pictures that are of you and just for me?” And he presses a kiss to your head.

“Anytime you want,” he murmurs, “we have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

Time — that was the one thing Satoru Gojo always lacked. It felt as if his whole life was an hourglass, waiting for the sand to run out — and the one time it came close, blood seeping like sand through his neck, he was able to turn it on its head, until time was on his side agai.

He wasn’t sure if time was on his side now.

He could only see the winter sky above — flecks of white he could think were snow but never be sure if that was his vision going blurry. He couldn’t feel anything — but he heard the all too distant squelch of his blood against the ground, the sounds of footsteps, the feeling of his body being lifted, a smile still on his face.

He was going home — the one person who always made his world right side up — the only person who could catch the sand that slipped between his fingers and hold it between warm palms. He forced his body to keep running — to keep going, the flow of cursed energy may have come from the stomach and his brain may be able to power his reversed curse technique — but that didn’t compare to his will to make it home — make it to you.

“Toru! Satoru!” he couldn’t will his eyes to open, only managing the barest flutter of his eyelids, “it’s okay, Shoko’s got you, I got you,” you murmur, a soft brush that must but your lips.

Love was always the most twisted curse of them all — and he knew it had always been a curse to love him. Anyone drawn into his orbit seemed only doomed to fall around him — whether it was by their choice, his choice, or fate’s choice.

Fate. That was a word he never had put a lot of stock into. Suguru always said there was a certain order to things — sorcerers were made to defend humans, and that was our duty. He had replied that fate was an excuse for people too afraid to challenge the status quo.

Maybe Suguru took that too seriously.

When Suguru defected — Satoru knew something had to change — he couldn’t let others go even when they had that blue spring. The time that he had stayed frozen in — even as everyone else left, he still lived in those moments, and so he barely lived in the present at all.

Not until you had shattered his self made prison.

And it wasn’t without difficulty.

He told you so many times that it was dangerous to love him, it was foolish to love a person like him with a constant target on their back because inevitably the target would shift to you. And he didn’t want to live in a world without you — but he could choose to, as long as you were the one who would live.

But you were steadfast in your love, roots cracking through concrete until he was covered in your ivy, entangled so deep that there was no escape—because one look from you had stolen his reservations out from under him. Because loving you was as simple as breathing — it just was.

“I would want you to curse me — in every life.”

That’s what he told you the night before this battle — because he knew if he didn’t make it in this life, maybe he could be with you in the rest of them. But how many days would it take until you couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh, the smile on his lips, the way his face looked — because he always feared the same about outliving you. He would only want to outlive you, if only because he didn’t want you to have to bear the pain of outliving him.

Love was twisted, he thought — as your lips brushed his, he could hear you whisper sweet nothings, falling on deaf ears, but heard all the same — once one found it, they cannot live without it — until they have to.

His eyes flutter open, and he sees the blurry image of your face, scarlet smeared on your face, as his hand shakily lifted to your cheek, “I love you, sweetheart,” he manages barely a whisper, “I’ll see you again, I promise.”

Maybe he did curse you in the end — because your souls were bound together in existence — to fall into each other’s orbit and live together happily in every lifetime—

Your fingers gently shut his eyes closed, as tears streamed from your own — except in this one.

“Is it really a curse to meet you again?” you had murmured that early morning, as dawn peaked over Tokyo, and his lips brushed against yours, “sounds like a blessing,”

“You know that blessings often wear disguises — and words like that always carry a price—” but his lips curl, “but if the price is to meet you and fall in love again and again, I suppose I could pay it.”

“‘Suppose?’” you repeat, and he laughs at your immediate pout.

He kisses away your pout, as you slowly melt into his kiss, “Y’know I’d pay any price to fall in love with you again, sweetheart”

You smile, “Just stay with me in this one, that would be enough.”

Did other lives matter when this was the only one he had fallen for you in this life? He wanted to stay with you here — in this moment, in this time — he wanted you in every life — not just all the others.

And he vowed that he would— his fingers twitched—

He would love you in this life too.

✧ a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i had a lot of fun writing it. it might not be everyone's cup of tea but hey, i enjoyed it. although i questioned my writing ability a lot while writing it lmao

✧ taglist: @gojolova4eva, @xxemmarldxx, @gojolvrr34, @lilbrubby, @jaixxxsc, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @elaemae, @gojonegs, @captain-shittykawa, @sillyrabbitreads, @akumicchi, @satorustorm, @equikaz, @imaginativeghorl, , @dhoranbolt, @strawmariee, @catsgomurp, @that-goth-bisexual, @fushitoru, @dazailover1900

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader

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rowdyslove · 7 months

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃. | jack hughes

꒰ genre: mature ;established!relationship!au | drabble

꒰ word count: 1k

꒰ warnings: 18+ themes !! MDNI ! literally 1k words of just raw sweet filth, pussy drunk!jack, unprotected sex (be safe people), soft sex, swearing, praising.

꒰ author’s note: surpriseeee !! my first ever time trying to write smut, i’d say it went well ? (i really hope it did..) butttt this is also what i chose to write for my 1k follower celly !! (this is part 1 of 3 different drabbles i am writing for this celebration) thank you all so much for getting me to this point, and i’m so excited to put out all of the works i have in my drafts coming soonnnn :DD i hope you all enjoy this !

next drabble >>

it never ever mattered just how many times jack found himself sinking down into the heavenly feeling of your pussy, he knows for a fact that he'll never be able to get used to the intoxicating hug of your walls around his length.

he always felt like you were just silently begging for more of him, luring him in deeper with every needy stutter of yours hips whenever his palms squeezed at your waist as he bucked against you.

"come on, aghh—you gotta stop doing that, love." jack was already so out of it. he had just started, only a few thrusts in and he already felt like he could barely create a single breath when the deep kiss of his cock against your sensitive spot makes you purr his name and clench around him.

his hair is ruffled, a mess of light brown locks on his head and a few long strands hanging down, sticking to the light coat of sweat across his forehead. some other strands fall over his lidded gaze and framing his defined features, but thankfully he can still see you so so clearly; such a pretty sight seeing you underneath him like this, he thinks.

jack believes he’s never had a woman moan for him the way you do. he keeps chasing the intoxicating squeeze of your walls around him as he digs deeper and deeper for more of the sweet sounds that leave your lips—the sounds that are only for only him to hear. your back arches high off of the sheets as he lets his fingertips trace along the path of your skin, taking a slow and gentle handful of your hips with another tight squeeze before he whimpers low, pace slightly stuttering as he presses himself further into you.

he had a long day, dealing with the early morning practice and the tough game that was played just earlier that night—he really needed this; he needed you.

maybe that was why everything felt so good. because he had been imagining the feeling of your skin pressed up close to his all day. and now, through gritted teeth and restless hands just trying to touch every inch of your soft skin, he throbs long with his next withdrawal from you, right before he pushes straight back in.

"j-jack please!" you gasp at the feeling he sends through you, and his lips part to moan sinfully as he lets himself drop to rest on his forearms—just close enough for his lips to graze themselves along your prominent collarbones with tender open-mouthed kisses. he lets his eyes flutter closed, trying not to focus on how perfectly you're hugging around him, small hands grabbing ahold of his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him closer but also keep yourself steady as well.

"i know, baby, i know. s-shit, just be patient with me for a sec." jack feels so drunk on the feeling that is you. his mind and senses blurring all into one big blob as his name continues to fall from your lips between soft pants that make him feel like he's about to pass out right there from how sweet you sound. he starts mouthing his way at your neck, smearing messy and completely fucked out kisses along the expanse of your flesh as his movements slowly become even more desperate. "god, you just feel soo-so fucking—mmph—good baby.”

this feeling is dangerous. the heavy trembles of his hands where they squeeze at your skin, the painfully pleasing throb of his cock as desire begins to warm through all of his nerves, trickling down his spine as he grinds out another low drawled moan of your name.

his skin feels like it’s burning from every touch you give him, but he also thinks you're even hotter when you let him hear the sweet sound of praises and his name rolling off your tongue in rampant mumbles that has his abdomen tightening up.

"d-don’t do that, love. just gonna make me f-fucking cum." jack’s babbling every word, like sex-drunken mantras spurring out of him with every needy roll of his hips into yours. you can feel the blunt head of his cock grazing over ever sensitive and sinful spot inside of you that only have you squeezing him even tighter; just sucking him deeper and deeper down into you.

"jack-a-ahhhh.. doing so so good.” the whimpering praise falling from your lips is like honey as it drips in his ears, making him tilt his head to plunge his mouth right into yours before his body starts to shake, and his lungs continue flaring with every heavy pant of breath he exhales with his thrusts. his sudden orgasm catches him off guard when he feels your tongue tangling with his own, sliding across his top lip as he then cums, hot spurts of him filling you up to the brim.

a low grunt releases itself from jack through your kiss from deep within his throat as his pace starts to slow slightly, kissing at your lips slowly as his next wet withdrawal leaves you, right before he's pushing his load deep down into your cunt. every lewd squelch of your pussy makes him gasp against your lips as he kisses you, inturn making you even more wet for the man that’s fucking you absolutely senseless.

even though jack had already reached his high, he still doesn’t want to stop, not when you just look so pretty in your fucked out and inebriated state, and you’re doing so good for him.

"j-jacky. feeling any b-better? mmm" his body continues to clap against yours, speed slowing down ever so slightly before he pulls away from your lips to rest his head in the tight crook of your neck, panting as he grinds steady thrusts into your pussy, despite the way the sensitivity of his cock is hitting straight at his nerves. every thick throb and strained squeeze felt like it was knocking all of the air out of him, but every soft moan from your lips is just enough to remind him how to breathe and he knows for a fact that he's not stopping so soon as he sends you short lustful smirk before he's smearing a wet kiss upon your cheek.

"mmf.. all better, but i gotta take care of my little baby now."

#⋆·˚ ༘ *—rowdyslove’s 1k follower celly !!#—ness writes #jack hughes #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fluff #nj devils #new jersey devils #nhl x y/n #nhl fluff #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fic

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saetoru · 7 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FATHERLY COMPETITION — GETO SUGURU.

contents. non curse au, girl dad! suguru ft the twins, fem! + mother! reader, satoru is megumi’s father <3, silly lil family shenanigans and suguru having a one sided rivalry w satoru bc he’s a bum like that

suguru loves being a father—it’s just as they say it is. one day, you’re free and young and opposed to the idea of being tied down, and then the next second you’re cradling two newborns that make you want to dig to the earth’s core with your bare hands, all for the tiny humans in front of you.

he loves his two girls—they make the world go around and the stars come out and they make something as bright as the sun look dull and lifeless compared to those sweet smiles. but sometimes, he’d really appreciate being able to sleep in on a saturday morning.

“daddy, wake up,” there’s a poke to his cheek. mimiko is at least gentle with her disruptions—nanako has simply taken to jumping on the mattress by his feet.

“daddy, you promised,” nanako whines—it’s makes you stir with a soft groan, eyes opening to peer up at the two (very cute) troublemakers in your bed.

“what’d you promise this time, suguru?” you raise a brow, making him sigh as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“said i’d take them to the zoo,” he grunts, “but it’s not open for—” he looks at the time on his phone. seven thirty two am. “for another two and a half hours.”

“girls,” you start, “we have to wait a bit. why don’t you go back to bed—”

“we can stay here, mommy!” nanako brightens, squeezing between you and suguru to wrap her arms around your neck.

it’s cute, you suppose. it’s always endearing to be snuggled up by one of your little girls, but something tells you that you won’t be sleeping again any time soon. so you sigh, turning towards suguru and wrapping nanako in your arms as suguru does the same with mimiko and gives you an amused grin.

“i think we spoil them,” he murmurs, making you scoff.

“you spoil them. i’m the voice of reason in this household.”

“so now it’s a crime to give your kids fun family experiences that not everyone is fortunate enough to have—”

“you know what the not so generous parents out there probably have more than us? sleep.”

“that’s probably true,” he mutters, yawning before he presses a gentle kiss to mimiko’s forehead. “but at least we’re the world’s coolest parents. right girls?”

“megumi is going to the beach today,” nanako says as a matter of factly, “his dad is super cool.”

“and funny,” mimiko adds.

suguru’s face sours at that—you try your best not to giggle.

“oh so now satoru is cooler than me? he shouldn’t even be trusted near the ocean with children, they’ll drown—”

“satoru is careful,” you chuckle, “well….most of the time.”

“okay,” suguru raises a brow, looking expectantly at nanako, “but has satoru ever taken megumi ice skating? bet he hasn’t done that—”

“yeah they did,” nanako says instantly, “that’s why we asked to go.”

“well have they gone to the zoo?” he asks petulantly. she nods, and his lips curl into a pout.

suguru looks positively fumed at the idea that his best friend seems to be cooler in the eyes of his own children. you can practically watch the gears work in his head before he looks smugly over at the blonde girl curled up against your chest.

“okay, but have they ever been to a petting zoo?” he raises a brow, “there’s a difference.”

the two girls exchange a look before slowly, the excitement creeps up on their faces as they look at him in disbelief. suguru looks hopelessly smug with himself.

“you mean we can pet the animals?” nanako asks in wonder.

“yup,” suguru nods, grinning widely. you snort at his petty one sided competition.

“can i pet a giraffe?” mimiko asks, poking his arm as he nods excitedly.

“yeah, and you can feed it too.”

they squeal at that—and if suguru throws you a look of pure victory on his face, you decide not to ruin his moment just yet. because you already know it won’t last long until—

“what about whales? can we pet those too?”

“and a shark?”

“i wanna pet a tiger!”

“well, i don’t think those are really the safest options for a petting—”

“daddy, you’re so cool,” they gasp. suguru gives you a look that screams for help, but you only giggle, pecking nanako on the forehead as you send a sly wink to your husband.

“you are so cool,” you agree, “i can’t wait to see the tigers we can pet.”

he looks at you with betrayal in his eyes as the pout returns on his lips. “i trusted you,” he huffs.

“that was your fault,” you grin cheekily. it’s all a bit funny at his expense—but you also can’t help but be endeared at the way suguru does his best. for your girls. for you. for your sweet little family. so you take mercy on him, turning to your daughters as you murmur, “i think you’re a bit too young for those animals right now. let’s start small, yeah?”

they nod along, and you and suguru share an amused look. and then—

“make sure you guys tell megumi all about your trip next time you see him, okay?”

suguru be bragging to satoru like “my kids went to the petting zoo” and satoru’s clueless ass is like “oh !! that’s so nice !! i’m taking my kids to disney !!”

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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bruisedboys · 6 months

Note

shy!reader who’s always a little anxious and hesitant to show affection but one day initiates by asking remus if he wants a kiss and he’s all giddy but she meant a chocolate kiss and she gets red and blushy

eek thank you so much this is so so cute! sorry it took me so long angel. hope u enjoy 💗

remus lupin x fem!reader modern au

You tip your gift bag upside down over the coffee table, colourful foil-wrapped chocolates spilling out across the wooden surface. Your boss at work had a bunch of sweets left over from her kid’s birthday party and had opted to give them all out to her colleagues. Lucky you, you’re one of her favourites. You’re pretty sure your bag was stuffed full the most.

You dig through your goods, sorting them into piles of different flavours and types, and then your favourites and Remus’ favourites. Speaking of, your boyfriend sits across from you on the one-seater couch, immersed in his writing. The laptop screen paints him paler than usual but no less handsome. You know you’ve struck lucky with him and just looking at him from across the room makes your heart race. You like him so much it’s sick.

You pick through the pile of chocolates deemed Remus’ favourites. There’s lots of dark chocolate, a few nutty bars and multiple Hershey’s kisses.

Without thinking (well, you are thinking, but just about how much you like Remus and want to give him something he’ll love), you speak up into the silence.

“Remus? Do you want a kiss?”

To your credit, you are holding up a silver-wrapped Hershey’s kiss in your hand. To Remus’ credit, he doesn’t see it until his head has snapped up so fast you’re worried he’s cracked his neck, eyes wide and lips parted.

“What?” He asks.

You realise your mistake almost immediately. Heat flares behind your cheeks.

“A Hershey’s,” you correct yourself, embarrassed beyond measure. You hold it up for him to see. “A Hershey’s kiss.”

Remus’ eyebrows lower significantly and his wide eyes soften.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, okay.” He smiles at you and you miss the mischief, too flustered from your slip up. “Bring it over here for me?”

You’re happy to. You get out of your seat, grabbing an extra couple of Hershey’s for good measure. You stop in front of his knees and hold the chocolates out to him.

He smiles and takes them from you, calloused fingers brushing your soft palm. “Thank you, lovely girl,” he says, lifting his chin so he can look you in the eyes.

You smile back. “That’s okay,” you say, moving to return to your seat. Remus doesn’t let you. He leans over his laptop, the screen digging into his chest, and bracelets your wrist with his lean fingers.

“Hold on,” he says, and now you pick up on the mischief in his tone, now that he’s got you trapped. He pulls you in between his legs and you know you’re not getting away until he lets you. “I’d like a real kiss too, if that’s okay.”

Heat blooms all over your face, creeping up your neck like a rash. “Remus,” you say, in what’s supposed to be a complaining tone but instead makes you sound like you’re a lovesick fool. You are, but. He doesn’t need to know that.

“What?” He grins. “I’m serious, dove. Please?”

It’s his please that gets you. You would’ve given him one anyway, but when he’s practically begging you, you’d rather die than not kiss him.

“Fine,” you say, more breathless than you’d like to be.

You lean over him and kiss him quick and sweet, trying not to linger though you desperately want to. Remus has other ideas. His hand curls around your neck, warm and heavy, and holds you against his mouth while he kisses you properly. Your lips part from the pressure, Remus’ thumb pushing into the hair at the back of your neck.

You’re barely breathing by the time you pull away. Cheeks hot, heart hammering. Remus smiles at you, looking not nearly as disheveled as you feel. Unfair.

“Thanks,” he tells you. “If you’ve got any more to give me, let me know.”

You both know he doesn’t mean chocolates.

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luveline · 29 days

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Hii I sent the ask for more kbd could you please write them all going on there first family holiday lovely 🤍🫶🏻

love u <3 kbd au —the harrington’s vacation !! mom!reader, 1.5k

This is a good idea, you repeat to each other for weeks. Paying for the flights, making lists, getting Dove her baby passport, packing the suitcases days in advance.

Most of the time you agree with one another. The day you buy Avery and Beth little swimsuits Steve can’t stop smiling, and the nights leading up to it are like Christmas for Avery when she remembers (and Beth when Avery tells her).

But the night before you’re sick to your stomach, and then Steve can’t breathe right at the airport, but you get on your plane, and somehow the girls are good. Dove cries when you land because of the pressure change, but she’s soothed by the time you’re past the gate and into the sunshine.

“Steve,” you say, Dove strapped to your chest, world's heaviest baby bag on your shoulder, “sweetheart, we’re here.”

He holds Beth’s hand, who in turn holds Avery’s hand, trying to pull the world’s biggest suitcase behind you without running over his own foot. “I told you it would be easy.”

Your children look beautiful. Avery wears a sun visor cap and a blue dress with white socks and blue converse, and Bethie wears dungarees and a short sleeve top, little black converse to match her sister but unable to handle the sensory nightmare of a hat. They look ready for the sun, and excited to be somewhere new.

Dove sleeps on your chest. “Easy isn’t the word I’d use,” you mumble, kissing her forehead. “Okay, what’s the next thing? Are we getting the shuttle?”

Steve checks his watch quickly. “It’s another ten minutes,” he says. “Is that okay?” He points at your harness. “Digging into your side?”

“It’s fine.” You bend with your arm behind Dove’s back, turning your smile on your sweethearts where they mill around their dad’s legs. “How do you guys feel now? So happy? I’m so happy we’re not on the plane, we can stretch our tired feet!”

“Yeah, mom!” Avery says.

“Can we have soda?” Bethie asks.

And okay, you promised them treats if they behaved on the plane, but you’re on vacation. It’s allowed.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go find you a coca cola before we get on the big bus!”

You don’t want to pay seventy cents for one can of coke, let alone three dollars for three, but everything will be free when you get to the resort, so what does it matter? Plus, Bethie really, really enjoys it. She beams at the fizzing and begs you to try it like she’s worried you’re missing out.

(It matters. You and Steve are raising three kids on one salary. All inclusive vacations are expensive. They all needed new clothes including you and Steve, clothes and haircuts and mini shampoos. But it genuinely won’t matter if they have a good time, and make good memories.)

“Right,” you say near the shuttle, “Avery, you hold mommy’s hand when we’re outside. Beth, you’ll hold daddy’s. No running, and try to be polite. Deal?”

Avery twines her fingers through yours, little tiny fingers to your fully grown ones. When she looks up at you, she’s practically a hundred percent Steve, his smile, his lovely demeanour, and his attitude too. “Duh, mom. That’s an easy deal.”

Steve ends up carrying Beth onto the shuttle, and off of it again at the resort. She’s in his arms from the lobby to the elevators and into your suite, but she wants promptly to be put down when Steve shows your two girls their room.

“Mom, there’s bears!” She gasps. “It’s Goldilocks!”

A huge storybook mural covers their walls and parts of their ceilings, their single beds outfitted with gossamer curtains on four posters and princess pink sheets. “There’s a castle!” Avery shouts.

“You okay?” Steve asks again.

You’re a little tired from Dove's restlessness the night before, but you’re happy you’re here. You nod without thinking twice about it.

“Okay.” He pulls you toward him. Careful, he unsnaps the buckles of Dove’s harness, loosening the cords that keep her tight to your body before pulling her out. She grizzles at being moved, and he pats her back deftly to settle her before it becomes a big cry. Then he’s cradling her one handed, loosening the straps of the carrier behind your back and taking it off of you with a kindness that softens you for the thousandth time. “There, that’s better. You look like you can breathe again.”

Steve puts his hand flat on your chest and rubs a line with his thumb. “That’s a nice smile,” he adds.

Okay, you think. Goner, total goner, you cover his hand with yours. From the girls’ bedroom you can hear the squeal of bed springs being jumped on and the zipper on someone’s mini backpack. “Can we have fruit snacks?” Avery shouts.

Steve’s hand moves to your neck, your face. He rubs your jawline with the tip of his thumb. “Do they have fruit snacks at the buffet?”

“They promised they’d have everything at the buffet.”

You sound exuberant. You are. It’s nice to be touched sweetly, and to be somewhere cool. This is the life you’d dreamed of making with him, and at the same time, you never could’ve summoned this image of him.

You can’t wait for him to take his shirt off by the pool. You’re gonna take a whole disposable’s worth of photos.

“You have nice arms,” you say, feigning absentmindedness.

“Thank you.” He’s looking at you funny. It reminds you of when you first started dating, he’d get these weird moments of smiling and not telling you what it is that’s so funny, which would always inspire insecurity, but has since been explained to be awe rather than disdain. He pulls Dove closer to his neck and more toward his side, offering his empty arm to you for a hug. “You have nice everything,” he says, kissing you quickly on the temple.

“We’re actually on vacation.”

It always seemed too daunting. The more kids you had, the scarier it seemed. But one day Avery must’ve seen a commercial on TV or heard it from one of the little girls at the park, and she’d strolled up to you to ask you about vacations and the beach and aeroplanes. You’d taken her and Beth to Lake Michigan a bunch of times, but nothing feels quite like this.

“Let’s hope it really feels like one,” Steve says.

“Especially for you,” you say.

Stay at home dad-ing is exhausting. You can’t imagine he wants to be the one in charge here too. You’re determined to pull your weight, even if he isn’t keen to let you, plans for secret lie-ins and well-researched playtime clubs at the resorts recreation centres. You’re not delusional, you know you can’t do this without him. Or perhaps you could, but you’d enjoy yourself a lot less. Either way, you’re wanting to have fun too, so he can take Dove from you and wrap his arm around you like he’s the one in charge for now. It feels nice to be doted on, better when he starts his fretting.

“Do you want to get changed before we take them down for dinner?” He backs away enough to see your face but not too much as to steal the warmth of his chest where it kisses your arm. “Showers? You need something to drink. Where’s the mini fridge?”

“Remember what we talked about?” you broach carefully. You have no intentions of patronising him, but it’s unfortunate he’s forgotten already. “Relax, honey. That’s what we said we were gonna do this week. You don’t have to make sure everyone is one hundred percent all the time. If I need something, I’ll tell you.”

“What sort of marriage do you think this is?” he asks, smiling playfully, his warm eyes betraying how happy he is even through his worry and facade.

“One where you kiss me like you miss me all the time,” you say.

“Oh, is that so?” He ducks down and aligns your lips, the corded muscle of his arm lean where it presses to your softer back. “What do you do?”

“Kiss back.”

He laughs into your lips, a smile pressed firmly to a smile.

“Daddy, can you help me ‘i my shoes?” Bethie asks.

Steve breathes in deep as you part, hugging you tight to his side. “Where are you gonna go without shoes?” he asks her, genuinely curious.

“To bed.”

“You want a nap?”

Bethie nods tiredly. “Planes are hard.”

“Yeah, bub, planes are tough. You don’t wanna go have dinner first?”

She shakes her head tiredly. It’s the first hurdle of your vacation, but it’s not a terribly hard one to navigate.

“There’s gotta be some sort of snack in the fridge, right?” he asks.

Family nap time commences just as soon as Avery’s eaten her fill of mini sandwiches. You sleep like a baby under Steve’s arm, at least until the real baby rouses for another bottle.

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netherfeildren · 4 months

Text

Meet Me in the New Year

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love.

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

-OR-

The New Year's Eve AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; New Year's Eve AU; Devoted Joel Miller; Established Relationship; Ringing in the New Year with your baby daddy like God intended; More fucking in your childhood home shenanigans; Pregnancy sex; Needy behavior; Older man/Younger woman; Daddy kink; Unprotected PIV; Creampie; Meet me in St. Louis is the best Christmas movie ever; Breeding Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Size Difference; How does one tag fingering?; Fluff and Smut; Praise Kink; PWP

A/N: One last post for 2023, and of course, I had to do a few of my favorite things; daddy Joel, creampies and pregnancy sex, yeehaw. Here's to a new year of more of the same, but WORSE and nastier.

I should be put in prison next year probably like omg but whatever. Have fun, I love you all lots!

This is a sort of follow up to Evermore

Word Count: 2.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

MEET ME IN THE NEW YEAR

“Joel, what time is it?”

He looks down at you, tender look in his eye, dragging that big hand of his through your hair. Tresses slightly sleep damp and warm at the roots and gradually growing cooler towards the ends. Your parent’s living room is dark, only the warm shine of the Christmas tree coming from the front hall peering in around the corner into the comfortable, warm den. Meet me in St. Louis plays on mute on the flatscreen, Judy Garland rushing over to give John Truett a piece of her mind on Tootie’s behalf. “Look who it is. Thought I’d lost you for the night.”

You groan, stretching your legs as far as the couch allows, knees popping hollowly, little toes splaying wide within the sweaty confines of the fuzzy Christmas socks he’d put in your stocking and which you’d been sporting for the past six days. You yawn wide, nose scrunching up at him and turning to nuzzle your face into his lap where you’ve been on and off dozing for the evening. Dinner had been so, so good, browned butter steak and baked potatoes and heirloom tomato, mozzarella salad, and you were so full and so warm and so content beyond imagining. “No… I’m awake,” you mumble against his thigh. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight, I reckon.”

You turn to look up at him, giving him a scrunchy faced smile, “Didn’t miss it, ha. Knew it.”

“Oh, did ya?” His palm moves over the bowl of your skull to cup and squeeze the tender nape of your neck, big fingers gently kneading the fine, tight muscles there. “Gonna ring in the New Year with me, sweet girl?” Mhmm, you moan, nuzzling further against his sweats and the thick heaviness of his half hard cock.

“You’re hard, daddy,” you whisper up at him while his fingertips slip beneath the neck of your pullover, running down the notches of your spine to reach your waist. He pauses there, his hand curving over the growing swell of your bump.

He groans, head dropping onto the back of the sofa, and brings his other hand up to rub across his whiskered mouth. “Don’t fucking start.” You know it makes him crazy when you call him that, but you’d told him that you now have the excuse that he is actually going to be a daddy again, and so it’s only nothing but the truth.

You press your fingertips to your mouth, hiding away your laughing smile. Your first Christmas as a little family of three. Sarah was away with her mother this year since she’d gotten Christmas with the two of you last year, and so the two of you’d decided to come to your parents house again, like you’d done for Thanksgiving last year. You’d been here for a week now, and Joel was starting to lose patience. The lack of alone time was needling as evidenced by the now fully hard and slightly pulsing erection digging into your cheek.

He rolls his head to peer down at you, mock, chastising frown as he drags his hand over the small swell and up to your naked breast, squeezing gently. “We’ve been here too fuckin’ long.” And you moan, hiding your face against his thigh as he pinches your nipple, rolling it softly between his fingertips, thumb dragging around the sensitive puffiness of your areola. Your whole body had been, for the past several weeks, a coiled tight ball of nerves, everything swollen, everything wet, everything needing him. Like your skin knew, knew he’d been the one to do this to you, and wanted it more, wanted it again.

You squeeze your thighs together, legs shifting and sliding against each other to relieve the knot of want he’s spin, spin, spinning with his fingers plucking at your breast. He switches to the other one, hand sliding beneath the heavy weight to lift it into his palm and squeeze. You turn to look up at him now, eyes wide when you can’t control the sound of the moan he forces out of you, mouth falling open, panting. Your breasts, going all tight and hot, needing his sucking mouth. “Joel–”

“What?” He teases, pulling his hand from beneath your sweatshirt and shifting to sit you up and press you back the opposite way on the couch, crawling over you to settle between your thighs he pushes open for himself, slightly to the side and sure to not crush you. “If your father catches us,” he whispers with wet lips moving across your throat, that same hand sneaking its way back under your sweatshirt, tongue against your pulse, “he can’t be mad, sweetheart. Already fucked you full’a my baby. Damage s’already done,” he snickers, mouth latching at your carotid, pulling hard enough you know he’s purposely trying to leave a mark.

“You’re so bad,” you moan, arching up into his hand on your breast, his hot, sucking mouth. You want it on your cunt, you want that thick cock he’s rubbing against you, inside. He’s right, you’ve been at your parents house too long, too far into your first trimester to pretend at civility. You need your husband.

“Not,” he huffs, damp against your collarbone. “Gonna give it to you so good, baby.” He wedges one hand behind your neck, holding you in place, while the one fondling your breast moves down between your legs, center gusset soaked slick already, and you flush at the flutter of muscles wrapped around his jaw when he finds you pantiless beneath your soft sleep shorts. And so what? Pregnancy had made you sensitive and achy. You need to be free, you tell him with an airy laugh.

He clicks his tongue down at you, fingers slipping beneath the soft cotton to pet at the soaking wet tuft of curls with the back of his knuckles. “Pretty cunt’s all wet and hungry for me, isn’t it, baby?” And he’s all teasing grins and sparkly, self satisfied eyes as he searches gently for your clit, parting your folds to pet there slow and steady.

Uh huh, you moan, hitching your foot up higher on his back, little heel digging into the padding of muscles over his ribs to find purchase. You let your other leg slip off the couch with a dull thud, socked foot rolling up on your tip toes so that you can cant and rock your hips against his too light touch on your cunt.

“More, daddy, please,” you provoke, all breathless sighs as you roll your head in the cup of his palm, the heat of him seeping through the mantle of your messy hair, against your scalp. You feel him flex his fingers, tugging lightly at the sweaty roots, and he finally gives you more. Thumb sliding down to your weepy entrance, pressing there lightly, petting and circling, moving back up to press against your clit at the same time that he starts to feed you two fingers at once.

You groan at him, scrunching your nose, but he just clicks his tongue, tutting you into submission and silence. “Take it,” he says gentle and low. You scratch at his shoulders, slipping your fingertips under his ratty t-shirt to get at his skin, using your bracing foot to rock your hips against his palm, rough callused palm catching a little painfully at your clit. You’re going to come so fucking fast like this.

And fingers hooked forward inside of you, he jostles his hand a little, rattles your cunt so that all your wet rings loud in your parents dead silent house. “Hear how sloppy this cunt is for me?” He’s grinding his cock against your inner thigh, fat, blunt tip thrusting against the crease in your thigh over and over and you want it inside of you. You don’t care if you get caught, if someone comes down stairs. You want to soak his hand and then soak his cock and then have him carry you to bed and do it all over again.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Gonna come.” Your lashes flutter shut as he lowers his head to bite your tit, hard and mean, over your sweatshirt, fingers fucking fast and loud, and your cunt goes tight, tight like a knot and then wet and loose and even sloppier. You’re so wet for him. Always.

Fucking Christ, he groans against your breast, sucks harder, darkening the grey cotton so that the hard tip of your nipple is left molded and obvious beneath the soaked fabric. “That’s it. Come just like that, sweet girl. You’re so fucking wet.” And he doesn't’ gentle his fingers, pressing in a little harder, palm grinding against your clit and shaking his fingers up and down inside of you so that he’s jostling another tiny, almost painful, orgasm out of you. The wet sound of your pussy is so loud and so obvious, if someone were to come down the stairs, the sound of it would be unmistakable. “Gonna soak your mother’s nice couch, and then what’ll she think of you? Everyone’s gonna know exactly what you let me do to you down here.”

You’re pretty sure that’s what gets you over the edge that second time. The thought of everyone knowing.

He nuzzles at your breast, your neck, sucking and kissing, fingers still stretching your pussy, while he makes his way up your throat, mouth against the tip of your chin, and then finally to your mouth. Kiss, slow at first, all tongue and hunger, and then soft little pecks. The corner of your mouth, the bow of your top lip, the other corner. Open, he orders, and licks behind your teeth. Bossy man. You love him.

He pets gently at your G-spot, slow and careful because he knows it’ll be too much soon, letting your slick spill out and gather in his palm, drip down his wrist. “Pretty girl,” he says real quiet, “Keeping my baby so nice and warm in this little cunt. Aren’t you?” You whine up at him, bringing your foot up off the floor, trying to toe his arm away. He clicks his tongue at you again, but finally pulls his fingers from you, wet, sucking sound as he leaves your cunt. He brings his hand up to his mouth, fingers slick sticky and sweet, shiny in the dim light and licks himself clean. You watch him as he teases you, all eyes and laughter, wrapping your fingers around his too thick, hairy wrist, not meeting around it, and holding him there as he eats your wet out of his own palm. When he’s done, his mouth is shiny and glossed in you and he presses another kiss to your lips, forces your jaw open, hinged wide and eats you like you know he wants to eat your cunt instead. Later, he says, like he can read your mind because you’re pretty sure he actually can.

When he pushes the loose waist of his sweatpants down over his erection, no underwear either, you roll your eyes at him, and tell him old men aren’t supposed to be this slutty. But at the sight of that too thick cock nestled in his neatly trimmed bed of hair, the wide root leading up to the happy trailed covered belly, you concede that easy access is highly to your benefit. And when he wedges that said thick cock inside of you by way of an answer to your brattiness, fat head stretching your well used, wet hole, he slides in way too easy because you want him way too much.

You moan open mouthed for him, and he presses your sweatshirt up over your bump, your swollen breasts, and finally gets his hot mouth on your bare nipples, teeth grazing lightly, pushing you into a higher, hotter level of desperation. You rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, close your eyes and listen to the slick sound of his cock fucking your cunt. “Lemme see this sweet belly,” he murmurs, cupping the small swell. The changes he’d incited in your body had made him a specific flavor of hungry you were going to miss when this was all over. “You’re so fucking beautiful, carrying my baby. You know that?”

And you’re all soft sighs and whimpers and his name as nothing but a moan, hitching your knees as high as you can to open yourself further to him. “Fuck, you’re gunna come again. Gettin’ tight as a fist,” he grits, hips swinging back and then forward, pelvis grinding so that he’s pressing on your clit and then pressing you into another full blown orgasm. It throbs through you, an almost unbearable heat stirring in your pelvis, walls of your cunt pulsing and milking the too thick, sometimes too big, weight of his cock inside you. It always hurts just a little and you always like it too much.

He pulls out suddenly, tiny flutters still moving through your muscles and sits back on his knees, turning you on your side and shoving your thigh up, pulling the now ruined shorts aside to line up and shove back inside. He braces his foot on the floor, one hand on the back of the couch, the other holding your thigh up and open for himself and drills down into your spasming cunt, mid orgasm, and there are tears in your eyes and you gnaw and slobber on the edge of your mother’s couch as your husband fucks you into one last orgasm. The previous one not even fully over. “Told you you’d fuckin’ take it,” he growls, balls slapping against the curve of your ass, temples shiny with sweat, throat all red and splotchy. “Fuckin’ shame I can’t knock you up again here in your parents house like I wanted to last time. We’re gonna have to try harder next time.”

“Told you, you’re so bad.” And you can barely speak as he starts to pump you full of his load, hot and thick so that you can feel it being forced out of your cunt while he continues to shove inside.

When he’s finished, cleaned you up and tucked you back into his side, both of you choosing to ignore the wet spot on the couch you’d left and agreed to plead the fifth tomorrow if anyone asks, the movie is just finishing up. Judy and her beau are finally at the World Fair together. The clock below the TV rings midnight and Joel presses a soft kiss at the tender spot behind your ear. “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love.

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #Joel miller smut #the last of us AU #joel miller fanfiction

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rookiesbookies · 3 months

Text

Captain John MacTavish x His wife x Sergeant Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

I dont know how it would happen but i'm imagining sweet little Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish meeting Captain MacTavish and his wife. I guess this is me rewriting what happened bc Im made we’ll probably never see Neil as his boy again.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Smut smut smut under the cut for my lovely mutual @shotmrmiller of my John and his wife meet sweet little Johnny au thing.

Also @glitterypirateduck this one is for you and #soapitup

“Bhean,” he whispers loudly, following it with squirrel noises, motioning for her to follow. She walks out of the recreational room. He nuzzled bis face into her neck, letting her know he was nervous about what he was going to say. “I'm getting serious deja vu.”

“Talk to me, Goose.” A shameless quote of their favorite date night movie from when they dated made his nervous face crack a smile.

“I have this crazy memory,” he mumbled into her neck, she always worried he’d hurt himself craning it down like that so often.

“What about, don’t leave me on cliff hangers, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Do you remember our first time together?”

“Skiing or fucking? Because I remember both very well.” He chuckled at her bringing up his failed skiing attempts from a vacation they went on.

“Making love, Bonnie.” He hummed, “would you believe me if I told ya it’s because I had done it before?”

“Considering baby you told me he’d call me mommy? Yes. Yes, I would.” She hummed. “You also found my clit really fast which makes that really reasonable in retrospect.”

“What if, like my future self taught me at that stage, we teach him how to make love to you so he can charm you with the monster.” It came out more as a question, making his nerves hammer against his chest. He was more than sure he beloved wife would say yes, but he didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable or saying it wrong.

“He does really want to impress me,” she mumbled. “Fine. But there’s ground rules.”

“Of course, Mo chridhe, anything.”

“Just the tip, you know how I am about hygiene. I don’t fully try young you to keep everything clean. He swears to secrecy and if I ever think for a second he mentions this im ending his blood line. And you stay with us. You are my husband after all, not the boy.” The Captain nodded with every word. He’d make sure. He knew the Sergeant would want no harm to come to his future wife, and the Captain didn’t need a scorched relationship.

“Thank you, Mo leannan, it’s what helped me keep up hope I could lock you down when I met you when I was his age.”

“So it was a memory and more than deja vu?” She asked with a raised brow.

The Captain just simply nodded, planting a kiss on her temple, “you’d tell me if you wanted to back out right? If it made you uncomfortable?”

“John.” She was serious, she never called him just ‘John’. “I expect the same from you. And you’d know I’d never keep that from you.”

She reached up to his face and gently rubbed it. He melted just a little bit into her touch. “I assume you don’t plan to do this on base?”

“No, but that’s the hard part.” “I’ll handle it, go tell the mini you,” she said softly, planting a kiss before walking away.

The Captain sighed and let his shoulders relax, he knew he was so lucky to have her. The sergeant was about to be the lucky one though.

He made his way down the hall and stole his past self from a conversation with Gaz. “My wife and I have decided to give you an opportunity to learn more about her.” He said in a low deep voice. “I will be teaching you about her body so you can please her but there are ground rules she set and a few of my own.” Once he covered his wife’s, he got on to his own, “do not bite her, dig your nails into her, or ignore me if I tell you to do something. No coming inside either and don’t try anything.” Sergeant Soap nodded along, “I’m not sure you’re actually listening, sergeant.” The Captain growled. Soap’s eyes went wide, “Captain me, sir, I prayed last night for an opportunity to feel her skin, honestly I was just expecting to be allowed to shake her hand.” The younger Soap grumbled, “believe me, I’m all ears.” “And none of that ‘I have a latex allergy so I can’t wear condoms’ crap. I know we don’t have that allergy. You will be wearing one.” “You’re so no’ fun,” Soap mumbled. “Fine.”

The Captain didn’t entirely know how he felt about the kid creaming his wife. Sure, it was him, but it was a younger, rowdier, dumber him and not his same body. Getting married meant he was the only one allowed to cream pie his wife, and yes, it is a version of him, it wouldn’t be the same as him doing it. Even if his wife is on birth control and enjoys them, he knows he’d get jealous, way too jealous. Besides it’s his job anyway, he signed a paper to be able to do it, and this kid version gets to just randomly do it.

“So when do I get to show mo bhean how a younger body is better to make love with?” Sergeant asked, patting his older self on the back. This made the Captain flip until the voice of an angel spoke up.

“Ya mean when you meet yer own damn wife. Ya wee-” the Captain’s rage was cut off. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be there ahead of schedule to prepare, my husband will drive you.” She said, walking past the two with effortless grace and a sway of her hips. She flicked a piece of hair back over her shoulder.

The next 24 hours were full of different forms of tension for younger Soap. He was eager, so eager, almost too eager in the Captain’s eye. The Captain’s raging jealousy made him almost want to shut down the whole thing.

When he loaded the sergeant and himself into the old truck he sighed. “Remember the rules?” “Of course.”

“Can’t believe you still own this truck.” “She’s carried me through a lot.” “When you meet YOUR wife, she’ll appreciate it. Square bodies are her favorites.”

The rest of the drive was small talk. The sergeant saw a notification appear on the Captain’s phone and snatched it up, since the captain was driving. He back read the short conversation from this morning between the Captain and his wife, who had been the notification. ‘Mo chridhe you better not warm yourself up on that clarty vibrator’

��You expect him to be able to get me warmed up enough?’

‘Its a teaching experience, mo leannan’

‘I don’t want to make him wait too long, I remember how impatient you were <3’

“Does she think ima div?” Soap looked at the Captain and asked. “Reading my personal texts? Real professional, ya eejit.”

“Does she think I can’t make her feel good? Or make her feel like she’s on Eccie?”

“No, she just doesn’t want you to wait too long. She does this. I bought it for her first time I left on a long mission, now she uses it to take away the fun part of getting her warmed up.”

“So she thinks I'm a fandan.”

“Dinnae fash yersel.” The Captain sighed, “we’re here and the least ya can do is make her feel good as a thank you.”

When he dragged his younger self into the hotel room, it finally set in that he was going to be cucked. By a younger him. Fucking his wife.

He knocked on the door twice and it kind of felt like his wedding night all over again. There she stood in a silk robe, eyes only on him with a gentle and soft smile. It's a smile she only gave when she was nervous, he gave a similar smile back to let her know he felt the same. It was subtle, but he reminded him this was indeed his beautiful wife.

“Go strip in the bathroom and sit down in the chair when you’re done, we need to talk.” The Captain said sharply.

“Aye aye Captain,” the sergeant mumbled, walking into the bathroom.

The Captain’s hands immediately found his way to his wife’s hips.

“Are you nervous?” He asked, holding her close with his mouth near her ear between kisses he placed in her hair.

“Of course,” she said softly into his chest.

“Do you need to back out? We can leave and forget all about this if you need.”

“Do you need me to want to back out?” She asked soft, turning her head to look up into his eyes.

“No, I don’t think so, mo bonnie lass.” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Give me a safeword to give him and a safeword for emergencies.”

“Two levels of safe words?”

“Just in case I don’t hear the first one, he’s kinda loud.” She giggled and placed a kiss on his neck.

“Bubbles for him and Soap for emergencies.”

“My old callsign?”

“I never call you anyway,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Can I undress you and keep that privilege to myself?” All he needed was the little nod she gave before he moved to untie the robe.

The lace blue bra she had been taunting him with with the matching panties drove him crazy. She ran her hands up and around his chest as his opened the clasp with one motion and undid the hooks holding the straps over her shoulders so she didn't have to remove her hands from his torso.

He sunk down lower as he planted sloppy kisses down her body and removed her underwear. Lovely pacing a kiss at her lower lips before trailing bite marks backup as the Sergeant exited the bathroom.

“I thought you said I couldn’t bite!” He accused as he watched the Captain leave a hickey on his wife’s chest.

“YOU can’t, I can.” This made the younger Soap look offended. The Captain smirked at the Sergeant’s face. “My wife, remember. Not yours.”

His wife just ran her fingers through his slightly grown out mohawk, a means to sooth him.

Captain MacTavish moved to his wife’s ear and whispered softly, “may I told yer hand through this, mo ghraidh?”

“Gu sìorraidh is gu bràth,” she said back, pointing to the tattoo on her collarbone. When Soap heard it he almost fainted.

“She knows the language?” Sergeant Johnny asked.

The Captain hummed, pulling his mouth away from the dark hickey he was leaving on her neck, “learned a little bit for me.”

The Captain gave his younger self a once over before landing a sarcastic remark as his eyes landed on the bush, “glad to know you haven’t started shaving yet.”

“You trim?”

“Occasionally,” the Captain pulled his waistband down a bit, nuzzling into his wife, “I wax for special occasions. Yer lucky I found one who doesn’t care.”

The Captain locked his fingers with his wife’s, gently herding her to the bed. He laid her down gently and got her into a good position, shoving a few of the lousy pillows under her waist to offer a better angle.

“How are you?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “Ready as I can be,” she said with a soft giggle, as he bent down to plant a kiss on her lips.

“Sergeant, come here.” The Captain commanded, pointing at the foot of the bed, his wife couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as she dropped her hand over her face. The Captain moved his wife’s knees apart with his free hand, the other still lovingly holding her’s. Johnny got on his own knees as John commanded him as he spread his wife’s pussy lips apart with his fingers. “Ya see that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” John corrected Johnny. He basically gave his younger self a tour of his wife’s softest pieces. Telling Johnny her favorite things that he does and what she reacts best to. Johnny was so enthralled with her body he could move his eyes anywhere else. Especially when John put his fingers inside and curled them suddenly making her gasp so Johnny knew how far in her g spot was. The way her body jolted and softly raised as the gasp left her lips was his new favorite thing. He was so jealous he didn’t have her yet. That she wasn’t his wife yet, that he didn’t have the liberty to mark her body yet. “Get to work,” the Captain said, patting Johnny. He didn’t need to say it twice because Johnny went right in.

The wife brought her free hand down to her mouth to hold in the gasps and moans as Johnny ate so eagerly. John was usually slow and sensual, to the messy and a vehement eating that was happening at her core was a much different sensation. John gently pulled her hand away.

“Checkin in with ya, are ya doing good?” he asked his lovely wife. Her eyes couldn’t focus, her mouth gaping and shutting.

She gave a nod and a hum as her body started to clench as Johnny inserted fingers between her legs and curled, making her body lurch towards the sky and gasp. The Captain gently placed kisses on her face, her velvety cries just make Johnny want to do it again. “She’s even prettier from this view,” Johnny mumbled, spreading her apart with his fingers.

“She donnae like condoms but imma make ye wear one anyway,” Captain Mactavish told his younger self before placing a kiss to the forehead of his flushed wife, still coming down from her orgasm as her husband ran his fingers through her hair as her breathing slowed with her closed eyes. John threw the condom at Johnny, who quickly rolled it on before standing up. “Donnae force it in, go in slow.”

Johnny positioned himself, putting one of the lovely wife’s ankles to his shoulder before giving it a soft kiss. He didn’t dare pull her down the bed like he would have normally done, he walked on his knees to meet her. Hands sliding down her legs to lift her ass, one he saw as so perfect.

He slowly slid it in as John kissed his wife’s face, holding her hand. She was more than used to John’s dick by now, but she was far from used to Johnny’s pacing. So much energy and stamina, not to say John didn’t have it but John was definitely more about making love than he was about fucking or just having sex.

Once she started to grind her hips, Johnny’s face lit up and he immediately started a toe curly, back arching pace. His tip bullied her g spot, making her mouth fall open but no sound falling from her lips.

John cooed at her as Johnny bullied her soft parts, not caring about his own pleasure, solely the pleasure of this goddess in front of him. Once he was sure he had found the spot, Johnny folded her a bit more to hit it a bit deeper, making sure everything was dragging against her.

The only thing that left her were whines, she felt her melted brain might just spill out her ears as the white, staticy heat built up.

A nice ring built up around Johnny’s cock as he began to roll his hips. Her pulsating cunt milked him so much he felt an almost numbness in his fingers as all he could do was hold her and roll his hips as she let out a broken moan and came. Her husband’s voice echoing around her head with praises and loving words.

It was down right impossible for Soap to not come from her body's pulsations so he did. He wished it hadn’t been into a condom but he was grateful he just got the chance.

John gave him a look and Johnny took it knowingly, going to get a warm and damp towel. He handed it to John who began to clean his wife up, nodding to Johnny to let him know he could leave.

Johnny didn’t know it was so John could reclaim his wife with some slow sensual sex and lots of love bites.

John, unlike Johnny, was going to come inside. Johnny looked at the photo he had taken of himself with the wife of Captain John from the night prior, "I'm going to marry you. Yer the one I've been looking for."

#cod x reader #call of duty #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #captain mactavish #soapitup

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randomdragonfires · 1 month

Text

Pieces of a Woman | Bonus

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | In the aftermath of the Battle Above The God's Eye, a mad widow weeps.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Yearning; Major Character Death; ANGST.

WORD COUNT | 1.2k

A/N | Not beta read. To be read as an accompaniment to this one shot, but I suppose it works as a standalone too. Repost from my old blog.

There is a chill in the air that she does not like.

The white shift that she wore was too thin to allow her any semblance of warmth, and she is reminded of that as the cold air hits her form. Her days are long and her nights are lonely, each moment taking longer to pass than it should as she sits quietly, rocking herself back and forth with her hands hugging her knees. A loud thunderstorm strikes through the Keep - it is scary and loud enough to make her whimper and mumble into her hands.

“Aemond, Aemond, Aemond,” she repeats over and over.

Her eyes are an endless pit, having lost all their charm from months of isolated confinement. Her hands are frail, and they shake incessantly even when there is nothing within her line of sight to scare her. Her once beautiful hair is now unkempt and dry, falling around the sides of her hair like a dark, damning curtain.

Aemond loved my hair, she thinks. He always thought I had beautiful hair.

Aemond is dead.

She continues to cry, her eyes a mad, murderous red as the tears fall freely down her cheek.

Aemond would have wiped them off, she thinks. He would have kissed my forehead and told me I’d be alright.

Aemond is dead.

It is a rare moment of clarity, this moment in time. She does not have them often anymore, she knows. In times like this, she has always heard servants whispering about her apparent behaviour when she was not conscious of her being.

“Madness. She’s gone mad, the poor thing,” the servant maid had whispered outside her doors one night. “Absolute shame. She scratched the poor Prince’s face out yesterday!”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. Her husband, her love, hers.

Not anymore.

She lifts her hands and cries, her tears a seemingly endless stream. She had hurt the man she loved with these very hands - her nails had dried blood on them, and she doesn't know where it could have come from. Was it Aemond’s blood? She does not know. Has she been scratching her own skin out?

She stands up and screams as the words continue to ring in her weak, fragile mind. “Aemond is dead. Your husband fought valiantly, Your Grace,” the servant maid had said. In a fit of anger, she takes the book - Ten Thousand Ships - left strewn about on her bedside. She does not know who had brought it, or where it had come from - all she knows is that they did not believe her worthy enough to deliver the news to her themselves, and had sent a servant maid to relay it to her.

She was everything to Aemond. She is worth nothing to them.

The realization hits her harsher than the gust of wind that she is now trying to shield herself from as she cries and tears the book to shreds. The pages fly about before they fall to the ground like light noiseless water drops. She continues to tear at it to her heart’s content and cries, cries, cries - but it is not enough. It is never enough.

Aemond is dead.

She does not remember much from when they were married - just that she had a husband who loved her enough to keep her. Was there a son? She remembers a baby boy. Was he hers? Was he Aemond’s? Where was he?

Aemond is dead.

She grips the hem of her shift and bends down to let her head rest on the cold, unmade bed. Her sobs are muffled by the cushions as they permeate the air in groans and whines. She then sits on the same bed and continues to weep - for what, she struggles to recall - only for a moment before it hits her again.

Aemond is dead.

She does not recognize the movement of her hands as she hugs herself. Her nails dig deep into the flesh of her arms as she weeps, rocking herself back and forth once more. Her cries are loud, louder and louder still, almost as though she was shouldering the sadness of the entire Keep. How could she not, after all she had been through?

Aemond is dead.

She is a dark silhouette in a greying room, a scary sight in her shift and untamed hair let loose. The servants treat her like she is some sort of wild animal, one that they are afraid of being eaten and hurt by. She has not known the love of her family in what seems like years, and she does not remember all the nights that her husband had come to give her warmth and comfort.

Aemond is dead.

But who was Aemond?

Her thoughts fluctuate constantly - one moment she knows, one moment she does not. One moment she was in his arms, and the next she was screaming at him to let her die. Die, die, die. The words have taken over her completely in this moment and her feet carry her to the large window of their own accord. The young Princess, a new widow, steps on the ledge and watches the grounds of the city as it sleeps in the pale moonlight.

Die, die, die. Aemond was dead. Dead. Who was Aemond? Who is he? A husband. Aemond? A baby?

Her feet sway just slightly as she regains her balance, and she turns back to look around the room as she spots the torn pages. True to her madness, despite her confusion all this time, her thoughts oscillate once more. Ten Thousand Ships, a gift from… Aemond. A man who loved her more than she could even try, a man she loved back with all that she ever was.

But who was Aemond?

She breathes out raggedly, heavily, audibly - waiting for the loudness in her mind to stop as she clutches her head tight with her palms and covers her ears. But it does not, it never does.

Madwoman… wife… a son… a Prince… poor thing… once a beautiful, happy girl born in the spring… dead. Aemond was dead.

In her last moment of unhinged grief, one of the pages flies about and she remembers.

Aemond was her husband. Aemond loved her. Aemond wanted her to get better. Aemond wanted her to be safe. Aemond wanted her to love him again. Aemond wanted her to come back to him. Aemond did not want her to die.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…

She remembers. She remembers happy days when she had been a wife and a mother. She remembers better days when she was beautiful and happy and had a husband who worshipped the ground she walked on; in whose eyes she could do no wrong.

She remembers safe arms around her, kisses to her temple, rough thrusts into her cunt. She remembers her hands holding onto his, his warm breath fanning her face, sweet nothings whispered in her ear. She remembers him reading to her in his low voice, in rumbling whispers that made her giggle once upon a time. She remembers and knows that Aemond did not want her to die.

Die, die, die. Aemond did not want her to-

It happens quickly.

Her foot slips and she falls, falls, falls. It is seemingly never-ending and she does not scream. She makes no noise as she sees windows and bricks zoom past her, looking at them briefly at an angle she never has before. Her shift billows above her knees and her hair flies in all directions and she falls, falls, falls…

Until she abruptly lands.

The warmth of the blood pooling below her head is a last moment of comfort for her. The last thing she sees is the blurring sight of thick, viscous blood seeping through her hair, coloring the floor red.

Not my hair, she thinks with her dying breath. Aemond loved my hair. He always thought I had beautiful hair.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

Okay sorry if I sent a double ask b/c I genuinely can’t remember whether I already sent this or just like thought about it a bunch in my head, but:

I’m the person who sent the ask saying that moon and soap reminded me of Austen and I’m losing my mind at the idea of you writing more austenian!au thoughts 🥰🥰🥰 I love the ghost stuff and I’d love to know if there’s anything you have in mind for the rest of the 141

Ps. The die x ghost fic emotionally destroyed me in the best way possible 💕

Yes yes yes, I have your ask but at risk of posting the same ask twice I am going to answer this one! Here's my pitch for Soap and Moon in the austenian!au (although I could call it a regency au)

You're not exactly a desirable match. Mostly due to your temperament than any other failing. You're of a mind that it's better to keep people at arms length before they disappoint you. As such your loving parents have taken it upon themselves to arrange a marriage for you. Fair enough, none of you particularly expect a love match. You, however, are not happy. Why should you want a man around? So you can be nagged at, complained to? So you can have someone to dig your claws into or ignore completely?

It's really only when your Soap shows up all the way from Scotland that you realize how far your parents were willing to go to make sure you couldn't fuck this up. Oh he's got a good title, good standing, good body, good jaw and voice and he tips your head and tells you you're ever so pretty. And when you bite his hand his eyes burn for you. You're desperate to find some way to get him to call off the engagement --he hardly knows you, only agreed to it over letter, it shouldn't be this hard!-- but he won't budge. He'll drag you down the aisle kicking and screaming if he has to, but he won't. No, he knows that all your barbs are defensive, he knows that you're trying to guard a fragile heart, and he's going to make this a love match.

Because he's been in love with you since he first received your portrait. Since your father described you as "difficult, but well meaning." Since he could understand what love was, and start dreaming of you.

#cod x reader #x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap modern warfare #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #I wanna suck him off under his kilt #woah who said that

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astonmartinii · 1 year

Note

if you’re down to do it i’d love a part 2 to opposites attract with mick 👀

opposites attract part two | mick schumacher social media au

part one

masterlist

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

both beloved and feared in the paddock, y/n y/ln will defend her bf until the end, no matter who it is.

(hope you all enjoy 🫡 i love this pairing)

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, mickschumacher and 477,034

tagged: mickschumacher

yourusername: chat shit, get banged

view all 85,349 comments

user49 so. fucking. iconic

mickschumacher i love you, thank you for defending our family

yourusername always <3

user99 hold on a second... our family??? we engaged?

user53 it's probably just a phrase bestie let's not get too crazy

charles_leclerc i'm so scared of you

yourusername good - you want me to swing at ferrari?

user45 truly the ride or die we all need in our lives

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel and 882,309 others

mickschumacher: family is everything ❤️

view all 83,012 comments

user49 the fact that he considers y/n family is so so cute

yourusername awww mickey !! i love you guys so much, i'd do anything for y'all xx

gina_schumacher love you all ❤️

mercedesamgf1 family 💜

user23 i'm so glad mick has someone like y/n on his side, not only defending him always but also his family xx

f1wagsupdates

liked by mickschumacher, user45 and 1,089 others

tagged: yourusername

f1wagsupdates: y/n y/ln makes her first appearance in the paddock since her incident with the paparazzi. she joined mick in the mercedes garage for the weekend - we're glad she's back !!

view all comments

user33 lmao mick in the likes he's down so bad

user88 finally some good fucking food

user21 ahhhh did y'all see ted fucking flinch when he saw her i'm glad they all know what a bad bitch she is and she'll call anyone's ass out

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, jackdoohan and 721,450 others

tagged: mickschumacher

yourusername: let's rideeeeee or whatever charli xcx said

view all 112,875 comments

user37 war is over y/n is back in the paddock i missed her so much

mickschumacher gonna make it bring your gf to work day every race from now on

yourusername sounds good to me i love the merc catering so much better than haas

user44 LMAO SHE STILL GOT THE DIG IN

estebanocon omg besties back in the paddock

yourusername este bestie !!!! i've missed you and elena need to do something asap xx

liked by mickschumacher, danielricciardo and 330,671 others

f1: host martin brundle has picked up an illness during the weekend and has chosen y/n y/ln, internet personality and host, to take over his hosting responsibilities on race day 🏁

view all 72,109 comments

user56 i love how they don't mention that she's with mick and that she is a host by trade

mickschumacher i know she'll be the best replacement ever ❤️

yourusername awwww thank you babe xxx

user48 i know this is gonna be the most chaotic grid walk ever

user11 but she'll defo ask the questions we all want to know the answer to cause this ain't her full time job who cares if sky don't like it

danielricciardo can't wait to watch it all unfold

mickschumacher

liked by estebanocon, lancestroll and 541,098 others

tagged: yourusername

mickschumacher: what a weekend for the team, but also for us!! my baby made her grid walk debut and killed it xx i love you and am so so proud of you 💘

view all 83,451 comments

user34 will it ever be my turn

user41 i confess - i think i have a parasocial relationship with these two

user78 me and you bestie

estebanocon ahhhh she was great!!

lancestroll as the kids say i think she slayed 💅

yourusername teehee thank you guys

gina_schumacher doing us all proud!!

yourusername ahhh thank you gina 💛

yourusername added to their story

[caption: getting the goods for a certain someone's birthday bash]

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 1,203,455 others

yourusername: i didn't know we had this many friends - sorry switzerland 😞

view all 223,078 comments

danielricciardo i'm never going to another party with you I AM SCARRED

maxverstappen1 you have impressive planning skills - are you open for bookings?

mickschumacher thank you very much baby (you can deal with the noise complaints)

sebastianvettel so this is what we could hear

charles_leclerc you guys are weak - i had a great time, thanks y/n and happy birthday mick !!

estebanocon i love you guys but i wish i wasn't so close to you guys how are we still cleaning up ?

yourusername because we need to make sure things are properly recycled @sebastianvettel

sebastianvettel good good (you don't have to impress me i already love you and mick together)

yourusername thank you for the validation seb

mickschumacher LESS TALKING MORE RECYCLING

mickschumacher

liked by gina_schumacher, estebanocon and 1,340,234 others

tagged: yourusername

mickschumacher: thank you for the best birthday ever babygirl! while the party is something i'll never forget, just being able to spend time with you and the rest of our family was the best thing ever. also prize for best birthday gift ever goes to you for tony the goat, i love him and the fact you got him for and i quote "to remind me of my dad and me in the future". i love you and our growing farm family

view all 301,011 comments

user48 A GOAT FOR HIS BIRTHDAY? TO REMIND HIM OF MICHAEL? FOR MICK BEING THE GOAT IN THR FUTURE? I LOVE THEM

estebanocon can't wait to meet the little guy

yourusername i love you baby - you deserve everything !!! @mercedesamgf1 paddock pass for tony when

mercedesamgf1 happy birthday mick! we're on it 🫡 (admin is scared of you)

user39 omg pls grid walk with tony would be so iconic

charles_leclerc so there was a goat at mick's house i just thought i was really drunk

sebastianvettel welcome to the farm dad life mick - happy birthday x

#f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher #mick schumacher instagram edit #mick schumacher x you

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diorsluv · 2 months

Text

feather , part 35

“ i’m up, where i’m at ”

series m. list previous chapter

slightly (ish) suggestive again, nothing extremely explicit (kind of)

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by lhughes_06, trevorzegras, rutgermcgroarty, and 300,190 others

yourusername i love my boyfriend and his silly little friends

tagged: lhughes_06, markestapa, edwards.73, mackie.samo, dylanduke25, jackhughes, _quinnhughes, trevorzegras, adamfantilli, rutgermcgroarty

view all comments

lhughes_06 why does trevor get his own picture when I’M your boyfriend

→ yourusername it’s because he’s secretly the favorite but don’t tell him i said that

→ lhughes_06 but it makes it look like you’re dating him and not me ☹️

→ yourusername lukey no it doesn’t dw

→ trevorzegras I KNEW I WAS THE FAVORITE

lhughes_06 also you’re so sappy and i love you more

→ yourusername ☺️

rutgermcgroarty “silly little friends” is crazy but we sorta love you too so we’ll let it slide

→ yourusername quit acting like you’re so indifferent to me 🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty luke would beat us up if we professed our love to you

→ lhughes_06 very true

username20 i’ve been waiting MONTHS for this to happen

username9 my cuties

adamfantilli you suck at basketball

→ yourusername it was a 3v1. you’re like 6’2. you’re all men.

→ adamfantilli and??? you would probably lose against mackie’s sisters too

→ mackie.samo is that a dig against my sisters

→ adamfantilli NO i’m just saying that she’s really bad and it doesn’t matter who she plays against 😰😰

→ mackie.samo uh huh… i got my eye on you

username77 there seems to be a recurring trend with the shopping carts..

→ username43 they just love the shopping carts

_quinnhughes burger king??

→ yourusername THE KING OF THE BURGERS 🙏

→ lhughes_06 she wanted a milkshake

→ _quinnhughes so if she wanted to drive your car into a tree would you let her

→ yourusername WHAT no why would he ever let me do that

→ lhughes_06 yes i would and then i’d just buy another car

→ yourusername LUKE NO

mackie.samo you know what would be really funny

→ yourusername i have a feeling it’s not gonna be funny

→ yourusername but go ahead

→ mackie.samo what if barclay and super why came back

→ lhughes_06 who the fuck are barclay and super why

→ lhughes_06 OH WAIT

→ yourusername god i hope not

→ mackie.samo 🫢

→ yourusername ur thinking up some devious shit aren’t u mack

→ lhughes_06 stop praying on our downfall man

luca.fantilli what the flippity flapjacks i’m not in the post

→ yourusername that’s the exact reason you’re not in the post

→ luca.fantilli MAN WHAT THE CRAP

→ yourusername stop this rn

→ adamfantilli mom and dad said they’re disowning you

→ luca.fantilli GOSH DIDDLY DARN IT 😔

→ markestapa what the fuck

username10 NO RESTRICTED COMMENTS THE DAY HAS FINALLY COME

edwards.73 i heard your back break when we all piled on top of you

→ yourusername i’m actually in the hospital rn because of your ass

→ edwards.73 aw my ass is so fat you’re in the hospital!! 😘

→ yourusername ha ha ha. 😒

→ lhughes_06 bro stop trying to seduce my girlfriend

→ edwards.73 I’M NOT THOUGH??!!

→ lhughes_06 THEN LEAVE HER ALONE

username62 tell me why that first pic is so fucking obx coded

→ username27 OH MY GOD IT IS

→ username15 YOU’RE SO RIGHT??

dylanduke25 i’m so hot

→ yourusername yes you are duker 🫶🫶

→ lhughes_06 oh ☹️

→ dylanduke25 you’re so whiny luke YOU’RE LITERALLY DATING HER

colecaufield the leafs hoodie..

→ yourusername i won’t name drop but i think you can tell who it is 😰

→ rutgermcgroarty 🫢

→ markestapa 😱

→ lhughes_06 😟

→ trevorzegras 😥

→ adamfantilli 😧

→ colecaufield WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT

→ yourusername he refuses to admit who he is

jackhughes i think my heels touched the back of my head

→ yourusername that’s an outer banks quote if i’ve ever seen one 🫡

→ lhughes_06 jj maybank dupe

→ jackhughes you wish you were a jj maybank dupe lhughes_06

→ lhughes_06 you’re not even blond 🙄

username17 how does it feel to LIVE MY DREAM luke 😔

→ yourusername i’m willing to split my love between you and luke 🫶

markestapa posting me shirtless while dating my best friend?? scandalous 😱

→ yourusername stop trying to instigate random shit mark

username98 too cute 💗

elblue6 you two never change 💖💖

→ yourusername ily mama hughes 🥰

→ lhughes_06 mom i lost a sock

_alexturcotte crazy how i’m not in ANY of the pictures 😊😊😊

→ yourusername all you boys are so needy

lhughes_06

liked by yourusername, jamie.drysdale, jackhughes, and 310,102 others

lhughes_06 my favorite dates with my girl 💘

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername stop it you’re making me blush 🤬

→ lhughes_06 that was the point baby

msamoskevich this is so unaesthetic

→ lhughes_06 like you could do better???

→ msamoskevich i could actually

→ yourusername THAT’S WHAT I KEEP TELLING HIM

→ msamoskevich babe you gotta fix your man

→ yourusername i’ll make him my little aesthetic boy don’t you worry

→ lhughes_06 should i be scared

→ msamoskevich be terrified 😍

username86 they’re actually so in love that it physically pains me

username20 horrible taste in froyo but it’s okay they’re cute together

markestapa pottery..???

→ lhughes_06 shut up it makes her happy

→ yourusername shut up it makes me happy

→ markestapa i’m shutting up because it makes you happy 🙄

→ lhughes_06 yay

→ yourusername yay

edwards.73 GO KARTS

→ lhughes_06 ik u wanna be us so bad

→ edwards.73 I DO

→ yourusername fanboy type shit

_quinnhughes you guys are always teaming up against all of us

→ lhughes_06 and???

→ yourusername you got a problem with it??

→ _quinnhughes yes i do actually

→ lhughes_06 suck it up

→ yourusername walk it off

username4 i need someone to take me on a date like luke does with our lil drizz

username31 those toppings…

trevorzegras 🤮

→ lhughes_06 😑

→ yourusername ☹️

→ jackhughes 🤮

→ _quinnhughes 🤮

→ rutgermcgroarty 🤮

→ markestapa 🤮

→ _alexturcotte 🤮

→ jamie.drysdale 🤮

→ luca.fantilli 🤮

→ mackie.samo 🤮

→ adamfantilli 🤮

→ dylanduke25 🤮

→ edwards.73 🤮

→ colecaufield 🤮

→ lhughes_06 goddammit

adamfantilli god i hate you both

→ lhughes_06 🤯

→ yourusername the feeling is mutual!!! 😘

→ lhughes_06 why the kissy face 🤨🤨

→ yourusername I’M SORRY

→ lhughes_06 it’s okay 😁

username22 MY CUTIES

username15 gross yuck barf vomit (oh my god he’s so in love)

username49 buy the ring rn luke.

rutgermcgroarty if you don’t stop posting about each other holy shit

→ lhughes_06 me and my girl at your service 🫡

→ yourusername me and my man at your service 🫡

→ rutgermcgroarty do you just copy everything he says

→ yourusername do you just get on my nerves to piss me off

→ rutgermcgroarty i can’t believe you just found that out

dylanduke25 you should see our dms

→ lhughes_06 oh god

→ yourusername THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH OUR DMS

→ dylanduke25 yeah except you complain to me every time he breathes in a girl’s direction

→ yourusername THATS NOT TRUE

→ lhughes_06 awww you’re jealous?

→ yourusername NO

→ lhughes_06 it’s okay to be a little jealous sometimes i know it’s hard

→ yourusername SHUT UP I DONT GET JEALOUS

luca.fantilli WE GET IT UR DATING

→ lhughes_06 WE GET IT UR JEALOUS

→ luca.fantilli 🖕

username57 pop quiz who hates dryshughes the most

→ lhughes_06 trick question they all hate us equally

jamie.drysdale my sister won’t stop talking about you MAKE HER SHUT UP

→ lhughes_06 i have a lot of ways i can shut her up

→ jamie.drysdale OH GOD EW NO GROSS

→ yourusername LUKE

→ _quinnhughes LUKE

→ jackhughes LUKE

→ lhughes_06 WHAT ITS NOT LIKE IM LYING

mackie.samo IS THAT GO KARTING DATE THE REASON SHE SKIPPED OUR WEEKLY SPONGEBOB MARATHON

→ lhughes_06 ……….no……?

→ mackie.samo LUKE WARREN HUGHES

→ lhughes_06 THERES NO NEED FOR THE GOVERNMENT NAME

colecaufield aw you two are adorable

→ lhughes_06 you’re like the uncle no one invited to the family reunion

→ colecaufield absolutely uncalled for

→ yourusername LUKEY WHAT

→ lhughes_06 that was a bit mean i apologize

→ colecaufield just a bit huh???

jackhughes apparently mom shows dad every single post you make about lil drizz

→ lhughes_06 i know he keeps texting me about it

→ _quinnhughes he has like 20 burner accounts so he can like all your posts

→ lhughes_06 wait WHAT

→ lhughes_06 is that who keeps liking my posts like a second after i post them

username83 remember the song quoting era yall were so cute trying to be slick

username50 wondering when luke will finally start sharing his gf

→ lhughes_06 never

_alexturcotte so you’re like her uber driver

→ lhughes_06 i guess so

→ _alexturcotte you guess so?? 😭

→ lhughes_06 i mean i’m also like her golfer

→ _alexturcotte golfer????

→ lhughes_06 i fill her holes up pretty good too

this reply has been deleted

→ yourusername LUKE WHAT THE FUCK

→ jackhughes bro we all saw that

→ markestapa THERES NO POINT IN DELETING IT CUZ TURCS SENT A SS IN THE GC

→ trevorzegras YOU’RE NOT FUCKING SLICK MY DUDE

→ lhughes_06 maybe i’m not but she is fs trevorzegras

→ rutgermcgroarty UR JUST MAKING IT WORSE MAN

→ jamie.drysdale GOOD FUCKING LORD THATS MY SISTER

→ adamfantilli WHAT THE HELLLLL 🗣️

series m. list notes ) so TECHNICALLY this is the epilogue and the last chapter of the feather au (it doesn’t really feel like it is) but i mean i’m ofc going to be open to you guys sending requests and thoughts about my dryshughes babies because we all love them too much and i might also add more bonus chapters like later on and stuff but yeah!! i guess this is the end… for now 😈

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys@loveforaugust@cstads-blog@h0e4fictionalme-n@bunting58

#luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #mark estapa #ethan edwards #mackie samoskevich #dylan duke #luca fantilli #adam fantilli #rutger mcgroarty

325 notes · View notes

formulapai · 2 months

Text

THE MUSES BY YOUR SIDE PT2

a Lance Stroll social media AU

scenario: the “history of literature”’s student taking over instagram slowly attracts a driver, curious about beautiful words and dazzling writings. OR how to fall in love through poems and handwritten letters.

warnings:

pai’s words: sorry for the delay 😭😭 I’ve been so busy lately and posting fics and all is so overwhelming to me so uh yeah sorry

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by user1, estebanocon and others

romanticalliope: A birthday filled with sun rays and bright smiles, surrounded by the ones helping me to see beauty in the tiniest things. Sparkling drinks and hazy minds laughing through the night and, no doubts, disturbing the deities above. The sky will remember this as the purest form of happiness.

(Third picture is The Louvre🤍)

user1: happiest birthday Callie !!

user2: woooow happy birthday !

user3: Joyeux anniversaire 🤍

estebanocon: Joyeux anniversaire Callie, tu me manques 😉🤍 on fête ça ensemble bientôt ! (Happy birthday Callie, i miss you. We’re celebrating together soon!)

romanticalliope: Merci Estie ! 🤍 parfait, t’en profiteras pour me présenter ta dulcinée hein 🥳😉 (Thanks Estie! Perfect, I’ll finally meet your lover girl then)

lance_stroll: Joyeux anniversaire :) (Happy birthday)

romanticalliope: Merci Lance 🤍 (Thanks Lance)

INTERVIEW AVEC ESTEBAN OCON, VAINQUEUR DU GRAND PRIX DE PAU 2014

“- First of all, congrats on P1 ! We’ve heard the crowd go crazy, how does it feel to know that so many people are cheering for you ?

- Thank you ! That was an amazing race, a lot of energy coming from my rivals but, as you just said, from the crowd as well. It’s truly thanks to all of this that i could climb on this podium, it’s this energy that carries us all and helps us do our best.

- There’s also the persons close to you, present and cheering for you, I’m sure it’s the main reason you’re able to do your best, right ? And with how much they cheered, we can assure you that they are proud of you !

- Totally ! I was able to see my family and my best friend shortly when i climbed out of the car, it’s really huge for me to see them so happy, so proud of me after each races, no matter the result ! So thanks Mum, thanks Dad, thanks Callie and all the others.”

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by user4, estebanocon and others

romanticalliope: Hi loves :) I’ve been seeing a lot of things on social medias lately, mostly about me and my friendship with Esteban. I’d like to kindly remind you that I am not ok with some of you searching and finding pictures of me, only to post them. I’ve always asked you to let me have my privacy and you’ve always been so comprehensive and kind, but sadly, as more people’s interest got piqued, people who are not familiar with me, it got slightly out of hand. I’d really appreciate if if you could stop trying to dig into my life and posting what you find online, especially since as you can probably see, it’s not even interesting nor it is exciting. Thank you for understanding my dears 🤍

1. Miguel Carbonell Selva, Death of Sappho

2. Reinhold Begas, Mercury and Psyche

user4: kinda sus that she wants to protect her identity so much 🤔🤔

user3: it’s her right tho ??? not everyone on social medias wants to be scrutinized lol

user5: your kitty is the cutest thing !! 🥹 what’s its name ?

user6: hey !! her name is Gaia 🥰 she’s the sweetest, if you want to see more of her, there’s a highlight story section dedicated to her on Callie’s account !

user5: thanks a lot !!!

user7: don’t worry darling, we’re all behind you !! hope you’re fine despite it all, love you 🫶

romanticalliope: Thank you, love 🤍

romanticalliope just posted a story!

seen by lance_stroll, user8 and others

lance_stroll: 🥰

user9: THE LETTER !!!!!!

user10: i love love it

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 #f1 social media au #f1 smau #lance stroll smau #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll #lance stroll social media au

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redrose10 · 4 months

Text

Alright here is Chapter 5! Originally it was supposed to be a much shorter chapter but I didn’t like the way it flowed so I changed it up. There are still a few more chapters to go!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 3,016

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Yoongi had started making an effort. It was small but you did notice little things like the tea kettle already filled when you got up in the morning and he’d text you to ask how your day was going. He didn’t seem to be bringing home women any more either but you knew he had other ways of accomplishing that so you were still skeptical.

Yoongi walked through the door after a particularly hard day. His company was denied the patent that they desperately needed to move forward on a new project costing them millions of dollars and precious time. He of course got chewed out over it by the entire board and it soured his mood for the rest of the day. He just wanted to get home, take a shower, have a glass of whiskey, and get in bed.

When he entered his home he heard loud music blaring through the speakers. He recognized the song as some girl group but he’d never cared enough to actually pay attention. It was catchy though. But what really caught his eye was you dancing around the kitchen in a white T-shirt that was just long enough to barely cover your backside. Your hair up in a messy bun. Your hips swayed to the music as you stirred something in a pot before returning to the cutting board. He watched you for a few seconds admiring your beauty. How you sang along to the song somewhat off key but still managed to sound beautiful. He did deserve the scolding he got earlier because he truly was an idiot. An idiot that had someone like you right there practically handed to him and he tried his best to ruin it all.

Slowly he walked over and cleared his throat, “It smells really good in here. What did you make?”

You were startled nearly jumping a foot in the air as you didn’t expect him to be home so early, “Oh Namjoon’s mom gave me a recipe for Jajangmyeon so I wanted to try it out.” Yoongi knew you hadn’t spoken to his mother since the wedding but here you were exchanging recipes with another man’s mom. That stung. “Would you like some?”, you asked almost certain he’d turn you down like every other time but to your shock he nodded, “Yeah sure. Sounds good.”

Placing the bowl in front of him he immediately took a huge bite.

“This is amazing Y/N. Best I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.”, you replied before digging into your own bowl. The two of you made light conversation over dinner. It felt domestic and while this was what you’d always wanted it created a fear in you that eventually this would all come crashing down and be worse than before.

He ate the bowl in no time and even asked for seconds. Once you were both finished he offered to clean up and wash the dishes. You stared at him in disbelief causing him to stop what he was doing and look up at you. “What?”, he asked like what he was doing was completely normal.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded, “Yeah I’m fine. Why?”

“Well I’m just waiting for you to tell me you got someone pregnant or like you’re dying or something.”

Yoongi chuckled and for the first time you saw his gummy smile. “I just thought I’d help you out since you made that delicious meal.” You gave a small smile, “Oh okay. Well thank you.” Quickly you made your way back to your room to hideout until he went to bed. You fully expected to wake up and realize this was all a dream.

After that night things between you and Yoongi stayed pretty weird. Technically they were pretty normal for a married couple but for the two of you it was strange.

He started eating dinner with you at least once a week sometimes more. Some mornings you’d wake up to him making breakfast. The two of you never spoke much but ate in comfortable silence. One day he even insisted that he accompany you and Namjoon to the opening of a new art museum claiming that he didn’t want rumours to circulate about the two of you but the way he placed his arm around you any time Namjoon got a little too close for his liking told you differently.

Things peaked at weirdness on a chill October night. It was the annual Min Gala and the first big event that you and Yoongi would be attending together. There had been other smaller gatherings here and there but nothing of this level. The Min Gala was known globally for its luxury and grandeur while pulling in celebrities and royalty from around the world, and you were now going. Which is why you were currently staring at yourself in the full length mirror you had purchased for your room. The outfit, something Jimin had picked, a velvet navy blue floor length dress with a deep v cut in the front and a slit on the right side that almost went up to your hip. Even you had to admit that you looked incredible. While admiring yourself you heard Yoongi lightly knocked at the door, “Y/N we seriously have to get going. We’re gonna be late.” Not wanting to make him angry you grabbed your clutch and swung open the door not expecting him to still be standing there.

He looked you up and down with wide eyes. “Y-You look very nice.”, he stuttered. You gave a shy smile back, “You look very nice yourself.” He then lead the way for you two out to the waiting car.

When the driver pulled up to the event you went into panic mode. There must’ve been 100 photographers along with hundreds of other various personnel. You were very out of your element. Yoongi could sense your uneasiness. “I know it’s a lot Y/N but keep your head up and just look ahead. I’ll be there with you through the whole thing.” You nodded as the car door opened. Yoongi stepped out first then turned and gave you his hand to help you out also. He placed a hand on your lower back and started quickly but gently ushering you through the crowd. You did your best to politely ignore the various questions being thrown at you while also trying your best not to trip due to the blinding lights. Once inside you felt a rush of relief. One of the staff members came over and grabbed your coats while a waiter brought you a glass of champagne which you happily downed.

You fully expected Yoongi to run off to the first woman that looked his way and leave you to fend for yourself but surprisingly be stayed by your side until an older gentleman came over asking to speak with him for a bit. Yoongi excused himself and told you he’d be back shortly as business needed to be handled.

You weren’t alone long though before Jimin slid over wrapping you in a big hug and catching you up on all the gossip you missed. He was in the middle of telling you a story about his trip when another presence walked up next to you. The man looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. Luckily Jimin stepped right in to introduce you, “Oh Y/N please meet one of my really good friends. This is Taehyung.” The man gave you a big boxy smile before reaching out to shake your hand, “Hi Y/N, It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”, you smiled. Taehyung was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. He had soft black hair that had some natural curls which fell perfectly. Smooth skin and beautiful eyes. He was dressed impeccably. His outift a dark purple three piece suit. It reminded you a lot of the dark green suit Yoongi had on the day you met him and that’s when it hit you. You were talking to the famous fashion designer and owner of KTVY, a very prominent fashion line that had quickly entered the same ranks as well known brands like Dior or Versace.

You spoke with Jimin and Taehyung for a while listening to their various escapades. Taehyung playfully pouted when he realized you weren’t wearing one of his designs and Jimin being the one that picked it out made him pout even deeper. Taehyung started grabbing at your dress talking about the low quality and how he would’ve made a nicer dress for you. It was clear he was a very hands on person but you felt comfortable with him. “Looks like someone’s jealous.”, Jimin leaned over whispering into your ear. Glancing over your shoulder you spotted Yoongi staring back at you while ignoring the man next to him expressively talking with his hands. Instead of his trademark unreadable expression he actually looked angry and it made you feel a certain kind of way.

When he was finally able to break free from the conversation with his business partner Yoongi walked over and pulled you into him before placing a kiss on your cheek, “Come on Y/N. Let go find my parents.” As you were being drug away you quickly waved goodbye to Jimin and Taehyung missing the way they both rolled their eyes and giggled to each other like teenage girls. After your meeting with Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi’s mood for the rest of the evening seemed to change. He refused to leave your side. Every ten minutes he’d tell you how beautiful you looked, the most beautiful woman in the world. He also decided to start trying to mask his anger by downing Jack and Cokes like they were water.

Eventually you were able to cut him off and convince him that it was time to go home so there you were waiting for the driver to pull up while you did your best to hold up the swaying Yoongi. Luckily you were able to sneak out the back so no one other than a few kitchen staff saw you. Once in the car you started digging around looking for a bucket or bag or anything incase Yoongi’s body decided to rid itself of the alcohol on the way home. Just as you reached to look in one of the cabinets you felt hands grabbing your waist pulling on you and you fell back onto the seat next to Yoongi.

He started nuzzling his face into your neck mumbling something you couldn’t quite understand. “Here you need to sit up.”, you said while doing your best to push him over. He looked at you with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.

“You are not going to feel good tomorrow morning. This is gonna be the hangover of all hangovers.”

He scoffed, “Yeah well I can’t feel any worse than I did earlier.”

“What do you mean?”, you asked while searching the car for a bottle of water you knew he needed.

“The way Taehyung looked you up and down and the way he had his hands all over you. I’m gonna kill Jimin. I told him not to introduce the two of you.”

You snorted at his remark. Yoongi looked over at you, “I’m serious. And after I kill him he’s fired too.” You just laughed it off. You were like 99% sure Yoongi wouldn’t do either but you made a mental note to text Jimin later and give him a warning.

Once you were standing outside your penthouse door you were fumbling with the code while trying to keep Yoongi standing upright and you were really regretting not taking the help from the driver when he offered. Even though Yoongi had a small frame he was surprisingly heavy and the fact that he had zero control right now was not helping. After finally getting Yoongi in the door you started walking him towards the kitchen to get some water and some food in his system when suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. Within seconds he had you pushed up against the wall with his arms on either side caging you in while using the wall to brace himself. Slowly he placed kisses starting behind your ear and trailing down towards your cleavage.

“Fuck that Kim Taehyung. I’m never buying shit from him again.”

You chuckled at his whiny statement before Yoongi grabbed your hips pulling you flush against him as he continued to pepper kisses all over any visible skin he could reach.

He moved his left hand to your lower back while his right hand slowly started moving down your hip to the slit in your dress that he gently started to toy with. “Y/N, I don’t know how you did this to me. I wanted to hate you so bad. I wanted to hate our situation. I tried so hard to prevent you from breaking down my walls but I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to love you and I’m scared because I think I’m starting to.”, he mumbled between kisses. He began to tease the lace of the black underwear that you had on and that’s when you broke out of your haze and stopped him.

He was drunk and you were sober and even though he initiated all of this it felt like taking advantage of him and there was also a part of you that was worried once he sobered up he’d regret everything and his words would mean northing.

“Come on Drunky. Let’s get you to bed.”, you said pulling him down the hall. He looked around the room confused, “Who the hell is Drunky?”, which earned a big eye roll on your part. You help him get undressed and put him in the bed. You tried to leave to go get some water and some pain killers but he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the bed next to him, “Please stay with me. Every time you walk away from me I worry it’ll be the last time I ever see you.” Again you remembered that this was just the liquor talking and in the morning he’d probably be upset that you were even in his room. You nodded and laid in the bed so he rested his head on your chest as you began to run your fingers through his hair hoping it would soothe him to sleep faster.

Thankfully it worked like a charm because he was asleep within minutes and you quickly got the supplies you were looking for before setting them down next to his bed for easy access when he woke up the next morning.

You pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and did a double check once again to make sure that he had everything he would need before heading over to the door.

You stopped when you noticed a bottle sitting on his dresser. It was beautiful and very ornate. A matte red glass bottle with a gold topper. In big intricate letters it read ‘Solace, A Comforting Fragrance by KTVY’. You chuckled at the irony that this was his choice of cologne. Gently you popped open the top and the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla hit you and a wave of memories of the last year came flooding back. Taking a look over at the man who was now softly snoring you felt anxious and uncertain about the future. You knew how to handle cold cheating asshole Yoongi. That was easy. But this new Yoongi, the one who’s been trying to improve and who claims he’s falling in love, you don’t know how to move forward without getting hurt more than you already have been.

Placing the bottle back in its spot you walked out gently closing the door behind you.

The next morning Yoongi woke up with a massive headache. After downing the glass of water and pain killers he took a quick shower and walked out into the kitchen. You greeted him with a smile and placed a large plate of food down in front of him, “Here this is called Y/N’s happy hangover special. You need the grease and carbs. There’s also hot coffee ready for you but you need to finish a glass of water first.”

He smiled and began to dig into the food letting you know how good it was. He watched you walk over and water the blue hydrangea plant that he had delivered a few weeks ago. He thought back to that morning. He wasn’t sure what was more beautiful, the flowers themselves or the way your face lit up when you saw them.

Then like a bad flashback the events of the night before came back to him. How he was filled with jealousy watching Taehyung touch you. How he used alcohol to try and extinguish the flames that burned inside of him. The way he kissed you and grabbed at you like a horny teenager. How he told you he was falling in love with you. It was all true.

You hadn’t mentioned any of it yet though which concerned him. He thought maybe he’d upset you or took it too far too fast. He was worried that you didn’t take his words seriously and assumed they were only spoken thanks to his drunk state of mind.

He wanted to tell you all of that same stuff now, while sober, and maybe have a deeper more thorough discussion. He cleared his throat, “Umm Y/N, about last ni-.”

*Ding*

Checking your phone you saw a text from Jimin letting you know he was outside.

“Hey Yoongi I have to get going. I’m hanging out with Jimin today. Don’t wait up.”

“Oh okay.”

Grabbing your purse you ran out the door without looking back.

He bit his lip staring at the space you were no longer occupying. “I deserve that.”, he whispered before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi fic #yoongi x y/n #arranged marriage au #bts fanfic #cinnamon&vanilla #yoongi au #yoongi

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

A NOOSE TO HANG ONTO (III)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death, weapons, violence, suggestive thoughts/comments, toxic modeling standards, food issues, etc. (Series 18+)

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

Sometimes you wonder if meeting your soulmate would even matter—it would never fix the void in your heart, you know. It would be foolish to think that it would.

But there is such a drug attached to being loved as you are, despite your flaws and failings, destined to be tied in a game of commitment. Yet the simple fact showed that, while soulmates were able to bring you color, that didn’t change people's nature.

Even among those tied pairs, divorce was rampant; assaults, and murders as well.

Soulmate Psychosis, it was called. When your mind broke from having it all figured out, or even when you knew it was falling apart.

It happened to your father and it happened to millions of other spouses too. When your entire life is already decided when you look at someone, it can be…a lot.

So, part of you was happy that you’d never know who yours was unless they told you themselves—you can hope and pray that they stay their tongue and give you a chance to fall for them naturally. Because it scared you, truly, becoming like all of the rest. A statistic.

Lord, don’t let yourself become a statistic.

Nikto silently walks at your heels as you push through the front doors of your penthouse, taking off your ball cap and stuffing it into your jacket pocket.

The man at the front desk calls to you, and you raise a hand in greeting, sliding a soft smile his way.

“Seraph!” Isaak has been working at this building for as long as you can remember—the man with grayish hair and dark eyes. A face that was sharp and a nose crooked; like a chocolate-chip cookie, dark splotches along his face led to the impression of freckles.

The man was slightly older than you, lanky, and always dressed luxuriously.

“Having a good day, Isaak? Has that girl come back and given you her number yet?” You slow your pace to the elevator, digging into your pocket and peeling out one of the keys from your lanyard for your floor. You nearly drop the thing before you snap and catch onto the metal quickly. Nikto lets off something like an annoyed growl behind you at the interruption from the man across the room.

He’s impatient, you hum and send him a little glance over your shoulder. Light eyes dig with a warning. You only chuckle and shake your head calmly. One would think that for a PMC he would have all the patience in the world.

“You know I keep trying to get her to go away,” Isaak smiles at you. “The only woman I’d accept a number from is you, my Little Angel.”

Where the flirtatious comments had gotten you into bed with the man before, now they just didn’t strike you as they had before. Not…anymore.

You clear your throat and blink away for a moment before you school your expression back to an easy malleability.

“Good try.” Your focus goes back to the keys, fingers jerkily sifting through them.

Isaak’s brows furrow at your form, perhaps a bit of offense making his face twist—dark eyes slip down your body; pupils dilating.

A black form steps slightly forward, a large shoulder blocking you from view in one firm movement. Like some wolf with its neck fur standing on end, Nikto’s head is lightly bent down; eyes so intense that they render Isaak frozen in a sense of internal instincts warring with one another.

Nikto doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound—only stares and doesn't blink, immobile as a stone.

The soft music of the lobby blurs to the sound of a heart pounding.

You don’t even notice, humming when you find the correctly marked key from its slate mass and moving forward to press the illuminated button of the elevator.

“Oh!” Your mind pulls itself back to the present and away from letters and fire. “Isaak, this is Nikto—he’ll be…” A pause, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you okay?”

The man looks like he’s about to piss himself.

Without another word, Isaak scurries into the backroom, the door hitting so hard closed behind him that you flinch slightly and blink in shock. Standing for a moment, you tilt your head slowly right before the elevator dings, signaling you can enter.

Nikto suddenly grabs the meat of your arm and moves you inside.

“Woah!” You call, huffing. “Careful!”

“Inside,” the PMC grumbles, eyes tight and beady.

Your feet stumble when he lets you go, having to steady yourself on the back railing so you don’t fall over and hit your face on the floor. A sharp look is leveled at Nikto as he drops his duffel bag to the ground and hooks his arms at the collar of his rig, grunting and shifting his legs to set himself.

Blinking rapidly, you sigh out a fast breath.

“You know,” you begin, slotting your key into the plaque that says your floor number, twisting, and then taking a step back. Eyes darting to your side, you ease out slyly. “I’m sure people would like you more if you had the ability to articulate what you’re feeling. I’m getting the sense that you carry your emotions around like you’re trying to choke someone out.”

Nikto glares ahead, a brick wall of nothing but a harsh breath.

You smile softly and chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get you into shape in no time.” Pale eyes slowly slide to your face and Nikto’s dead gaze stays there—brows in such a straight line it’s like looking at a statue. “I always do.”

While being around your mom led you to a subdued state, you had no trouble easing back into your usual route of subtle flirting; it was natural to you, even after traumatic events. A cushion, if you will. It felt good to still be able to regulate yourself and have some level of control over your life.

The three bodies and the Stalker, that senseless shadow, still haunt the back of your eyelids but having a distraction in the light was helping. Something new to focus on.

“We need copy,” Nikto glares at you, ignoring your soft tone.

As the elevator rises incredibly high, you hum in question, smile flicking to a confused frown. He grits his teeth under his mask.

“The key, Whelp, да?” Your eyes spark.

“Oh, sure,” you shrug. “I don’t have one.”

Nikto’s shoulders move back, blinking at you quickly. “You…” he trails off into a snarl of Russian. A hand comes up from his side to harshly dig into the bridge of his hidden nose.

You have to restrain a wide smile, the muscles in your face twitching.

When the doors open, you’re led into the sight of your safe place—an entire world away from the one outside the half-closed blinds of an opposite wall of all windows.

“I’ll order you one,” you try to reassure Nikto, sending him a side glance as you let all of the tension leak out of you as you step inside. “No worries.”

The man follows, jaw tense, as he stoops down and swipes up his bag.

“How is it that you do not have a second key?” Nikto’s eyes dart around the living room, not showing the slight way he’s taken aback by the size of everything and the design choice.

It was certainly…unique.

High mass, there were knickknacks on nearly every surface—a far-off ceiling due to the open second level where the rooms must be. There were hanging beads from the stairs, and plants that grew large and verdant; Nitko blinked at paintings on nearly every surface of the visible wall. A hanging chandelier that emits light over the antique-looking furniture of wood and velvet.

Even a taxidermy deer head, with its antlers holding jewelry that glints rich and luxurious. Books and painted bits of the walls that were near sheer fabric draped as an accessory from the top of bookshelves.

“Sorry for the mess,” you utter, sincerely, “if I’d been told that you were going to be staying here, I would have gotten the spare room ready.”

The kitchen is simple and mixed in with the living room in the form of a large island piled with magazines and notebooks.

You sigh and look around, wrapping your arms around your waist as you glance around the space. Not a stranger to the confused looks you’d get from your style.

Aly described it as a fairy tale. A hut in the woods holding secrets and magic. So different than what AMA had you displayed as—a cold angel of white and sharp feathers.

A product of some great lust machine.

“Just wait until he sees the loft,” you murmur, thinking about all of the various fabrics and tailored clothes you’d had in the open space directly when you walk up the stairs. The Dress Form torso mannequins wearing dresses you’d made with pricked fingers and shaky nerves.

You hoped he hadn’t met his Soulmate, because you’re sure it’s a hideous mess of colors up there. The thought makes you pause, and you realize you haven’t asked that question to yourself yet.

Did Nikto see color?

“No need,” Nikto immediately returns to his stoic monotone at your concern over the state of things. “I make do. Step aside.”

Slipping off your shoes, you place them in the old claw foot parlor table you’d made into your entryway storage, glancing at the void as he walks around your creaky wooden floors with his heavy boots.

“Shoes,” you remind, voice light.

The beast halts, his back to you halfway onto your handmade Persian rugs. You watch his fingers twitch around his duffel bag straps, as you go to close your secondary door; hiding the gaping wound in the building as the elevator leaves. A soft click emanates just as the man grunts lowly and lets his bag slam to the floor.

In one movement, the Russian bends down and unlaces his boots in firm and quick motions, grabbing them and turning like a puppet on a string. He plants them next to yours on the parlor table and sends you a tight look with hard eyes.

Nikto’s accent flares in his quick comment. “You are strange, Girl.”

You hum and shift out of your jacket, folding it and placing it atop the shoes.

“Oh, so I’m strange because I don’t want you tracking dirt on my clean rugs? The people you live around must be slobs.”

“We do not live around others.”

You blink, staring into his eyes as your skin pulls lightly. “Then I’m sorry. That must be very lonely.”

Nikto’s muscles tense under his gear, great thighs hardening. He growls low after a moment of stiffly watching you. “I do not need pity, certainly not from you,” and then stalks off, leaving his bag in the foyer.

Lips slightly parted, you let him walk away and snoop, taking account of the rooms and the layout for his own needs. Sighing, you rub at the back of your head before letting your hand drop back down, pulling at the fabric of your turtle neck.

You couldn’t deny that you found Nikto physically attractive—the large stature and built frame made your neurons fire, how he loped along with his bulky gear. Sure, that was natural, and despite the attitude, you did feel secure around him. He had an extensive record for a reason, and your mother would only include the best in her decisions.

It also attested to the fact that you didn’t find his aggression at all fear-inducing if that made any sense at all. To everyone else, he would be the pinnacle of an axe murderer, but, for some reason, he didn’t feel like that to you. A bit loose, sure, but the knowledge that this man was entirely mission-driven sat well with you.

It confused you—why did you not entirely mind having him around?

I can live with this, you tell yourself, brushing off your sweatpants and telling yourself not to think of the bakery or about Sergi, Yefim, or Petya; Aleksandr.

But when all that’s moved away like a curtain in front of the window, the view still remains.

The Stalker.

You still couldn’t rationalize it. How could someone do that? Be so bold and brute-like? And it was all over you.

Never had you been overconfident in yourself—you knew you had the looks and the money, the ability to do what few people could, but that had never gotten into your head. It was common knowledge that every model had a shelf-life and yours would probably end sooner than later if this kept up.

Any damage to your flesh that left long-term scarring was an instant dismissal. No negative press for AMA, either.

In all of this, you were walking a very thin path of horror and reality, like a show at a circus. And you of all people know you can’t walk in a straight line.

The overwhelming feeling of being hunted was setting in and you were entirely in the woods with blood poured over your body; weighing down a dress of linen and calling the beasts to feast upon your flesh with a ravaging appetite.

Swallowing the bile in your throat, you quickly go to find where Nikto had slinked off to, suddenly very cold and not liking the silence. On the way, you flick at your record player, and the old rusty thing spits out Clair De Lune as the glass sun catchers shaped like stars glimmer from the loft’s beams.

“Nikto?” You call in question, looking around before you murmur to yourself. “Where did you get to?”

Carefully grabbing the railing to the stairs, you watch your feet as you slowly ascend, piano music in the background; fingers tight and hard as you slide it up one at a time. You only knock your foot once, two steps from the top, but quickly recover with only a huff and a tiny chuckle.

Nikto walks through the top seating area filled with your materials and fabric, glancing at every book and measuring device that you have; the half-finished pieces. You blink and watch, wondering what he’s thinking as he clicks his tongue before walking to the first door and pushing it open. Your eyes slightly widen at that.

“Well, you sure do like making yourself at home,” your voice calls to the dark figure, and you shake your head. You begin following as if he is showing you around your place and not the other way around.

“I am doing my job.” Nikto’s voice spits out from the opening as you shuffle in. He glances around the small guest bedroom quickly. “Your home is cluttered.” The Russian mutters. “Messy.”

“I call it controlled chaos.” You ease, hands slipping into your pockets beside your phone and wallet. “You’ll find I’m fond of shiny things.”

“We can tell.” Head tilting, you restrain yourself from asking why he keeps referring to himself in the first person like that.

“You’re free to take this room if you want.” There are three doors that make up the separate walls—the one you’d both just walked through, one to the adjoining library and joint bathroom, and the other to your master bedroom with a respective master bath.

All connected to one another like a train car.

Nikto grunts and slips his eyes to the bits of personalization you’d left, though not as much as the rest of the penthouse. The bed was a Full size, there was a desk with bits of lush greenery coming off from a planter, and storage for clothes in the form of a large wardrobe you’d found in an antique store.

Classy, you thought, however, your standards for decoration weren’t the pinnacle of design. A set of Russian nesting dolls from your mother was put onto shelves, and in one of the corners, a hanging oil lamp sat above a nightstand.

Gray plush duvet and a fluffy rug you were told was purple when Alyona stayed over, with large pillows that looked like bear fur.

“Again,” you send a glance to the blank stare that Nikto keeps on you. “I didn’t know you were staying over.”

“It is… sufficient.” Gruff and final, though with an air of annoyed disgust, the Russian goes into the library second to last and then heads into your room with his broad back expanding; leaving a trail of authority in his wake.

Under your breath, you quietly mock him before rolling your eyes and following. For all this, you ended up being correct. Nikto was a good distraction.

The first thing that he notices is the stuffed animals.

They take up most of the window nook, some incredibly large and fluffy while others are small and could be crushed in his palm, even sitting atop one another if the space allowed. Nikto blinks at the sight of a very large bear plushie with a small bird on the head—little felt feet sticking out in front of it.

You clear your throat, the hot embarrassment flooding your face as your smile turns sheepish.

“Just…uhm…it’s just a little bit of an addiction.” Like the rest of the house, that fairy tale feeling emanates here as well—fancy curtain holders, old tea cups holding palm-sized pewter statues, paintings, and stained-glass lamps from the nineteen hundreds.

Pale eyes tilt their gaze down to you, silent as always.

“But at least it’s not drugs!” You push out quickly, awkwardly chuckling and shrugging your shoulders.

Your feet shift from under you, the large room that you call your own not something you planned on having to describe today. There was something incredibly intimate about letting someone into your house—someone you didn’t know especially.

Nikto puffs a bit of air in something akin to a scoff, turning his head away from you but not after a slight quirk of his brow.

“Are you sure you are not on drugs?” You snap up to stare at him, falling silent for a moment as he turns and leaves.

Gaping, you stutter, slightly amused, “W-was that a joke, Nikto?” He doesn’t answer and a slow smile grows on your lips. “Hey! C’mon did you just make a joke? Awe,” you coo, “I really am good at this!”

“Stop talking.” Nikto snarls, glaring as he goes down to the ground level. “You are making my ears hurt.”

You hurry to the stairs, following after with a steady mood, chuckling.

“If you’re going to be my glorified roommate, I think talking is part of the—” A sharp gasp rips from you as your leg hits on the banister, your foot locked through the metal as you yelp loudly at the sudden pain. In a quick tilt your vision slides, a swift sensation of gravity taking over as your body takes you tumbling backwards.

You tense mid-air, mind already made up about the incoming pain of your head knocking off the hard material, your skull rattling and splitting open; blood and brain matter spilling out to coat the—

Arms snap around your waist, legs still on the top half of the stairs and back hitting a large chest as you grunt in surprise; eyes blinking wildly.

Heart hammering, your head quickly looks up only to find the piercing eyes of Nikto burning down into you. Your nose brushes his face mask, the harsh fabric of the lover half pressing into yours.

You both stay there for a moment, Nikto’s blazing gaze unphased, it seemed, by the close contact. Inside of your gut, your stomach flips, and a tightness flares in your lungs.

Upon the air, your voice stutters out, tiny, “M-my bad.” You accent it with a helpless chuckle.

Nikto’s breath brushes over your forehead, and with a quick jerk of his arms you’re set back up on top of the stares. Even here, you meet the man’s height perfectly—him a few steps below you yet still a giant.

“This will be a problem, yes?” Nikto barks out. You steady yourself on the railing and take a deep breath. “You. You are…” His eyes twitch as if trying to find the correct word in English. He grunts to himself, fingers twitching.

You tilt your head, still calming down. Your throat is tight at the heat that still emanates from where Nikto’s hands had wrapped around you.

“...Shaky?”

“Hm,” Nikto doesn’t seem like that word fits best, but he nods once firmly, folding his arms over his chest and never once releasing you from his stare. Studying you as a monster does a maiden. “Да.”

You jerkily shrug, rubbing at your neck with one hand.

“Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you,” your lips tilt in an amiable smile—trying to play off what you say as you continue. Nikto’s body goes still, yet his attention never leaves. His eyes narrow. “I should have told you when we met, but you were, eh,” you chuckle, looking away for a moment. “Pretty quick with wanting to leave.”

A strained silence falls; an unknown emotion in the air.

“I—” Your voice is cut off by your phone vibrating from inside of your pocket, and with your hand snapping to that general area, you blink in surprise. “Oh.”

Fishing it out with awkward fingers, you find the illuminated screen and a text from Alyona calling up to you.

‘Video call w AMA & managers. 5 min. Be ready!’

“Shit,” you mutter, immediately going into your professional headspace.

But before you can rush off to grab your computer and slap makeup on your face, Nikto’s hand yanks your phone from your grasp. Blinking at your empty palm, your face darts up with a swift offense growing.

“Nikto!”

“Quiet.” The man taps into your contacts and you watch helplessly as he begins slashing in his own number with his digits firmly pressing in hard intervals to the keypad.

Huffing, you shake your head and leave him there to do what he needs to do, not overprotective of a device and more concerned with the time constraint that was leveled like a noose around your neck.

You had to look somewhat good for the call, after all, they could be waiting to tell you you’re fired.

They wouldn’t do that with Alyona there, you reason as you narrowly dodge running onto a side table before you enter your room again, though this time from the main door. Not the managers either.

Your lips pull straight.

But if the CEO was on call, then you’d have to worry. He had no problem being ruthless about policy and public image, always so pretentious with his power over all of the men and women employed at Allurement.

But then again, he had always seemed to take an interest in you, anyway.

You slip out of your turtleneck and pull on a silk top that seems either white or a very very pale color—either way, they always put you in something near to white, so it didn’t matter. Since it was a video call, there was no need to show your bottom half; the sweatpants stayed.

Makeup was the hard part.

With your nerve spasms always showing up at inopportune times, it took a long time if someone else wasn’t doing it for you. You had ways to combat it, sure, but none you could get ready in five minutes.

Three, you tell yourself.

An idea hits your head like a rock.

“Nikto!” You call, rushing to your vanity and pushing aside a plush raccoon to snag your mascara. There wasn’t time for anything else. “I have a favor!”

“No,” the man materializes in the opening of your door, the backdrop of your fabric mess in the loft behind him; the clashing of shades momentarily confuses you, blinking quickly, but you recover with a huff and a plea.

“I need you to put my mascara on—my hands are too unpredictable right now.” He’s growling in the way you’re already accustomed to. This must be one hell of a day for him. “Your job is to protect me right? I need you to protect me from public humiliation.”

“Then humiliate yourself.” Nikto’s narrowed eyes lower even farther, face turned sharply to you as you walk over and hold out the stick. “This is not my job.”

You dig hard into his eyes, serious if not a bit willing. “I’d owe you.” Your tone is hard but true.

The Russian bear’s shoulders roll slightly, getting higher and more irritated. He grunts at you. After a long and heartstopping moment, he grabs onto your pocket and slips your phone back inside, jostling your body into his as you make a noise in surprise.

In that same movement, the mascara stick is yanked from your hand and fingers grapple onto your chin.

Your eyes go wide; body instantaneously tensing, as the unyielding grip moves your chin to the side and one hand unscrews the mascara with a slight pop of the seal.

“You are dependent,” Nikto’s digits are tight, but you don’t blink or pull away as the stick spreads pigment. “I do not like it, Girl. Like child running with a knife.”

“Aren’t you such a ray of sunshine?” You grumble but stay deathly still. Nikto’s body is tight against yours, leaning over you.

The guy certainly didn’t mind getting handsy if he needed to. Thinking like that makes your feet shuffle tinily under you, a heat emanating from your cheeks and your thighs momentarily becoming stiff.

His body warmth bleeds through his bulk; the grating press of his chest plate to your upper body.

“Stop breathing,” Nikto hisses and your cheek is moved to the side, knee knocking into his leg.

You feel and see the stick descend and move your lashes delicately, quite adverse to the attitude you’re getting. The Russian is attentive and set on getting his task done, even if he despises it.

“What kind of a request is that?!”

“Hush!” He barks and you both try to glare at each other as the last of the mascara is bushed on. “Get out.”

You pull back and frown up at him.

“I’m sorry you think that your attitude is appropriate, Nikto.” With your nose in the air, your hands grapple for your laptop on the way out of your room and sit at the desk out in your loft. Tossing a stack of fabric to the floor and brushing down the surface.

Behind you, there’s a plain-colored sheet hung to the wall for conferences—and you make sure it’s in place as you plop down to your seat.

Nikto’s angry eyes bore into you from the doorway, which he slowly leans against and crosses his arms heavily.

He mutters under his breath in fast Russian, shaking his head as you unlock your laptop and log in, easily clicking where you need to go and pulling up your video call with twenty seconds to spare.

Alyona’s face appears first, looking to the side, and you send a soft smile before you unmute yourself.

“Feeling better?” The woman perks up, eyes coming to you. She beams.

“Солнышко!” You laugh, tilting your head. “No, no, forget about me, how are you?” Aly gives you her full attention. “I need to come over and visit, yes? We should have a girl’s night again. Just us.”

“I’m…alright,” you simply say, fast to reassure her of her worries. There was no need to burden the model with your fears. Not when she’s still living with her own. “And that might be a bit difficult on the ‘just us’ part, unfortunately.”

She sighs but is serious in her concern.

“New bodyguard, Seraph?” Nikto listens to everything from across the loft, and you glance up at him before you open your mouth to speak in the affirmative.

“Live-in.” Alyona thins her lips, but, surprisingly, doesn’t seem off-put.

“Perhaps that is good, hm? If it’s to keep you safe, I would be willing to deal with it.” Before you can admit that it’s not the worst idea in the world, though draining, three others pop into the call.

Yours and Alyona’s managers, and, of course, the CEO of AMA.

You have to hide your curse before it sneaks out of your mouth. Everyone greets one another, and you send polite smiles and hellos in return. Corporate professionalism a virus that sweeps your features into a mask of compliance and brain-dead agreements.

Kliment Fedorov, CEO of Allurement Modeling Agency, shows his large and round face in the very center of the screen; with tiny eyes like a fly and a bald head. He’s in his office.

The man calls your name and smiles wide, pure white teeth leaning more towards fake looking than just the results of frequent brushing.

“It is good to see both of my best girls getting along. No lasting marks, I hope?” You and Aly dart look.

“None, Sir.” You both answer, still smiling and falling in line. They only speak in English for your comfort—in your manager’s box, you see his translator lean into his ear and relay the words being let out.

“Good, good! This is great news. Seraph,” you perk up, Nikto from the back shuffling while looking around his surroundings. He picks at a piece of reflective fabric on a side table with his brutish fingers, twisting it before huffing and tossing it away. He snoops as if put off by the high-mass areas, used to order and cleanliness.

Not that it wasn’t clean, but outwardly it gave off a certain impression of clutter.

“How soon can you be back? We have had even more propositions offered because of this event.” Your lungs stutter. “Mrs. Solovyova and yourself are very profitable for the company at the current time; this only made your popularity better!”

Your manager, Kostya, spits off into his native tongue with its harsh edges. Nikto’s head shifts back your way but says nothing.

Profitable? Wanted? You can’t say you’re overly thrilled at the comments. Just like you can’t say you want to get back to work when the Stalker knows exactly where you’ll be.

Who could say when he would strike again? A day? A week? Going back to AMA would make the target on your back as large as a damn elephant.

Kliment waves a hand and your manager falls silent at the sheen of anger in his fly-eyes. He continues.

“Of course, AMA had to take precautions, Ladies.” Alyona shifts in her box on the screen, glancing to the side. “We were very close to having to terminate your deal with us. Such events are…ah, dangerous for our image.”

It’s like a punch to the gut you knew was coming. The only reason you were still employed was because of companies trying to profit off of the girls who beat the odds and survived a direct attack on one of their own.

You could already see the headlines—had seen the headlines.

Aly and you know the response you need to give.

“Thank you, Sir.” Smiles are stiff, but a sheet of pleasure washes Kliment’s face.

“Well, of course, my girls! I would never get rid of such beauties, no, no. This agency is your home—I love my women like my own.” His eyes stay on you, and your body shivers even miles away. “But lovely Seraph, again, when can we have you back? Everyone has been asking, yes? Photographers lining up! But of course, you’ll keep your assigned one.”

Everyone? You swallow down saliva thinking about crowds and the peering eyes.

“Uhm,” Nikto openly stares, and you glance up at him. He offers no help above a tilt of his head; arms over his chest. “W-when would you need me back, Sir. My calendar is always free for you.”

“Good! Tomorrow, then. Mrs. Solovyova?”

“...That works for me, Sir.”

“Perfect!” You sigh and close your eyes for a moment before the CEO jumps into business—your managers taking notes in preparation for scheduling and locations. “I will send the details over to your departments and good wishes to the companies, I’ll expect to hear of you both being in tomorrow.”

He leaves the call, but not without a smirk forming on his face.

The managers talk for a few moments, getting almost everything in order before they too leave.

Aly and you release a deep breath, both sagging. The other woman is first to speak.

“Bastard.” Nikto scoffs from across the room. You peek before you rub your head and nod in turn.

“A creep, one hundred percent.” Alyona sighs, and her palm acts as a headrest as she lays her chin on it. She licks her lips, face going hard.

“You don’t think that he…” Your brows tilt in confusion before you catch what she’s trying to say.

“No, Aly, it can’t be him.” She frowns. “T-that would be,” you force a laugh, hands beginning to spasm. Swiftly you move them under the desk. “That would be insane.”

Nikto takes his phone out of his pocket and taps something into the screen, feet spacing themselves in a display of a perfect soldier.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, Солнышко.” You turn away for a moment. “Anyone could be at this point.”

“My mother said there was a break-in at the bakery before the explosion. Someone planted that bomb because they guessed on an off chance that we would go out.” You breathe sharply. “Do you know how insane that is? Anyone could have,” swiftly stopping your sentence, you shake your head to clear it. “It’s…the person who’s doing this can’t blend into normal life. It has to be obvious, and everyone’s missing it.”

“Easy, Little Seraph,” Alyona eases, showing you a hand to get you to come back to her. “We will figure this out, yes?”

A hand rubs along your face and you whisper out, “Okay.”

“I’ll see you and the new man tomorrow—you know you can call me with anything. Nikifor and I worry about you. Yekaterinburg is a dangerous place, regardless.” You have to smile at that, lightly chuckling. Aly tilts her head as her hair brushes her shoulders after a moment of quiet thinking. A lighter air spreads out like her voice from the speakers. “...Who did your makeup in so little time?”

“See you tomorrow!” You grab the end of the laptop and slam it closed as the woman yells out to you.

“Don’t fuck him on the first day!” Wanting to shrivel up and die, you avoid Nikto’s suddenly brutal gaze and quickly push a smile to your lips.

“S…she’s joking.” His pale eyes aren’t amused.

Nighttime is a strange affair between the two of you.

You jump at every strange noise—like Nikto rearranging his room better to his standards—as you think of dinner for two. Laying on the couch, back in your turtle neck, it’s hard to focus above the scrape of hardwood and the low grunts from above; the distant rhythmic stomp of feet.

You rub your eyes and groan low. This was going to be a task, even for your usually placid attitude.

“What the hell does a monster eat?” The comment is directed at the taxidermy deer on your wall as you move to stand. “Liver? The souls of my enemies?” You blink, pausing before you mumble. “Maybe that’s not so bad, now that I think about it.”

Your pantry was already sparse at best.

Tapping the cupboard, you settle on something that Alyona had taught you to make with her mother. Cabbage Soup—Schi or щи—low overall in calories but still filling when you know your limits; healthy as well as hardy. You mess with the bag of potatoes and peel out a few, turning and setting them down on the island.

With the dark night soon setting in, you push the automatic button on your wall and watch the curtains close the rest of the way with a soft buzzing sound. Sighing, you flick on the lights and get to work as the gray blobs of potatoes fall apart under your knife, set to the side.

Cooking, while you still had a complicated relationship with food, did truly make you calm down. The tremors eased up, your feet stopped moving so much—you even felt yourself getting hungry as the ingredients were roughly chopped and dropped into a pot to boil.

If you allowed yourself it, you wouldn’t have minded growing up to be a cook instead of some form of greed and envy. But the thought of that now made you lose your appetite entirely.

When you’re half done with your tiny bowl, water on the side with nothing else, Nikto stalks down the stairs.

He takes one look at your bowl and speaks lowly.

“Щи.” You hum, recognizing the word that Aly’s mother had said. He grunts, chest jerking as he comes around the island to the boiling pot; his back now to you. “You will starve with that small of a portion, Whelp.”

Blinking, you sip down some of the broth from your spoon and furrow your brow. That nickname still makes your eyelids narrow in slight disapproval, but you let it go.

“I don’t think so, Nikto. It’s the last bit of calories I need for the day.” Pale eyes watch over his shoulder, pulling smaller.

“I find that insulting.” His hand grabs the ladle, bringing it up to stare. The Russian’s shoulder blades pull out at the motion, the line of his spine most likely showing through his skin under all that gear. You should tell him it’s okay to take it off, but you highly doubt he ever does outside of sleep. “Pointless.”

“You try being a model,” you remark. “You’ve got the body for it, at least. I know a few people that would swoon over the height alone.”

Nikto’s visible skin pulls, biceps tense. “Swoon, Girl?” The accent makes it sound like a bark from a dog.

You take your last spoonful, covering your mouth with your hand as you speak.

“Like,” pausing, you swallow, “actually I don’t know what that means. Become emotionally affected, I guess?”

“I do not care if people become ‘emotionally affected’ by my height.” Nikto pulls a bowl from the cupboard—a large one. “Such things are below me. All that matters is the mission.”

“Sounds boring,” you huff. “Sour cream is in the fridge.”

The light from the machine greets you as the condiment is taken out and emptied into a nearly overflowing bowl of cabbage soup. Blinking at the amount of food that would burst your stomach if you ate it, you shrug and clean out the last of the broth by bringing the lip of the bowl to your mouth.

Nikto huffs, looking down at the soup. He pauses.

“Where is баранины?” Your confusion must be plainly stated on your face because he seems to clench his jaw and say through his teeth. “Lamb.”

“Alyona never made it with meat,” you answer, hopping off your stool and moving to put your dirty dishes in the sink. “But I’ve heard everyone makes it differently depending on where you grew up. Was that how your parents made it?”

When you turn back around he’s already walking away from you. Watching, wide-eyed at how silently he cleared the room, you make a small sound in the back of your throat as he disappears upstairs.

The silence wafts back in, only the small noise from the record player dancing in your ears.

You lick your lips for the remaining taste of food and clean up with a still-growling stomach, shaking your head at the strange character living with you. Hoping this doesn’t drag out any longer than it has to and you’re able to find the stalker soon, you hear your phone go off on the counter as you mull over your predicament.

After you put the last of the leftovers away, you pat your hands on your pants and reach for your device, flipping over the screen and reading what will probably be a text from Aly for tomorrow.

You pause.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘Why won’t you let me love you?’

Staring, whatever sense of normalcy you had from cooking was snatched away. The blood in your veins halts with a blockage of iron and fear. Instantaneously, adrenaline spikes, making your pupils go small and your jaw clench.

Hands shake. You almost drop your phone.

With a quick punch of your fingers, you delete the text and block the number—tossing your device back to the counter and moving away from it until your back hits the cupboards.

Spasming palms slap to the stone countertop, grip tight.

You stare at the phone for a very long time, hearing nothing but the dull drone of the piano, the sounds of the city outside, and the pulse of your veins. Static was in your ears.

Gasping for a sudden deep breath, you clear your throat and turn away to finish cleaning, your body unable to stay still.

That night, like the ones previous, you find trouble sleeping.

The room was only illuminated by the fairy lights you’d strung from the ceiling, a soft fade and reentry like twinkling stars hanging in a black sky. You stare at them with open eyes, laying on your back surrounded by a multitude of quilts and blankets—pillows that crowd with doughy insides.

Nikto was turning in his bed, and the movement was setting you on edge.

The PMC had ordered you to keep the door between your rooms open at night, in case something was happening he would hear you better. You held your tongue on the fact that if this creep managed to get into your penthouse then it was already over for you. Regardless, now you could hear every shift and grunt—every huff of annoyed air.

No doubt the Full bed in the spare room was too tiny for him, nothing compared to your King.

Sighing and covering your eyes with your forearm, you call out sleepily.

“Are you sleeping alright?” The shifting stops. You wait for a response but get none. “Nikto?” Nothing.

Sitting up, your large silk pajamas hang off one shoulder as you yawn; covering your mouth you stand and steady yourself on the oak bed frame. Standing so you can get your bearings, you decide to do what you normally do when you can’t sleep.

Grabbing your phone’s flashlight, you flick it on and head to the kitchen—being extra careful and taking the stairs at half the speed you normally would. In the kitchen you grab at the stacked teacups and pick one with flowers on the sides; giggling to yourself at the thought.

Magnolia Tea.

Its smell burns into your nostrils as you prepare it in near-darkness, like a beacon of light the liquid shimmers. You remember your mother making it for you after the accident—helping you to sleep and stave off the nightmares; the insomnia.

You finish your cup in the kitchen but bring the second back up with you. Spilling only a little onto the tea plate, you go through the main door to your room and then turn to the blackened opening of Nitko’s doorway.

“I made tea,” your voice echoes. But no sound.

Maybe he was already asleep now.

“No need to drink it, but it helps me when I can’t sleep. Magnolia, if you’re curious.” You chuckle, fairy lights illuminating your face. “Sorry, I’m keeping you up. I’ll leave it in the doorway, okay?”

Silence, but perhaps a tiny huff from inside the lion's den. Good or bad, you have no clue. Slipping back into bed, you try not to think about what you’re sleeping above—the letters from the Stalker’s gifts.

You’d never opened them, and you never would. Inside that lockbox is where they would stay.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and even with the tea in your stomach, it is a long, long, time before your eyes flutter closed.

Yefim’s body dances like a puppet on a string, a shadowy figure pulling the cords and letting his decimated corpse sway; jewelry stapled into his burnt neck like a collar. A noose that your desperate fingers try to hang onto.

How long could you keep this game up?

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dropsofletters · 30 days

Text

i feel like i know you [jww]

SUMMARY: sometimes, we meet a person, a complete stranger in the streets, and we feel as though we have seen them somewhere else. a sense of familiarity that comes with longing and extreme love. however, it could only be one of those cases of deja-vu…if one does not think that there are other universes, roaming around its axis at the same time that we do.

jeon wonwoo doesn’t believe in the concept of soulmates, but somehow, he always has the same one in various universes.

maybe, destiny does exist.

TITLE: i feel like i know you

PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader

GENRE: soulmates!au ; soulmates in different universes!au ; friends to lovers!au ; unrequited love!au ; forbidden love!au ; childhood friends!au and wonwoo finding his way back to oc again and again.

WORD COUNT: 8,000 words approx.

TYPE: fluffy fluff ; fantasy ; alternative universes ; angst if you squint

NOTE: this was a ko-fi request! you can go over there if you want to request something from me.

UNIVERSE 01: friendship.

A pendant sits on the palm of her hand.

It dangles in between his fingertips; tips colored by Kool-Aid, burning red. The music is a little too loud in the cramped room, where the strands of his bleached hair merge in between the black, original ones. Wonwoo sits neatly, though his image is copied out of one of those magazines that he reads over every once in a while when at his job at the mall.

Maybe, this is where her friend met the supposed old lady that taught him the future was written in one’s palm. He’s a man of science, though he masks it as not. Books and articles highlighted on his bookshelves, casted in dust as he reaches his twenty-five years of age and he realizes that, perhaps, in the midst and wits of time he never truly reached what he wanted. No scholarship. No travelling. Nothing other than sitting at his small apartment, dangling a necklace, hoping for a sign.

“What do you want to know?” Wonwoo always speaks like he has a secret, eyes squinted, voice a rumble of depth. His vision, however, is settled on the pendant that only moves the slightest, from side to side, venturing into the unknown of what it is supposed to tell her.

Life, on the other hand, is a little bit more secure for her. She didn’t imagine her life to be big, and hence, settling seemed nice. Three years into a relationship that started out in college; a college degree that also sits on her bookshelf, waiting for it to mean something than it actually is, and work. Work has been hectic, with coffee breaks towards the coffee shop in which Wonwoo works at with a scowl to his face and a purse of his lips.

“The unknown.” She jokes, hand trembling a bit as Wonwoo rests it on his thigh.

His eyes roll, the sclerotic becoming a bit apparent, before he returns his gaze to her. For Wonwoo, the world is serious; like the heat of the Americano she has each day, and the routine of making perfect coffee. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” She looks back at Wonwoo. This is the man that would nod at every single one of her words when battling her fear of speaking in public back in high school. Her friend. The reason as to why she gets to speak now in her corporate job for some fashion magazine. She knows him far too well, dances with his eyes and knows how to sit him down with simple syllables. “You don’t believe in any of this.”

“I’d like to grant myself the benefit of doubting my beliefs.” He explains. The nineties are far more technological, fitted for someone like him, with up-and-coming laptops and websites. He could have been so much more, but it feels these days like he’s losing himself to a trail of nothingness. “They haven’t exactly worked to my favor the past few years, so what do I lose by giving you an answer to something? Shit, maybe, I could get an answer, too.”

She grabs his hand, pendant digging to the skin of her palm, engraving the thunder that Wonwoo had bought on a convenience store nearby. It was probably on sale, too. “You don’t need answers, Wonwoo. What’s not lost should not be hunted down.”

His eyes soften. Mirrors in shades of brown, like a lake house that she could never escape. Here, listening to Backstreet Boys, trying to hide from the reality that they are not kids anymore, is the man she trusts the most. The one person she cherishes more than life itself. For, Wonwoo was there for her to lighten up her days, even when the exposure of sunshine would hurt him, too.

“…Let me just answer one question of yours.”

“What for, though—?”

“Just to prove to myself that I’m not the only one that doesn’t have it figured out.”

She sighs, opening her palm once again and closing her eyes tightly. She imagines all that has happened throughout the years of her living on this earth. She has a job that she likes. She has gone through college safely, thankfully. She has a relationship but…these days, it feels like he doesn’t foresee a future. Nick, her boyfriend of three years, goes on and on about his plans in the future, but it never includes her. A shush coming after his words when she ever-so asks…

Would you ever want to marry me?

“The first letter of the love of my life’s name.” She spurts out, knowing that the universe will be unable to ever grant her a benefit of knowing, let alone draw it on her palm with a pendant. Wonwoo doesn’t raise his eyebrows, never judging out loud, but speaking under his breath.

“Totally not the asshole you have for a boyfriend.”

“Wonwoo, have some respect and concentrate.”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, sending a tight-lipped smile her way before he’s tracing her palm with the pendant and letting it hang. The woman at his job told him that it would trace two answers; a circle was a yes, a line was a no, and what she was asking…they’d see if it could get answered.

Much to his surprise, they hold their breaths, looking at the pendant before it starts moving. Almost like magic, like the world has things that we will never understand to its full complexity, the necklace starts moving its pendant until it draws a shape. Repetitive not, perhaps a little bit two quick, but the two folds of the ‘W’ are apparent. Her eyes trail forward, widened in complexion, before laughter spurts out of her lips.

“This shit is crazy.” Wonwoo’s cheeks are tinged pink, standing up and clasping the necklace in between his digits.

“Totally. Uh, where the hell did you even learn this?”

“Remind me to never trust people from work again.” Wonwoo’s back is turned towards her, saving the necklace on the coffee table, and she thinks about it for a moment…

Wonwoo and her together…

Pfft, as if that could ever happen.

“Noted. This will never happen again—”

“Yep. Want to get some burritos?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The nineties had their own tagline, but ruining a friendship because of some stupid myth as the ear of technology was launching was totally not it.

###

UNIVERSE 02: opposites.

Wonwoo has always had an odd liking to coffee.

He presumptuously admits that he enjoys the taste on the roof of his mouth, and how it burns his palate and awakens him in the early mornings. Macchiato. Latte. Cold or hot. He enjoys them all. Hidden behind of strands of long hair, curled at the edges, and a pair of glasses so thick that they might as well hold all the eyes in the universe, he thinks it’s his own language. His way of speaking without actually opening his mouth. He grants happiness with a ‘good morning’ and a nod of his head, even though his coffee shop is not as big or as crowded as his family back home thinks.

A sigh leaves his lips, wiping the same spot he has worked on since the early morning. Only a client had passed by. A latte, decaffeinated, with two shots of vanilla and one of dark, moody chocolate. The busy man left without much of a glance at him, but the job was done. Hence, the day was uneventful, leaving him with pastries to sell and coffees to prepare. Aching to feel that this business is going somewhere.

He painted the walls green himself, thinking they’d match well with the plants his brother had gifted him after he moved to Jeju with his wife and worked on a gardening program over December. The tables, found in a trip to Scotland, did cost a little bit more than what he likes to admit, but it’s gloomy. Wholesome, like he wants it to be. A place that resembles the peace that comes with having a cup of coffee on a winter day.

It's summer.

Maybe, people just don’t want hot beverages.

The repetition of one of the first albums from The Beatles is cut off by the sound of a megaphone. Sharp and repetitive sentences shouted into the void of the street. People start to gather in front of his shop, but it’s not because of the coffee beans he brews every morning. There is someone else there—one of those hippies that he tries to stay away from.

Wonwoo pushes his hair away from his face, not even making the effort to clasp his beige apron off as he ventures to the entrance door and opens it with a swing. Standing on a small beer box is a woman; sporting a long floral skirt and a simple top that dangles off one shoulder. It reads ‘fuck politicians!’, loud and clear, like the sound of her voice as she asks for rights.

Rights to have some kind of reelection, for she thinks the government is corrupt.

“We are fucking marionettes to the politicians. Workers that will lose their nails clawing to get to the last bit of money they offer us. Not enough for us to eat and live freely—” She speaks into the megaphone, and he notices the soft hue of her lips and the crookedness of her hair. She’s not playing the part, but somehow, she looks quite beautiful in her messiness.

“Excuse me.” Wonwoo speaks softly, as per usual.

“Us women, we need to stay close, to protect the children of our lives. The people that need us the most. We are tired of staying silent—”

Though, she’s silencing him in the process. If this protest gets any heavier, he could even get jailed just because she wants to speak out…in front of a coffee shop. “Um, miss, excuse me, I have something to say—”

“Say it with me: ‘We shall not be silenced’!”

“Miss!” Just when she gives a moment for the crowd to speak, Wonwoo’s voice becomes loud. A shout into nothingness that brings color to his cheeks and a set of widened eyes that anyone could miss if they don’t look at him from up-close. She turns to him, still on that beer box, the wind blowing at her skirt and tracing the soft curves of her body. “This is my coffee shop…and—and I fear my clients would be scared of entering if they saw this protest in front of it. Could you please—?”

“What?” She questions, putting the megaphone down and raising her eyebrows. “This is something important.”

“Yeah! Totally. I know.” Wonwoo, though not a fan of politics, can understand that the economics are not the best these days. Hell, he fears that he will lose the business that he had worked so hard on. “How about this…I know that you planned this protest and that—”

“Just leave the fucking woman alone!” One of the protesters grits through his teeth, the others bursting in exclamations just like him.

“Yeah, fucking capitalist!”

“I could offer all of you coffee! And a place to talk. You buy me a cup, I let you have this whole…ordeal inside.” Wonwoo tries to smile, covered by the strands of his hair, but the wind whisks it away and she gets a good glimpse at him. The frown in between her eyebrows softens, mouth agape for a second before she brings the megaphone up to her lips again.

“We’re going inside! A small business needs us, everybody. We’re not getting out of this mess if we don’t make a change.”

Her hand lays on his shoulder, getting off the box and sending him a smile that blossoms one of his own on his face. It’s crazy how the world has millions of people, each more different than the last one, but there are still connections. Electricity that pulls two people together even with a mere touch, as he realizes just how gorgeous she is.

And so unlike him.

Such an impossibility.

He prepares her favorite coffee then. Sweeter than anything, with marshmallows on top, a caramel Macchiato that keeps her fed along with the guava pastry that she dared try. Speaking her mind away, he only sits and listens, knowing that this is the last time he’ll ever see her.

###

UNIVERSE 03: right person, wrong time.

He looks like the image of what his mother used to coo about every Christmas night when the eggnog got to her system.

Not a man of marriage, he used to say he was, when he was just fifteen years old and promising he could pull through with a relationship. At the time, his now bride-to-be Fae was the third wheel of the trio. The woman that would wipe her tears when everything got to be a little bit too much with him, and that would clasp Wonwoo’s hands in between her own and teach him how to be a better boyfriend. How to leave the faux interests of bad friends behind to build something beautiful.

That they built in just a few months of relationship, tainted and left as lukewarm friendship, got destroyed in just three months.

She’d dare say, however, as she lets the emerald green of her bridesmaid’s dress cascade down her back, knowing fairly well that the fabric fits her a little too snugly because she decided to bathe her stomach with alcohol just hours prior to this, that…Wonwoo was her first love. She had never loved as purely, harshly and truly. With rain falling down on them as they both cried their goodbyes, eager to make it work, but regretting forcing their friendship to be something more.

Now, he’s marrying Fae. They didn’t get together soon after they broke up. It took years, pulling away, falling apart as a trio, coming back together and Wonwoo and Fae being roommates during their senior year of law school for them to get in a relationship.

Though, the word has it that when a man is totally certain about a woman, things will fall into place quickly. He looked at Fae in the eyes quite like he does now, as she stands behind her. Fae has her soft peachy hair curled and tied at the top of her rounded face, lips opened in that heart-curling smile that shows all her teeth, imperfect and yet, so fucking gorgeous. She looks like she was taken out of a fairytale, glowing…and she should be happy with her friend.

Fuck, she is.

God, imagine how difficult it would be to explain to Heaven when she tried to knock on its doors at the end of her life that she was happy…but also a bit jealous that this wasn’t her.

Because once, when she was a teen, she thought she would be in this position. Standing in front of Wonwoo, eager to place her hands on his arms, tug him closer and press their lips together. Call it forever, because it sounds like it could be possible with him. And these are thoughts not to be having when at the altar with her two best friends, as his eyes get filled with tears when looking at Fae.

She wishes it was her.

Wonwoo does look her way at one moment, departing from his vision towards Fae and it’s almost like his shoulders fall. She knows, then, that he remembers the possibilities—what they once talked about when seated on the front-yard of his old house, through small pecks and giggles. They once said that they were ‘ride-or-die’, only to ride along the adventure that they tried.

She gives him a tight-lipped smile, raising the corners of her mouth, as if telling him that they have made it. The ‘happy-ever-after’ reached in different spectrums. Wonwoo smiles back, tracing the outline of his engagement ring, the one that will meet the new ring that will create, hopefully, a lifetime of happiness.

Not with her.

Of course, not with her.

And that doesn’t haunt her. It’s something that she wishes she could have told herself in the past, so she would have never placed herself in Wonwoo’s life that way, making his relationship with Fae easier and more factual from the beginning. However, now that she’s here, it brings nostalgia.

They were once kids, now he’s getting married.

There’s a baby waiting for him in Fae’s womb, that not many people in this church know about. If any, really.

That’s the magic of moving on, but at the same time, wondering why it wasn’t like how they wished for as kids.

She nods at him, mouthing the words: “I’m proud of you.” in hopes that he can read her lips. Wonwoo, excelling at everything he does, manages to do so, nodding back at her before returning his gaze towards his wife.

Then, comes the exchange of words. His deep vibrato promises to cherish Fae forever, and she believes him. Maybe, she doesn’t have anyone by her side, or a man that can compare to the quality of people that Wonwoo is, but the time will come. For now, she’s the tree that shadows over the couple, sheltering from the eyes of the judging as they kiss, after letting out into the world what they wish for each other. Enormous contentedness, for example.

She claps, hands coming together as if praying that they will get to live up to their words. Plenty of years that will come and would have happened to her if Wonwoo was truly her person. Or maybe, he is, because this buzzing excitement that builds like makeup within her chest, coating her heart in layers and layers to hide what truly lays underneath is…an indicative.

Wonwoo is not a person that she got rid off easily. If not, they wouldn’t be friends by now.

Cheers escape her lips, fists balled and raised high in the air for the new couple. At least, someone got to have a happy ending.

###

UNIVERSE 04: the unknown

“I wish I had your eyes.”

Wonwoo says so with simplicity, his nephew—or more like his brother’s grandson—looking up from the handwritten letter that is taking up most of his time and headspace. He takes off on the family genes, with the dark hair, stoic eyes and cat-like smile. Though, the blush is different. In his eighty-six years of living, Wonwoo can’t recall the last time he actually blushed.

He sits back on his chair, creaking from how old it is, wood carving into the spine that had once functioned as leverage for running miles in the Olympics, but now is just a tale that people rarely believe from him. With that, he gets to cross one leg over the other and smile.

Love. Oh lord, love. How beautiful it is, and so inexplicably unreachable for him.

People say that everyone has fallen in love at least once in their lives, but for Wonwoo, it never felt quite right. Women were beautiful in their own spectrum of differences; he had liked a few, if he dares say so himself, with relationships growing and then, withering to the pressure of passing a few months together. But he had never met someone that had him feeling like he could keep going. A romance that could paralyze him to the bone and make him stay.

Now he doesn’t move much, but he doesn’t have anyone that accompanies him, perhaps with a memory, as he sits on this damn uncomfortable chair at six in the morning, downs his two shots of coffee and then, proceeds to read whatever book he finds in his beloved book collection. He wonders if the problem was him; if he couldn’t just quite make his expectations lower so someone could sit by his side.

He feels like his soulmate never came his way, either.

Minho crooks one of his slim legs over his hip, turning to look at the old man. “Paps, I am quite sure you have them. My dad can’t stop going on and on about the Jeon’s and how their eyes are the reason they got ladies on the first place—”

“Not that. Your dad’s an idiot.” Wonwoo excuses, laughing from within his belly and earning a smile from Minho, who plays with the button of his pen. “I am saying that you have a look in your eyes that I wish I had. How long have you been going out with this lady?”

“Almost three months.” Minho admits, running a hand through his dense hair. “…I mean, I’ve liked her for a bit longer, but paps, this is…like…you have to know how it is. I love this woman. I can’t imagine any other girl in my life.”

He can’t say that thought has crossed his head. It’s difficult to fathom just one person being enough for the rest of his life. He was a man of education, so it wasn’t like he was lurking for hook-ups…he just liked the science of relationships more. Why hunt when it always ended in a fall-out?

And he never really cared enough to keep going, either.

“I don’t know how that is. Maybe, that’s the goddamned problem.”

“How—? What?” Minho’s incredulous voice has him standing up, forgetting his letter to his girl to frown at Wonwoo as he points at him. “You’ve never been in love?”

“Never met anybody who could truly make me feel at ease.” Wonwoo announces, clearing his throat and rubbing at the long hairs on his chin. “…Because that’s what love is to me. I didn’t want a woman that I could go crazy with in the sheets. I needed a lady that…made me feel like I could be a better man, who pressured me to be better but still, made it seem like it was nothing. Like trying for her was just enough.”

“That’s crazy…” Minho mumbles, taking a seat next to Wonwoo. It’s horrid that he has to live in the same house as his brother’s family, just because walking gets harder by the day. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“I do.” Wonwoo contemplates, nodding along to his words before sighing. “I believe there are people in this universe that we are just meant to find. But I never looked, you know? I stayed still. Hoped the great woman would just burst through the door and be…perfect. For her to be ready for me. For us.”

“That’s not how it works.” Minho says. “Love is action. Soulmates are action, too. You can find them, but if you never truly make an effort to develop and help grow, it’s not going anywhere.” Those words ring within him, youth bursting from his vocal cords, but nonexistent in the antiqueness of his vision. “Because destiny can only do so much. People can be perfect for each other, while being imperfect in their own ways.”

His nephew, or grandnephew, stops for a moment before smiling fully, like a vein in his chest had popped and liberated him.

“If we learn to forgive, we learn to love.” He finalizes, pressing a hand to Wonwoo’s knee and patting it. Those words settle within him; regret basking upon the old man’s figure. Of having so much and yet, having lived so little. With that, the guy raises one eyebrow in questioning. “Would you like to read what I’m writing? I want to give it to her for our four-month anniversary.”

“Technically not an anniversary.” Wonwoo adds the obvious, only to have Minho laughing.

“And right and there, paps, is why you’re still single at this age and time.” He still doesn’t listen to Wonwoo’s grumpy ways, or the grumble that he lets out. Minho sits by his side, the bubblegum pink paper making Wonwoo cackle. “So, I started it off by spraying perfume on it.”

“Of course, you did.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“Oh, just so the lady never forgets me.”

“…And there goes, some of your dad’s genes popping out.”

“Paps, don’t be so grumpy.”

“Sorry, that’s what old single men are like.”

“Well, old man, let me show you what real love sounds like.”

###

UNIVERSE 05: we were just kids.

Bones chilled, crippling under the weight of small tremors, Wonwoo doubts this is the harshest rain the city has met. Not that he would know; he’s only been living for eight years in this wholesome world, but he knows for a fact that he could climb mountains with storms that could break the sky itself and he’d make it, just to meet his crush by the swings that near his home.

She’s his neighbor of sorts. His cousin studies with him, just one year older than him, and he ignores the kind of beauty he holds. The headbands that cling to her hair and tangle it even more. The gloss of her lips that may come from the donuts he always steals from his dad’s shelves just to give something to her. Her cheeks are rounded, like universes that he’d dare kiss if that wasn’t prohibited. Mom taught him that he shouldn’t get too close to girls, but she’s…gorgeous.

Intelligent.

She’s a storm waiting to unravel and he notices it when her hands splay under the rain, trapped underneath one of the picnic tables, waiting for the night not to eat them alive with the power of rain water. She may be made of sugar, like the sweetness of her words when she tells him that he’s the best student in his grade, that he knows things that even her, as his senior, has no idea about. That could be why she doesn’t get under the rain, afraid of it, cling to her own knees…

“Oh!” Wonwoo says his thoughts out loud. Of freaking course! Dad always lent his jacket to Mom when the weather got a bit cold. Though, he’s not a businessman. He doesn’t have a jacket around waiting to wrap around her arms. Instead, he stretches the sleeves of his yellow sweater, placing the tips on her ears and mumbling. “You must be freezing.”

“Everywhere. Not just my ears.” She points out and thank God it has gotten late—though not really, he may hear an earful from his parents when he gets back home—. Or, they could come looking for them. For, both her family and his knew about their whereabouts. “You’ll ruin your sweater.”

“You’ll get sick.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, though he can’t help but give a toothy grin that is mostly braces. “…That could give us an excuse to come over to my place. My grandma always makes the best chicken soup. Dad says it heals the heart.”

She smiles at him, crooked, closing her eyes the slightest before returning her gaze to the sky. “I’m afraid we won’t make it home tonight. I don’t want to stay out from home.”

Then, she pauses, lowering her voice.

“I’m scared.”

He hadn’t noticed that while being under the rain with her seemed like the most romantic thing to do, it was also something that she didn’t want to do. Responsible, eager to wrap herself up in her mom’s arms as she had hot chocolate to ease the ache in her joints, that’s who she was. The stars become her north, though Wonwoo notices she’s studying the houses not too far, where the lights have started to take place one by one because of people turning them on at the dusk of dawn.

That’s the cue he needs for taking off his sweater, leaving him only in a white t-shirt with a dinosaur imprinted on it. Then, he’s placing the sweater on top of their heads.

“Wonwoo!” She screeches, covering her face with her palms. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ll get sick, too!”

“I am getting you home, that’s exactly what I’m doing!” His black hair sticks to his face, turning around with his sweater getting drenched while on top of him. He’s already out of their hideaway, nodding at her. “Get here! We need to run before we get entirely wet!”

“Jesus!” She adds, walking alongside him and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep the two of them under the sweater. Wonwoo would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his heart racing within his chest. “O—Okay. I’ll have my mom make you some hot choco in return.”

“Really?”

“O—Of course.” Teeth tittering, she gives him a smile when he looks down at her for a fraction of a second, running through the streets of their neighborhood, shoes ruined because of them splashing against the water-covered concrete. The tip of her nose glistens as if she had just cried, but she looks genuinely happy. “Wonwoo, you’re…the best boy I’ve ever met.”

They are only eight years old, but those words are enough to let Wonwoo know that he wants to be just as old as his parents are and cling to her hand just because he can, and because he wants to. He guides their scavenging, blushing, trembling, mumbling and tripping over his own words, perhaps even his shoelaces, because he is so young and yet, he knows this is love.

The romance his grandma always coos about in those books she reads as her dishes are finished.

The same love that his brother got scolded about just a few days prior for drawing hearts on his notebook.

The love that adults say they can’t find because they are too blind to the obvious. Only a heart that loves purely is able to hunt for romance. For, if love is viewed by a battlefield, it will only be a matter of time before the ticking bomb explodes and their territory is turned to ashes. He may not know a lot about life, or if they’ll last forever, but in his short years of living he knows he doesn’t want her anywhere but at his side, each and every afternoon, playing in that park near their neighborhood, swings with their names written in between doodles of hearts.

###

UNIVERSE 06: i promised i’d stay.

The first night of living with somebody should feel like the initiation of a construction work that only architects could battle with. It’s a promise of sorts; the trial and error that every relationship needs to go through, and she’s so certain about Wonwoo. Everything that he has established and shown to be in the year they have been together, but at the same time, lying next to him as the lull light of his reading lamp bathes over them, his eyes half-closing as he dives into a good read, feels like she could die at any minute.

Not because of him, but she just wants everything to go well.

It’s the fear of having people a few years from now telling her that they saw it from the get-go; that they wouldn’t work out in any way. It’s the irrational thought that pops in her head and tells her that, much like blogs and memes have emphasized, people are not to be trusted, for no one loves truly in this time and age. It’s the weight on her chest that tells her that he loves her, but she could have tried to put on something sexier instead of her usual cartoon pajamas.

She tries to fall asleep to no avail. People say that relationships no longer exist; we are just going from one person to the other, searching to be found. However, the thought of not having Wonwoo by her side and failing in this terrifies her. She is supposed to be the love of his life, the woman that he sighs about every single day and the mere reason why he has a smile on his face. She doesn’t ask for perfect, for they have had their arguments with tranquil conversations aiming to be respectful between the two, but she wants it to be him.

But what if it’s not him?

What if it’s him, but she’s not his ‘it’s her’?

Another turn on the bed.

Another tug of the sheets.

Another sigh.

Wonwoo closes his book softly, eyes closing the slightest before he turns to the side. That’s when he comes face to face with her, pulling the covers slightly over his chin before he connects his gaze to hers.

“I can hear the gears turning inside your head.” He whispers, licking his bottom lip and pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before sighing. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.” She lies through her teeth, afraid of what he may think in that moment of overthinking. Though, Wonwoo doesn’t eat it up, humming at her words.

“Are you sad?”

“Not precisely.”

“Are you angry?”

“Not precisely.” She repeats.

“Is it something I did?”

“Not precisely.” She confesses, hiding her face on his chest and feeling all the weight on her shoulders come out in a sigh. “It’s the fear of what you can do. Like leaving, stop loving me, hating me after moving in with me…wanting to go somewhere else, loving someone else—”

“That’s impossible.” Wonwoo says with a scoff, placing a hand on her face and pressing kisses to her cheeks repeatedly, each softer than the last one.

“Promise me it’s impossible.”

“I can swear.” Wonwoo announces, pulling away to kiss her lips. Her heart races and calms down at his motions at the same time; the paradoxical magic that he pulls with her. “Because I choose to love you every day, even when there are millions of people out there, and circumstances that can happen between us. I choose to go to bed every night with you because I was tired of thanking God and having to think you’re far away. I won’t hate you, because I want to make it work.” He stops for a second, rubbing at a tear that had glided down her eye. “I choose you here, now, tomorrow, forever. You’re the love of my life not because the universe put you on my road, but because I choose you.”

Sometimes, we get lost on ‘the one’. The one person that was made to perfection to fit exactly what we wanted. However, we shape the person we love within our thoughts to be the one that we wanted. It’s up to us to accept someone, or feel like they are the kind of person that we want by our sides forever. She thinks this way as she cuddles closer to his chest, intertwining their legs, imagining if it will feel as safe and beautiful as it does right now when they are eighty and he keeps reading a few chapters before going to bed.

After all, doubting Wonwoo comes in spurts that disappear when she recalls that she feels like she has known him forever. Here, in this lifetime and the many ones to come.

Maybe, in another universe, they are just as in love as they are right now.

#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #seventeen x raeder #wonwoo #kpop scenarios #writing #soulmate!au

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