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mawidixon · 2 days

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"I will be your light in this cruel world"

Daryl x fem!reader

one-shot

Genre: fluff

Setting: Season 5 - Alexandria

Warnings: Twd violance (killing walkers and other stuff), swearing

Summary: Daryl never thought about marriage until he stumbled upon a beautiful ring in an abandoned jewelry store. From that moment, he put all his effort into making the engagement special.

A/N: I love that one-shot! I wanted to write Ink and Ashes first, but I just needed to write this!

@mawi22 I don't want my work to be modified, copied, or any of this kind of stuff without my consent!!!

It was one of those days when nothing seemed to happen and all the time was wasted. Daryl was on the run, alone because you were assisting Carol in cooking a meal for the rest of the people. To make matters worse, you had accidentally cut your leg while in the woods and you could not run in case of anything. Daryl, the hunter that he is, was now walking on a street that looked as if it had been abandoned. Attached to his belt were several rabbits that he had killed during the day.

The street was deserted; the closed shops bore testimony to what they used to be some time back. Cracked wooden panels and peeled paint spoke of a different reality that no longer existed. Daryl’s eyes shifted from one store to the other, the archer was ever vigilant. He was not only hunting for food but he was looking for anything that could be of use back in Alexandria.

He walked around each shop with purpose, looking for groceries, food tins, medicine, utensils, clothes, and other items. The rabbits followed the movements of the man, a small sign that he was successful in hunting. With every twist of the handle of a door and every crunch of his boots on the floor littered with debris, his senses were heightened. Daryl was determined; Alexandria required much more than food, and he aimed to make the people there as ready as they could be.

Soon, Daryl approached a destroyed jewelry store, its windows shattered and the door barely hanging on its hinges. With a cautious glance around, he pushed the door open, the jingle of a broken bell echoing eerily in the silence. Inside, the store was a chaotic mess, but remarkably, the displays of rings, necklaces, and other jewelry remained largely untouched. As he stepped further in, Daryl's eyes scanned the glittering pieces. Gold, silver, and other precious metals lay scattered about, some adorned with diamonds, others with various gemstones. The price tags, still attached, revealed their former value—these items had been incredibly expensive. In the old world, Daryl wouldn't have given them a second look, their opulence far removed from his everyday concerns. But now, in this new world where rules no longer applied, he could take whatever he wanted without consequence. Yet, the question lingered: what was the point?

Daryl continued his search, moving from display to display, his mind occupied with thoughts of Alexandria and the group. He checked behind counters, opened drawers, and scanned the room for anything useful. He was about to leave, dismissing the jewelry as unnecessary, when something caught his eye.

In a dusty display case near the back, a beautiful gold ring with a shiny sapphire gleamed faintly. The deep blue stone seemed to capture the dim light perfectly, drawing him closer. Daryl's thoughts immediately turned to you. He remembered the welcome party in Alexandria, how stunning you looked in that blue dress, the way it brought out the color in your eyes. The sapphire reminded him of that exact shade. He stood there for a moment, the ring in his hand, feeling an unexpected wave of sentimentality. In the chaos of their current lives, moments of normalcy and beauty were rare. This ring, this small token, could bring a bit of that back. He imagined your face lighting up when he gave it to you, a symbol of something good amidst the turmoil.

With a newfound resolve, Daryl slipped the ring into his pocket and left the store. The day, which had started as long and monotonous, had suddenly gained a new purpose. He continued his search of the abandoned street, but now with a hint of a smile, knowing he had found something special for you.

"I dun' know when to give 'er this ring," Daryl said, his rough voice barely a murmur as he twirled the sapphire ring between his fingers. The deep blue gem caught the light, casting small reflections on the walls of the dimly lit room.

Rick, leaning against the doorframe, glanced at the ring and then back at Daryl. "You've been together for a long time," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Maybe it's time to propose to her." Daryl shook his head, a mix of uncertainty and self-doubt clouding his usually stoic expression. "Nah, she gonna say no," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ring. Rick stepped closer, his brows furrowing in concern. "Why do you think like that?" he asked. "She loves you, man. And you love her. What's the problem?"

Daryl let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's jus'... things ain't never been normal for me, Rick. I ain't used to all this," he gestured vaguely with the ring, indicating the weight of emotions and commitments it represented. "What if I ain't good enough for 'er?" Rick's expression softened. He placed a reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Listen, we've all been through hell and back. None of us are the same as we were before all this. But what you have with her, that's real."

Daryl glanced up, meeting Rick's eyes. There was a flicker of hope in his otherwise guarded expression. "Ya really think she'd say yes?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Rick nodded firmly. "I do. She's stuck by you through everything, Daryl. That means something. She sees the good in you, even when you don't see it in yourself."

...

After that talk with Rick, Daryl began seriously thinking about how to propose. He knew it had to be perfect, something truly special. Unsure of how to go about it, he sought advice from Carol and a few others. Carol, always insightful and supportive, offered him some ideas and shared stories of heartfelt proposals she had witnessed.

With their guidance, Daryl finally crafted a plan. He remembered how much you loved daisy flowers, and he knew of a meadow not too far from Alexandria where plenty of daisies grew. It was a place you often spoke about with fondness, a reminder of simpler, happier times. He also knew the perfect spot to propose—a secluded lake nestled in the middle of the forest. This location held a special place in his heart, reminding him of your gentle touch and the soft kisses you often placed on his forehead. The tranquility and beauty of the lake made it the ideal setting for such an important moment.

Determined, Daryl set his plan into motion. He decided to tell you he had arranged a special date, something to brighten your spirits and provide a brief escape from the harsh realities of their world. On the day of the proposal, he rose early and made his way to the meadow. There, amidst the tall grass and wildflowers, he carefully picked a bouquet of the freshest, most beautiful daisies, picturing the delight on your face when you saw them.

"Y/N! You really dun' have to do make-up. Remember we're goin' to the forest," Daryl called out from behind the door, his voice carrying a mix of impatience and affectionate concern.

Inside the room, you were transforming yourself into a vision of beauty. With careful precision, you applied your makeup, enhancing your features with subtle touches. Your eyes sparkled with a hint of eyeliner, your lips a soft shade of pink. As you finished, you turned to the beautiful long white dress that Jessie had given you. The fabric was soft and flowed gracefully around you, hugging your figure perfectly and making you feel elegant and radiant.

You slipped into the dress, smoothing it down and twirling slightly to see how it moved. The dress was more than just clothing; it was a piece of the old world, a reminder of times when dressing up was a regular part of life. In this dress, you felt a connection to those memories, a sense of normalcy that was rare in these harsh times. True, you were heading into the forest where walkers could be lurking, but you felt confident. Your experiences had honed your survival skills, and you knew you could fight and run if necessary, even in a long dress. The dress might be unconventional for such an outing, but it made you feel special, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling.

You took a final look in the mirror, admiring the transformation. The long white dress accentuated your grace and poise, and the makeup highlighted your natural beauty. With a deep breath, you turned towards the door and opened it. Daryl stood there, his rugged features softening as he took in your appearance. His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and admiration flickering across his face. He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit flustered.

"You look...amazing," he said, his voice sincere and a bit husky. "But you sure 'bout that dress? We might have to run."

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. "I'm sure, Daryl."

Daryl chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, jus' stay close to me."

You nodded, and together you stepped outside. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over Alexandria, and the path to the forest beckoned. As you walked beside Daryl, the dress swaying with your movements, you felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Whatever the day held, you were ready to face it, with Daryl by your side and a touch of elegance to remind you of the beauty still left in the world.

You had been walking for about ten minutes when you finally reached the place by the lake. The forest seemed to part just for you, revealing the serene expanse of water nestled among the trees. The wind gently swayed the leaves, creating a soothing rustling sound, and the lake's surface was calm, reflecting the late afternoon sky like a mirror. You and Daryl found a spot by the water's edge, where the grass was soft and inviting. As you sat down, you couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had scouted and cleaned up this area beforehand. There were no walkers in sight, save for maybe two or three in the far distance, making you feel surprisingly safe and at ease.

Settling onto the grass, you let out a contented sigh. The tranquility of the place was mesmerizing, and you felt a rare sense of peace wash over you. Daryl sat beside you, his presence warm and comforting. As you talked and laughed together, he reached out and rested his hand on your thigh, a simple gesture that always made you blush. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent reassurance of his affection. You glanced at him, catching the way he was looking at you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness that made your heart flutter. The intensity of his gaze left no doubt in your mind-Daryl adored you. Each look, each touch, spoke volumes of his love and devotion.

The conversation flowed easily between you, interspersed with moments of comfortable silence. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the lake and the surrounding trees. You leaned back on your hands, your dress spreading out around you like a halo, and took in the beauty of the scene. The soft hum of nature, the warmth of Daryl's hand on your thigh, and the serene ambiance of the lake combined to create a perfect moment. Daryl shifted slightly, and you turned to look at him again. He seemed a bit nervous, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something else. He took a deep breath, and you felt a sense of anticipation build.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and earnest. "There's somethin' I wanna ask" Your heart skipped a beat as you saw him reach into his pocket. The world seemed to slow down as he pulled out a small box and opened it to reveal a beautiful gold ring with a sparkling sapphire.

"Will ya marry me?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and love.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the ring and then back at Daryl. This moment, in this beautiful place, was everything you had ever dreamed of. With a joyous smile and a heart full of love, you answered him.

"Yes!" you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and you both leaned in for a kiss, sealing the promise of a future together. The lake and the forest stood as silent witnesses to your love.

As you admired your new ring, you noticed Daryl seemed a bit uneasy. "You okay?" you asked, your voice filled with concern.

"Yeah...jus' I forgot 'bout..." he muttered, sighing heavily. You gave him a look that immediately coaxed the rest of his words out. "I wanted to give ya daisy flowers but I fuckin' forgot. 'M sorry," he admitted, his eyes dropping with a hint of regret.

Your face softened, and you laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You can give me them at home. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Just then, you both heard a cracking sound. Daryl immediately stood up, crossbow in hand, ready for action. Emerging from the trees were six walkers, their movements slow but menacing. Without hesitation, Daryl shot four of them with swift precision. You sprang to your feet, adrenaline coursing through you, and with swift, practiced movements, you took down the remaining two, leaving your dress and pretty face splattered with blood. Despite the gore, you smiled triumphantly. Daryl looked at your blood-stained dress and shook his head. "I could've shot them all, darlin'. No blood on your dress was needed."

You glanced at the lake and chuckled. "Maybe a quick bath?" you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eye. Looking at your future husband, you smirked and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him towards the water. "Come on!" With a playful laugh, you both stumbled into the lake, the cool water washing away the blood and grime. The sudden chill took your breath away, but the laughter and the joy of the moment kept you warm. You felt the weight of the world lift as you splashed around with Daryl, the man you loved.

The atmosphere was perfect, filled with laughter and light. You looked at Daryl, his hair wet and his eyes twinkling with happiness, and felt a surge of love and gratitude. This man, who had been through so much, was your friend, your partner, and soon, your husband.

As you floated together in the lake, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the water, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The feeling that you would soon be married to the man you loved filled you with joy. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

You are his light and hope for a better tomorrow.

#Spotify #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x oc #x reader #daryl fanfiction #fem reader #one shot

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juniefruit · 9 hours

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☆ bf werewolf chan ☆

☆ modern, non-idol au, established relationship. gn! reader except fem! in the nsfw part (specified with a warning)

☆ Warnings: regular werewolf shenanigans, idk pretty tame. lmk if I need to add something! not proofread, posting from the cafe where I just finished the smut portion :)

☆ Word count: ~1.5k

Super shy when he first tells you about the whole werewolf situation. He stumbles over his words and his face is red from embarrassment. But you give him your undivided attention, eyes full of patience and love. He confesses everything, his hand gripping your forearm and kneading the flesh for reassurance.

Finally, everything falls into place. All of his little quirks and mannerisms make sense now. The way he clings to you, how he insists you wear his jackets/hoodies, and so on. Oh, and the fact that he’s practically a human furnace. Cold hands and feet? Not with Chan glued to your side.

Knows that you're fully capable of holding your own, but sometimes he just can't help his jealousy or overprotectiveness. Can you blame him!! he just wants you to be safe and keep you all to himself. He never denies you of the things that bring you joy. He also buys you little keepsakes or trinkets that remind him of you. Holds your hand, waist shoulder, etc. in public. He has enough self awareness to know that extreme PDA is cringe, so he keeps it to a minimum unless something truly pisses him off and has to let them know you're taken.

Now that you think about it, his ‘stargazing’ trips always happened during a full moon. It annoys you that you didn’t catch on to it earlier. But what he does is far from stargazing. Him and the other pack members patrol the forest on the outskirts of the city for anything alarming or new. You had shown interest in these trips, but Chan promised he’d take you another day, one where it could be just you two, instead of having to deal with Chan’s buddies too. And he delivered. It was one of your favorite date activities now. It’s like the world slows down as the stars twinkle above the grassy meadow you’re laying on. Crickets chirp in the distance, and Chan’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders, providing you with a comfy headrest. There’s a blanket under you, too. Once in a while, he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, eyes closed, smiling with content. He takes in your scent, nearly groaning at the delectable smell. His senses are still heightened more than the usual amount since the full moon had just passed a few days ago. You lay in the grass together until your eyelids grow heavy and tired, ready to whisk you away into a peaceful slumber. Chan pulls you up, helping you walk to the car and tucking you into the passenger seat. The rest is a blur, until you wake up covered by crisp linen sheets and soft huffs coming from the wolf boy next to you.

Big fan of the sense of smell. His heightened senses alert him immediately when you switch up your shampoo, lotion, or perfume. He gets so whiny if you use something different than usual. His fake annoyance doesn’t last long though, because in T-minus 5 minutes he’s bear-hugging you from behind, nose buried in the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that’s all his to enjoy.

His favorite candle has notes of pine needles, dried wood & maybe hints of vanilla or citrus musk. The pine reminds him of the forest & calms his senses. If he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, he could visualize himself in the forest, moss and dirt beneath his wolf paws, and his tail swishing behind him.

One day, you brought it home and lit it in the living room. He loved it so much, it was never more than three feet away from him. He thanked you so many times, hugged you and peppered kisses all over your face until you were giggling. You insisted it was no big deal, it was just a candle after all. But to him, it was more. It was the fact that you had seen it at the store, and bought it because it reminded you of him. He was elated that you cared so deeply about him.

The scent of the candle hits him like a wave when he walks out of his studio room and finds you curled up on the couch, the latest trending novel in hand. He thinks you look beautiful; especially because you’re wrapped in a huge black hoodie of his.

As an alpha, his protective instincts run deep. He’s very selfless in this way; his lover and pack members always come first.

Super clingy!! He thrives on skin contact. Not only is it a way to leave his scent on you, it’s a form of intimacy. Sift through his hair or scratch his head or behind his ears and he’s turning into jelly in your lap, limbs sprawled out across your figure, humming and grunting with content.

Your honor, he's just a big puppy with responsibilites!!

As his mate partner, he trusts you enough to let his guard down and listen to his concerns. He’s definitely the type to talk at 2 A.M about anything and everything that comes to mind. He doesn’t even care if you’re half asleep, he just has to let it out. Of course, being the good girlfriend you are, you’re laid on your side, head propped up by your elbow and giving him the attention he’s craving (But he’ll never say it). He’s also the most vulnerable at this time. Channie Second-guesses his leadership like his life depends on it. Do the members secretly hate him? What if he’s not working hard enough? Nonsense, you tell him. Your reassurance makes him feel better, like all hope is not lost. He mumbles thank you’s and praise into the nape of your neck as he wraps himself around your backside and falls asleep to the steady beating of your heart.

Always takes your opinion into consideration. Not comfortable somewhere? Chan’s already leading you by the hand and heading home. He’s so good at reading body language because of his senses.

Needs people to know you’re his. Yes, he knows it's a bit silly since regular humans can’t smell pheromones. But! On the off-chance you come across a werewolf, he needs you to be protected. Definitely makes sure you’re wearing something of his, it doesn’t necessarily have to be clothing. It can be a bracelet, necklace, earrings or keychain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NSFW section! MDNI.

Firstly, his ruts. Kind of like a boy period, he has phases. First he’s super clingy and lovey, and then he ruins the mood with his own horniness. He has to convince himself that it’s okay!! It’s natural and you are more than willing to help. His ruts always bring out the more possessive and animalistic side of him. However, he’s always so gentle with aftercare, cleaning you up and feeding you until he’s ready to go again.

Soooo obsessed with the curves of your body. Big or small, doesn’t matter. He’s running his hands along your hips and up your waist until you’re squirming.

Marking!! Hickeys, bite marks, scratch marks. Both giving & receiving. He’s folding so quickly if you scratch his back, especially the hard-to-reach spots. Channie swears he’s never felt something better than the feeling of your legs wrapped around him and your hands gripping and scratching at his muscled back as you’re lost in pleasure. The next morning, he’s stood in front of the bathroom mirror admiring the pretty pink scratch marks cascading down the rippling muscles of his shoulders and back muscles. He tries his best to cook something edible and, to his surprise, it’s not half bad (again with the self doubt). He’s got an apron on but no shirt underneath, and boxers. He’s bringing you the plate as you’re in bed

Your pleasure is his pleasure. That being said, he can get off on your sounds alone. He can also spot fake moans, so don’t even try!! Also hates when you try to cover them up, like why are you denying him access to your sweet sounds?? Channie doesn’t care if you think they’re weird or embarrassing, what matters is that you feel good, and he’s providing that for you.

Chan needs foreplay. He needs to get in the mood, make sure he’s on his A game. God forbid he makes a mistake or hurts you!! He’d never live it down. Big fan of wet, messy kisses and sucking your tongue out of your mouth and into his. He’s leaving love bites along your lips and trailing them down your cheek and jaw, making a stop and your earlobe, and lapping at your neck. Doesn’t leave a trace of skin uncovered. Red and blue marks are littered over your body.

He slowly makes his way down to your core, until he’s languidly caressing the soft insides of your thighs with his hands. Doesn’t matter how hard he is, he’s eating you out and making love to your cunt with his face.

He loves controlling the pace of his thrusts until you’re a babbling mess and cock drunk. It fills him with pride to know you trust him enough to lose yourself completely, until the only reality you know is him and his cock.

“Mine”, “my love”, “babygirl” “my good girl” ... ohhh….

Good lord he goin crazy on that thang!!!!

read more here! -> my masterlist

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lanitaminaj · 2 days

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once upon a dream

a strange man, or an entity, finds itself plastered on your wall. toji, you begin to learn, finds himself intertwined within your life. inspired by this post.

cw; female reader, sexual themes, cussing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, paranormal, horror.

he simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.

you gazed back, your doe-eyes large and your babydoll-lips parted as they took in the entity etched on your lavender-purple bedroom wall.

"are you going to hurt me?" you rasped, your voice low as you kept your sleeping parents next door in mind.

he just smirked; the left corner of his lengthy, scarred lips were pulled mockingly upward.

"are you going to kill me in my sleep?" you whispered, your eyelids heavy as a tiny yawn escaped your plush lips.

his chest bounced, as if he was laughing in a tone impossible for your human ears to gather.

"okay," you shrugged, wrapping the pearl-white, cotton-soft blanket up to your shoulders.

he was merely composed of a head and a chest; composed of raven-black, messy tresses. his eyes were almond-shaped, their sunken composure indulged in your form as if you were prey. all you could make out beneath his thick, veiny neck was a set of toughened, herculean shoulders. even covered by the hellish-cloud of ink, you could make out every inch and bulge of inhuman brawn.

"what are you?" you questioned, your body comfortably entangled within the fluffy fabric. you knew he was outworldly, yet you couldn’t discern from where he’d come from. was he your guardian angel? a spiritual protector sent to guard you as you dreamt? or was he demonic, an impish spirit serving as a reminder of the sins living within you?

he, unsurprisingly, refrained from responding. his smirk dropped, yet his nightshade-eyes remained draped on you.

“fine,” you huffed, before you allowed exhaustion to envelop your resting form. Your feather-stuffed pillows molded themselves to accommodate the shape of your head, the baby-powder scent seducing you into succumbing to a peaceful slumber.

wordlessly, you blinked your eyes twice at the strange, ghastly man on your wall, before the world around you became pitch-black.

there was a little bunny that often paraded around in the emerald-green grass of your backyard. some mid-days, when your parents were off at work, you would gather some baby carrots from the refrigerator and feed the little creature. it was a cute thing, you decided, with its long, floppy ears and fur which copied the pattern of cowskin. the only difference was that the darker patterns were a light, caramel-brown rather than a deep, mocha-brown.

the soft baby chewed happily, a soft coo escaping your lips as its rosy-pink nose twitched happily.

the little bunny was an adorable distraction from the source of your recent frustration: the demon in your wall.

you’ve tried for weeks to try and communicate. on your side, you’ve provided a multitude of prompts to ask him.

“where’re you from?” was one. “what’s your name? why’re you in my room?” were others.

of course, there’d been a lack of answers from the demon, causing you to angrily cease your one-sided conversations.

you’d even gone as far as to script a lengthy paper to him, leaving it on the cedar-wood surface of your dresser one night for him to read. when you’d awoken, however, you discovered the letter to be ripped up and discarded messily on your oak-wood floor.

how rude.

your parents had been gone; your father was harvesting bee-honey while your mother attended to her floral shop.

you picked up the little bunny, holding its bustling form close to your warm chest. a light breeze whispered around you, an indignation of the twilight-purple evening sky’s soon arrival.

your bare feet kissed the blades of the clover-green grass, ignoring how the sharp tips provoked slight pain as you stepped. you trekked through the vanilla-white door of the baby-blue painted cottage, the wood underneath you groaning as you inched closer and closer to your lavender-lilac room.

your bedsheets had been in a disarray; all messy with the indent of your body pressed into them. your single window had been cranked open, the smell of ivory and pine-trees surrounded your room. your cotton, white blanket reminded you of the clouds you’d seen that morning. the bubblegum-pink tulip on your dresser was dying.

“there you go,” you softly cooed, gently setting the shaking bunny on your cloudy comforter. it settled in quite nicely, its little nose nuzzling the comforting texture and smell of your bed.

you peered at your wall. he wasn’t there.

a timid grumbling caught your attention.

your eyes widened, your ears focusing on the rumbling occurring again. it didn’t take you long to realize the bunny’s stomach had been thundering, its doll-eyes peering up at you pleadingly.

“hungry?” you questioned it, as if the furry creature could truly understand your human words. it appears that it could, however, its whiskers twitching in response.

“okay,” you nodded, your legs setting for the kitchen. “wait here,” you commanded. “i’ll find you some food.”

there hadn’t been much, honestly. your mother’s produce jars had been empty, the only evidence of there ever being fruits were the royal-blue blueberry and scarlet-red raspberry juices that lined the glasses. you had honey-baked bread, but you weren’t sure if bunnies could eat loaves. a jug of lamb’s milk sat tranquilly in the refrigerator, but you figured it’ll make the tiny creature sick.

suddenly, you remembered the strawberries that your father had been planting. sauntering out the door once more, you set forth to the patch that grew quietly near your home.

like a christmas tree, the bush stood soldierly while the blooming strawberries served as ornaments.

you picked gingerly from it, making sure to pick generously in fear of your father being upset.

somewhat alone, the wind’s embrace and the soft singing of the mockingjays accompanied you as you slipped into a daze.

you thought of your parents, how often tired, yet content, they seemed with their lives. your mother’s serene smile was a sight you adored, while your nose regularly basked in your father’s constant scent of honey. you thought of your little world, how you indulged in simple pleasures such as reading jane austen and producing grains of your own poetry. the other townies often depict these simple pleasures as boring, yet there was some comfort gained in you as you embraced your creative side.

there wasn’t much time left to indulge in your deepest thoughts, of course, as you remembered the little bunny that laid hungry in your bed. swiftly, you gathered the harvested strawberries as you set off for your home, the tranquil little cottage soft in your honeyed-eyes.

you trampled through the door, a whistle on your lips as you chopped up the strawberries in a tiny, heart-shaped ceramic plate. it was a ruby-red shade, messily painted with strawberry and tomato juice from when you were seven-years-old.

“bunny,” you called, your voice sweet and high like a hummingbird’s song. the bunny refrained from trotting to the kitchen, its soft paws against the wooden-floor abstained from entering your ears. you turned towards your bedroom door, the pearl-white hatch suddenly closed and foreboding. you couldn’t remember if you sealed it before you slipped out, yet you disregarded it as an unimportant thought compared to the direness at hand.

“bunny?” you called once more, crouching slowly towards your bedroom with the heart-shaped plate in your left hand. the door ahead of you was coated with hand-painted lavender and pink tulips that scattered beautifully against the colorlessness of the canvas. the sky behind you had turned into a hue of tangerine-orange and violet-purple.

the door creaked as you pushed it open. the plate in your hand thunderously shattered as it dropped in shards against your bedroom floor.

near the lavender wall, where the entity lived, laid your little bunny.

a sob emerged from your throat. your beloved bunny rested in the hands of the entity, the furry creature coated in blood as the wall’s ghost ate from it. when it was done, it simply tossed the slain bunny on the ground, a squelch sound made as it dropped in its scarlet-red bloody pool.

you submerged the urge to vomit, yet couldn’t fight the urge to pass out.

a coral-pink bowl of tomato-soup laid carefully against the palms of your slightly-shaking hands.

you observed the entity, the inhuman-man licking the bunny’s blood that had coated on his fingers.

you hadn’t quite noticed it, but the entity was growing.

he grew arms, the muscles bulging and long. his hands were just as big, with veins coating throughout the flesh. or, form? you wondered if his veins contained blood, or if they were like plant vines. you imagined it was the latter. after the events from earlier, you were convinced that this thing was surely subhuman.

and yet, you couldn’t halt yourself from showing some form of sympathy for it. “i didn’t know you were hungry,” you grumbled, your eyes darting down as you simultaneously spooned your soup. you weren’t very hungry; your appetite had been satiated for at least a week. “i would’ve gotten you something had you just told me.”

he simply stared, his sharp-eyes trained on your smaller form as he sucked. you could feel the little smirk that rested on his bloodied lips. barbaric, you couldn’t help but think. your thoughts translated on your face, a subconscious snarl present on your angry lips.

“you’re evil,” you choked out, placing the soup-bowl on your pearl-white nightstand. “i’m not speaking to you anymore.”

you tucked yourself into bed, your pillowy-sheets brought up to your warm face. you could imagine that the entity was simply staring at you, that nonchalant expression on his face as if he couldn’t care less about eating your precious baby bunny. you tried your best to block out any thoughts of today’s events, your subconscious allowing your mind to dream of pleasant things such as your mother’s cherry-lime pie and your father’s lullabies from your childhood.

within a few minutes, you succumbed to sleep.

by the time you woke up the next morning, you feigned surprise at the entity not being plastered on your wall. good, you thought. yet, there was some wicked pulse in your heart that ached at the usual disappearance of the ghost.

your legs carried you out of bed, your yawning self delighted at the sight of your mother and father eating and chatting blissfully at the kitchen table.

“good morning, honey,” your mother greeted, her lips planting a small kiss on your rosy-pink cheeks. your father squeezed your arm.

“honey,” his resonant voice boomed. “i think my strawberries have bloomed, can you pluck them?”

your back fought the urge to straighten itself rigid, your voice fighting the urge to say “i’ve actually plucked some yesterday”.

you complied, however, like the good daughter you were. “i’ll go get them,” you beamed, grabbing the woven-basket near the front door before you set off for the meadows.

it wasn’t anything peculiar. you merely picked the remaining berries, placed them in your basket, and set off back home. you arrived back to your parents on the porch, their tanned fingers wrapped around mason jars filled with what appeared to be peach-tea.

“honey,” your mother sang your childhood nickname. “set the basket down in the kitchen. we left a glass on the counter for you.”

“thanks, mama,” you thanked, your steps echoing as you entered the tiny kitchen. you sat the basket down, yet something peculiar occurred. a thumping sound emerged, a noise consistent and erratic as it bounced frighteningly on what you determined to be on hardwood-flooring. you listened intently, before you realized the sound was coming from your own bedroom.

your skin suddenly felt very cold.

your crept towards your room, your heart pumping as your hand pushed gently against your colorful door. you swore your heart fought not to stop as the door creaked eerily.

the thumping stopped once you entered your room. you froze, your mind racing with a multitude of thoughts at once. oh god, you cried to yourself. perhaps i’m losing my mind. it wouldn’t be a possibility too far fetched. after all, what sane person sees a ghost in their wall?

but then, there it was. a bunny emerged from under your bed, the thumps it created verified that it was the source of the anxious noises produced. you sighed, but then you realized under sudden inspection that this wasn’t just any bunny. its long, floppy ears; its caramel-brown cowskin patterns.

this was your bunny.

“what,” you breathed to yourself, its pink nose wobbling as it inched closer to you. you couldn’t believe it; your little bunny had been brought back to life?

you bent down to scratch the beloved creature behind its ears, but gasped as it disappeared underneath your touch. within a heartbeat, it was gone once more.

you choked back a sob.

“no,” you huffed, your throat tightening and your heart broken. “no, my bunny.”

a tear slid down your cheek, before something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. you turned your head, your eyes widening in pure surprise.

there, on your wall, decorated with black-gunk, purple-ink and burgundy-blood, was a simple appellation.

toji.

when you first started seeing choso, you refrained from bringing him home for select reasons.

for one, you didn’t want your parents to flock and coo around him like doves. for two, you didn’t want him to be frightened by the man in your wall.

toji, you discovered, had gotten stronger as the days progressed. the wall carved out indentations of his thighs, the tendons within them muscular and large. similar to his arms, you noted.

you additionally noticed how jealous he’d get, for reasons you didn’t quite know.

during late nights, when your parents were whisked away by either deep sleep or work duties, you found yourself gushing over choso to the shadow man.

“he’s a gentleman,” you blushed, your fingers toying with the loose fabrics on your comforter. “he sometimes doesn’t have much to say, but he’ll bring me little flowers here and there. specifically baby’s breath cause they’re my favorite. i’m surprised he remembered i told him that the one time i did.”

toji kept that common smirk on his ghastly face, yet his features often altered when he heard you speak about choso. for one, his eyes switched. a fire ignited in them, a violet-purple glint in them that never went unnoticed. his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, with his nose flaring ever so slightly.

there was one day you were enthused over choso so bad that it caused toji to completely disappear for three nights, only to smugly reemerge as you pathetically called his name in the dead of night. you’ve received the message, of course. you’ve refrained from raving to toji about your date after those nights.

tonight, however, you’ve gotten the home to yourself. your parents had been flocked away to attend to some dire work obligations, their presence not revered as that meant you were able to bring choso in. you’ve forgotten about one presence, however, too blissed out to remember.

you ransacked your parents’ liquor cabinet, your fingers pulling out a bottle of jack daniel’s tennessee honey whiskey. your father’s favorite.

it was disgusting, of course, your lips pressing bitterly into each other as you took little shots of it. you were never a huge alcohol enthusiast, but you read somewhere that it was an aphrodisiac. from the way a sudden warmth blossomed between your thighs coupled with the way you could feel your tits hardening underneath your white-sundress, you knew the effects were taking place. with choso’s low-eyes and his palm practically caressing your bare calf, you could tell that the alcohol was affecting him as well.

“you’re beautiful,” he uttered above the soft voices of ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong singing ‘the nearness of you’ on the living room’s mahogany-wooden vinyl player.

“thank you,” you breathed before the sudden liquid courage got a hold of you. you got a hold of his hand, guiding it so that it reached the inner warmth of your thighs.

“do you wanna?” you asked sweetly, your cunt dampening as you heard choso rasp out a soft little ‘fuck’.

“we’re all alone, right?” choso asked, to which you gently nodded your response. “no interruptions?”

“no interruptions,” you promised, before letting yourself be whisked away to your bedroom with your date in tow.

he was so muscular; a fact you didn’t know as his body was constantly concealed underneath the robes and baggier fabrics that he donned. his buffed chest rubbed consistently against your softer breasts, causing them to swell underneath his touch. melodic moans and gasps escaped from your lips, your eyes pressed shut from intense ecstasy and pleasure. his cock, god. his cock was veiny and thick; your lips had previously been wrapped around his salmon-pink dick as it began to rise in your throat. currently, it was being punched routinely in-and-out of your tight, soaked cunt. your nails dug into the man’s pale-back, the ruby-red scratches contrasted beautifully against his canvas-like skin.

it was all too much; you didn’t know if you’d be able to withstand how his cock was fucking you deeply and roughly as he breathed heavily in your ear.

“yeah, you like that?” you could hear his heavenly, sexed-out voice question you. the boldness and confidence in his words caused your blissful eyes to open-up slightly, before they immediately bolted-open in shock.

just a few centimeters from your face had been choso’s own, yet something had changed in his eyes.

they glew a violet-purple hue. right there, just below his sweating nose, was his mouth; his lips were pressed into a familiar, hunting smirk.

you could’ve died right there, but you would’ve found it absolutely humiliating for your tombstone to read; death by bomb-ass-dick.

“yeah,” choso’s voice questioned once more, yet your heart thumped at you in both nirvana and in warning. was this truly choso? “you love this dick, don’t you?” he spoke, causing you to subconsciously moan in response. “love how your cunt squeezes on it, huh?”

“yes,” you nonetheless answer, too fucked out to ponder anything less in the moment. “love this dick.”

“love how it makes you go dumb, don’t you?” choso’s voice began to transform into something unfamiliar. the base in his voice lightened, yet changed its tone to that of something more cocksure. a voice you would later be able to put a face to.

“choso,” you whined, an action that erupted voluminous noises to pass out your mouth as choso slammed his cock deeper in your throbbing pussy. a veiny hand snuck to grasp at your blushing tit, before the same hand trailed upward to carefully hold your throat.

“you’re mine,” he hissed, as if something were causing him great pain. “all fucking mine. this cunt belongs to me.”

“all yours, choso,” you swore, your head bobbing up and down the best it could against the grasp of his hand. you could feel the wave of your orgasm beginning to crash, your heightened ah,ah,ah’s the indicator of what was starting to arise.

“gonna cum, aren’t you?” choso solicited, his fingers rubbing against your cunt’s pearl. “cum then, pretty girl.”

and so you did. you cried as your cunt clenched around his cock. choso groaned at the vanilla-reminiscent ring of cream you produced, the man pulling out just as he filled the trojan wrapped around his tip with his own salty-flavored cream. with a huff, he pulled the condom off his cock before he tossed it in the midnight-black tiny trash can behind him, his naked body then collapsing adjacent to yours.

you laid like that for a while, your bare breasts rhythmically rising up-and-down with each deep breath you took. you allowed your left forearm to press against your shut eyelids, allowing yourself a moment to recover from the orgasm that passed you.

“that was good,” you laughed through a string of heaving breaths. “did you like it?”

“yeah,” choso replied, a hint of confusion inked his steady voice. a pregnant pause filled the air, his arm draping across your bare shoulders. “would you find it crazy if i said i didn’t remember any of it?”

“what?” you chuckled, taking his words to be some form of a joke. your laughter halted, however, once you took in his serious lips contorted to that of a flat line. “did you black out?” you then question, your breasts bowing shamelessly as you sat up against your soft pillows.

“i might’ve,” he shrugged, allowing his form to press into your blanket underneath him. he left it as that, causing you to sigh out an ‘oh’ and nod your head dumbly. you wanted to say how he seemed normal, his usual self except for the fact he was a much bolder personality in bed. you blamed that on the arousal, however. wasn’t it normal for one to act more daring during sex?

“i’ve got to get going, anyways,” choso suddenly remarked, his taller figure swiftly bouncing off your bed which left you downhearted. you loved company; those fleeting moments after sex never failed to even be cherished by your heart. “your parents will be home sometime soon, won’t they?”

“yeah,” you smiled, although it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. it was sad. you felt like a pathetic little puppy dog all depressed once its owner had to leave for work. “do you want me to walk you out?”

“sure, honey.”

you then quickly threw on your discarded sundress from off the floor, trailing behind choso as his fully-dressed form strode casually through the living room, his right hand clasping around the front door’s handle.

“are you free next saturday?” you asked him, a blush on your face as he bent down to kiss your warm cheek. “yes,” he replied, flicking your cheek as if wiping an invisible tear from it. “i’ll call you. goodnight.”

and then he was off. “goodnight,” you called after him, closing the door behind him as you did. you didn’t lock it, of course, for your parents’ sake.

trailing sadly back to your room, you screamed at the sight before you.

it was toji, but he’d been out of the wall. there he was, in all his cruel glory, sitting nonchalantly on the edge of your bed. he’d developed his lower limbs; his legs and thighs, of course, just as muscular as the rest of him. yet, there was something about him that contrasted his buff appearance. maybe it was his clenched waist, a waist you slightly envied. maybe it was his fringed hair-style, an unserious look for a demon.

he looked, nonetheless, dare you even say it, normal for an evil creature. in evil creature standards?

and then you felt ridiculous for casting so much attention onto his appearance when there was a much larger issue at stake.

“what are you doing on my bed?”

he didn’t answer, of course, his devilish eyes glancing up-and-down your swaying form. you wondered what he was thinking about, wondering if you could even touch him. you strode towards him, your thoughts governing your impulsive thoughts. your hand stretched to caress his cheek, but right before you did, he vanished.

you gasped, goosebumps growing across your skin as you felt the presence of him running up and down your arms. his aura possessed you entirely, but not literally; in a metaphorical sense, toji’s spirit danced all throughout your shivering form. you could tell he reappeared behind you, the buzzing sensation of his arms interlocked across your waist as he put his ghostly lips just below your earlobe. it must be frustrating, you thought as you allowed him to quietly take you in. it must be frustrating to not be able to communicate, at least not in the vocal way.

he bit at your earlobe a little, causing you to laugh angelically at the playful, ticklish feeling. you could feel his chest against your back bounce happily. at least you knew entities could laugh.

he placed a little kiss at the nape of your neck, his arms unlinking themselves from you. you turned around, interested in seeing what clever expression toji would have on his handsome, evil face. your smile dropped when you discovered he wasn’t there, wasn’t hiding away in any little corner of your room.

“toji?” you called, but to no avail. “toji?” you nonetheless tried again, your legs pacing across your room and into different parts of the cottage room in some attempt to find him. he was gone.

that night, he hadn’t returned to the wall, either. you’ve gotten used to his glowing eyes staring you down as you slept, a strange conformality you so desperately missed. even when your parents returned home, kissing you a goodnight on the top of your forehead, you still found yourself crying to sleep.

the sorrowful cries continued throughout the duration of two-weeks, the fever of your sobs heightening as you would soon discover choso had been found expectedly dead the week afterward.

everything felt the same to you these days.

your bedsheets had gone unwashed for four weeks, the comforter stained with the scarlet-red residue of your menstrual and your pillows damped by your constant tears. you’ve been planning on washing them, of course, had your father not reminded you that the blueberries were ready to be harvested.

“your mother had been planning on making blueberry compote,” he explained, clearing his throat as he reassuringly rubbed your arm as you laid motionless in bed. “blueberry compote over those buttermilk pancakes you like.”

you thanked God you at least had parents who loved you. if it hadn’t been for them, you would’ve hung yourself with your soiled bed sheets. you’ve been having those thoughts at least once a day, now.

puffy-eyed, you zoned out as you carelessly plucked at the blueberries, chucking them in your mother’s woven basket. why couldn’t your father pick his own blueberries? you tried to think positively, this outdoorsy excursion providing some form of distraction from your own thoughts.

there were no bunnies hopping aimlessly around the grassy-patch. there were no songbirds chirping melodically among themselves. there was only you, the woven basket, the fucking blueberries.

then there was a snapping. your head jerked in the direction of what you determined to be an animal stepping on a fallen branch. you hadn’t seen anything; your eyes narrowed before they darted back to watch your own hands work.

another snap. you tilted your head once more, your heartbeat beginning to race. two more snaps commenced, causing your legs to rise up to your full length.

and then, emerging from the bushes and branches of the forest just to the right of you, there he stood.

“choso?” you gasped, the blueberry basket in your grasp collapsed towards where your feet rooted.

there were clear indications that it was him; his exhausted, heavily bruised eyes, his cocoa-brown tresses, the scars that laid across his delicate nose’s bridge. yet, there was something sinisterly new about him. his eyes were narrowed, his gaze pointed hungrily at you as if you were a delicious bambi-doe. his lips curled upward into a simper, as if there was some inside joke between him and only him. his irises, interestingly enough, glowed a soft, orchid-purple hue.

realistically, you should’ve known that it wasn’t truly choso. he wasn’t Jesus, the simple human unable to rise himself up from his perish after months. perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the desperation that constantly lurked through every crevice of your brain. you ran to him, ran to the figure who you presumed to be your beloved choso.

“choso,” you sobbed and heaved pathetically against his chest. you hugged your arms tightly around his waist, so tight that the man could die again. your body mournfully bounced against his, your tears so intense they stained the entire front of his tunic. he merely patted your head with his right hand, his left hand softly held your waist. “you have no idea how bad i missed you,” you hiccuped, your body suddenly heaving over as if you were about to throw up.

his hands, their softened nature, tenderly held your damp face. he peered deep into your eyes, as if he was opening the gateway to your soul.

“choso,” you rasped once more, before he pulled you in to plant an amorous, long kiss on your lips. you hadn’t quite known what ghost lips tasted like; maybe Earth and rot. you internally gagged. you thanked God, however, that ghost kisses tasted exactly like nothing. there’d been no smell nor taste, similarly to those unscented soap bars your mother would make every first of the month.

you kissed for quite a long time; his tongue suddenly found itself slipped deviously inside your mouth. you moaned, his ghostly hands curiously exploring the mounds and curves of your body.

you don’t recall how or when, but you do remember finding your back kissing the bark of an old sycamore tree. his hands roamed throughout your body, his hands cupping the softness of your tits and the plumpness of your ass. you squealed in his mouth, feeling his cock harden against your thighs.

he fucked you right there and then, his cock suddenly in his hands before he slipped it between the warm folds of your cunt.

you moaned, the songbirds above you seem to chirp along to every little sound you made. he ripped the top of your baby-pink dress, your hardened tits peeking out at him as he pinched them. he nipped at the soft of your neck, his bite becoming intense as you began to reach nirvana.

“fuck,” you rasped, your eyes shut in ecstacy as your mouth formed an erotic ‘o’ shape. “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

you peeked an eye out, your movements and noises suddenly stilling as you noticed toji’s face smirking back at you.

you then orgasmed, your screams of both pleasure and horror scattered the crows that were once perched on the tree branches above you. you fell to your knees, your screams growing in fervor as tears began to stream down your trembling face.

you remained in your state of shock, even long after your father had ran to you and carried you home. the basket of blueberries had been left on the ground.

everyone had thought you were crazy; you were sure of it. you were beginning to think you were truly crazy, too.

you were in your bed once more, a bowl in your hands. hazelnut soup this time, another one of your mother’s delicacies.

you felt awful; your head was throbbing, your eyes were puffy, your ass hurt from falling on it. you were sure your hair looked disarrayed, but external beauties didn’t mean shit if internally you felt suicidal.

your parents had left you at home again, your father heading off to town to find a shrink while your mother set off to find some medicinal treatments. town wasn’t too far, thankfully, so you wouldn’t be left alone for too long.

in the window behind you, something tapped irregularly. you ignored it, at first, your perpetual state of numbness too strong to escape from. you only managed to snap out of it when something hard was thrown at your window, the sudden bang of it making you jump in place. you scurried to the sill, your shaky hands swiftly opening the pane to peek your head out.

nothing save for the cool breeze and howling owls were out there. peculiar.

closing the window behind you, you immediately shouted when you turned back round to face your bed.

there he was again; choso’s form, but toji’s face inhibited it. it was something out of those stephen king novels, something so eerie it couldn’t possibly be reality.

“leave me alone,” you howled, falling to your knees and scurrying to the corner of your room where the evil entity prowled closer. “leave me the fuck alone.”

“why?” choso’s raspy, creaky voice questioned, when in truth it was truly toji’s. his smug face sneered, his sharp teeth bared and shining.

you screamed, your hands interlocked as you dug your face into your shaky knees. you rocked madly back and forth, the stench of rot and swamp drawing closer to your trembling form.

“what’re you so scared of?” the terrifying tone questioned, his hands resting on your moistened-from-sweat thighs. you timidly glanced from between your tresses, your heart suddenly stopping once you took in toji’s face. you could feel the pumping in the organ coming to a halt, your pupils dilating to the extreme as your mouth was opened in a silent scream. his purple-hued scleras coupled with the emergence of sharp, razor-teeth influenced every tissue in your body to remain very still. you could see the entity move closer to your horrified form, the teeth then sinking harshly into the skin of your neck. you couldn’t even wail; you were forced to wordlessly endure his brutal torture.

your waterlines, to toji’s accord, began to kiss each other as your eyes found themselves closed shut. the sensation of an unexpected breeze whoosked throughout your entire body; had you could, you would’ve intensely shivered. the hair on your skin’s surface found itself raised, and then instantaneously rested. the world around you had grown quiet and dark, a fact you were able to govern even from behind the mulberry-colored darkness of your eyelids.

you felt very light, like a fairy soaring over a beautiful field of dandelions. there’d been no weight on you, not from what you feel as you arose from what appeared to be an extremely restful slumber. you rubbed your eyes, your brain too foggy and tired to completely register the darkness that encompassed your glowy figure. you’d then noticed, of course, as you eventually would’ve had to, anyways.

you rubbed your eyes once more, somehow convinced that this would’ve changed the trajectory of your current predicament. “mom?” you called out, your voice light and unsure as you contemplated if this was another nightmare you were in. no response from your mother, as predicted. you began to slightly panic, your chest labored and your airy legs began to pace in circles. “dad?” you wailed, your voice growing in tremor. “mom? dad?”

“they’re not here,” a voice – toji’s – captivated your startled form. you spun dangerously around, your vocal chords dancing as you screamed bloody murder.

“where am i?” you sobbed, sinking down to your knees as you cried and shook. “where’s my parents?”

“they’re not here,” toji simply repeated, his muscular, whispery legs drawing closer to your woeful, tiny body. “you’re home.”

“no,” you hissed, crawling away from toji’s extended arms and handsome smile. “no, i’m not fucking home.”

his smile never faltered, but the little devilish gleam in his eyes subdued. “you are,” he insisted, your angry scowl and furrowed eyebrows challenging his claim. “this is your home now, too.”

“the fuck are you talking about?” you cussed, your smart-mouth suddenly shutting as he presented you with an image. your sight was replaced with the visual of your cold, murdered body on your bedroom’s oakwood-floors. your beloved parents had been crying over you, crowding your form.

your throat tightened as you felt the urge to gag.

“no!” you wailed, your body shaking violently as you pressed yourself deeper into the deception-flooring beneath you. “nonononowhycouldyoudothistomehowcouldyoudothistomewhatthefuckareyou.”

toji simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you could hear him question, a sheen of scarlet-red coated your vision as you peered up at him through glaring eyes.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“that one night,” he began, his expression and tone steady. “when you wrapped that fabric around your neck-”

“-that was not for you to fucking take,” you interrupted, unable to bring your dead spirit form off the floor. “that would’ve been on my fucking terms, toji.”

silence. you found yourself growing silent for a beat, too.

“i’m enamored with you,” toji then admitted, your eyes softening not from love, but from pure defeat.

“why, toji?” you couldn’t help but question. “why did you have to appear in my wall?”

“i saved you,” he responded, surprisingly without cockiness or smugness.

you scoffed.

“you had a mundane life-”

“-i had a happy life,” you corrected. “comfortable, even.”

“is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

“oh my fuck-” you screamed, burrowing your head into into your palms.

“don’t fight it,” you could hear toji say, and you could hear the stupid little smirk he had plastered throughout his words.

“what now?” you despairingly questioned his ghostly, vibrant form. “what do you expect from me, now?”

“i expect you to wed me,” he shrugged, his head cocked as if that statement had been fucking truly expected.

nonetheless, you did wed him. it was a simple wedding; a few other ghostly figures attended, none of which you personally recognized. toji tried to pass them off as your ancestors, but you knew he was lying shamelessly through his teeth. you hadn’t worn a beautiful gown, nor had he’d worn a luxurious tux. you’d both been adorning the outfits you’d passed on in the human realm.

it’s funny, you noted; funny how the only marriage you’d ever have would not have come until you were passed into the spirit realm. you used to daydream about your possible marriage to choso, now here you were getting wed to his murderer. you wondered where choso’s spirit had gone, his presence not sensed nor seen in the small crowd present. you suspected that he’d gone to a better place, perhaps somewhere like heaven. he was an angel on earth with you, it would only be right for him to be where lightness constantly shone on his skin like crystals.

toji simply had his soul banished.

“do you accept her to be your wife?” the unearthly priest-ghost questioned.

“i do,” toji answered.

the priest swiveled to peer into you, his pearl-like eyes sunken into his wrinkled-face.

“do you accept…” his cracked voice began. “...to take toji as your husband for eternity?”

you peered into the eyes of toji, his scalera’s enticing as they shone an adoring hue of orchid-purple just for you.

“i do.”

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji x y/n #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen

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zzoguri · 2 days

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persist and resist (but still, fail) ➵ sung hanbin

sung hanbin x reader

all it takes is one phone call for you to realize what you could’ve had with hanbin

genre/warnings ➵ angst, almost lovers, long-distance but not-in-a-relationship, unspoken words/hidden signals, a lot of wondering of what could’ve been

word count ➵ 728 words

inspired by ➵ “the 1” by taylor swift, that one skype call in “past lives”

a/n ➵ this drabble is very reminiscent of an upcoming fic i have which will have a hanbin version entitled “finger trapped (ripped to its seams)” but its taking a bit to pump out (and i’m very much in my feelings as we speak…) so bear with me and enjoy this drabble for now :33 do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

it’s quiet uptown. as you smell the winter air, frozen kisses graze your cheeks. sounds of cars have been replaced with the buzzing of lamposts and flakes have taken raindrops’ role. on the snow-piled balcony, you hear the wood crackle behind you.

yet, warmth is stored in the voice on the other line.

“so, what’s it like there?” the rasp that accompanies hanbin’s words remind you of the time zone difference between you two. while it may be crack of dawn in korea, night has fallen at where you stand.

“you’ve asked that question how many times in this call.” a giggle leaves you. “you’re making me think that you never listen.”

a soft hum leaves him. “you know that’s not true.” your fingers grip on the blanket draped on your shoulders. “what are you up to?”

“damn, not even letting me answer the thousand questions you seem to have for me.”

“sorry,” he chuckles, “just never hear from you.”

for a moment, all you can do is sniffle.

“it’s quiet here. everyone’s off to see their families.” your hand reaches out to rail, writing the characters of his name on the snow, as you bask in the stillness of the town. “i like it like this.”

“like it like what?”

“when it’s not busy. it’s only during the winter time when you’ll barely hear a horn or chatter.” a smile makes its way to your lips. “kind of like when we’d sneak into school during the summer time.”

heat waves would do their best to tie you down then, draining you of any energy to enjoy the wonders of summer, but you and hanbin were drawn to adventures. while there would be trips to the mart to grab the familiar taste of chocolate popsicles or the playground you’ve bruised your knees at, the school seemed to call on your names. the empty hallways whispered the narratives of students who came before you two—you were certain that yours and hanbin’s story would be told, as well.

“god, i can’t believe we had so much time to waste then,” hanbin admits over the memory. only a hum leaves you. “i miss it.”

a beat passes.

“yeah, me too.” the whisper barely leaves you.

there’s a life in korea that you’ve lost—the quiet exchange of laughter during classes, the smell of fresh kkwabaegi fresh from the fryer, and the nights spent stargazing.

but in the life you have now—in the stillness of your room during midnights, the rush hours of your commute, the conservations you have with the locals—you can’t help but wonder, wonder, wonder.

would you be in a 9-to-5 job at a corporate workplace or performing at sold-out venues? would you wake up early in the morning to bake or would you sleep in the comfort of your own bed? or would you go back to school and dive into the niche topics you’ve always wanted to explore?

but would you live alone in a different part of korea or travel around the world with him? would you wake up to the smell of freshly-cooked pancakes or microwaved fried rice from the night before? or would he latch to your body that’s reached the highest degrees, or make him soup during flu season? (he’s always had a weak immune system. did that change?)

there’s a life in korea that you long for—and there’s a person that you’ve lost. if things were only different, maybe you’d have him for many orbits around the sun.

did he ever think of a life you two could’ve had?

“hey, i have to go,” you say.

“oh,” hanbin’s tone is laced with disappointment, “okay.”

for a moment, not a word is exchanged between you two.

“talk soon?” his question takes you by surprise.

you would’ve loved to agree—yes! i’ll make sure to come visit—but you only smile to yourself with held back tears.

“bye, hanbin.”

that was enough of an answer for him. “okay. bye.”

the call drops. the warmth that your phone held has disappeared. while it makes sense to retreat back into your flat, bask in the heat emitting from the fireplace and read the words of sylvia plath, you remain standing on the snow-piled balcony.

it didn’t matter what you two could’ve had. it didn’t matter if he wondered the same things.

but it could’ve been him—that’s all you know.

taglist ➵ @kflixnet @blankjournal

#works of moni #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 angst #zb1 fluff #sung hanbin #sung habin fluff #sung hanbin angst #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin imagines

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me-sploh-rada-imas · 2 days

Note

jance, 7 😌

hi💜thank you for sending me the prompt i suggested you send me because you inspired me when we were talking about them!! they always somehow end up 500x softer than i originally intend them to be when i write them so uh idk how this happened but yeah.

the prompt is a kiss to shut them up, which i also posted to ao3 here

For as long as they’ve known each other, Nace has always suspected that Jan somehow exists in a different dimension. It’s not that he’s careless or lazy; he just seems to operate on a different time scale from all the rest of them that doesn’t translate easily into the real world, despite Nace’s best efforts at learning his language. Whenever the band are making plans together, they always have to give Jan at least a half hour buffer if they want any hope of him arriving on time. It’s such a big problem that, for particularly important events, one of them has to be placed on ‘Jan watch’ to ensure that they can’t lose him. Nace has come to appreciate the importance of this job on another level now that he’s become Jan’s designated minder rather than Jure or Kris.

It’s not just an important consideration when scheduling band events; Nace also has to be mindful of Jan’s wonky internal clock when they spend time together in a more personal capacity. The first time he invited Jan over for dinner several months ago, the meal he’d prepared had already begun to get cold by the time Jan showed up. Nace can’t hold this forgetfulness against Jan when it’s such an intrinsic part of him. He suspects that it’s a side effect of being a genius that the rest of the band have simply learnt to live with. Nace himself is slowly figuring out how to work around it; he’s started texting Jan a reminder of the event an hour in advance, he’s created a shared calendar in the hopes that Jan will check it more regularly, he convinces Jan to spend the night at his before any particularly important occasions. It’s not foolproof, but it’s certainly helped coordinate their lives more effectively than any measures the rest of the band have tried.

Jan is bad enough at remembering when he has to leave the house, but he’s hopeless at recalling when he’s offered to host instead. Nace has shown up multiple times on Jan’s doorstep to a disgruntled and still half-asleep Jan with the excuse that he lost track of time in the early hours and overslept. Nace has yet to come up with a solution to this problem, but he has plenty of time to think it over in the next few months as Eurovision approaches. Jan is certainly much better at remembering that the rest of the band exists when he has to share a hotel room with one of them.

It’s snowing heavily when Nace pulls up in front of Jan’s place and he takes out his phone to send him a message. As beautiful as this weather is, he’d prefer not stand outside in the freezing cold for half an hour if Jan has forgotten that he’s invited Nace over for lunch today. He’d also rather not pique the interest of the neighbours, who surely have noticed by now that Nace frequently shows up without the rest of the band accompanying him. It’s not exactly suspicious behaviour, but he knows that Jan would rather be as surreptitious as possible and not broadcast their budding relationship to his neighbourhood. Luckily, Jan answers Nace’s message within a few minutes, and Nace pulls on his winter clothing, gets out of his car, and hurries across Jan’s driveway to his front door.

Nace must have inadvertently interrupted a jamming session because when Jan answers the door, he still has an acoustic guitar in his hand. He’s clearly wide awake and well-rested, and he smiles brightly at the sight of Nace.

“Good morning, Mr Jordan,” he says cheekily.

“Good morning to you too, Mr Peteh,” Nace laughs, and steps forward to get out of the snow and the cold.

Jan has other ideas. He blocks the doorway by propping his guitar up with an elbow against his chest and begins to play the opening riff of A Sem Ti Povedal. Nace is being serenaded by Jan, and suddenly there’s something tight in his chest that’s making it hard to breathe, and it’s not just the minus-ten-degree air outside. It’s wildly romantic considering that Jan is not usually one for grand gestures such as this, and it’s also embarrassingly public, even if the only possible observers are Jan’s neighbours. No one is out with the weather as bad as it is, but Nace still feels unbearably self-conscious, and he bundles Jan inside and closes the front door swiftly behind him. Jan is still playing and looking at Nace in a way that makes him feel raw and desperate. They’ve never said they love each other before, but this feels like the kind of moment in which Nace won’t be able to hold his tongue for much longer, and it’s not that he’s unsure of how Jan feels about him, he’s just terrified of scaring him off when he’s become one of the best things in his life. He’s overwhelmingly hot in his outdoor clothes in Jan’s warm house, and he tears off his hat and scarf but it doesn’t help the commotion in his brain, and Nace is suddenly desperate to shut Jan up before he says or does something he regrets.

He fists a hand in the collar of Jan’s shirt and tugs him in to kiss him hard. Jan’s fingers stall against the strings and he drops his pick as he reaches up to cup the back of Nace’s head with one hand and pull him in closer. The guitar is still between them and Nace fumblingly removes it from Jan’s grasp and sets it on the floor against the wall without breaking the kiss, leaving him free to move further into Jan’s personal space.

They’re panting when they break away, and Jan looks down at his empty left hand as though he hadn’t registered Nace taking his guitar away from him.

“Didn’t you like my playing?” Jan asks breathlessly.

“I loved it,” Nace says and laughs. The forbidden words are on the tip of his tongue and he has to take a moment to hold them back before he can continue. “No one’s ever serenaded me before.”

Jan kisses him again then, brief but hot, and Nace chases Jan’s lips futilely when he pulls away.

“You don’t know what you’ve got yourself in for,” Jan says. “Soon you’ll be wishing you’ll never have to hear me play ever again.”

“Absolutely not,” Nace protests. “It’s definitely a perk of dating you if you play for me like that.”

“I’m always playing for you,” Jan says sincerely, though he seems a little surprised to have said it. “I love you.”

Nace’s heart skips a beat and he pulls back so he can properly look Jan in the face. If he felt hot and bothered before, it doesn’t hold a candle to how he feels right now. There’s no air left in his lungs to say anything, and even if there were, he suddenly feels as though he’s forgotten how to speak. Jan is smiling a little nervously at him and Nace realises that he’s been staring at Jan, speechless, for far too long.

“I love you too,” Nace chokes out past the lump in his throat, and then he’s kissing Jan again fiercely, unrelentingly, like he doesn’t know how to stop, all lunch plans forgotten.

#joker out #nace jordan #jan peteh #jance #kiss prompts #i literally don't know how this happened i'm sorry i was not expecting it to take this route #i love subverting the idea that nace is the romantic one and jan is the shy one though

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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 day

Text

── PEREGRINE // FIVE

Series Synopsis: The ways that you and Seishiro Nagi fall together and fall apart over the years.

Chapter Synopsis: You, a new transfer to Hakuho High School, have a first day that is even worse than you had expected.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Kira x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.2k

Content Warnings: unhealthy relationships, cheating, non-linear narrative, probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame, kira sucks, alternate universe, original characters

A/N: just a reminder that this is an AU so things will in fact be different from how they are in canon (i think this is mostly evident w reo?? he’s really something in this past arc LMAOAO like i love him but he is so…interesting…) also dw guys reo is NOT a love interest he’s just bored and has nothing better to do because he hasn’t discovered the joys of soccer and babysitting nagi yet

divider credits: @/benkeibear

The first time you had a crush on a boy, you made the mistake of telling the girl who you had, at the time, considered to be your best friend. That was what people did with their best friends, so you had pointed at him and squeaked out your feelings in hushed whispers. Now, of course, you couldn’t recall anything about him, not his face nor his name, so irrelevant he had been, but you could not say the same about the girl who had been your first lesson in betrayal. Her, you remembered everything about.

Even back then, she had been tall and slender, with beetle-bright eyes and hair like an oil spill, her small mouth the color of strawberries and her round face pale like the moon. If she had stood beside anyone but you, she would have been widely considered lovely, but unfortunately, Orie Watanabe would forever have to be content with second place — because when it came to looks, there wasn’t a girl in the entire town who could claim to be your equal.

You had thought that that didn’t matter. You had thought that Orie loved you as much as you loved her, that she brushed aside what others said with the same ease that you did, that the comparisons drawn between you two were made by halfwits and easily ignored.

You had thought wrong. Orie had narrowed her eyes at the boy you had told her about, and then she had smiled at you.

“He’s cute,” she had whispered. “You really like him? A lot?”

“I think so,” you had said.

“Like, you love him?” she had said. “My parents told me that love is when you want to marry someone and be with them forever. D’you love him?”

“I dunno. Guess I do,” you had said before returning to your coloring page, shading between the black lines. Abstract concepts such as love and marriage and eternity hadn’t even made sense to you at that point in your life, so how else could you have answered the question?

Because both you and Orie lived far from your elementary school, your parents and hers used to take turns dropping you both off and picking you up again. That afternoon, your mother had been the one who came to get you, her freshly-washed car shining in the afternoon sunlight, her dark sunglasses reflecting the world around her.

“Mrs. L/N,” Orie had said as your mother pulled out of the spot she had been waiting for you in. “Did you know that there’s a boy Y/N wants to marry?”

“Of course there is,” your mother had responded coolly. “Reo Mikage. We’ve told her since she was young that she will end up as his wife one day.”

“No, it’s someone in our class,” Orie had said, despite the way you had kicked her leg and shaken your head at her, pleading with her to stop.

“Orie,” you had pleaded under your breath. She had glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, and it had been such a baleful expression, so foreign on her demure features, that you had shrank back into your seat.

“She’s in love with him,” Orie had said. “She told me in class. She wants to marry him and be with him forever.”

“I see,” your mother had said. “Thank you for telling me, Orie.”

All of you had spent the rest of the car ride in silence. Orie hadn’t felt the need to speak again, so she had only murmured a farewell to your mother and gazed at you over her shoulder before darting into her house and leaving you alone. As for you, you had been too afraid to even move, let alone say anything.

You hadn’t understood it at the time, but you had known intrinsically that you had done something wrong. Those feelings, which you had shared with Orie in the hopes that she would keep them secret, were of the sort that had hurt your mother, hurt her to the point of anger.

“Y/N,” she had said when you had entered the house. You had peered up at her then, still needing to crane your neck to meet her eyes, and at the fearsome expression on her face, you had shied back before you could stop yourself. “Who taught you about such things as love?”

You had stammered, more out of apprehension than anything, your first instinct still to protect Orie, though she had not shown you the same consideration. “No — no one, mother.”

“It wasn’t us, so it must’ve been someone,” she had said, clicking her tongue before her eyes had flicked to the television. “Ah. Have you been watching those silly American movies again? Did you really think you’d get to be Cinderella? Those stories aren’t real. Love isn’t something you can believe in. Maybe other people can chase those kinds of ideals, but we’ve raised you to be better than that.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” you had said. She had sighed then, so aggravated, obviously not believing anything you were saying — and of course she had not. You yourself hadn’t known what it was that you were apologizing for, so how could she have accepted it?

“Love is a luxury that only the most hedonistic and privileged of ignoramuses can indulge in. When things grow difficult, when your existence is no longer assured, you’ll find that love is meaningless,” she had said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Go to your room. There’s no need for you to have dinner tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You had cried until you had fallen into an uneasy sleep, your stomach rumbling and sore, but neither your mother nor your father had budged. You hadn’t seen either of them again until the next day, when your mother had come up to wake you for school.

“Good morning,” she had said flatly. You had blinked at her, your head aching peculiarly, your neck cramped, and then you had scrambled to your feet, kicking the sheets aside so you could throw your arms around her legs.

“Good morning, mama,” you had said. “Can I have breakfast?”

Your mother had patted you on the head. “Do you still love that boy?”

You hadn’t even hesitated. “No.”

She had scoffed at that but motioned for you to follow after her. “There it is. See how easily love fades? In the face of hardship, it’s the first thing forsaken. If a man tells you that all he can give you is his love, then I want you to remember this day and run, Y/N. Run as fast as you can, because if he only has love to his name, then he has nothing at all.”

“Y/N L/N, your uniform is ready.”

You brushed past the amassed throng of parents, making your way to the counter where a woman with glasses was passing out the uniforms for the next school year. It was your first time at this store, but you did not dare let your face betray your nervousness, walking with your head held high and your shoulders squared, your nose lifted in the air as if you found every other person in the room to be beneath you.

“Here you go,” the woman said, sliding the clear packet over to you. “Are you new? I don’t remember ever seeing you before, but our records show you’re a third year.”

“Ah, yes, I just transferred,” you said. “I’ve been attending the girls’ academy until now, but for my final year of schooling, my parents thought it’d be prudent that I have some exposure to a blended environment.”

“Well, welcome to Hakuho High School. I’m sure you won’t regret your decision,” she said.

“I’m sure I won’t,” you said, bowing slightly at her, holding the packet with your uniform in it to your chest. “I’m very excited to be here.”

“We’re excited to have you, dear. Seishiro Nagi! Your uniform is ready,” she said. You smiled tightly and turned to leave, narrowly avoiding slamming into a comically tall, pale-haired boy as you wove through the crowd. Far too lost in your own thoughts, you waved off his mumbled apology, seeing no point in even responding in kind.

Of course, you had lied to that woman. Your parents didn’t really care whether or not you ever interacted with boys your own age. In fact, if they had their way, you would stay shut in your room for the rest of your life, a delicate flower preserved in a state of full bloom. There was only one thing that had convinced them to move you to Hakuho — the fact that Reo Mikage attended.

After all, he was their ultimate goal. If you could just marry someone like that, then you would never have to worry a day in your life. You would always be happy, always be safe, always be secure. He was the ideal of stability and success, and so, in their eyes, there was no one better for you to one day wed.

Unfortunately for your parents, you had long ago decided that Reo Mikage was a person you despised, though the two of you had never met. You had your own reasons for wanting to go to Hakuho High School, reasons which you could never tell them about for fear of losing your one chance at escaping for good.

For being as prestigious as it was, Hakuho High School was a relatively ordinary building. There was nothing special about the place — it didn’t sparkle, and no angels sang when you took your first step through the entrance, self-consciously adjusting your shirt collar and skirt, though you already knew that they were perfect.

This was your first impression on your classmates. The last thing you wanted was to come off across as some kind of an idiot or blundering dunce who could barely even put one foot in front of the other. You had experience being hated, but never had you been afforded the pity and derision of others, and you were not overly keen on earning them now.

Your first period was Physics, and according to the schedule you had on your phone, the classroom was located on the second floor of the high school. You climbed up the stairs carefully but quickly, ducking your head so that you blended in with the masses of students, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself.

It would be embarrassing to pull out the folded map you had tucked away in your back pocket, so you visualized it in your mind, tracing the routes you had gone over in colored markers last night and trying to apply them to the maze of hallways you were standing in. Despite your best efforts, though, you could not make sense of any of it, and as the minute hand of the clock drew closer and closer to when the bell would ring, an uneasiness brewed in your stomach. Were you seriously going to be late on the very first day of school?

Just then, a vaguely familiar looking boy ambled past. You couldn’t quite place where you recognized him from, but it was more than you could say about anyone else in the entire building, and you didn’t have many other options. Swallowing your pride, you chased after him, closing the gap between the two of you and tapping him on the shoulder.

He had a messy mop of cloud-like hair, and his large eyes were the color of turtle-doves. His soft face wore a drowsy expression, like he was not quite yet awake but was rather drifting through the school like a half-asleep ghost, and instead of the typical button-down shirt, he wore an oversized sweatshirt under his blazer. When he turned to face you, your hand still resting on his shoulder, his eyebrows drew together, and he cocked his head in a manner reminiscent of a lost puppy.

“Hello, I’m Y/N L/N! I just transferred here. Um, I think that I’ve seen you somewhere, so I hope you don’t mind me stopping you in particular,” you said. Wordlessly, he shook his head, though you were not sure which part he meant to refute. “Ah, or maybe not. I must’ve confused you for someone else; well, anyways, it hardly matters. I was just wondering if you knew where the room for the third year Physics class was? I have it with Mr. Tachibana, if that provides any necessary clarification.”

The boy stared at you for a moment before he slightly lifted his shoulders in what you could only assume was a shrug. You waited for him to elaborate, to say something or perhaps introduce himself, but he must’ve deemed the response satisfactory, as with that, he trudged off, rounding the corner and leaving you fuming.

What a rude, despicable person. It wasn’t like you wanted to be particularly friendly, either, but when the situation called for it, you could at least pretend like you cared about others. The bare minimum was answering someone’s questions with actual words, but this boy could not even muster up the energy to do that much.

“Psst,” a voice said. You turned to see a girl standing there, her face bright, her hair perfectly curled and held half-back with a clip, her makeup applied with an artful hand. “That’s Seishiro Nagi. Don’t bother with him. Come on, I’m going to Physics as well, so you can follow me.”

“What do you mean?” you said, grateful that not all of the Hakuho students were as standoffish as Nagi. The girl used her hand to cover her giggle.

“He’s cursed. We think he’s the child of the devil or something; only bad things happen to people who talk to him, so everyone avoids him,” she said.

“The child of the devil?” you said.

“Mhm, he’s a total weirdo. He doesn’t speak to anyone, and the only things anyone’s ever seen him do are play video games and sleep. He’s not in any clubs or activities or anything, and he has no friends, mostly because no one wants to go near him,” she said.

“Interesting,” you said. It was a shame, really, that such a slacker was taking up a space at Hakuho. He must’ve been at the bottom of the class, but then again, there had to be those people, too. Not everyone could be number one; there would always be those who came in last, whether due to a lack of aptitude or passion or both.

“I hope you’re okay, though,” the girl said. “You even touched him! That’s basically a guarantee that you’ll be jinxed.”

“He’s just another high schooler. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said. The girl shook her head rapidly.

“No, no, you don’t get it! One time, this girl I knew spoke to him, and the next day, her boyfriend dumped her! I really don’t want anything like that happening to you,” she said.

“I don’t think that Nagi had anything to do with that,” you said as you entered the classroom. “Things like curses aren’t actually real, you know. He’s just an abhorrently detached and self-involved layabout. It’s a shame to see, but there’s always going to be people like that, you know. They’re the worst sort, but the explanation isn’t supernatural.”

“Just you wait and see,” the girl said. “By the way, you’re super beautiful. What’s your name?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “Thank you. And what is yours?”

“Sonoko Ishioka!” she said. “You should sit with my friends and I at lunch today. I think that you’ll fit in perfectly with the rest of us.”

You didn’t have any great desire to acquaint yourself with Ishioka, but she was the first person who had offered, and after all, she had shown you the way to the classroom, so you hummed in agreement.

“Thank you,” you said, setting your things down in the seat beside her for the time being. Surely, your teacher would reassign your partners for the year once the period began, but until then, you supposed Ishioka was your best option.

“Welcome, class. I am Akihiro Tachibana, and I will be your Physics teacher. I would like to start the session with a warning to you all: this year will be of an unprecedented difficulty. You will be preparing for entrance examinations and completing applications to various universities, and at the same time, your classes will be more advanced than ever,” your teacher said as soon as the bell had finished ringing. He was a tall yet stocky man, his hair more silver than black, his eyes deep-set in his severe face. There was an aged sort of wisdom about him, as if his great knowledge was an accumulation of experiences instead of the result of extensive study.

“Mr. Tachibana is totally intense,” Ishioka whispered to you. “He’s super tough on his students. It sucks that we got stuck with him as our teacher instead of the other one. She’s apparently way nicer.”

“Hm,” you said.

“Since this is your first period of your first day, I will take the moment to remind you that this is your third year, which means that all of you are now in direct competition for the prestigious Hakuho Scholars award,” Mr. Tachibana continued. You straightened in your seat. “For those of you who forgot, the Hakuho Scholars are those two students who receive the highest and second-highest marks on their final exams. Every year, this select pair receives funding from the Hakuho Alumni Association in order to achieve their future goals, and as someone who has been teaching here for almost as long as all of you have been alive, let me be the one to tell you that the award granted is generous.”

“Sounds stressful,” Ishioka said, wrapping her arms around herself. “I bet Reo is going to get the top spot again, so there’s only one slot open. I’m not even going to try. What about you, L/N?”

“Of course, I’ll give it my best shot,” you said, the pleasantness of your voice just barely masquerading the greedy anxiousness simmering beneath the surface. You wouldn’t just give it your best shot — you had to be a Hakuho Scholar. That program was the only reason that you had even agreed to transferring in the first place.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let me read out the seating chart,” Mr. Tachibana said, his voice fading into a monotonous background noise as he listed off the partners that you would sit with for the rest of the class.

You waited for your name to be called, but it took a while. Ishioka was assigned before you, leaving you behind with a promise to meet you at lunch and an empty seat at your side, which you resolved to make your future partner occupy. You were hardly about to move, and anyways, most people were quick to oblige your demands, as you had this method of disguising them as sweet pleas instead of bratty commands.

“Y/N L/N and Reo Mikage,” Mr. Tachibana said.

Nagi had somehow jinxed you. You had thought Ishioka was full of drivel when she was going on and on about it, but she had actually been right, because now you were paired up with the one person you had wanted to avoid for the entire year. What sort of coincidence was this? How pleased would your parents be, that Reo Mikage had all but fallen into your lap before you could even do anything to get him there? And how furious were you, that you could not escape him even when you wanted to so desperately?

“Normally, people move to my table, but it’s nice to stretch my legs every once in a while. Thank you for that.” Even the way he spoke grated on your nerves. Reo Mikage. He talked like a prince, his words dripping with charm and grace, his movements elegant as he pulled out the chair Ishioka had sat in previously so that he could lower himself into it. His clear eyes were a shade of violet that shimmered like mountains in the mist, and his hair was the same color, hanging around his face in a neatly parted curtain. Unlike that accursed Nagi, who was the only other boy you had thus far encountered, Reo wore the expected shirt and tie, his blazer and pants impeccably pressed, his shoes shined to the point of reflection. “Are you Y/N L/N? I don’t recognize you, but neither do I recognize the name, so it makes sense. Are you new?”

“Just transferred,” you said shortly, taking out a notebook and busying yourself with your pencil case, though of course there was nothing in it that could really hold your interest for very long.

“I see,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh-huh,” you said. “Look, here’s how it’s going to go: we’re going to get our assignments, and you’re going to let me do them, and then we’ll sign both of our names on the top and get full marks and be quite happy with ourselves.”

“Excuse me?” he said. You unscrewed the cap of your pen, labeling the top of the fresh page with the date and the material that you would cover in that class.

“I don’t have any interest in working with you, but I don’t trust you to do anything on your own, so if it means saving my grade, then I’ll take care of it,” you said. “I won’t complain or rat you out or anything. Not that anything would happen even if I did.”

“What are you talking about? Are you quite mad? I’ve been the top of our class for the past two years,” he said.

“You’re also the son of one of the wealthiest men in the entire world,” you said. “I am certain that those two things have no correlation whatsoever, of course. It’s just an observation I’m making.”

“You’re suggesting that I pay for my grades?” he said. There was a faint color to his cheeks now, but it wasn’t the rosy hue that your mother would’ve swooned at. It was an angry flush that made you snort as you copied down Mr. Tachibana’s slides, not even bothering to look at Reo when you spoke next.

“Pay for your grades, pay for your work, pay for shitty work so you can pay even more to get good grades regardless…there’s unlimited options available for a person with as much money as you, right? I’m not suggesting anything, naturally, so there shouldn’t be a need for you to be so upset, unless what I’m saying is close to the truth,” you said. “Though either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Look, I’m sure you’re used to people asking you to do their work for them, so how about you just act happy that I’m offering? It’ll save you money. Or time. Or whatever.”

“You’re presumptuous,” he said, but inquisitively, without a hint of the rage you had anticipated. “We’ve only just met, and yet you’re speaking aloud these horrible assumptions, which you have made not just about my integrity but also about my wits. I mean, what kind of a person would pay for terrible work just to spend more money on bribing their teachers into accepting it?”

“How could I begin to understand the lifestyle of the rich and famous?” you said. “Don’t bother explaining what it’s really like. As with everything related to you, I don’t much care.”

At that, he laughed. He did not yell or argue or have any other normal reaction. He laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you to his side affectionately as the bell rang to signify the end of the period. Startled, you shoved him off of you, glaring at him as much because you were flustered as because you were vexed.

“Do you really hate me that much? I’ve never met a person who didn’t like me. It’s interesting. I think that I like you more for it,” he said.

“What?” you said. “No, you don’t. You are as apathetic about me as I am about you. Perhaps there is even exasperation at my impudence brewing deep within your consciousness, but certainly there are no fond feelings between the two of us.”

“Just you wait,” he said, lifting your bag before you even had the chance to reach for it, hefting it over his shoulder like some kind of gentleman. “I’ll make you change your mind. You’ll agree to be my friend one day.”

“Why would you do that? And give me my bag back!” you said.

“What’s your next class? I’ll walk you there,” he said.

“You will do no such—” you broke off in the middle of your staunch refusal. Technically, you didn’t know how to get to your next class yet, so if Reo was offering, then you’d be a fool to deny him, no matter how much you wanted to steer clear of his general presence. “—World History.”

“Aw, I have English,” Reo said. “But that’s in the same area of the school, so it’s not a problem.”

You rolled your eyes. “What a shame.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but soon enough, you’ll mean that,” Reo said.

“Honestly, I don’t get what the end goal is here,” you said. “I’d much prefer if you just left me alone, and you’d have an easier time of it, too. Don’t you already have plenty of friends? If not, then please find some that actually want to be around you. With your income level, it should be a breeze, but should you somehow be unable, then you can probably pay someone to keep you company. Someone who isn’t me, that is.”

“That’s just it,” Reo said. “At the moment, I can easily become friends with anyone in the entire school without any effort at all. The exception is you, which means that you’re the only one I want.”

No. No. No. Reo couldn’t want you, not in any way. Platonically, romantically, even as an unpaid intern…he absolutely could not want you. If your parents ever found out that he was saying such things about you, then you would never hear the end of it. And they would find out. Always, always, they found out.

“Y/N!” Ishioka squealed, bounding up to you and embracing you tightly. You weren’t sure where this sociability came from at first — the two of you were barely anything more than classmates, so she ought to refer to you as L/N. And since when had you allowed her to hug you? Was everyone at Hakuho this brand of touchy? But then you noticed that she had strategically maneuvered herself in between you and Reo, batting her eyelashes up at him, and it all made sense. “Are you still planning on coming to lunch with us?”

“No, she’s eating with me,” Reo said.

“Since when?” you hissed, though you were as much a part of the conversation as a cactus would’ve been, considering how neither of them paid any heed to you.

“You’re friends with Y/N? She and I are very close, so of course, she’ll want to spend time with me today. But you can come as well, Reo; we’d never say no to you,” she said.

“Er, it’s a lovely offer, but I think that I’ll have to pass,” Reo said. You took advantage of the moment to snatch your bag back from him, clutching it to your chest so that he could not take it again. He glanced over at you in confusion before returning his attention to figuring out a way to bow out of eating with you and Ishioka.

“Is it like that, then?” Ishioka said, her eyes darting between you and Reo. “Do the two of you want to eat alone?”

“No!” you said. “No, not in the slightest. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s the opposite of that. I don’t want to eat with him at all. I would much prefer having lunch with you and your friends.”

But Ishioka didn’t want to have lunch with you anymore. She hadn’t said it directly, but she didn’t need to; her expression was pinched and sour, a lemon-sucking sort of expression that you were all-too-familiar with.

“It’s fine,” she said. “On second thoughts, we don’t have any space left at our table.”

Your shoulders slumped. It was the same story again, and though Ishioka wasn’t anyone special nor important to you, just the reminder was enough to pinch at your heart. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Ishioka said, though most likely, she only did so because Reo still stood there, somehow managing to maintain a dignified air about him despite how out-of-place he was. “See you around, then, Reo, L/N.”

“Thank goodness,” Reo said as soon as she had left. “I really didn’t want to spend time with her. Her and her friends are a little odd.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” you snapped. “She was the first one to be nice to me, and now that I’ve made an enemy of her, I doubt anyone else will want to show me any kindness. If this is your attempt at befriending me, then it’s terrible. I hate you even more.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that,” Reo said. The apology didn’t feel feigned, which only made it worse — he really was sorry, and he really hadn’t thought of that outcome. Why would he? It wasn’t something he would’ve ever had to worry about.

“Just show me where my class is so I’m not late,” you said. “We’re already cutting it close as it is.”

He was well-mannered enough not to point out that it had been Ishioka’s interference that had delayed you, but then again, although Ishioka had used you as a pretense, her true goal had been Reo, so you were nothing but faultless in the matter of your possible tardiness.

“I’ll wait by this door for you once the period is over, so that we can take our lunch break together,” he said once you reached the entrance to your World History class.

“Do your ears need cleaning? I said I don’t want to eat with you, didn’t I?” you said.

“Who else would you eat with?” he said.

Right. Because stupid Reo Mikage had ensured that no one else would ever want to hang out with you, not after what you had inadvertently done to Ishioka came out — what a bitch, she went for her friend’s crush? And after Ishioka was so nice, too — leaving him as your only choice.

“I’ll eat by myself,” you said. “And you’ll agree to that if you ever want to have even a chance of me liking you, because if I have to look at you for one more minute, I believe that I will scream and then attack you in a most violent and vicious way.”

He grinned at you. “I’ll get to my own class before that, then. See you tomorrow.”

You stuck your tongue out at his receding back and prayed that he grew bored of this new game of his quickly, lest you be driven to insanity before the end of the month.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mariyumemi @naatggeo @prettyarsxnist @noble-17 @rinitoshisgirl @stuckindreamland06 @little-miss-chaoss

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #peregrine #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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kaigarax · 3 days

Text

Sometimes, All I Think About Is You

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Quote: "Openly fall in love."

First Encounters

The first time Satoru Gojo sees you is when the two of you are just kids. He’s a boy just about to attend Eton Academy and you’re a young girl who’s just begun to learn the difference between men and women.

Satoru’s parents, citing his lack of friends (his only friend being the young stable boy around his age) and hoping to acquaint him with some ‘proper’ company. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. So, being the ever doting parents that the Gojo’s claim to be they set up a playdate with the family of the viscounts that live close by.

A family of six, if Satoru isn’t mistaken.

The Viscount and his wife, two twin boys around his age and two girls about five and seven years younger respectively.

Satoru finds your older brothers awfully boring. One of them, Satoru thinks, certainly has to be the dumbest person he’s ever met and the other is the most aloof. Such a pair that Satoru is almost a little worried about what might happen next to the Viscount's family in the future and he rarely ever cares about others.

Satoru doesn’t try very hard to get along with the two boys. He lets them show him around briefly, he even plays a couple of games of croquet before disappearing into the manner with the excuse of looking for the bathroom. With any luck, the two of them might forget about him long enough for the remainder of this horrible playdate to end and he can finally leave.

Truth be told, Satoru has always been a little different from the other people around him. Always seen the world a little differently from everyone else. It was almost as if everyone else stumbled around in a world of black and white while he was the only one that could see in colour. The only person who ever came close to understanding him was Suguru Geto, the stable boy and son of his family’s butler. And while it was frowned upon to make friends with the ‘help’ it would be the first time that Satoru could just be… himself.

The young boy could barely even find it within himself to feel bad as he abandoned your twin brother to wander the house. Sure, he’d been given a tour earlier but that had mostly been a quick look around. Satoru hadn’t gotten the chance to actually look at things in the detail that he wanted to.

His eyes wandered from the old curtains, which oddly reminded Satoru of his mother’s dresses, to the long line of photos left to hang up on the wall. Family portraits, Satoru thinks. All the people look vaguely familiar to one another with a familiar resemblance in the eyes and smiles. Satoru’s own family had something similar though the paintings are ones of the patriarch rather than of the entire family.

“It took the painter three weeks to paint that one.” You say.

Satoru isn’t surprised, he had heard you come in, but he feigns surprise. Suguru had told him that it was better to pretend to act normal around other people if he wanted them to like him. He had always found that annoying and pretentious but he would do what he had to in polite society. Especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to hear another lecture from his parents.

You look to be a couple years younger than Satoru as he turns to look at you. Five years give or take one or two in either direction. You’re a small thing, well small compared to him. You’re draped in a cool summer dress while Satoru personally thinks that spring is much too early. There also happens to be pins attached at the edges of the dress reminding him of his own fitting session that he would have to attend later on in the week.

Satoru hates attending fitting sessions. Doesn't see why he always needs to be wearing clothes that fit perfectly, especially because he seems to need to head there at least once every two months now that he’s begun growing. He doesn’t see why he can’t just wear clothes that are a little too big or too small for a little while like Suguru.

You take a step towards him, your eyes never lingering too long on him. Satoru’s always being scolded by his mother for staring at one thing for too long or not keeping eye contact long enough but you seem to have mastered the timing of the gaze perfectly. It’s both polite and respectful.

It absolutely infuriates Satoru.

You regard him with a calm expression that has him forgetting that you’re the younger of the two.

“I see you’ve abandoned the company of my brother.” You state.

Satoru points his nose up, “what of it?”

“It was merely an observation. I meant no harm.”

He then scrunches his face up as he leans down to stare at you. He has to lean down quite far considering you’re short. Though, admittedly you are five years younger than him and he’s tall for his age.

He notices that you’re holding a book behind your back fiddling around the edges of the page self consciously. Satoru had never been a big fan of reading, especially when he was around your age. He’d rather be outside play-wrestling with Suguru or doing some other physical activity or sport. He’d always been very good at physical things.

Admittedly, Satoru thinks you're pretty. Much better looking than your two brothers. So much so that he briefly wonders if the three of you are even related in the first place. If not for the same shape of the eyes, Satoru would have been certain that you were merely children that lived in the same house instead of siblings.

He still thinks that might be the case.

You’ll probably be pretty when you grow up. Perhaps not nearly as pretty as his mother but he’s certain you’ll be… charming? Well, at the very least you won’t be ugly. Especially if you end up taking after your mother. Satoru never really cared much for how pretty other people are but he has always considered himself a good judge.

Finally, Satoru pulls away, “you’re annoying.”

“If you’re attempting to insult me you’re going to have to try a little harder,” you say, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your lips, “I have two older brothers.”

“And you’re weird.” Huffed Satoru.

Your calm smile turns from calm to amused, “so are you.” Your lips move up more and your eyes seem to linger for just a moment longer on Satoru’s own.

Satoru’s jaw is dropped before he can even realise that it has. Not only is it the first time someone has so brazenly insulted him (not including Suguru) but it’s both the first time a woman (girl) has insulted him and someone younger than him has dared to treat him as an equal. Even most adults didn’t have the guts to bring themselves up to Satoru’s level unless they too stood in the same position as his parents.

But you.

Annoying and weird you are standing there in front of him as if you’re friends joking about a funny joke you just told. Perhaps you do think it’s a joke - which would only further prove to Satoru that you’re weird.

An older woman (likely your Nurse) runs into the room, her expression worried. She quickly bows to Satoru, “sorry, My Lord. The little missy here seems to have a mind of her own most of the time.” She turns to you with a harsh look, “did you say anything to insult the young Lord?”

Satoru expects you to roll your eyes or look away like any normal child would do. Thought maybe you might’ve stomped away angrily or made a face at him when your Nurse wasn’t looking.

Instead, your eyes soften and you smile fondly at your nurse, “I wasn’t on my best behaviour,” you calmly admitted.

Your Nurse sighs as she continues to reprimand you.

Satoru, on the other hand, is left a little shocked and speechless. He isn’t quite sure what happened but the wheels in his hand do begin turning and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He wonders if you can see the colours too.

---

A Conversation

Satoru Gojo comes to the conclusion that, after a while of getting to know you, yes you do see colours just not in the same way that he does. Your skills lie not in a brilliant way to dissect numbers nor demonstrate the ability to memorize new information or pick up skills at the drop of a hat like how he can but there’s nothing about you that can be considered ordinary either.

He heads over to your house at least once a week for the next two years. Not because he wants to, of course, but because his parents have stopped with the lectures about not hanging out with Suguru when he gives into their wishes and spends time at your house. And, sure, your older brother is awfully boring and dull but it gives him the chance to get to know you better. The strangely entertaining and endearing little girl who’s intelligence rivals his own.

It sucks that you don’t actually ever linger around when Satoru is there. You obediently listen to your brothers when they ask you to head elsewhere and you rarely ever spare Satoru a second glance unless Satoru goes out to seek you himself; and even you refuse to spend time with him unless he’s entertaining your brothers.

He notices that you’re an avid reader, always holding a new text in your hand every week. Satoru just knows that his parents wish that they had a child like you. So obedient to your elders and caretakers. So well mannered and thoughtful plus you seem intelligent and well read. He bets that you would have been named heir over your two older brothers if you too had been born a man.

You’re so mature for your age and perhaps that is what Satoru likes about you best.

He doesn’t have to go out of his way to entertain you or have to explain himself when he says something strange or different.

It simply just is.

It takes Satoru exactly two years to figure out why exactly he likes you so much. To come to all those conclusions above and finally get close enough to you that the two of you can consider one another as friends. It’s unfortunate that by then his visits stop as he begins school at Eton’s Academy for Boys. Higher education where any worth a damn in high society attends.

It sucks that he won’t be able to see you much anymore but what can Satoru do against the adamant wishes of his parents?

At least Suguru will be attending with him.

Suguru isn’t you but he’s one of the only people that actually understand him so it won’t be that bad.

You make his heart race and his stomach feel all fuzzy.

But it isn’t until several years later, when you’re a debutant freshly minted and prepared for your first season, that Satoru realises why.

It had been years since he’d last seen you.

Obviously, he knew that you were going to change. People always changed, both physically and mentally, but he just wasn’t ready for how different you looked. Hadn’t been as prepared for the change as he thought he was.

He’d always known that you would grow up to be pretty but this pretty? It wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to you.

He knows that you must be the diamond of the season. It would simply be a crime not to. In fact, Satoru himself would march right up to the Queen himself and demand an explanation as to why you were not named the diamond.

Satoru floats through conversations, half of his attention on the conversation at hand and the other half wishing he was speaking to you. You always know the right thing to say to make him smile and he never has to bend over backwards trying to charm you. He knows you already like him exactly as he is. Flaws and all.

It’s unfortunate that his conversation with you ends almost as quickly as it begins.

You’re quickly swept away by some other gentlemen - your dance card full of potential suitors.

It annoys Satoru greatly though he isn’t quite sure why. Obviously, Satoru knows that he enjoys your company and he likes being around you so he’s angry that other people are taking your attention… right? That’s the reason. What else could it be?

Satoru’s thoughts were interrupted with a sharp elbow to his side as he exclaimed quietly, “hey!”

“You were pouting.” Suguru says.

“Was not.”

“Oh, you definitely were.”

Satoru grumbles to himself, annoyed.

Suguru chuckles quietly in response.

“What do you think of (Y/n)?” Satoru asked suddenly.

Suguru ponders briefly, “she’s a little like you.”

“Really?” Satoru raises a brow curiously, “I personally thought she was more like you.”

“How so?”

“She’s good at understanding other people and she cares an awful lot more about what other people think about her than she lets on.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully, “everyone cares about what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s because you’re weird.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Suguru gives Satoru a closed eye smile, “you’re weird but not super weird. A little weird.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, “like that’s so much better.”

“Let me put it this way,” Suguru explains, “you don’t care about what everyone thinks but you care about the thoughts of people that are important to you.”

“Isn’t that how everyone should think.”

“Oh, most certainly.”

Satoru knows that Suguru is mostly just entertaining him at this point. His words always have some hidden meaning to them (that Satoru is usually too lazy to dissect) but there are points when he simply says something to entertain Satoru. Suguru has always been thoughtful like that; it’s one of the reasons why Satoru has always liked him so much.

He thinks that that might be why he likes you too.

You make his heart race and his stomach feel all fuzzy.

But it isn’t until several years later, when you’re a debutant freshly minted and prepared for your first season, that Satoru realises why.

---

The Moment

Satoru is surprised when he sees you sitting by yourself early one spring morning.

Staring off into the distance in the middle of a hill that floats down into a lake.

Fluffs of dandelion seeds float around haphazardly in the air. Almost like snowflakes amidst the cool spring air. The melodic chirping of birds fills the air, though Satoru personally has never been a fan. Many of his classmates had written poems about the birds before. Talking about flight and freedom alongside a musicality that comes so naturally to them compared to humans.

It’s unusual for women, especially young girls who are in search of a husband, to head outside by themselves where any man could just stumble upon them without a chaperone. Satoru bets that you had woken up bright and early just so that you might be able to have a moment alone.

He almost feels a little bad to intrude on your moment alone.

He imagines you don’t get very many.

But he approaches you nonetheless. His heart tugs him towards you much like how a child pulls their parents down the aisles of a candy store. Eager and excited.

“(Y/n)~” Satoru says your name sweetly, liking the way it flows off of his tongue so easily. Thinks that it tastes so much better than some of the sweetest things he’s whispered to others.

You don’t bother turning to look at him as you would have done if this had taken place in the presence of others, “My Lord.”

“Satoru.”

“You really do love saying your name,” you tease, as he takes a seat beside you. He makes a face as the bottom of his pants get wet from the damp grass upon contact. His usual reaction would have been to jump up and scowl. He usually hates any uncomfortable feeling and does anything he can to avoid any such sensations but forces himself to bear with it as your warm shoulder brushes against his own. Well the sleeve of your dress brushes up against the dress-shirt but this is close enough for him. Besides, his pants are already wet now so he can bear with it for a little longer.

The two of you stare off into the distance, staring at the lake.

Satoru notices that you’re still in your nightgown. It’s light and flowy, similar to the clothes you used to wear when you were young. Hot stuffy dresses are what’s most popular now in women’s fashion and being a proper lady of good origins you do your diligence in following the fashion trends. Strangely though, the thought of your subtle acts of rebellion bring a smile to his face. It’s so subtle and detached from the main parts of society yet so much louder than you’ll ever realise.

He bets that your mother would be furious if she found that you were outside and alone with an unmarried man. Furious if you came back with the bottom of your dress soaked from the morning dew and rain.

You probably don’t care though.

Your attention is much better spent on the lake in front of you. (Satoru personally thinks that your attention would be even better spent on him.)

He doesn’t bother to look at the lake he’s already seen hundreds of times in his life.

This is where he and Suguru used to play pirates. Where he’d first been tossed into the lake when the two of them were horsing around and where he had crawled out of angrily. Where he’d caught his first frog and made his first (mud) painting.

This was the lake of his childhood that he loved oh so dearly.

But right now, he found that he’d rather look at you.

The baby fat you had on your cheeks back before he had left for Eton is gone. It makes you look more mature. Less like the girl that made fun of him and more into the woman that would send light teases his way. Makes you seem less like the girl who always carried around picture books and into a young woman that reads intellectual novels that dive into the human.

He’s a little sad. He had quite a fondness for the young girl that managed to make him mad with the single raise of an eyebrow. It’s almost like the loss of someone important to him. Someone he didn’t know that he would miss as much and a version of you that he would never get to say goodbye to.

But, he finds that he has a fondness for the you that’s sitting beside him now.

He wouldn’t go as far as saying that he likes this version more than the young child you but he would admit that this version was much more… exciting to be around. Almost like a mystery that he was working to solve.

A smile pulls at his lips when he notices a book in your lap.

“What’re you reading?” Satoru asks, pointing to the book in your lap.

You brush the cover of the book gently, “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Suguru read that book once.”

“Have you?”

“No. Besides, Suguru said it was just a boring romance novel for women anyways. Says nothing that we don’t already know.”

You smile as you nudge him playfully, “do you let Lord Suguru’s opinions dictate all of your own decisions, My Lord?”

“No,” Satoru pouts, “but I’ve never liked reading much anyways. It’s easier to let him do the reading first. He knows what I do and don’t like. Besides, I don’t want to waste my time reading something I wouldn’t even like.”

Finally, you turn to look at him. To the untrained eye it would be a look of indifference. But to Satoru, your self proclaimed childhood best friend, your expression is one of amusement. From the way your eyes crinkle in the corners slightly to how you sit up more straight ever so slightly and the subtle twitch of your lips. Plus, the most obvious and dead give away to anything, your eyes. They look at him, lingering on his face for a moment longer than they linger on anyone else's as you respond with a soft, “and what do you like to read, My Lord?”

“Comedies usually.”

“Like?”

“Twelfth Night.”

You raise a brow delicately, “Shakesphere?”

Satoru places a hand on his chest, feigning offence, “are you implying that you think I wouldn’t like the works of one of the greatest writers and minds of our time?”

“Oh, I’d never, my Lord,” you eyes crinkle in the corners, “I was simply surprised. Most men I speak with prefer something more contemporary like Wordsworth or perhaps something practical and sensible like a book on agriculture or architecture. They consider things like Shakesphere to be mere entertainment.”

“So then are you implying that you think I have the taste of a woman?”

“And who would you consider yourself akin to then, my Lord? Duke Ceasiro?”

Satoru makes a face.

You chuckle softly in response, “you must admit, the two of you share a certain resemblance.”

“I am insulted on every level, (Y/n).”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I am!” Satoru exclaims, waving his arms above his head, “I am most like the honourable Sebastian.”

“Ah yes, Viola’s twin brother.”

Satoru nods.

“Well, he’s certainly an opportunist.”

“Would you not marry a beautiful woman that you just met and is seemingly in love with you?”

You hum softly as you ponder on the idea.

Satoru remembers how he had dragged Suguru to the play house that day. He had originally gone because there was a particular woman that he wanted to promenade with after but had actually found the show to be quite enjoyable. Suguru was absolutely furious with him but even he had a few chuckles at some moments.

“What was your favourite part about Twelfth Night?” You ask, leaning against him.

“The love triangle.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t the traditional kind of love triangle.”

“A true love triangle, I’d say.”

“The kind you’d like to find yourself in?” You tease.

Satoru shrugs in response.

From where Satoru sat he could see a small group of birds gathering around. They reminded him a bit of the Ton. So easily swept up into a single moment and conversation without much consideration about the world around them. Much thought and consideration is never put into everything else that this world has to offer.

“What kind of stuff do you like to read?” Satoru asks.

You smile, “you mean apart from the book in my hand?” Satoru can tell from the way you lean back away from him with a gleam in your eyes that you’re teasing him.

So he decides to tease you back.

He leans in towards you with a grin, “you and I both know you’re only reading that because it’s popular. It’s not what you actually like to read.”

“And what do you think I like to read?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I knew the answer.”

“Alright, I’ll bite, Satoru.”

He beams brightly when you say his name.

“The last thing I read for my own enjoyment was, Thomas De Quincey’s, Confessions of an Opium Eater.”

Satoru’s jaw drops, “the drug addict poet?”

“Most writers struggle with addiction.”

“What do you like about De Quincey’s works?”

“He wrote quite a particularly thought provoking piece about the human mind. Looking into the subconscious.”

“Oh?”

“He writes, ‘dreams are the unconscious mind finishing the halted thoughts of the conscious.’”

“A Romantic for sure.”

You beam, “oh, most definitely.”

Satoru thinks that this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile in such a way. If he weren’t already sitting he would have fallen flat on the ground. His heart would have stopped in his chest and he likely would have fallen to the ground and died only then to be once again revived by your beauty.

He thinks that this is where humanity must have peaked. That there will never again be someone that looks as beautiful as you do when you’re smiling. That no one will ever hold such a place in his heart that you do.

He leans towards you with a lovesick smile, “I’m going to marry you.”

You cough a little, “excuse me?”

His smile doesn’t falter, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Why me?”

“You understand me.”

“Hm?”

“You see the world in a way that everyone else doesn’t and you see me for who I am. Not who everyone else thinks that I should be.”

“My Lord-”

“Satoru.” He corrects.

“Satoru,” you lean away, “don’t you think you’re being a little hasty? We’ve barely even had a full conversation since you came back from school.”

“And?”

“You barely know who I am.” You look hesitant, the mask you always wear slipping as if you’ve never worn it before.

He takes your hand before you can bolt off (he hopes that it comforts you the same way it comforts him), “I know that you understand my loneliness. You know how it feels like for the whole world to want you to be a certain way. You’ve perfected the way of living from the way you move to the smile on your face to be exactly what society expects of you.” He feels as though his heart is beating a million beats a minute.

Your expression shifts a little.

Going from hesistance -

- to surprise.

And then suddenly Satoru doesn’t know what it is that you’re exactly thinking right now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this expression on you and it worries him a little. His heart is fluttering in anticipation.

Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever been in such an uncomfortable situation before.

Well… there was that one time where Suguru had hidden Satoru’s favourite riding helmet as payback for something stupid he said earlier. In an attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t bothered, Satoru had gone off with a different helmet and messed up almost everything. Nothing seemed right. His horse, even though it was his favourite steed that he had ridden since he was a boy, just wasn’t listening the way it usually did. He actually almost fell off his horse twice (and actually did fall off once while in the middle of getting on).

Yeah, Satoru thinks, this feeling is a little something like that.

“Satoru.” You hold his hand tightly.

“Hm?”

“Be here with me.”

“I am here.”

“Stay in the moment with me,” you say softly, “your mind keeps drifting elsewhere.”

Satoru’s heart flutters as he smiles down at you fondly, “okay.”

Yeah.

He’s most definitely falling in love with you.

No.

He has fallen in love with you.

He’s going to marry you.

Openly, fall in love.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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luv-sims · 2 days

Text

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ songs that remind me of enha (hl) ˖ִ ࣪₊

lee heeseung, park jongseong, jake sim, park sunghoon <3

warnings ˖ִ ࣪₊ me. I am the warning. I wrote this at 2am and had major brainrot, I got very emotional, (again everything im saying is a joke) not edited.

pls don’t take this seriously, it’s very random:c

(anything I say, is not irl or true at all and is just all jokes!! also ik the cover is different from my usual ones, I got lazy and I couldn’t find anything with the hyung line 😞, enjoy 🫶🫶)

(a/n) here’s something short and stupid until I finish my next heeseung fic🤗🤗 also short little beomgyu fic coming vv soon!!

lee heeseung

sweet night , v

baby come home 2 / valentines , the neighbourhood

hidden love ost ( forever star ) - zhang yihao

^ I strongly recommend watching hidden love and adding this ost to ur playlist!! so cute :c

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

- when I think of heeseung, I get major angsty vibes like it’s genuinely a me problem. IDK WHY☹️☹️

- when I think of hee in a trope, I think a miscommunication type-thing, right person nd wrong time.

- I think it’s bc I’ve read sooooo many angsty things abt this man LIKE I LITERALLY REMEMBER A WATTPAD STORY I READ IN 2021. It was like the girl was suicid@l and hee was like “give me a month to make u wanna live” it was CRAZYYY. neways.

- BUT ALSO… *spoiler for my one of my ideas for a heeseung fic>> he gives me older brothers best friend trope vibes, like i recently rewatched the cdrama hidden love and he would be such a perfect duan jiaxu!! the vibes are there‼️

- im so sorry heeseung i luv u so so so much this isn’t personal :c </3

park jongseong

love on the brain , rihanna

my kind of woman , mac demarco

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

- AAAAAAA JAYYYYYYY

- jay gives me like home vibes. Idk if that makes sense. pls bare with me.

- I feel like he would be like rich ceo kdrama man who falls in love with his secretary type trope☠️ the ceo vibes go HARD

- like when I see him, I genuinely feel comfort.

- he reminds me of like- anything romantic in the world, it’s giving husband material, gentleman (all of them r gentlemen but jay is oozing gentleman)

- it’s like when I see jay, I just feel warm😞

- (example; holding a cup of hot chocolate on a snowy winter day) yes I gave in example. this is jay.

jake sim (be prepared)

style , ts

labyrinth , ts

call it what you want , ts

little freak , harry styles

nobody gets me , sza

i.f.l.y , bazzi

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

- lolz guess who my bias is🥲⁉️

- I warned u guys!!!

- I could genuinely talk abt this man for hours.

- my man my man my man my man my man my man my man. HE IS SOOO LOVER BOY MATERIAL LIKE I CANNOT FORM WORDS. like cmon guys yk i had to put ts on here. HE IS HUSBAND MATERIAL, BF MATERIAL, EVERYTHING MATERIAL.

- literally jake fits any trope, this man is so perfect.

- childhood best friends to lovers with jake is absolutely amazing and magical and it hits EVERY SINGLE TIME.

- he gives me childhood best friends 2 luvrs vibes bc he’s just so like… idk the word but this man is my everything.

- he is literally the lyrics, labyrinth is so him, call it what you want IS HIM, style is literally made about him⁉️little freak is what i feel about him (like the song is so good it gives u a rlly emotional feeling where u wanna sob) and nobody gets me….. yes that was personal.

(i sincerely apologize for this mess, I couldn’t hold myself back☹️)

park sunghoon

ocean eyes , billie eilish

cars outside , james arthur

line without a hook , ricky montgomery

consume , chase atlantic

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

- sunghoon…😞

- he reminds me of a first love.

- he just gives me such sentimental bittersweet vibes when it comes to this stuff.

- im struggling to find words rn bc suddenly im emotional thinking about sunghoon. he’s giving me I want u but I can’t have u vibes (help me)

- he ALSO gives me very rich ceo vibes, and the amount of rich ceo fics about sunghoon i see tells me ppl agree🔥🔥

- I also added consume bc he also gives like supernatural fic vibes (he’d be a rlly hot vampire or demon someone pls make one and send it to me🤗) and that song just fits the trope SO WELL.

- he’s so quiet and shy and looks like a sad man, and trust me I do not mean this in a way where im saying he’s depressed (yk the sexy sad men in movies?)

-sunghoon deserves sm and more, he’s such a gentle soul he reminds me of a bubble bath (idk what im saying anymore it’s 2am)

- he’s so cute. he’s my everything. he’s mine.

(sorry this is actual brain rot atp🤗)

- ok im done this made me sad i luv them all sm

MAKNAE LINE NEXT ORRR???

@luv-sims

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akazzzaa · 3 days

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Summary-You get isekai but you miss your old life

Genre- Angst/ very little fluff

Warnings- Racism// Overthinking // Mentions of death and blood

It happened all to soon.

It was just another typical evening, filled with the monotony of everyday tasks. You had just finished washing the dishes, the warm soapy water still clinging to your hands as you wiped them dry on a kitchen towel. The humdrum of life had become a comforting rhythm: work, home, chores, eat, sleep, repeat.

There was solace in the predictability, a sense of security in the familiar.

You settled into the worn-out couch, a cup of tea in hand and your favourite show up on the television. Outside, the city buzzed with its usual night-time symphony – car horns, distant sirens, the occasional bark of a dog. Your phone buzzed with a notification, a reminder of an upcoming meeting. You sighed, mentally preparing.

Without warning, a wave of dizziness washed over. The room spun, and you clutched the edge of the couch, heart racing. You tried to steady yourself, but your vision blurred, and your body felt unnaturally heavy. Panic set in as you realized you was losing consciousness. The cup slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor as everything went dark.

When you awoke, the world was different. Instead of the familiar comfort of your living room, you found yourself lying on a futon in a brightly lit room. The walls were adorned with delicate paintings of butterflies, and the air was filled with the soothing scent of medicinal herbs. Your head pounded as you tried to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down by a soft yet firm hand.

"Easy now," a gentle voice said. You looked up to see a woman with dark hair tied back in a butterfly-shaped hairpin. She wore a haori decorated with a butterfly motif and had a serene, almost amused expression on her face. It was Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps.

You're awake," she said, her smile widening slightly. "That's good. You had us worried for a moment."

You blinked, trying to process the impossible. "Where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy.

"You're at the Butterfly Mansion," Shinobu explained. "A safe place where we tend to the wounded and train new Demon Slayers."

You struggled to sit up again, this time with her assistance. As you looked around, you noticed a few other familiar faces – Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Aoi, all watching with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Shinobu's eyes twinkled with curiosity as she took in your appearance. "You certainly have an unusual look," she commented. "Your clothing is unlike anything I've seen and you look foreign. Are you from the West?"

I hesitated, my mind racing. "Yes, but, I'm... I'm also from the future," You admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Shinobu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "The future, you say? How interesting. Tell me, do you know how all of this will end?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Of course, you knew the general outline of the story, but revealing too much could change everything. Moreover, the thought of being thrust into battles with demons terrified you. you are weak, untrained, and utterly unprepared for this brutal world.

"I... I can't say," You stammered. "If I tell you everything, it might change things in ways we can't predict. And I'm not a fighter. I'm scared."

Shinobu's expression softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "It's alright. Fear is natural, especially in a world as dangerous as this one. But you don't have to face it alone. We will help you find your place here, whether it's fighting or something else."

Her words were comforting, yet the weight of the situation pressed heavily on your shoulders. You are an ordinary person thrust into an extraordinary world, and the path ahead is full off danger.

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

Despite the kindness of some, not everyone in this world was as welcoming. As days turned into weeks, You began to notice the stares and whispers behind your back. Your Western appearance and strange mannerisms made an easy target.

One afternoon, as you walked through a nearby village with Tanjiro and Zenitsu, You felt the weight of countless eyes on you. The villagers, their faces a mixture of fear and curiosity, muttered among themselves.

"Who is she? Why does she look like that?"

"She doesn't belong here. She's different."

Zenitsu and Tanjiro heard everything.

Their words stung, each one a dagger to your already fragile sense of belonging. You tried to ignore them, focusing on the path ahead, but it was impossible to shut out their disdain.

In the market, a vendor outright refused to sell you anything. "We don't serve your kind here," he spat, his eyes cold and unyielding.

Tanjiro stepped in, his voice firm yet polite. "She's with us, and she's a friend. Please treat her with respect."

The vendor grumbled but eventually relented, though the hostility in his gaze never wavered. You clutched the small pouch of goods Tanjiro had purchased for you, hands trembling with a mix of anger and shame.

Later that night, back at the Butterfly Mansion, you found yourself sitting alone in the garden, tears streaming down your face. The beauty of the blooming flowers and the gentle glow of the lanterns did little to soothe the ache in your heart.

Mitsuri found you there, her presence as calming as always. "I heard what happened in the village," she said softly, sitting beside you. "I'm sorry you had to experience that."

"It's not your fault," You replied, wiping away the tears. "I just... I never expected to feel so out of place. I thought I could adapt, but..."

Mitsuri placed a comforting hand on yours. "Change takes time, and prejudice is a difficult beast to tame. But remember, you have friends here who care about you. You're not alone. I also know how you feel. I always get looks because of my hair. I even tried to dye it black so I could fit in. I was told no one would love me, no one would want kids with me, but that means they don't deserve me! "

Her words were a small comfort, but the pain of feeling like a perpetual outsider lingered. Despite the kindness of those around, the sting of rejection and the weight of your fears made you feel defeated. Every night, you longed for the comfort of your old life, for the familiar faces and routines that had once seemed so mundane.

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

A few days had passed, and you had seen more fighting than you ever thought possible. The bravery of the Demon Slayers was awe-inspiring, but it was also a stark reminder of the perilous world you now inhabited. Each night, the memories of battles and the cries of demons haunted your dreams, making sleep an elusive comfort. Watching it in 'real life' was so different from watching just an animation.

Tonight was no different. You lay in your futon, staring at the ceiling, unable to silence the turmoil in your mind. The faces of new friends flashed before me – Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Nezuko, Shinobu, Rengoku, basically everyone.

They had become dear to you, yet the longing for your old life gnawed at your heart.

Unable to bear the restlessness any longer, you slipped out of bed and quietly made your way outside. The night was cool, the air filled with a soft hum and the gentle rustling of leaves. You walked aimlessly, seeking solace in the tranquillity of the night, yet finding none.

As you wandered, thoughts drifted to all the people you had met. Tengen Uzui had been particularly kind, taking the time to help me improve my Japanese. The other Hahira's, each with their unique personalities and strengths, had welcomed you despite my strangeness and foreignness. Even Kagaya Ubuyashiki, the master of the Demon Slayer Corps, had shown me kindness and understanding.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another. The weight of your reality was crushing. You had made friends here, but this world was not yours. You missed your family, home, the safety of ordinary life. You felt like an outsider, an imposter in a story that wasn’t yours to live.

"Hey," a gentle voice broke through my sorrow. You turned to see Tanjiro and Rengoku standing a few feet away, concern etched on their faces.

"What's wrong?" Tanjiro asked softly, his eyes filled with empathy.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The dam of emotions you had been holding back burst forth, and you began to sob uncontrollably. "I don't belong in this world," You cried, my voice trembling with the weight of my despair. "I'm scared, and I miss my home. I don't know how to fight, and I'm so afraid."

Rengoku stepped forward, his usually fiery demeanour tempered with a surprising gentleness. "It's alright to feel that way," he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You've been thrown into a difficult situation, but you're not alone. We're here with you."

Tanjiro nodded, his expression earnest. "You don't have to fight if you don't want to. There are many ways to help and support us. We'll find a place for you here."

Yet, no matter how much you wished to return home, you was stuck here. The reality of the situation was unyielding, a constant reminder that you was trapped in a world where you didn’t belong. The battles, the bloodshed, the ever-present danger – it was all too much.

You wlaked back to your room after your conversation.

As you lay down, staring at the ceiling, a deep sense of hopelessness washed over you. You missed your family and friends, hell you had your whole life planned. Do they miss you? Are you in the news? Has anyone even noticed?. The fear of what lay ahead in this brutal world paralyzed you. Despite the friends you had made, the sense of community you was slowly beginning to feel, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an imposter in someone else's story.

"I don't belong here," You whispered to the darkness, your heart aching with a longing that seemed impossible to fulfill. "I just want to go home."

But home was a world away, a distant memory you could no longer reach. And as you closed your eyes, the weight of a new reality pressed down on you, a constant reminder that no matter how much you wished for it, You was stuck in this world, struggling to find a place in a story that was never meant to be yours.

#demon slayer #kny #kny x reader #tanjiro kamado #tanjiro x reader #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke x reader #mitsuri kanroji #shinobu kocho #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #inosuke hashiriba #kny hashira #tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui #gyomei himejima #obanai iguro

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