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hees-mine · 2 days

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DESTROYED - L. HEESEUNG

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: bullying, violence, crying, cursing, mentions of smut, filler chap, barely edited.

Genre: 18+, smut, minors dni!

WC: 1,992k

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About a week had passed after you so willingly let heeseung defile and destroy your precious body.

You felt dirty, you felt used, you felt disgusted with yourself.

But though all the above was true, the feeling you felt the strongest was confusion.

You were confused with the way he treated you.

You’re aware he doesn’t know you, but not even a stranger treats someone the way he treats you.

He used your body for his own pleasure and personal gain and just left you with no ounce of remorse or care.

And you wanted to know why.

You’ve never done anything to him, so why was it so easy for him to treat you like yesterday’s garbage and walk away without so much as even an apology?

All he did was threaten you and leave you there to help yourself.

You felt like you deserved an explanation from him after he took your innocence away from you. That’s the absolute least he could do for you.

You know he told you to never look at him or call him again but right now that didn’t feel like an option for you you were going to get the answers and the closure you needed from him even if you were going against what he told you.

You’ve had a crush on him for too long not to at least know why he doesn’t like you back and why he thought it was okay to walk away from you in your most vulnerable state.

You were determined to talk to him today once you entered the school building but that changed the instant you go there.

Sharing the same class with him wasn’t easy this past week even the sight of his back intimidated but you did your best to focus on anything except him cause he took up enough of your late night thoughts already.

The one time your eyes shifted from your teacher just so happened to be at the same time that he looked up from his notepad his stare was cold as ice his jaw clenched tightly with what you would assumed to be was anger and you quickly lowered your head to focus on anything else besides his agitated face.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you couldn’t believe that just a single look from him could evoke so many emotions in you.

Whether you liked it or not, you still had a soft spot for him even after everything he did to you, and that, on top of feeling sad and hurt, was the worst mix of emotions combined.

For the rest of the day, you did your best to ignore thoughts of heeseung, and you were doing excellent, surprisingly.

You had exited the school building, and you were on your way home. You decided not to bring up last week to heeseung, at least not today. You weren’t quite ready yet, especially after the way he glared at you in class. You wanted to take your time to calm your emotions and get all your thoughts together before you had that conversation with him.

You clutched the straps of your backpack walking in the opposite directions of all the other students you took the back way instead cause it was always a few minutes faster less people were back there but you never sensed any real danger you’d been taking this route for years and so far you were incident free.

But for the first time, you did feel a sense of danger or at least fear as you were pushed against the base of a tree in the middle of the woods. You tried to scream, but your mouth was immediately covered by a large palm. “What the fuck did I say?” Heeseung was now towering over you, his jaw clenched tightly the same way it was back in the class you shared with him.

Your screams were muffled by his hand, and no one was even close in the distance to help you.

You tried to push his hand off, but he was far stronger than you, and it was no use. You quickly lost all your energy, so you gave up trying to fight him. Despite the fear rushing through your body, you just didn’t have the strength to match his and fight back.

“You think I was lying when I said next time wouldn’t be like before?” Your eyes were flashing back and forth, looking in his to see some ounce of remorse or guilt, but you found nothing but pure rage in his eyes.

You shook your head no immediately, but he kept his hand still, so you couldn’t say a word.

“Then why did I catch you staring at me again when I specifically told you not to?” He uncovered your mouth, finally giving you a chance to speak, and instead of answering his question, you tried to scream for help.

“HELP!” Your first cry for help was your last cause. You were left speechless when a harsh slap landed against your cheek, the sting causing tears to well in your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. You asked for this.” he pinned you against the tree by your arms as your eyes shook in fear.

“Pleas-“ Even your pleas fell on deaf ears as he slammed you against the tree, knocking the wind out of you.

You whimpered from the painful impact, and not even then did he stop.

“Don’t say please now you had this coming,” he seethed and slammed you against the tree again, his fingertips painfully digging into your shoulders as he gripped you tightly.

“Hee-“ your words got caught in your throat as his hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your air supply.

“Fucking hate when you say my name. I fucking hate you” he wrapped his hands around the entirety of your neck, squeezing until your airways were completely blocked off.

You kicked and clawed, trying your best to free yourself, but again, the struggle made you lose your strength even faster, and before you knew it, your vision was going black.

You grabbed at his arms, trying to gouge into his flesh so he would let you go, but the thick material of his blazer made it impossible for you to penetrate his skin, and now you were absolutely defenseless.

Right before you blacked, he released you, and you fell to the ground, choking and gasping for air as you trembled in fear, not daring to look up at him or yell for help.

He gathered a ball of saliva in his mouth and spat on you, neglecting your barely conscious body.

Just when you thought he would leave you alone like he did back in that classroom, he gripped your collar and yanked you up off the ground. “Let this be a reminder to keep your eyes off me,” he gritted through his teeth and threw you to the ground before he walked away, finally leaving you helpless in the woods.

You stood up on wobbly legs, your knees full of dirt and small cuts. Tears stained your cheeks as you lifelessly limped through the woods.

And after that incident, you didn’t care about anything; you didn’t care about getting closure; you didn’t care about why he did what he did to you.

You just know not to get involved with him anymore because it always ends with you feeling hurt and sad.

The next day, you did absolutely everything in your power to avoid Lee heeseung.

You didn’t dare walk in his direction and you kept your eyes glued to the ground you even skipped the one class you had with him just so you wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with him and upset him further than you already had.

You hugged the lockers in the hallways, always making way for him to come through, scared of what he might do to you if you ever crossed him again. You even left school late just to make sure he was gone so you wouldn’t have an accidental run-in with him.

Heeseung smirked when he saw you avoiding him.

So you’ve learned your lesson, he thought.

You should have known better than to go against his words to begin with.

If you had listened, your neck wouldn’t be bruised with his handprints, and you wouldn’t be wandering around with your head down like a meek little mouse if you had just left him alone and stayed the fuck out of his business, but maybe now your stupid little pea brain can comprehend to keep your eyes to yourself.

Maybe now you can understand he wants nothing to do with you.

Every day since that day he assaulted you in the woods, you always took the long way home, and you always watched your back just in case you did something that day to offend Lee heeseung.

You know, It didn’t much matter now after all the horrid things he’s done to you.

But to this day, you are still confused by him.

His exterior would never lead you to believe that he was the kind of person he is.

The kind of person that could so easily tear someone down.

Even as you dressed your wounds when you went home the day he nearly choked you unconscious, you still couldn’t believe it was actually done by his hands.

You didn’t want to believe it was him who did it.

One of the things that drew you to him in the first place was how good of a student he was he got the top grade every time.

He was always well-mannered. He didn’t have friends, but he was exceptionally nice to his teachers.

His outfit was always prim and proper, perfectly ironed and ready for any occasion.

And even past his physical appearance and personality, there was just something mysterious about him that drew you to him.

He was quiet and well reserved which was odd cause with a face like his it seemed like he’d be the popular kid and surrounded by a bunch of people but that’s just the thing he wasn’t and you think that’s what made him attractive to you.

He was smart, nice, good looking, and he didn’t have that typical cocky jock attitude that all the good-looking guys had in your school.

Maybe that should have sent off some alarms in your head, but it didn’t.

Although you should have known something was wrong because, honestly speaking, he was too good to be true.

Thinking about it now maybe it would have been better if he had taken on that persona cause to see the person he really is was something you couldn’t have ever imagined.

You’d take the cocky jock over the handsome harasser any day.

Even as time passed, what he did to you just didn’t feel real, maybe cause you wanted him to be different, maybe cause in your mind, you thought that you and him would live happily ever after.

Alas, that wasn’t the case. The reality was that he was just another bad person walking amongst many, and your luck happened to be the worst cause. Why, out of everyone, did you have to be attracted to Lee heeseung?

If you had never liked him, none of this would have happened.

You scold yourself for even thinking that you were to blame in this situation but that’s just how messed up you were after everything that happened.

You could go down the rabbit hole all day of the endless possibilities in a world where heeseung didn’t defile your body, in a world where he didn’t harm you.

But the truth is he did, and now you have to live with the uncomfortable consequences and seeing his face every day for the rest of your school year.

All thanks to Lee Heeseung, your year-long crush, your life was destroyed.

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Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

#heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours

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seeingivy · 1 day

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espresso

actor!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: love is embarassing by olivia rodrigo (based on this npr tiny desk) and espresso by sabrina carpenter (based on this performance)

[eren]: like how irritated are you on a scale of one to ten?

[mikasa]: ONE THOUSAND

[eren]: i wasn’t asking you…

[stacy, publicist]: ET team is asking for a comment on bad blood. let me know if there’s anything you want to say

[megumi]: yuuji called me cute? but then he took it back, but it kind of seemed like he was too shy to be saying it in the first place? idk….

[megumi]: honest to god, do you think he thinks i'm cute?

[leah]: call the parents when you get a chance! same old same old :/

you silence the ringer on your phone, before turning to your right, where your producer, will, musters the peachiest smile he can produce. and you can tell from the nervousness in his demeanor that he’s a little too cowardly to ask the question on his mind, unlike eren.

you can appreciate that about him. that there’s some type of scarcity he holds in every interaction he has with you – like he’s intentionally picking out everything he says to you, in an effort to be careful.

“you know how these types of things go. do you think i’ll get the first spot?” you ask.

will doesn’t respond immediately - which gives you your answer – as you slump against his plush green couch, while his daughter ellie tasks herself with tangling in between your legs.

ellie is will’s two year toddler with beautiful long eyelashes and a tiny button nose. you had met her when she was barely six months old and an expressive little bundle of blankets, when you first signed on as one of his new artists at dancing lady.

you were still debating it at the time, deciding to go the singer-songwriter route and picking dancing lady over real sun. and while you were heavily leading towards the former over the latter, due to the lack of former victoria’s secrets models wandering around, it was will’s normalness that sold you entirely.

do you mind if my daughter is here sometimes? i just got divorced and well…sometimes it’s kind of hard to find childcare…or afford it.

it reminded you of your own parents, dragging you and leah to the side room of the clinic or leaving you in the spare classrooms on weekdays when you were a kid. and though those days are long gone, the feeling still remains.

sometimes it still feels like you’re chasing that – trying to hold everything you’ve acquired desperately close to you, just because you know it can slip out of your fingers the second you look away. more specifically, what it feels like to feels like to have nothing.

you were more than happy to oblige will’s request – and well, ellie was adorable.

it was an added bonus that there was a familiarity that will exuded – and it was wholly comforting in the littered sea of plastic that you always seemed to be floating in.

“three exclusive versions will boost their sales considerably.” will states, his tone miserable.

you sigh, before reaching for your phone and scrolling the notifications away. and while it’s in entirely bad taste – scrolling through twitter was one of the worst vices you had. reading the think pieces, the timelines of all of your bad blood (you thought the timeline was a little bit on the nose), and worst of all – the hate comments that seemed to litter your feed.

“you could always do the same thing.” he offers.

“absolutely not. i’m a no remix, no features, and no multiple versions artist. it feels a little tasteless doing something like that just for a number one spot. i don’t want my fans to drop fifteen dollars just to hear exclusive versions of my songs when they’ve already paid for the original.” you state.

“and you don’t want thing one and thing two to know that you’ve gotten under their skin.” will adds.

as much as you cared about getting the number one spot – because deep down, you really did – letting kim know that she had settled under your skin and caused an irritation, for a second time now, was far worse than occupying a lower spot.

deep down, it was really about getting your flowers. that’s what it all meant to you – the awards, the charts, and the fans – nitpicking each parts of your songs, getting to watch your life on display and then get to revel in your thoughts about it.

it was the one place that you got to control the narrative. because while no one is there at the after parties or the award shows, or even in the room with you or on the date, what you get to put out there is the closest to that.

and the second it’s out there, it stops being yours. and starts being everyone elses. it’s freeing that way – packing it into a neat box and dropping it on people’s doorsteps.

you give up. there were always more songs.

“yeah. that too.” you respond.

will gives you a nod, before swinging back in his chair to mix the backing tracks on his laptop, as you turn your attention to ellie and place your hands in her dark brown hair. the braid that you did earlier is entirely messed up now, no thanks to the fact that she spent the last hour of recording running around to her heart’s desire.

you give her a smile, tapping on the tops of your thighs and gesturing for her to jump up, as you comb through the tangled knots with your fingers, before fixing her soft hair back into the little flower hair tie you had placed in her hair earlier.

“i’d love to take a flamethrower to the next awards show. melt some plastic while i’m ahead.” will mumbles, which earns him a hearty laugh from you.

“and i’d help you free willy.”

you press a kiss to ellie’s hairline before tapping the top of her head to signal you were done. and she gives you a giggly smile back before she returns to her usual shenanigans, by climbing under the glass table and sticking her feet up on the metal.

“you’re so gross. don’t call me that.” will groans.

you give him a smile instead.

“how was studio eleven anyways?” he asks.

“good. i got to see megumi after a really long time and historia was great. oh, and this god awful idiot tried to hit on me.”

you’d be lying if you said you had stopped thinking about ryomen sukuna after you met him two days ago. that there was something intriguing about him, that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on – that led to you thinking about him far too much.

all in all, there was one thing that you prided yourself on and it was being resourceful. being knowledgeable, taking the time to learn more, and keeping yourself informed. it was what kickstarted your career, being able to watch people and learn the sleight of hands, and more importantly, apply them.

it’s how you got picked out of the group by fame as old as time – the lynch family. because it was one thing to be a pretty face, to have talent, but being able to sniff out the star and pick the needle out of the haystack – it wasn’t something that could be taught. and it’s something that you learned, at age eleven, fast.

the entire income of your household depended on it. and that tends to foster some type of ambition.

and while you’re no longer associated with the lynch family, having now run as far from them as you can, the ability holds. and in moments like this, it even turned out to be useful – being so resourceful.

megumi, very lovingly so, called it stalking. and well, sometimes that’s exactly what it was. and in the two days you had to spare, you had learned almost anything and everything you could have about ryomen sukuna.

he owns a coffee shop in los angeles, called play coffee, that he’s been working at since he was sixteen. and he offered to become the main investor after they almost went down under. he also loves to joke about how they almost fired him for how shit he was at making matcha lattes.

he’s had a long and complicated history but there’s some pull that he has that keeps him around. because dating your manager, getting caught with weed at fifteen, and an anticipatory slander campaign – it would be enough to ruin someone else. or at the very least, kick them down.

but not him.

his fans speculate that he has twelve tattoos, his most popular being of the tarot card, the hanging man (which you then subsequently googled). upright, meaning sacrifice, release, and martyrdom. and reversed meaning stalling, needless sacrifice, and fear of sacrifice.

his most recent release – as patrick zweig in challengers, which you rushed to watch with embarrassing speed (and consequently, got fan edits for that you can’t help but watch – is suspected to get him shortlisted for a selling star award, which is just one stop away from him winning an institute award next.

all and all, he was on the come up. with the hit movie and now the expected hit show, one thing was clear to you.

that sukuna was the one to look out for. mainly because there was something electric about watching him on the screen. because the way he moves, speaks, and walks on the screen – there’s something so mesmerizing about it that you can’t help but tear yourself away.

“did you entertain it?” will asks.

“no. he started off by blatantly lying.”

will scoffs.

“was he cute at least?”

you roll your eyes.

that was the understatement of the century.

“shut up, will.”

and the acidic tone in your voice is enough to pique will’s attention, as he now swirls around in the chair, and gives you the most irritating and accusatory smile he can muster.

“i said shut up.” you repeat.

“i literally didn’t say a single word.”

“but you thought it. i can tell.” you bite back.

“you’re a child.” will responds.

sukuna wastes no time in arriving to the performance at the npr offices. and it works out considerably well – with your giggling fans questioning his presence and asking for pictures, accompanied by a blind item that he sent in to one of the biggest twitter accounts himself.

[sukuna]: so what did megumi say?

[yuuji]: IDK HE LIKE KIND OF LOOKED AWAY WHEN I CALLED HIM CUTE BEFORE I STARTED BACKTRACKING

[sukuna]: …

[sukuna]: about y/n dipshit

[yuuji]: WORD WORD

[yuuji]: she is single. not talking to anyone yet. he kind of made it seem like she’s not that upset about her breakup tho? if that makes sense

[yuuji]: apparently, she almost never is? not in a heartless type of way though, just in a…i’m not gonna let a man get me down type of way

[yuuji]: that sounded more corny when i typed it that way…

[yuuji]: he said she just knows her worth. that’s all.

sukuna hopes he’s worth a shot.

it’s an entire somersault in his stomach when he sees you walk out, a lilac purple guitar in your hands that you set down, before giving an excited smile to the fans cheering for you at his side, blowing spare kisses to the people in the front.

it’s hard not to stare full on. though he supposes for his purposes, that’s the exact type of thing he should be doing. and the plethora of information that he learned in the free time he had in the past two days swims in his head.

you like silver jewelry and not gold. the ring on your middle finger is one that a fan gifted you in lisbon and you got your cartilage pierced at a tattoo parlor after taking one of your last finals in college.

you took a few classes here and there at new york university – poetry, screenwriting, and women in politics. you were born and raised in new york, having started your singing career at the ripe age of sixteen before you were scouted at twenty.

“hi guys! i’m y/n – i’m so flattered that npr invited me here to sing a few songs for you. it’s so cool to be here with all of you guys and kind of show you some of the new stuff i’ve been working on and play some old ones while i’m ahead. but yeah –”

sukuna watches as you pause, making eye contact with him for the first time before you pick up the guitar and swing the strap over your shoulder.

sukuna pretends that it doesn’t make his heart swell up in hope, that his presence was enough to warrant a pause from you.

“well, right. this first song is a new one that i’ve been working on for quite some time. it’s one of my recent favorites, i wrote it around a month ago after i went to this stupid afterparty from one of the events that my studio was holding and it’s about some of the company i’ve kept. it’s called love is embarrassing.” you state.

I told my friends you were the one After I'd known you, like, a month And then, you kissed some girl from high school And I stayed in bed for, like, a week When you said space was what you need Waited by my phone like a goddamn fool

sukuna quickly realizes that there’s something about singing that does it for you. because your entire demeanor changes. you relax your shoulders from the tense position they’re usually in, swing your hips to the beat of the song, and make very expressive facial expressions that in his two days of research he hasn’t seen otherwise.

And now, it don't mean a thing God, love's fuckin' embarrassing Just watch as I crucify myself For some weird second string Loser who's not worth mentioning My God, love's embarrassing as hell

and in the twenty minutes that follow your half and hour performance, he’s able to convince the body guards that he knows you – after providing an autograph, of course – and then knocks on the door of your dressing room before walking straight in.

sukuna can tell that it startles you at first, as he walks in to find your wide eyes, before you visibly relax at the sight of him. and he delights in the smile that spreads across your face as you lean back in the chair as he takes his rightful spot behind you, placing his hands on the sidebars of your chair and leaning forward.

“princess bubblegum. you again. to what do i owe the pleasure?” you ask.

“figured i’d stop by, marceline. i’m a huge fan.”

you smile back at sukuna through the mirror, biting down on the side of your cheek, as you reach for your lipgloss and toy with the cap in your shaky fingers.

“you weren’t even singing along.” you state.

“two of those songs were new. and i’m learning.” sukuna clarifies.

you grin.

“you’re doing your homework.”

“i’m somewhat of an overachiever.”

you push out of your chair, turning around to rest against the back of the vanity as you reach for one of the purple candies on your desk and pop it into the side of your cheek.

“i’m guessing you didn’t harass my team, my social media managers, and two of my friends for tickets for nothing. you want something.” you state.

“perceptive. are you always like this, dove?” sukuna asks.

“does that bother you? it’s something you’ll have to get used to.” you ask.

“quite the contrary. i enjoy a challenge.”

you hum, twisting the plastic in your fingers.

“really. what do you want?”

sukuna nods, before crossing the way and leaning against the edge of your vanity at your side.

“i think that you and i could be really useful to each other. i know that your song is about to get blocked by kim and her bullshit and well…”

“your show is about to get tanked by whatever it is she has coming next.” you finish.

sukuna grins.

“you know about my show? have you been stalking me?”

you feel your cheeks burn.

“because of megumi, sweetheart. nothing more nothing less.”

sukuna feels his chest pang slightly, from the embarrassment. because of course you know about the show from megumi.

“right, well. seriously. kim and aimee aren’t the biggest fans of you. and well, it would really piss them off if you started dating me, even if it was just for looks. what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

you sigh, pushing off the edge of your chair, as you stand close to him. and you’re able to smell it again, the minty musk, as you give him a smile.

“i appreciate the offer. but, i’m not interested in getting tangled up with them again.”

“they started it already. you don’t want to bite back?” sukuna goads.

“i’m not the type.” you respond.

sukuna pauses.

“from what i’ve seen, i don’t necessarily think that's true.”

“have you got me all figured out, sukuna?” you ask.

he loves the way his mouth rolls off your tongue and the accusatory tone in your voice when you say it. you’re trying to get him to take the bait, like the two of you are playing a game.

and he leans closer, smiling down at you as he wraps he cups your cheek with his left hand, before pinching at your cheek.

“i’m almost positive that i do.” he responds.

and he’s quick with it, reaching forward and tucking the stray strands of your hair behind your ear, before basically teleporting to the door.

“either way, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” he states, before slamming the door shut behind him.

“okay, so like why haven’t you just…asked him out yet?” you ask.

you watch as megumi spits the majority of the shot he just downed back into the glass, before slamming it down and leaning forward on the table.

“are you insane?”

“i think you might be. i mean, he’s literally flirting with you in these texts.” you respond.

you scroll through the chat again – noting the cute 0.5 picture of yuuji as the profile picture – earning you a glare from megumi before he snatches the phone back. you give him a pointed look, before shrugging and lifting your own glass to your lips.

“i just…get really nervous.” he stutters.

“well, i can give you a few pointers. first things first, when he tries to kiss you, don’t dodge him. and when you do actually muster up the courage, don’t bite him by accident.”

meugmi shoots you a glare and you can’t help but smirk at him.

there’s nothing as special as a first boyfriend. the novelty of it all – holding hands in between classes, texting the night before to plan a hug at dismissal, and in your case, having things tumble down when he starts sobbing after you kiss for the first time.

“hey. are…are you crying?”

you were positive that you did it right. the seven videos that you had watched the night prior and the excessive consulting from leah was exactly what you put into practice. closing your eyes, leaning forward, and pressing your lips against his. but you’re not sure what exactly happened, because two seconds later there was bright red blood coming out of your lips and an incessant amount of apologies coming out of megumi’s mouth.

but after you had reassured him that it was perfectly fine and that it was an accident, there was something still lingering in the air. because in the few seconds that followed when you tried to initiate it again, megumi dodged it all together and nearly flopped on to the pavement as he put his head in his hands.

there was something awkward about the entire thing. that weird pit in your stomach, the way your skin seemed to course in embarrassment at the fact that he didn’t really seem to enjoy it, and the metallic taste still lingering on your slightly swollen lip.

“are you okay, megumi?” you ask.

“yeah. yeah, i’m sorry. we can do it again.”

you frown.

“we don’t have to.”

“do you want to?” he asks.

you take him in fully – eyes wide and skin pale – as you reach forward, placing one of his hands on your shoulder.

“well, not if you’re going to look at me all weird after. you’re kind of freaking me out, megs.”

he sighs, before nervously rubbing his fingertips against his palms, as he gives you a shaky nod. it’s only then that you note that the scabs on his knuckles have barely peeled, an indication that he’s been picking at them. and really, an insinuation that something is bothering him.

“i won’t stop being your friend if we don’t date anymore.” you clarify.

megumi gives you a halfhearted smile.

“well, that’s just because you don’t have other friends.” he mumbles.

you snort, before shoving him in the side.

“asshole.”

“bitch.”

and you’re not sure what it is, maybe the fact that the joke has broken the ice a little bit, but he leans forward, his hands shaking as he peers his steely blue eyes into yours.

“y/n. can i please tell you a secret?” he whispers.

“okay.”

he pauses.

“i don’t like you.”

you pinch your llps in a line.

“charming.”

he shakes his head, almost like he’s frustrated.

“i mean. i don’t think i could like you.”

“wow. keep it coming, fushiguro.”

he glares in response.

“you know, you could try letting me finish.” megumi deadpans.

“the opportunity was just too good. but really, do finish.”

megumi bites at the sides of his lips, before taking a deep breath.

“you’re like my best friend. i think you’re really funny, really cool, and sometimes you’re the only person i want to be around, even if we’re kind of just sitting around quietly. and you’re pretty so i figured that…that if i tried to date you, it would work.”

“huh?”

“like, you’re the best girl to do it. there’s no one like you. but…but if i kiss you and i feel nothing…maybe that means it’s not about personality or liking people….and more about the fact that…that you’re a girl and not a boy…and i guess i can’t get over that.”

you pause.

“why would i need to be a boy?” you whisper.

and in the five seconds it takes to mutter those eight words, you clock the reason all together.

it’s because megumi is gay.

“i was like fourteen.” megumi deadpans.

“and that’s no reason to forget the lessons you learned. no biting, no dodging, just –”

megumi shakes his hand in the air, his face curled up in disgust, as he pushes another one of the shots towards you.

“this is disgusting. let’s talk about something else.”

while megumi pretends to be a larger than life hater of your resourcefulness, he’s truly the only person who can match your energy sometimes. which in this case, includes pressing your ear against one of the private rooms in the club, trying to catch the end of the conversation.

“i can barely hear shit. the music is way too loud.”

“yeah. this is making it sound all muffled.” megumi responds.

you look to your left to find him crouched on the floor, the diaphragm of a stethoscope pressed against the wall as he leans forward to listen.

“are you fucking insane? where did you even get that?”

“lost and found.”

“who the fuck brings a stethoscope to the club?”

“it’s the first week of october, dumbass. some girl probably dressed up as a sexy nurse and left it on the floor.”

“give me that.” you hiss.

“fuck no, get your own.”

“they’re my ex-friends. and currently trying to stop me from charting. hand it over.”

megumi gives you a glare, as you place the pieces in your ear, and the two of you lean forward against the wall again. and while it does little to help except piercing your ears. though all you hear is the shuffling of chairs, as you give megumi a wide-eyed look, to stand up and yank the earpieces out.

and really, it is horrible timing because as the two of you stand up – with you linking your arms in with megumi’s to hide the stethoscope behind his back – as you shoot aimee and kim a peachy smile. and it’s a sickly sweet smile that aimee and kim give you, accompanied with a look up and down the length of your figure.

“hi peach.” aimee states.

you can feel your skin burn at the same old shitty nickname.

“we were just talking about you.” kim starts.

“likely thing for the two of you to be doing.” megumi mutters.

kim shoots megumi an irritated glare, before reaching forward, and placing one of her hands on your shoulder.

“i had a question for you. are you dating kuna?” kim asks.

you pinch your nose in disgust.

“what's it to you?”

kim smiles.

“we dated for a long time. just wanted to make sure he’s in good hands.” she clarifies.

“it was barely three months.” you state.

like always, kim sours quickly.

“and it’ll be even shorter when it comes to you.” kim states.

you roll your eyes. but before you can respond, she leans forward, pressing her fingers against your ear to fix your hair, before batting her eyelashes at you.

“i don’t want you to get hurt again. and well, you better quit while you’re ahead, peach. guys like that won’t stick around for girls like you. you can’t exactly give him what he wants.”

on the almost quiet drive home, with weary looks from megumi, you make seven calls, canceling your plans for tomorrow and making your plan while you’re ahead.

“you’re so skilled with balls.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, only to turn to his left and find what might be his most agitating (and his secret personal favorite) co-star, satoru gojo.

“you should invest in a tape recorder. listen to the tape back at the end of the day and do some reflection.” sukuna states, before lifting the ball into the air and watching it swish into the net.

in their last few days of press, the marketing team for the show decided that the group of them were going to be participating in a charity all-stars basketball game. it was one of the most anticipated events of the year, with celebrities being on both teams, and special surprise performances for the halftime show.

the combined sales of the tickets, signed jerseys, and meet and greets raised tens of thousands of dollars, and all in all, it was one of the better events that sukuna found himself being forced to attend. that and the fact that athletics were something that sukuna was skilled at – something reinforced by the fact that his team was almost ten up at the halftime mark.

sukuna takes his seat on the courtside bench, satoru handing him a gatorade as the two of them lean forward on their knees. it’s kind of intentional – the two of them sitting together, posing the way they were – only because it made for really good press.

he catches sight of kim and aimee on the other side of the court, posing for the camera by pressing a kiss to each other’s cheeks, before leaning back in their chair, entirely bored.

“ladies and gentleman, please welcome our special half-time show guest, y/n l/n.”

sukuna nearly jolts up in his chair as the lights flash in the center of the court – to the sight of you wearing a light pink crew neck and a white tennis skirt – with a light pink ribbon tangled into your hair.

“was she always on the setlist?”

“don’t think so.” satoru mumbles back.

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso Move it up, down, left, right, oh Switch it up like Nintendo Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso

sukuna supposes that it should be a bad sign that this is the second time in a few days that he finds himself being mesmerized by your presence. and that this time, satoru’s noticed.

“dude. you’re like drooling.” he whispers.

“shut the fuck up.”

Too bad your ex don't do it for ya Walked in and dream came trued it for ya Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya I know I Mountain Dew it for ya That morning coffee, brewed it for ya One touch and I brand newed it for ya

sukuna watches as you shoot him a wink, before throwing the sparkly microphone in your hand to one of your backup dancers, and turning around.

and really, it’s one of the most overwhelming feelings he’s had – that wholehearted and blissful exhilaration that pounds in his chest – as he watches you pull your crewneck over your head, only to be wearing his jersey underneath. (that and the fact that the resounding cheers that erupt after the fact are music to his fucking ears).

I'm working late 'cause I'm a singer Oh, he looks so cute wrapped around my finger My twisted humor, make him laugh so often My honey bee, come and get this pollen

he can feel his heart drop in his chest as you spare a wink, before returning to your choreography.

“so that’s why you’re fucking drooling.” satoru states, giving him a hearty smile as he wraps one of his arms around his shoulder.

sukuna can’t even muster an irritated look to give back to satoru.

“who fucking wouldn’t?” sukuna mutters.

“that’s real cute, dude. the espresso thing.”

“what espresso thing?” sukuna asks.

“you know. because you own the coffee shop and shit? isn’t that what she means?” satoru asks.

of course that’s what you meant. and it’s in that split second that every hunch that sukuna has – that you’re every bit of what he expected, that you were just like him, that you were the exact type he knew you were – as he stands up, crossing his hands over his chest as he gives you a smile.

and he can feel his heart pounding as you pull the ear pieces out to hang around your shoulders before walking over to him, your hands behind your back as you give him a sweet smile. only to turn immediately to his left and look at satoru.

“hi.”

he watches as satoru spits the gatorade back into the bottle, before standing up and running his hands through his hair. it slightly irritates him, the slight change in satoru’s demeanor.

“hi?”

you extend your hand out.

“i’m y/n.”

and sukuna’s irritation gets even worse as satoru lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss against your hand.

“satoru.” he responds.

you give him a smile.

“that’s cute.”

you try not to relish in the way that sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek, trying his best to hide his frustration, as you look up at satoru.

“to be honest, i kind of came here with an ulterior motive.”

“my favorite kind of motive.” satoru responds.

you walk over to satoru’s side, linking your hand in with his, as you point to the other side of the court.

“you see that empty black seat right there?”

“next to aimee lynch?”

“that’s my seat.”

satoru looks down at you, as he leans forward.

“we can’t have you sitting there.” he whispers.

“only if you insist.” you respond.

satoru puts his bottle down and you watch as he retreats to the other side to retrieve the chair, as you turn over to sukuna.

“hi lavagirl.” you state.

sukuna grins in response.

“her hair is a little more neon than mine, but it’s always a pleasure, sharkboy.” sukuna responds.

you give him a smile, noting the flashing cameras at your side, as you bring your hands forward, holding the sharpie up in between the two of you.

“what’s this?” sukuna asks.

“i got one of the last jersey’s. it wasn’t signed.” you ask.

sukuna feigns shock.

“you poor baby. we can’t have that, now can we?”

you shake your head as sukuna smiles, taking the pen from your fingers, before signaling for you to turn around with his pointer finger.

and it makes you shiver as he bends down, taking the time to move the hair to the side of your shoulder before scribbling on your back. and that burning warmth that pools in your stomach gets even worse as his breath tickles your neck, before he leans over and presses a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“one thing.” he whispers.

you swallow hard, the whisper in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“what’s that?”

you watch as satoru walks up, placing the chair right next to his, as you and sukuna shoot him a smile.

“try to rile me up and it’ll be more than that next time.”

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @thepurpleempath @shrimphutao4ever @monic19 @najaemism @haitanibros0007 @catobsessedlady @luvs4kim @ri-sa20 @thejujvtsupost @invisible-mori @satoruslipbalm @kyo-kyo1 @telepathicheartss @huhsthccvjh @sxnkuna @w31rdg1rl @lilalia3945 @multiplefandomthings @shotovhs @voids-universe @timetobegone @deeeeexx @livelovelaughisagiyochi @pelicanpizza @cowgirlikets @jeon-blue @phantomasmaniac @yoontaedotin @cowgirlikets @estrella-novella

174 notes · View notes

tiredfox64 · 3 days

Note

Since my identity as an anon have been exposed for that fic I did request,,,,

Can you make Pipsqueak pt. 2,,,,

*looks at u with my big eyes*

(I need to know the stupid shenanigans,,,,)

(Sorry got gay)

Little Bitty Pretty One

Yip notes: in my best Italian accent Don't say I neva did anything for ya. You are in debt to me.

Pairing: Bi-Han x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Haha you still small!

It seems when you need Liu Kang the most he is not there to answer. He could at least leave a message.

Well, you’re still small, unfortunately. Or maybe you like this situation. You’ve been stuck this way for two days now. Just as Bi-Han thought, you are incapable of doing many things. You’ve been depending on him for everything. You truly had no choice but to obey your grandmaster. Cause when you are the size of a Norway rat but lack the abilities of one your survivability is at a low possibility. So do him a favor and act good.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Bi-Han tries his best not to wake you up in the morning. He’s been keeping you in his room so he can keep an eye on you and prevent you from getting hurt. He has to tiptoe around or else he will wake you up. Little does he know you’ve been waking up when he does because he always groans when he wakes up. What a loudmouth. You stir in your makeshift bed made of soft cloth material and a sponge before pretending to still be asleep. He doesn’t know that you like to peek at him when he is getting ready for the day. He doesn’t sleep with a shirt on…need I say more? It’s enjoyable to watch him tie his hair into a bun, he looks so pretty. But you can’t watch him change fully he puts a bowl over you to prevent you from seeing. No worries there are holes at the top to allow you to breathe. Alright, now he will wake you up.

He pokes your back viciously but not enough to possibly break your spine. You smack his finger which does nothing, go figures. Then he scolds you lightly for hitting your grandmaster. Again, he can’t yell or else he will risk bursting your eardrums.

Breakfast time! What do you want? Trick question, you have no choice. Whatever Bi-Han gives you is what you get. He purposely leaves some of the food big to make it seem like you are a rat nibbling on it. As he eats his breakfast he’ll occasionally look to his side to see you nibbling on a slice of carrot, your teeth leaving little marks. Now you’re whining, saying you need much more than that.

“You are acting very greedy. Have I not done enough for you already?” Bi-Han asked but you know he is being petty. When is he not.

Fine, he gave you a proper meal. Though the slice of cucumber he provided was still too big for you so you had to munch on it for a bit. He found it entertaining to see you stuff my cheeks full of food like a hamster. You did look silly that way. Especially with that glare you gave him.

Time for practice! Not for you, you’re too tiny for that. You’re gonna be staying in the palm of Bi-Han’s hand where he will proceed to pet your back with his finger. He starts from the top of your head before sliding down to your lower back. For some reason, you immediately relax when he does that. You fight a little because you know he likes finding people’s weak spots and exploiting them. But you stood little chance since even when you were big you still couldn’t fight him off. So you are forced to partake in this wonderful torment where he slowly watches you melt in his hands.

Bi-Han was so distracted by tormenting you he forgot to give orders to the rest of his clan. They waited with confused expressions. Kuai Liang had to tap on his brother to get his attention, only to be glared at by him as he quickly cupped you in his hands. He thought someone was trying to snatch you away from him. He can’t have that happening.

“What do you want, Kuai Liang?” he asked in annoyance.

Kuai Liang craned his neck in the direction of the clan to show that they were waiting. Bi-Han groaned as usual and gave them an order. Something mundane because he couldn’t care less in that moment. He was more preoccupied with you which you were trying to squeeze out of his hands again because you didn’t appreciate him leaving you in darkness.

Your little hands were trying to scratch their way between his fingers before he realized what you were doing. He uncapped his hands and you looked up at him like he just committed the ultimate betrayal.

“Don’t give me that face.”

He had you sit on his hand while looking out to the clan so you could watch them. His pointer finger and thumb were constantly squishing your face or rubbing below your chin. At this point anything he is doing to you is subconscious. He doesn’t know that he is doing it but it feels right to do, like twirling a pen while writing. It is necessary to squish something so small and fragile. You’re not having it. You’re out of here! Plan your escape!

You started walking on his arm, occasionally having to grab onto his arm guards to prevent yourself from plummeting to the ground. He sees your efforts and he does not like it. He tried to grab you but you kept swerving out of the way. Soon enough you were at his clothes and used them as a way to get down. You heard him saying words such as ‘stop’, ‘no’, and the occasional ‘obey your grandmaster’. You’re your own person, you can handle yourself! You can survive without your grandmaster’s assistance.

Never mind there was a giant golden orb weaver on the ground. It’s a female unfortunately so it’s humongous. You are not ready to handle that.

Bi-Han!!!

He froze the weaver in a matter of seconds before shattering it into millions of pieces. You were hugging his boot with your eyes closed, wondering if he demolished the arachnid. He picked you up by your uniform and you screamed thinking it was the spider before realizing it was Bi-Han.

“Will you listen to me now?” he asked with his usual grumpy tone.

“Yes, grandmaster.” You replied with your head lowered.

You obeyed him for the rest of the time, thank the elder gods. I would say that it made everything easier but you were still left being poked, petted, and squished by Bi-Han. At least when dinner time rolled around you were able to breathe. You got to munch on a nice, fat dumpling. Took a while before you got to the filling but it was so worth it when you did. That dinner could have knocked you out immediately after. You almost did but you were startled when Bi-Han picked you up and brought you to his office.

Escape plan part two!

Forget it, he already knew what you were planning. You tried to run around on his deck but he quickly pulled you back before placing you at one end of a hand towel. In one fell swoop he rolled you up like sushi. There, now you will stay in one place.

“Hey! You can’t do this! I’m a human being!” You yelled in a shrilled voice.

“A human being who drank a potion when I told you not to.” He got you there.

You could be angry all you want but you did get yourself into this mess. So just lay there and take your medicine.

You were forced to lay there silently as Bi-Han worked for about half an hour before the door opened. Finally, Liu Kang is here to help you. But for some reason, Bi-Han didn’t seem to be thrilled about this.

“I have been informed that there was a little incident,” Pun intended, “Let me assist in making things righ—oh.”

Liu Kang saw you wrapped in the hand towel with your eyebrows furrowed in anger. He gave a questioning look towards Bi-Han but at the same time, he could understand if your grandmaster had a hard time keeping you under control. Liu Kang had to hold himself back from chuckling as he reached towards you. He was going to unravel you to help get you back to normal but Bi-Han snatched you away. It nearly gave you whiplash.

“Bi-Han, I need them to get them back to normal.” Liu Kang informed him but Bi-Han walked out of the room with you in hand.

You were shouting at him and asking what he was doing and saying that this was what he wanted. You may think this whole situation was a hassle for Bi-Han. You would be slightly wrong. He finds this situation very entertaining and even, though he would never admit, adorable. It’s like having his own personal pet. A pet that has to depend on him because they don’t have any animal-like skills.

He will have you return back to normal one of these days. But this day won’t be it. Liu Kang was trying to get an answer from him but he wouldn’t say a word. He walked right into his bedroom, made a wall of ice to prevent anyone from getting in, and sat right on his bed.

He unraveled you before carefully placing you in your makeshift bed. He didn’t want you asking any more questions so he started to pet your back again. It’s too easy. With the food in your belly, the tight wrap from the towel, and the feeling of Bi-Han petting and rubbing your back you were out like a light. You were even drooling a little.

Bi-Han hasn’t felt this much joy from something in a long, long time. He wasn’t even allowed to have a pet when he was young. So let him enjoy this for a little longer then he will bring you back to normal.

But when you are back to normal you better not drink another strange potion he swears to the elder gods!

Now he can get ready for bed. He needs to mentally prepare himself for the next day. Who knows what you could do then.

Are you peeking at him taking his shirt off again? Turn your head! Damn rodent…

Yap notes: Last time I wrote for you that spine-eating goofball payed me a visit. He better not come around again just cause I did this for you. Also I hope you are feeling better I saw that you said you were sick get some Vic’s vaporub, ginger ale, and an egg to cleanse yourself. Adiós!

91 notes · View notes

pwinkprincess · 4 hours

Note

can u do more tojiii 🧁

your parents are on a business trip, which gives you more freedom than a sheltered 20 year old should have. they left the country thinking their daughter would continue to drive around your suburban neighborhood, continue going to both your ballet and pilate classes, go to your college classes and stay there retaining all of the information you possibly can. it’s the basic things they expected of you.

little did they know you were far far from home. your expensive shoes plopped against the cracked ed concrete. in the distance, you could hear the sound of multiple police sirens ringing throughout. they seemed to grow close before disappearing and the crying sirens becomes quieter and quieter. your eyes take in the environment in front of you, the buildings that you could tell were once vibrant now lost their color. cracks and chunks of the bricks used to build them up were missing and large colorful vandalism littered spots on the buildings. corner stores with peeling paint and flickering neon signs offer a glimpse of the local people here struggling to survive.

it feels like a gray filter is casted on this side of town. and with winter being seconds away from approaching, everything is colder and dull. the sky grumbles, threatening—no, warning people of what’s to come. a group of guys are standing at a trash littered corner as you and toji past by them. you curiously look at their faces, they’re all already looking at you with a gleam in their eyes. you gasp to yourself and clutch toji’s hand tighter in fear.

“got ya’ a young one!” one of the guys call out to toji, “bet that pussy’s nice ‘nd tight!”

toji walks faster, his grip tightening on your hand. you struggle to keep up with his fast steps. his walking is your fast walking, you’re almost on the borderline of jogging. the fall air sores through your chest as you continue looking around the neighborhood curiously.

the two of you walk until you get to a worn down building. it’s littered with moss, vines, and graffiti. toji lets go of your hand to pick out a single key in his pocket.

“go inside. i’ll be back.” he tells you. you can’t stop yourself from frowning.

“i-what? no!” you say with widened eyes. as interesting as it is to be in a part of town that your parents demanded you never came over, things are still dangerous. the thought of going into a building you’ve never been inside and just waiting for him has your heart thumping in fear. anything could happen while he’s gone.

“‘m not askin’.” he could see you trying to form up some rebuttal, some way to argue with him and he can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “i’ll only be gone for about ten minutes. you can be a good girl and wait for ten minutes, right?”

you’re stiffly nodding your head while looking up at him. you try to convince yourself that ten minutes is not that long of a wait.

“i’ll knock six times and then say gumi. if someone knocks but doesn’t say the code word don’t open the door, understand?” he speaks carefully while looking into your eyes. he’s hoping all of his words are actually sticking and not just going through one ear and flowing out the other.

“fine..” you’re sighing and pouting, hoping that that’ll make him for bad for leaving you alone so soon.

he examines your face for a few seconds. he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, the two of you quietly look at each other into each other’s face until a dog barks and interrupts you both. toji steps back, giving you more personal space.

you don’t know if you’re supposed to give him a kiss or hug goodbye. your relationship with him is still new and timid at times. your feet are moving before you realize it and your arms have a mind of their own as they wrap around his figure. to your surprise, toji accepts your hug, though it is awkward. he pats your head like some dog.

after a few prolonged seconds, he’s pulling you away from him. “alright, kid. go inside.”

and you listen. with shaky hands, you bring the key to the knob. it takes only a second to unlock the door. to your dismay. the door creaks as it slowly opens. you look back at toji one more time, he’s still waiting for you to go completely inside before walking away.

you let out a breath before stepping into his house. you make sure to lock the door behind you.

the inside of the house is sparsely furnished with basic necessities—a worn-out couch, a small dining table with mismatched chairs. there are warm tones of the walls try to add a comforting touch to the otherwise bleak space, but they can't hide the signs of neglect. the floorboards creak with every step, and the curtains are thin, barely filtering out the dim light from the outside light. you’re used to big elegant houses so to see something so small and compact has your eyebrows rising. as you tour throughout the entire house, every room is just about the same. bare with just hints of being lived in. you curiously open the refrigerator, you’re met with nothing. just a bottle of half drunken hennessy, and a sandwich. you’re in disbelief that someone actually lives like this.

luckily, the electricity worked. you turned the heat up before trailing into his bedroom. the room is a master, it has a queen sized bed in the middle of the floor and a single dresser with a tv sitting on top of it. you strip out of your clothing besides your bra and panties. you rummage through his drawers until you find a solid black shirt. you put it on, it fits you like a dress. it stops right under your ass and the littlest movement would expose it off. you fold your discarded clothes, and place them on top of his dresser. you grab your phone and lay down on his bed.

his house is quiet. too quiet. there’s nothing to hear besides your thoughts. you can’t help but to wonder how he lives like this. so alone with nothing but his thoughts. you sigh out to yourself, it’s almost close to the ten minute mark.

you mindlessly scroll on your phone until you finally hear it. you rush out of his bed and make a straight line to the door.

knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

“gumi.”

you let out a breath and swing the door open. toji stands there with a. smug smirk on his face. as you look up at him, breathless, you notice a newfound small scar on his cheek.

“you don’t look happy t’see me, cutie.” toji practically pushes you to the side. you’re unsteady on your feet before catching your balance.

“no! i am! i’m very happy!” you exclaim. you watch as his fingers go to unzip his jacket, your eyes widen when you realize his knuckles are red and bruised.

his eyes follow what you’re looking at and when he realizes you’re reacting to his bruised knuckles he just chuckles. "i see you made yourself comfortable." he comments.

you bite down on your lip trying to hide your giddy smile. "it smells like you.”

toji only hums at your statement. he walks through his house and you follow behind him like a lost puppy. your uncertain steps travel closely behind his confident ones. he leads you to the bathroom, you don’t know if you should stop at the door or continue to waltz through.

“c’mon.” he ushers you.

he turns the shower on and lets it run for a little. he takes the time to take his clothes off, he smirks to himself when he sees your curious eyes linger on every inch of his body. once he’s bare, he walks over to you, pulling you closer to him. his hands wonder on your body before he’s tugging on your shirt, signaling that he wants it off. he helps you undress yourself, once you’re naked in front of him, he’s ogling at your body while letting out a pleased whistle.

“step in.” he tells you.

you follow his directions and step in the tub. now that you’re actually in it. the tub is quite condemned and with how big toji is you briefly wonder if the two of you are going to fit.

he hands you a white rag before stepping in behind you. you’re stiff, you’ve never showered with another person, ever. you’re used to showering in luxury bathrooms with the upmost space. you see that there’s only one bottle of body wash, which is also something you’re not used to. you use a plethora of skincare products that make you feel nice and clean, not some off-brand from the convenience store.

“since it seems like you don’t know how to wash yourself.” toji tuts before taking the rag out of your hands. he pours a nice amount of gel on the fabric before wetting it.

the feeling of his hands cascading around your body is .. weird. his movements are extremely gentle, he touches you like you’re some sort or sensitive rare artifact. you find yourself relaxing against his body as he cleans you. he starts from the neck and works his way down, even going so far as to clean the outside of your intimate areas with just water. you return the favor to him, also. he washes himself but he does let you wash his back. once the two of you are cleaned, you stay under the slowly turning cold water until it’s fully freezing.

there’s only one towel out when you two step out. you look up at toji cautiously.

“forgot to grab the other.” he shrugs. he wraps the towel around your body and then opens the bathroom door.

you two make your way to his bedroom. you could hear the sound of rain pattering against the roof and occasional thunder blooming throughout the air. toji turns on a single lamp as a source of light.

the two of you dry off in your own towels. once you’re dry, you’re looking up at toji. the very few times you’ve been around him it feels like your brain stops working and you have to look at from guidance. you can’t tell if he gets annoyed by it or not, if he does he doesn’t say anything.

toji guides you to sit on the edge of the bed. before you could ask why, his lips are on yours. he kisses you greedily, he sucks up both your tongue and air. with you being not so experienced, you struggle to keep up with his experienced mechanisms. you can’t stop yourself as you’re leaning back, and toji follows you. he makes sure not to drop his entire weight so that he wouldn’t crush you.

the two of you continue to sloppily make out for a while, the kiss morphing from just lips to tongue and spit swapping. you let out a soft moan as toji begins grinding his growing hard on against your clit.

he slowly pulls his lips away from your lips and moves his lipa down to your jaw and neck. he kisses you and occasionally licks spots here and there, he makes sure not to leave any spots on your neck. he’s grown now, if he was still in his early 20’s he would’ve left marks to let people know there’s already a claim on you. but he’s past that childish point in his life.

“y’wanna get fucked, baby? hm? ‘s that why you came alway over here?” he taunts you. his hips are moving faster and one incorrect slip up would have his cock slipping right inside your wet cunt.

“y-yes. please.” breathy gasps are escaping past your lips. the friction he’s creating is so delicious and addictive.

“g’na give it to you, baby. g’na fuck this pussy. g’na mold it to fit only my cock.” he’s letting out a drawn out groan as he slides his cock into you. you’re both moaning out to each other. the second all of his cock is fit into you, he’s immediately pulling his cock out only to slam it back inside of you.

he straightens his back, putting some distance between the two of you. he grabs your legs and places them on his shoulder. he watches as your boobs bounce with every thrust and you’re clutching the bedsheets while still looking angelic.

“fuck.” you whimper out. his cock is so thick and it fills you up so well. “feel’s s-so good, tojiii.” you moan.

“mhmm. g’na let me fill this pussy up, ‘mma put a baby in you.” his breathing becoming heavier and you can’t help but gush out some more wetness at his claims of breeding.

“fuck a baby ‘nto me, toii, pleaseee.” you moan out.

toji grins at your words. if a baby is what you want, that’s what he’ll give to you.

#asks ! ˚ ༘ ೀ #olderbf!toji #pwinkprincess ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა #tojiii ᡣ𐭩 ୨୧ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶#jjk ! ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა #˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗#hes so dad coded lmfaooo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushigro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji smut #toji x reader

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middlingmay · 1 day

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Runaway!Gale Part 2

Read part 1 here.

The next day, Gale heads to the local recruiting office. He hasn’t quite shaken his perception of the military as a brighter future. But it comes tumbling down like wet cardboard when they tell him he needs a permanent address, and can’t enlist without parental consent before he’s 21.

And just like that the spark that had been getting bigger and brighter since he stepped on that bus is all but snuffed out.

John finds him staring into nothing on a park bench later that day. His hands and ears are freezing and John shoves a dark knitted cap over Gale’s head and makes sure the tips of his ears are tucked inside. And he just sists with Gale, until he can finally tell John what happened.

Not cruel or dismissive, John checks Gale's shoulder with his own and says, “I don’t know what you know about the military, but they’re not big on individualism, buck.”

But he might know of a job going, if Gale is any good on farms. His buddy, Crosby’s family are looking for a stablehand as their last one is heading off the college. John is be happy to put in a good word for him.

In fact, he takes Gale to meet them that day.

Crosby’s family see what he’s like with their most cantankerous horse, a grumpy old mare, and offer him the job on the spot.

John beams with pride beside him.

The Crosby’s ask where he’s staying and when they hear he’s looking for somewhere more permanent, they offer him the converted barn loft, with food and board at a discounted rate. And if Gale accepts with shiny eyes, they’re polite enough not to say anything.

When they go, Gale hugs John. He can't remember the last time anyone hugged him, let alone when he initiated it, but John is the kindest person he’s ever met. And he tells him so.

He also asks if he can buy John something to eat as a thank you, finally prepared to eat something more than the odd bag of chips or piece of fruit now he’s gainfully employed.

John says no, but he can buy him something to eat as a date. If he wants, and when he's ready.

It goes well. John has him laughing until he nearly snorts milkshake out his nose. Gale flushes with embarrassment, but John looks delighted, like it's an achievement. They talk until closing and have to be kicked out.

John walks Gale back to his motel - for the last time since he’s moving to the Crosby’s barn tomorrow. Gale thinks it’s very sweet and when John says goodnight, John has to bite his lip and force himself away from Gale.

They take things slow. Even though things are on the up and up, Gale is still going through a lot of upheaval. He has a whole new life ahead of him full of potential, so John follows his lead.

Gale does start to let John push him out his comfort zone a bit. He lets John talk him into going to a party with his friends. Crosby’s there and still sweet and friendly. He meets Rosie who’s clever and a good conversationalist. He meets Curt who is full of life like John, with a little more bite, and Ken and Brady and Benny and Meatball.

Meatball loves Gale. Benny and John get jealous.

Gale also lets John take him to a baseball game. Gale keeps his anxiety under wraps, waiting to see if John is a betting man like his dad, but John just buys them each a hot dog, and sits with his arm around Gale's shoulders the whole time.

John also nudges Gale into social situations, to allow him to get to know more people. Gale already knows more people than he ever has in his life and doesn’t quite think it’s necessary, but he indulges John. In a way.

He gets to know Chief Harding and Alderman Huglin and Helen Nash, the Principal of the local high school. And Bucky teases him for making friends with all the straight laces. But the first time Gale manages to talk Harding out of writing John up for a ticket - for something he’d definitely been warned about approximately two dozen times before - he stops teasing Gale. And probably starts plotting a hundred ways to have fun with that development.

But through it all, John never tries to kiss Gale. He’s too afraid to scare him off.

It comes in a quiet moment.

John is hanging out with Gale at the ranch. Gale isn't on the clock, but he likes spending time with the horses whenever he can.

John asks Gale question after question about them and what Gale does with them. Eager, Gale leads John over to see them, to introduce him to them, excited John seems so interested in them and maybe this was something they could share.

But the closer they get, Gale notices a bit of fear in John’s eyes, and the horses definitely notice and they snort and stomp and John gasps a small, nervous, “Fuck!” and takes a step back.

And Gale realises John’s not asking because he’s interested in horses. He’s asking because Gale loves them, and he wants to let him talk and talk and talk about them.

Right there, in the barn, Gale kisses John with one hand in his hair and the other cupping his jaw.

John is dazed when Gale pulls back. Gale smiles sweet and walks away. He’d like to think he’s being coy - but inside he’s panicking and just doesn't quite know what else to do.

John snaps out of it and tackles Gale into a pile of hay, then Gale gets good and kissed, John's weight pressing down on him and a laugh on his lips.

John crowds Gale’s head with his arms, and his legs lay either side of Gale’s. John’s lips are a warm, pillowy pressure against his own and when John draws one lip between his own and sucks, Gale gasps at the tingling burst of pleasure.

And that’s all John needs. He licks inside Gale’s mouth, against Gale's own tongue in a firm, thick stripe. Gale feels full in a way he never knew could be so satisfying.

So he scoops up his own taste of John, greedily sliding his tongue over John’s, suckling on the pleasure there and pushing it into John's mouth until his kiss couldn’t possess, claim, take John any further.

Then Gale pulls his tongue back and softens his kiss, just so he can enjoy those needle like shocks that come as just the very tips of their tongues flirt and touch and tease.

John full damn body shudders and he whines and violently jerks his hips away from Gale as they break their kiss.

They stare at each other, breathing hard and heaving and Gale beams. John topples off him and collapses into the hay beside him. It prickles against his skin.

John jokes, “Who knew you could kiss like that?”

And Gale says, “Had to find out sometime, and you were taking your damn time about it.”

And John is already so gone on this man, but that’s where he decides he’s keeping him.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #runaway!gale #mota au #headcanon #mota #masters of the air

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sentientcave · 2 days

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 4 - Left Hand Woman

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Gryphon time, A spot of magic, No one knows how to communicate, I've given up on any semblance of reader neutrality, sorry, Sweetpea is her own woman and you are just along for the ride, Farah is here now! We love Farah

~7.2k words - MDNI

Someone sends a young woman from the staff to help you dress the next morning. She’s shy and mousy-haired, and you have to ask her what her name is twice before she haltingly tells you that it’s Tiphanie. She goes entirely pink when you tell her that you think it’s a very pretty name, and that you hope you’re not pulling her away from anything more important.

“I’ve been tidyin’ your room, highness,” she says turning even pinker. “Or, um, tryin’ to. You leave things so neat there’s been nothin’ for me to be doin’.”

“I’m used to living on my own,” you explain. “I’ve been in charge of keeping my own space tidy for years now.”

“On your own?” Tiphanie asks, aghast. “But your wicked father sold you away to the giants in the mountains so they’d help him in the war, and they kept you in a cage and made you sing to them like a songbird, until Sir Ghost came flyin’ in on his gryphon and rescued you.”

Is that how they’ve explained your absence? You unwrap your hair, laughing. “Oh goodness, no. I was living in a town not all that far from here. Out in the country. Not sold off or captured by anyone.”

“Well, then what was sir Ghost gone so long for, if he wasn’t travellin’ through the wastes and fightin’ monsters lookin’ for you?” she asks, blinking at the cloud of tightly curled hair you’ve let down, like she’s not entirely sure if she should be doing something about it. “He’s been gone three years, and then he came back with you— If you’re tryin’ to put on a brave face about it, I understand, highness, but what you’re sayin’ don’t make any sense. You wouldn’t’ve stayed away so long if you was just a few towns away.”

It’s a bit funny that she’s so insistent that it makes more sense that you’d been held captive in the distant mountains than simply living your life peacefully close by, but you have to admit, it’s certainly the more compelling story. “Well, the giants made me keep my own room tidy,” you say, splitting your hair into three segments so you can braid it down your back in one thick plait. “I only had to sit in the birdcage when they were entertaining guests.”

“I knew—” she cuts herself off with a little yelp, catching sight of movement at the window.

You glance over, and it’s just Nox, landed on the balcony, shaking her wings out. “Thank you for your help, Tiphanie,” you say, smiling at her reassuringly. “I should say hello to Nox.”

She nods, wide-eyed, and gives you a wobbly curtsy as you step out to the balcony.

“Hello, my darling,” you croon to Nox, holding your arms out. She presses herself against your chest, making a strange, warbling purr as you scratch behind her tufted ears. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday, pretty girl.”

If she's offended by your negligence, she doesn’t hold a grudge. She hops backward and gently tugs at one of the loose curls around your face, cawing happily at the way it bounces back into shape when she lets go, wiggling her wings a little playfully.

“Sweetpea, we’re down ‘ere, whenever you’re ready,” Ghost calls up from the courtyard. When you look over the edge, you can see that all four of them are down there, sitting around a table you hadn’t noticed before. “Nox’ll ‘op down with you.”

“One second,” you tell Nox, giving her one last scratch under the chin before you dash back inside for the book Kyle lent you. When you return to the balcony, she kneels down enough that you can climb onto her back carefully, and straightens up once you’re settled in place. Inky black wings spread out on either side of you, and she jumps into the air, headed upwards rather than down like you expected, her strong legs landing lightly and launching off the low roof on the other side of the courtyard, wings catching the wind. Your stomach plummets on her first leap, and you grip the saddle tightly, terror closing your throat tightly against the scream that builds up inside your chest.

Wind rushes in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat the next loudest thing. You take a steadying breath and open your eyes to a picture of the castle, and the city beyond, laid out below you, towers as small as a child’s toy blocks, the river coiled around the eastern bank of the city, glittering like a serpent in the morning light. Nox’s wings are huge fully spread out, and when you twist in the saddle, you see that her back legs are stretched out behind, her big paws tilting one way or the other, adjusting her flight the way a true raven’s tail feathers would. She tips her whole body slightly to the side, starting a slow, circling descent, calling out joyfully, her rough croaks echoing eerily back to you, the sound bouncing off of the stone below. For a moment, it sounds like there’s a whole flock of gryphons, rather than just Nox.

You wonder if she’s lonely, being the only one here.

Nox settles back in the courtyard and sticks her beak in the fountain while you try to dismount. Your legs don’t fully cooperate, and you slide sideways out of the saddle, the returned grasp of gravity unkind and unrelenting. Solid arms catch you before you hit the ground, scooping you out of the air with one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.

“There you are,” John says soothingly. “You want some tea, love?”

You nod, still too frozen to insist on him putting you down. You’re not certain your legs will hold you.

“Nox, you naughty girl, you were just supposed to ‘op down! What if you’d dropped ‘er, eh? You’d be feelin’ pretty sorry about it now, wouldn’t you?” Ghost scolds the gryphon, standing next to her at the fountain, his hands on his hips. She just uses her beak to splash water at him in response, which earns her a pointed finger. “Oi! Don’t you sass me, you daft bird, she wun’t even buckled in.”

Nox deftly snatches the glove off of his hand and launches herself up to the roof, where she settles in on the tiles and pretends to gnaw on the leather, her cat’s eyes wide as saucers, tail twitching back and forth.

Kyle offers you a cup of tea and a smile that's on the shy side. You thank him, realizing a little too late that John has taken his seat with you still in his lap, his arms looped around you securely. “John,” you say sternly, twisting to look at him. “Did we not talk about this?”

“I don’t believe this was on your list of complaints, actually.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whiskers twitching as he smiles. "Besides, you're trembling. I know I behaved terribly yesterday, but all I want is to take care of you. Are you so afraid that you'll like it?"

"That's not what I'm afraid of. I think people are getting the wrong idea about what my presence here means, and cozying up to you will not help matters." You hold the cup and saucer a little bit apart, so that the rattle of dishes doesn't draw attention to the fact that you really are shaking, and would have spilled all over yourself if the cup was filled all the way up. Not that there would be any disguising the fact from John, the way he wraps around you. "You know that this will only complicate things."

“Did someone say something to you?” John asks.

You take a sip of tea, eyes tracking Ghost as he took the last seat at the table. Typical of them to invite you to a table with only four chairs. “Tiphanie, the girl that was sent to help me this morning? She didn’t say anything outright, but it certainly sounded like she expects that I’ll be staying. And something about me being held captive by giants. And that Ghost was gone for three years? What on earth were you doing all that time?”

Ghost shrugged. “Told you already. Was keepin’ an eye on you.”

“For three years?”

“Started off just droppin’ by, but figured it’d be better to stick around. Was.” He sits back in his chair and folds his hands together. “Din’t ‘ave nothin’ better to be doin’.”

“You did, actually,” John says tiredly. “You were supposed to be the commander of my knights. Had to train Keller up for it instead.”

“An’ ‘e’s a sight better at the job than I’d’ve been,” Ghost replies. “Did you a favour, din’t I?”

“Wouldn’t’ve found Sweetpea without him either,” Kyle points out. “And Alex is much better with people than Ghost has ever been. It probably was for the best.”

You glance at Johnny, uncharacteristically quiet across the the table. He meets your eyes only for a moment, and then looks down at his hands, frowning. You're not sure if this is because of yesterday, or if something else is bothering him. He sneaks another look up, and drops his eyes again immediately when he finds you still watching him.

If it is about yesterday, you're glad that at least one of them has the decency to be ashamed of themselves. Price isn't acting the least bit concerned. His fingers are dug into the top of your thigh firmly, and his thumb keeps tapping a rhythmless pattern against your hip, distracting and wholly inappropriate. Kyle won't quite meet your eyes, but he seems hopeful that you'll let it slide and forgive him if he’s careful to make no further waves.

You'll forgive all three of them from a distance once you go home. You want your life back. You’ll do a better job of seizing that freedom this time— you think you might finally work up the nerve to talk to the blacksmith's tall apprentice, with those coal dark eyes that always soften when he looks at you. You’ve thought him handsome for a long while, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars that ripple over his skin, and now that you know that he hasn't spoken to you because of Ghost's interference, you feel hopeful that he might— Oh. Of course.

It's choking, how tight a leash these men have put on you.

“Was there something that you all needed from me?” you ask stiffly. “Or can I go?”

“You need to eat something, first off,” John says, squeezing your hip lightly. “Then down to the city to have that dress fitted, and to meet with Farah.”

“When I requested a woman to accompany me, I was anticipating a longer stay,” you point out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine without a chaperone for the rest of the day, don’t you?”

“I’d allow that, if you’ll stick close to me.” John’s voice is practically a purr, his lips too close to your ear.

You imagine tossing your cooling tea into his face, which is almost as satisfying as actually doing it would be, and freer from consequence. “I will not.”

He laughs. “Then Farah it is. You’re angry with three of us, and I don’t trust Ghost alone with you.”

“What did I do?” Ghost asked, clearly offended by the notion.

You sigh, and resign yourself to being watched. Even if this Farah person answers to John, you’ll be glad for a few moments away from these unbearably pushy men.

“We can move our little lesson to this afternoon,” Kyle offers, brown eyes hopeful. “And I’d like to join you this morning too. It’s been a while since I popped down to visit Rosie.”

“Why not head there now?” John asks. “Get a visit in, make sure things are in order, and Ghost can bring Sweetpea on Nox in a bit, if she’s up for a proper flight.”

Kyle gets up without objection. “Yes sir. I’ll see you there, Sweetpea.” His eyes linger on yours for a long moment before he turns to go.

You lean forward to set your tea on the table, and push John’s arms away roughly, taking Kyle’s abandoned seat rather than remain in John’s lap for another moment. He smiles serenely when you glare at him from your new perch, as unaffected by your ire as a mountain would be by a single drop of rain.

You regret kissing him. You hate that he’s handsome and smug and insufferable. It frustrates you to end that there’s so much of you that wants to melt under his touch, that there’s a glacial, undeniable give to your resolve. Warmth spreads through you every time he puts his hands on you, every time he gives you that cheeky grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

He gives you one of those smiles as he picks up your abandoned tea cup and sips from it, his mouth where yours had been, watching you so that you know it’s no accident. Yet more heat curls in your belly, like the press of his lips against the rim of the cup can still reach you.

Hateful man.

You feel a little better once you’re sitting in Nox’s saddle again, pretending not to notice the way both Johns stare when you shift your dress out of the way and buckle your legs into the waiting straps. And when you wrap yourself extra securely around Ghost, pressing your whole body against his back, it’s certainly not because you want either of them to feel any kind of jealousy.

This time you’re better prepared for the leap skyward, and your stomach doesn’t remain somewhere on the ground below. With Ghost to cling to, you feel safer looking down, even if it does still send a jolt through you.

The world spreads out below, distant and beautiful, like a painting with minute brushstrokes. You can even see a glimpse of green fields beyond the spread of forest, a near glimpse of home. It seems so close from here, but still far out of reach. Nox begins her descent only a moment later, and the glimpse of the far countryside dips out of view again. She didn’t have to climb so high, but you appreciate that she did, that the gryphon is so keen to show you the world from her perspective.

Simon touches the back of your hands, where they’re clasped tight around his middle, thumb running across your knuckles. Your heart aches curiously. You want to pull his mask off and see if you’re right, if he really has been living in your town as Simon the blacksmith’s quiet apprentice, if he’s the owner of the brown eyes that sparked warmth in your belly whenever he looked at you.

Maybe, if he is (and you’re nearly certain of it), he’ll come with you, when you leave once more. You’re afraid to ask such a thing, to test the weight of his oath to protect you against his loyalty to John. And John… Well, that was never going to go anywhere, no matter how much his kiss shook you to the core. There’s no sense mourning a choice you never had. He would find a queen elsewhere, and you would all be happier for it.

Just one more day. You’ll be glad to leave this behind, won’t you? It’s not as though it feels like any kind of homecoming, to return to this cursed place.

There are a few shrieks from the street below as Nox swoops down and lands on the cobblestone, onlookers ducking behind carts and into alleyways, although all of the terrified faces relax somewhat when they recognize you and Ghost, and then fear is replaced with wide-eyed excitement, whispered conversations springing up around you as you lean down to unbuckle your straps. Ghost is faster with his, and hops down to help you with the straps on your other leg while you’re still working on the first.

He lifts you clear of Nox’s saddle, and the closest shop door opens. “Princess!” Kyle’s sister, Rosie, rushes out of the shop and embraces you. She’s as pretty as Kyle is handsome, with a beaming smile that creases her face in just the same way. “Goodness, it’s been years. How have you been?”

“Well,” you say. “Life outside the city has been good to me.”

“I see that. I was so glad to see that you’d gained weight, when Kate sent your measurements. We always worried about you when you were younger. No appetite.” She pulls back and cups your face fondly. “You really are a sight for sore eyes, my lady. It will be good for the people to see you again, to know that you’re well.”

Her enthusiasm surprises you. You had always rather liked Rosie, when she worked at the castle, but you hadn’t expected a greeting like this, after so long. “I hadn’t realized— I mean, my father—”

Rosie laughs, the movement of her head making the pile of coily curls on top of her head bounce slightly. “Did you think we counted you party to your father’s crimes? No, princess. You’ve always been loved. There isn’t a soul in this city, perhaps not even in the whole of the country, who isn’t glad to know you’re safe and hale.”

Your heart twists. You had expected indifference, that no one would care one way or the other if you were here or gone. You hadn’t even considered that the people would be disappointed that you aren’t planning to stay. It’s one thing, to say you wish to leave to Price, but another to say so to Rosie, and a heavy thought indeed, knowing you’ll make a speech over it tomorrow.

“Come on, in we go,” Ghost says firmly, motioning for you and Rosie to get inside. “Keep a look out, hey Nox?” The Gryphon makes a low, gurgling sound in response and sits on her haunches beside the door.

There's a prickle of magic in the air, but perhaps it's just Kyle, the energy that crackles around him wherever he goes. He stands next to a dress form with a beautiful dark green gown hanging off of it. It's off the shoulder, with pearly beads and clusters of embroidered leaves and flowers in a pale cream colour all around the neckline and the cuffs of the sleeves, giving way to beautiful lace. You think that maybe the colour difference is too stark— You would have chosen a more subtle accent— but you politely say nothing of it. Perhaps this is what's fashionable these days. You certainly won't ask Rosie to make a serious alteration like that with less than a day of lead time. You only have to wear the dress for a few hours anyway.

Rosie and one of her assistants shoo Kyle away, and start taking the dress off the form. Ghost joins Kyle on a bench on the other side of the room, his bulky frame taking up most of the available space. Another assistant ushers you into another room and begins helping you take off your dress and settle a few extra layers of petticoats over the ones you're already wearing.

The shop bell rings, and you hear Nox make a churring sound. "Hello," a woman says, her pretty, accented voice carrying through the space without growing too loud, like she naturally knows how to command attention. "Sir Garrick, Sir Ghost. Good to see you."

"Always good to see you, Farah," Kyle says pleasantly. “It’s been too long.”

“Hardly. We never see each other when times are good, Garrick.”

“Times are good now,” Kyle replies.

“Hm.”

You twist to look behind you, thinking about going back into the other room to introduce yourself, and Rosie accidentally stabs you with a pin. “Hold still, my lady,” she chides. “We’ll just be another moment.”

Farah pushes past the curtain and stalks into the room. She’s small, even shorter than you are, but she has a hunter’s lean to her stride, and a sword strapped to her back. She’s dressed practically, leather pauldron on her left arm pieced together with her bracer with a jack chain, nearly balanced on the other arm, but without the heavier pauldron, to keep her sword arm freer. Her leather breastplate is scarred from battle, but well-maintained, and a small hand-crossbow that glitters with magic hangs from her thick belt, along with a knife and a quiver of bolts. Her hair is braided back from her strong-boned face, and although her expression is serious, thick brows drawn into straight, unimpressed lines, her dark eyes have a curious glint in them. “Princess,” she says as you turn, earning yourself another pin-prick. “I am Farah Karim. I’ve been told you have need of me.”

“John insists that I’m not safe without a sword-wielding escort,” you say wryly. “I disagree, but his knights will hardly let me out of their sight as it is.”

“Could be assassins lurking about, my lady,” Rosie says, warm brown eyes wide and worried. “We would hate to lose you so quickly, after just getting you back.”

You glance at Farah, and spot the slightest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You see what I’m dealing with?” you ask. “Everyone thinks I’m in terrible danger.”

“The danger likely comes tonight. With their envoy.”

You tip your head to the side. “No love for our neighbours, Commander?”

Farah huffs, crossing her arms and widening her stance reflexively. “No. My father’s lands are close to the border. I’ve seen the worst of them. While you were locked away in the palace, I saw villages burned, people slaughtered, foul magics leeching life from the very soil. You would be wise to be wary.”

“I suppose it’s naivete to think the peace can last.”

“No. It is hopeful. But you must project strength, or they will see that hope as weakness. Your cousin has given them leverage to oust John. So it falls to you to correct the course. We cannot fight another war amongst ourselves, or the wolves will be at our throats.” The challenge in her eyes is immistakable. Her perspective is valuable, and she offers it without pretense, as both warning an a test. Are you willing to listen? Or are you like so many others of your station, in your country and without, that only hear what they wish to hear?

“You don’t see minding me as beneath you?” you ask. “You lead a company of soldiers.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “My fighters are in good hands. Besides, I’m curious about you, princess. We might have been friends, had our paths not diverged. Perhaps we still can be.”

“I’d like that,” you admit.

Farah walks back out to speak with Ghost and Kyle while Rosie finishes marking adjustments. When you’re finally freed from the dress and get dressed again, Kyle and Ghost are both gone, and Farah is inspecting some spools of ribbon idly.

"I sent them home," she explains. "I suspect Ghost will be nearby and watching, but Gaz has gone back to his tower. He says he will be there all afternoon if you still wish to learn magic tricks from him." She wiggles her fingers vaguely, eyes creased with a smile.

"I think I should. It can't hurt to try."

"No. And it will give me a chance to go over castle wards and security."

Nodding, you bid farewell to Rosie and her assistants, and step out onto the street with Farah by your side. Nox is still waiting outside, basking in a block of sunshine. She stirs, getting up and stretching like a house cat, her feather-tufted tail lashing lazily behind her. You smile when Nox settles into her stride behind you and Farah, sticking her beak over your shoulder. You hook your fingers over the smooth black beak. “Just us girls, hey Nox?” you croon.

She churrs in response.

“The beast likes you,” Farah says approvingly. “Gryphons tend to be disagreeable, unless they’re hand-reared. Nox has famously bitten more than a few fingers.”

“Yours too?” you ask.

Farah laughs, shaking her head. “I know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“At least someone around here does,” you grouse.

“Price?” she asks, raising her thick brows. “Do you want me to speak with him?”

“I don’t think there’s much point. This will all be over soon enough.”

Farah frowns at that, her dark eyes studying you sidelong. “It doesn’t give him the right, no matter who he is to you. If he cannot behave, I will gladly remove a finger or two to remind him.”

“Really? I thought you were one of John’s people.”

“He may be the king, but I am not one of his sworn knights, nor am I a member of the army. He cannot command me, he can only ask if he wants something done,” Farah says, and there’s something in her tone that tells you that she’s had to remind John of this fact more than once. “If I am to be loyal to anyone in court, it will be you, and you alone.”

“Just like that?”

“I have a good feeling about you, princess. I think your people need you, and you will need allies of your own.”

Your stomach twists again. You’re beginning to doubt your resolution to leave. Maybe you really are needed here. Maybe you bring something vital that’s been missing for too long. Maybe things aren’t going as well as you had thought— You have to admit, your perspective is still limited, for all that you were living among ordinary citizens all this time. Your town is a prosperous one, along a good trade route, too far from any borders to face any significant dangers. There has been little strife, no awful storms, no disasters. This can’t be the case for the whole kingdom.

Maybe you should stay a few extra days, and go through the accounts and reports from the last few years, at least. If there’s something that’s been missed, you might have better eyes to find it. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to stay on just a few days more. Especially once you’d made your speech and no one was labouring under the idea that you’d be staying forever. It would be easier to speak to people if you really were no longer a princess.

On to better things, as John had said.

Maybe there’s a place here for you. Not as a queen, but an advisor. Something to speak to John about later, perhaps. You’re sure he’d be happy for an excuse to keep you close.

But then again, maybe not. It’s a bitter thought, but his interest in you is very likely just based in your lineage, your claim to the throne. He has no need to keep you close once you’ve pledged your support to him. Better to send you away, lest you rescind that support when you have a large enough disagreement.

John is nothing if not pragmatic. You’ll be no use to him by the end of the day tomorrow.

And that’s good. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To go home, to be left alone, to take upon yourself a destiny of your own, that has nothing to do with where you’re from, and everything to do with where you’re going next?

“How did you become a mercenary?” you ask. Better to think about something other than yourself before you drive yourself mad with what-ifs and maybes.

“My father arranged a marriage for me, and I wanted to be a knight, like my brother Hadir was in training to be. It was an argument. In the end, I saw only two paths. I could do what was expected, but I knew even as a girl that would not be tolerable. I was too proud of my skills, eager to fight and defend people that needed me. So I took the second path, and left my home. I started off as a sell-sword, mostly caravan work until Hadir left his knight-master to come work with me, and the two of us started making a name.” She gives you a wry smile. “My parents were none too pleased with Hadir either. But they still speak to him.”

“You don’t talk to them at all?”

“Once in a while they send me a letter to remind me that the man who wished to marry me still hasn’t found another. That he’s still open to the match.” She rolls her eyes. “I think if he hasn’t been able to find a wife in all this time, there’s a reason for it.”

You laugh lightly. She has a good point.

By the time the two of you meander back to the palace, you do feel like you’re fast friends. Farah has a way of opening up without having to say much at all, her dark, pretty eyes sincere. Maybe it's something shared between you, not words exchanged, but who you both expected to become, how you both were raised to be something you wanted no part of. Farah is bolder than you, decisive and candle-quick, and you are a slow trickle of water, always taking the path of least resistance, but somehow you were both born of the same stuff. You understand each other.

Nox flies off when you reach the castle gates, and Farah and you split at the foot of Gaz's tower, her off to meet with the knight commander, and you to see if there's anything that you can learn. The book that Gaz had lent to you had been easy reading, especially with the annotations in his neat, scratchy writing, and the first two chapters had been more reminder of what you already knew. The third was about disrupting and dispelling magic, which seemed like it would be a useful place to start your lessons. Even if you expect that greater magics will be beyond your grasp, you can protect yourself by disrupting spells used against you.

By the time you reach the workshop door, you’re a bit warm and out of breath, the countless spiraling steps more effort than you’d like to admit, especially after a walk through the city. Why Kyle liked it was apparent just from looking at him, but you have a softer physique, and you’ve become quite unused to stairs over the years away from the castle. There are very few buildings taller than two stories back in town. You halt outside the door to catch your breath, glancing out the narrow window, through the slight warping of uneven glass panes.

“Isna right, Gaz, and even ye know it!” Soap’s heated voice seeps through the door. Kyle’s response is too low to make out, but Soap’s next words are clear. “She deserves better! Been nothin’ but kind to us.”

“She’ll get over it, Soap. You know it’s for the best.”

“The best for himself, sure, but I dinnae ken if it’s best for her.”

You sigh, torn between the impulse to eavesdrop and knowing that it’s wrong to do so. It’s not difficult to surmise that they’re talking about you. It would explain the look on Johnny’s face this morning and the feeling that things are not quite right that has been worrying at you all day. Perhaps John does intend to make you stay on in some capacity, to prop up his rule, which would be contrary to everything you’ve said you want. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to get the truth of the matter out of Soap later however— He seems uncomfortable with any level of duplicity.

The knock on the door silences the low, indecipherable sound of Kyle’s response. You rub your knuckles idly as the door opens, the tingle of magic clinging to your skin like cobwebs.

“Hello, Sweetpea.” Kyle greets you with a big smile. “I’m glad you decided to come up. Did you get through the reading I gave you?” He throws a look over his shoulder at Soap that cleary says go away.

“I did. I read through the first three chapters— I was wondering if we could focus on dispelling magic? I’m familiar enough with the bare basics, and if I’m only going to have time for one lesson, this seems like a good place to focus.” You reach out to brush Soap’s shoulder as he moves past you. “Can we talk later?”

“Of course, bonnie,” Soap says. “I’m always at yer service.”

“If you go find Farah, she might appreciate any insights you have on castle security. I think she went to speak with the knight commander.”

“Aye, could be helpful there. Go’ a nose for these things.” He taps his nose, his grin tinged with relief that you don’t seem angry with him for yesterday. “We’ll talk later, then.”

You step into the workshop and he steps out, and Kyle closes the door between you. “Dispelling magic could be a good place to start… How are you at sensing magic? If you have a natural affinity for it we can breeze past the first half of the lesson.” He takes your hand and gently pulls you over to the circle of iridescent stone.

“I think I might— I get this prickle when there’s magic around. I can’t say I always notice it, but I haven’t always thought to pay attention.” You sit on the ground inside the circle, noticing the way the buzz of the workshop fades away once you’re fully inside it. “I’ve been paying more attention here. More magic to notice, I suppose.”

“And a new environment.” Kyle says. “It’s easy to get used to the ambient magic in familiar spaces. You’ll get more attuned to the castle the longer you stay.”

“I hope so. I get all tingly whenever we’re in a room together,” you say, laughing lightly.

He settles down across from you, close enough that his knees nearly touch yours. “You sure that’s just the magic?” he asks, flashing his pretty smile at you. “It could be something else.”

“Could it?” You give him a smile in return, but yours is sharp around the edges, reminding him to mind himself. You’ve gotten a little weary of the flirting— It’s more John’s fault than it is his, admittedly, but you’re just tired of all the attention. You don’t want to flirt, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and even if you really do like him plenty. You just want to learn a bit of magic, and it would be nice if he could focus. “Or do you think that maybe being handsome has skewed your perspective to think that every young man and woman you meet is attracted to you?”

“Could be that,” he agrees, unperturbed. “But no matter. Lets get to work.”

He runs through some breathing exercises, half-familiar ones that you remember the old wizard making you do for hours on end. Luckily Gaz seems satisfied with your control, and moves on quickly.

He asks you to keep your eyes closed while he sketches runes in the air, asking you to identify them. “It will help you sense when someone is sending a spell your way, or using magic in your vicinity,” he explains. “Knowing what’s going on is the first step to knowing how to dispel it.”

The first rune feels warm, and tastes oddly of smoke. “Fire,” you say easily. Kyle hums with approval, and sketches a new one. It’s cool, and drips down your spine. “Water?”

“Good. This one should be a bit trickier.”

It’s not. You’re familiar with light spells, you come across them more often than almost anything else. “Light.”

He runs through a few more. Earth, ice, moon, sun, shadow, music, metal, lock, key. All components of spells, and not spells on their own, each one leaving impressions on your skin, tastes on your tongue. Kyle seems more and more impressed as he works through his list, and you’re both laughing before long, enjoying a lesson that feels more like a game. “You have a knack for this. Figures the old wizard couldn’t see your talent— I had to fight him to get him to take me seriously too.” He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Let’s see… We can try an actual spell now. You can open your eyes, if you like.”

You open your eyes to look at him, pleased that he thinks you’re doing well. He smiles so prettily at you that at first you don’t notice the way magic curls around you, sliding up your neck like warm hands. You’re too distracted by the way Kyle smells, cedar and spice and ink and paper, the little scar just below his cheekbone, his wide hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes, the soft curve of his lips… You’ve always thought him handsome of course, you have eyes after all, but you’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

It’s a charm spell. Something harmless for you to practice shredding apart. It makes sense for him to throw something innocuous at you, but he’s misjudged how much you already like him, and the charm is throwing you well past friendly suggestibility to wanting so badly that your hands tremble.

Knowing what it is, it’s easy to see how to unravel it, but you don’t really care to. It gives you an excuse to do something you want to do anyway. You pitch onto your knees and lean forward, bracing your hands on his thighs. His sweet, forest brown eyes widen with surprise, and he catches your face between his pretty, long-fingered hands, holding you back before you can kiss him.

“Wait,” he says quickly, his voice a quiet, anxious rasp. “It’s a charm spell, Sweetpea, I didn’t mean— You don’t really want to kiss me.” His fingers curl around your neck, like he’s fighting every instinct in him to hold you away and not draw you closer.

“Yes I do,” you say. “I just want to blame it on the spell.”

“Prove it,” he says.

It’s as simple as pulling a loose thread from knitting, unraveling magic that tastes sweet as fine white sugar on your tongue. Your cheeks burn, embarrassment settling in your stomach heavily. You should probably still be angry with him, you shouldn’t be thinking about how plush his mouth looks, or about how his pretty eyes fix on yours intently, the fire that he hides so neatly behind his quick-wit and natural charm rising to the surface. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you say softly.

“Probably not,” he agrees.

And still, neither one of you tries to move away. He wets his lips, his gaze settling on your mouth. You swallow nervously. “Kyle—”

“Hells,” he says, angling his head slightly and closing the distance, slow enough that you could pull away, but quickly enough that he won’t lose his nerve halfway. His mouth is as soft as you anticipated, lips sliding over yours slow and sweet.

You move closer, and Kyle shifts his legs to either side of your knees to give you enough room, hands sliding down to your waist. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his solid shoulders. He kisses you for a long while before his tongue slips between your lips. He licks into your mouth, moaning, and the sound is just as pretty as he is, sending honey-sweet arousal through your veins to pool deep in your belly.

It would be easy to kiss Kyle forever— He makes no demands, keeps his hands on your waist or curled around your back, toying with, but making no attempt to undo, the buttons that march up your spine. He feels safe, and you know that he won’t push you for more, the way John would. Kyle keeps himself in check, holds himself back. It makes you all the more ready to melt for him.

It’s several long moments before he pulls back, lips swollen and eyes hot and hazy like a summer afternoon. “Princess,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a soft chime from his desk, and John’s voice speaks into the workroom, as clear as if he were right there with you both. Kyle freezes, a hound caught with his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been, hands tightening on your hips.

“Gaz? Is Sweetpea still with you?”

Kyle clears his throat. He looks at you so guiltily, you almost feel like you’re the one that’s done something wrong. “Um. Yes sir.”

“Good. The Lyudireki ambassador is here, and Kate too, if you’d like to speak with her before you join us, Sweetpea. I believe she’s gone to your room to wait for you.”John’s voice sounds amused. It makes Kyle nervous, if his grip is anything to go by. “Gaz, I’d like you to find Soap, and bring him to the green parlour. He can be a wolf, if he likes. It’s up to him.”

“Yes sir. We’ll be down in a minute.” The chime sounds a second time, and Kyle relaxes slightly. “Old man has terrible timing. Come on, Sweetpea. We’d better get to it.”

He stands and pulls you up along with him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you remind him gently. "I kissed you."

"No, I kissed you, Sweetpea. And it's my fault you wanted to. You wouldn't have if I hadn't charmed you." He sighed. "Price is going to—"

"Kyle, I can kiss anyone I want," you say stiffly. You resent the implication that a Price owns you, that he has any say in who you kiss or what you do.

"Well. I suppose so," he says doubtfully. "But we should go. You'll want to speak with Kate, yeah?"

Your stomach churns slightly. Kate has been notably absent for all this time, conveniently unavailable to explain. She knew. She knew everything, and didn't give you so much as a heads up. "Yes. I have some questions I'd like answered."

"Don't be too hard on her," Kyle said. "John didn't give her a choice."

"Everyone always has choices, Kyle. She should have told me what was going on."

"Would you have done things differently if she had?"

"What could be done differently? I'm not the foolish little girl everyone seems to think I am. I understand my position in all this better than anyone."

Kyle seems to have to response to that. He’s quiet all the way down the stairs, lost in his thoughts. You let him stay there.

It would be nice if everyone wasn't too afraid of what John might do or say to be honest with you. Although you do know that loyalty like he demands from his men isn't born from fear alone, or your father would never have been deposed. There’s love there too, and real trust.

Kyle leaves you at your door with a lingering kiss. You try not to blame him for the way his eyes dart down the hall before he does so, even if it makes you want to shove him away. You offer him a small smile instead, and step into your room.

Thanks for your patience everyone! I know it took me a hot minute to get this chapter out, but we're back, baby! And we're kissing Kyle about it.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

#Cave writing #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cod mw fanfiction #fantasy au #OC: Sweetpea #x reader #Poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #Farah baby I'm so glad you made it kick your boots off and stay a while #It's getting pretty obvious what's going on here but sadly Sweetpea believes in the good in others #So she hasn't fully clocked it herself yet #These chapters keep getting longer and longer fr

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cupid-styles · 2 days

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camp counselorry sneaky?

YESSS!!! 😍🥹🫶🏼

yay okieeeeee :)))) here's a long one!

. . .

But that afternoon, when the girls and boys groups get together for quick introductions and bonding, Harry doesn’t even care to introduce her. Instead, he stands there, effortlessly capturing the attention of every last one of their kids, and just… skips over Y/N!

He skips over her!

Y/N has to clear her throat and step forward, forcing a friendly grin onto her face like she isn’t prepared to rip Harry a new one as soon as they bring their group to dinner.

“And I’m Y/N! My second grade girls know I’ll be taking care of them this summer, but I’ll be around to help Harry with the boys, too,” she says.

“Right, yeah—”

“I can’t wait to get to know each of you this summer,” Y/N continues on. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned to proceed with some type of spiel, but she’s in the mood to be spiteful. How couldn’t she, when Harry refuses to even recognize the fact that she’s just as important? “My door is always open and I’m so excited to have a wonderful few months with you.”

The kids have zoned out by now with their blank, moony gazes. Swallowing awkwardly, she takes a step back as Harry sends her a dirty look.

“You done, then?” he mutters.

Blinking, Y/N nods curtly.

“Great,” he mumbles, “Well, I think it’s been a long day for everyone, so why don’t we head to the mess hall for dinner? Tonight, we have a camp-wide bonfire and s’mores on the agenda so don’t eat too much!”

Thankfully, the kids didn’t notice the tension between Harry and Y/N, and excitedly get up from their spots on the ground to follow them to their next meal. Already, Y/N notices that the boys are attached to Harry, asking him a million questions about anything and everything. She hears thrilled chatter from tiny, high-pitched voices as she silently walks next to her own campers.

“Harry, why do you talk funny?” (He briefly explains that he was born in London, which he refers to as a far away place in a country called the United Kingdom.)

“How old are you?” (He’s 22, just a year older than Y/N.)

“Do you have any sisters? I have one at home and she’s so annoying!” (He has one and she’s in London.)

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

For some reason, that one makes Y/N listen just a little bit harder. She’s not sure why — maybe it’s because he’s been so persistently rude to her that she simply can’t imagine any girl willingly committing herself to him. She’s not stupid enough to deny the fact that Harry is attractive in the most conventional way, with his broad shoulders, curly hair, and ridiculously tattooed body, but she doesn't think that's enough of a justification to put up with his bullshit.

Harry chuckles at the question that comes from a boy with blonde hair and squinty eyes, hidden behind a thick pair of glasses.

“No,” he answers, shaking his head as he pulls open the door for the mess hall, “No girlfriend for me. Besides, why would I need one when I have all of you to keep me entertained for the summer?”

#bestie asks #writing #camp counselorry

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priscillabunny · 2 days

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Eddies a munch. He is obsessed with eating his girl out to the point she’s like “Eddie, no more!” and he’s all pouty like “Why not though? 🤨” he’d also complain if she washed herself with soap first (I know you aren’t meant to but it’s the 80’s..), moaning and whining about how he wants to taste pussy not soap. He’s messy too, it’s in his hair, down his neck, spread across his cheeks, his nose is sticky, her thighs are covered, her legs are wet, it’s dripping all over the bed… it’s everywhere but he’d have a content smile on his face as if he isn’t ruining the poor girl in front of him with nothing but his mouth.

thinking about eddie eagerly asking if you’ve ever had anyone eat you out the first time things get heated between the two of you, and like you said — it’s the 80’s, if you had any experience at all it was from a quick hump and dump from a random jock who didn’t care about your pleasure at all. eddie genuinely looks crestfallen about this, puppy dog eyes widening as he gently places a hand on your thigh and spreads your legs on the bed. you’re wearing a skirt — so you get a little fidgety and embarrassed when your pink panties are suddenly on display, the wet patch glaringly obvious.

“you’re kiddin’ me, right sweetheart? cute little pussy like this and no ones eating it? the worlds gone mad.” he strokes along the inside of your thigh all the way up to the centre until his fingertips dance over your clothed clit making you jerk and whimper. “t’aw, n’so sensitive too. that is a travesty.” he smiles, all full of mirth and teasing until it softens, hand reaching out to push the sweaty hair that was stuck to your forehead off your face. “may i?”

you’d have to be out of your mind to say no, especially when he’s just so eager to do so. he doesn’t disappoint, grinning ear to ear as he disappears between your legs. you jump when he starts to make out with your cunt through your panties.

“e—eds, aren’t you meant t—to take these off first?” you ask so sweetly, so innocently and he hums— lifting his head for a moment to look at you with a smile smile.

“how about you lay back, let me do all the work, whilst you relax and let me make you feel good. yeah? no more questions, honey.” his voice is warm and raspy and you’re nodding before you even think to argue.

he peels your panties off eventually, chuckling about how wet you are and cooing at your ‘pretty little clit’. you get shy on him of course, whining and wanting to shut your legs but he holds them open with a casual strength you forget he has, shushing you.

“come oooon, be my brave girl.” he croons, barely holding his grin back. in no time he’s covered in your slick, nose to chin glistening in you as he hums and moans in response to the pretty sounds you make, his middle finger circling your needy hole as he sucks on your clit. “y’wanna let me in? hm?”

his voice is like magic, anything he says you just do without question and you try your best to unclench— letting him slide his long finger in until the metal of his ring is tapping your puffy folds at the knuckle. “aaaatta girl.” he murmurs against your cunt, moving his hair out the way despite the worrying amount of arousal that clung to it from you.

he only gets more ravenous the more sensitive you get, chasing you up the bed when you squirm and buck your hips, pinning you back to the bed before settling back down himself and grinding his hips into the mattresss. he’s breathless, but unstoppable — humming out praise when he can as you draw closer and closer to your orgasm. “i know, little puppy. you wanna give me it don’t you, just leeeet it go. make a big mess for me, that’s a good girl.” he murmurs, against you before pulling his finishing move, curling his fingers up to that special spot and sucking hard on your little button to make you cry.

and you’re really crying by the end of it— bordering on hyperventilating because you’ve never felt that way before. never felt so good before. you’re feeling a lot of things — overwhelmed and exhausted, in love and obsessed, embarrassed and shy. he’s quick to cradle you when you press your thighs tight together and curl into a ball.

“yeah… probably feeling a lot of things right now, huh?” he sighs as he holds you, like he’s read your mind. you barely manage a nod, and he kisses the crown of your head. the casual tone of his voice grounds you, makes you feel less ashamed and brings you back to feeling like yourself. “thats okay. yeah, no you’ll… you’ll come around soon. you did a real good job for me though, pup. seriously. pretty sure i can die happily now knowing i made you cum that hard.”

#nonnies ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 #eddie munson prompt

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callsign-rogueone · 23 hours

Text

reunification day - d.a.

Dain Aetos x reader part two of Dain and Love's story words: 2.6k 🏷: no book spoilers really, set pre-Fourth Wing, feminine reader but no pronouns used, this one is pretty tame and fluffy if you don't think too hard about the implications of literally every word, Col. Aetos makes an appearance and is a total jerk, as usual, delving into Dain's ~issues~ a bit, and hopefully showing a little more of Love's personality. I really like this one. a lot. I hope you do too. no other girlfriends mentioned this time, but can anyone guess who a certain someone was looking for before the speeches started?

It’s been over a year since you’ve spent this much time getting ready for anything. You’ve missed this feeling, sitting in front of your mirror humming a soft tune as you go through your routine, doing up your hair -- that part is made much easier with your signet, the strands curling and smoothing and pinning themselves to your liking while you darken your eyelashes and brush through your eyebrows, glossing your lips and making everything soft and shiny.

It’s a nice change of pace from your usual rushed mornings at the school, but it doesn’t feel the same, not how it used to, when you’d do all of this with a smile, genuinely excited for the occasion, for the opportunity to take a break from the training and the preparing-for-war to spend time with your family at their formal gatherings, with singing and dancing and food and all the trappings of Tyrrish culture -- because the occasion you’re preparing for right now is a holiday celebrating the anniversary of Navarre making those things illegal.

Either way, you look damn good, and you’re going to let everybody in attendance see it.

“Your friends are outside,” Cosa reports — you’d told them not to wait for you, and they know better than that, anyway, especially when you have a reason to take your time getting ready like this.

With one last adjustment to the skirt of your dress, and one more lingering glance at yourself in the mirror, you drape the long silk wrap over your shoulders and slip out your door, heading down the hall out to the courtyard, where the party — if one could call it that — is just getting started, cadets trickling in slowly and settling into their formations.

You spot Dain in his usual place in the block. Of course he’d be one of the first to get here.

“You clean up nicely,” you greet, brushing a piece of fluff from the collar of his uniform. You let your fingertips skim over the broad expanse of his shoulder, lingering perhaps a second too long before you pull your hand back.

He represses a shiver, his cheeks reddening. “You too,” he manages. “You’re… wow.”

You smile at how flustered he is, at the blush spreading across his cheeks and his difficulty forming complete sentences. “Thank you. I may have a shitty relationship with this holiday, but I’ll take the excuse to be pretty for an evening.”

“You’re always pretty,” he says quietly, still looking at you.

It’s a compliment you’ve gotten from dozens of men before, one you usually brush off, but your heart skips hearing it from the one man who hasn’t been falling at your feet all year.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” you whisper to Cosa, unable to keep the smile off your face.

She sounds amused. “Of course he does. Now, are you going to do something about it?”

That is the question; but she should know by now that you don’t chase after anything or anyone, especially not men.

“Thank you,” you reply warmly.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t know where to go from here, what to say next.

You’re standing at eye level with him, or close to it, for the first time ever, and he can’t look away; mesmerized by the color of your irises and the flutter of your eyelashes as you blink, the barely-there shimmer coating your eyelids.

“Are you wearing heels?” he asks, finally putting it together.

You nod, shifting the long skirt of your dress to show him the simple black stilettos underneath, thick silk ribbons wrapped around your ankles to keep them in place, tied with perfect bows.

He’s in over his head. Thankfully the next sentence that comes out of his mouth isn’t about how much he’d like to kneel down and tug at the ribbons until the bows came undone, to slide the shoes off and…

“Did you really cross the parapet with those in your bag?” he asks, still looking at them.

“I did,” you answer, smiling. “They’re my favorites — they were a gift from my favorite brother. And they’re black, so they’re codex-approved.”

Fair enough.

It stands to reason that you’d have a favorite pair of shoes, and a collection of them back home — in the year that he’s known you, he’s learned that you place a high value on your physical appearance, and you aren’t afraid to modify your uniform within the bounds of regulation, finding subtle ways of making it your own.

You settle into your usual spot between him and Sawyer, who looks to be searching for someone in the crowd, his shoulders sinking when he realizes they aren’t there. You offer him a soft smile that he returns silently, your attention returning to the dais just as the clock strikes seven.

“I should have asked Bodhi what his bet was on the length of the speeches,” you tell Cosa, preparing yourself for a very boring next thirty minutes. She doesn’t respond.

It's a bit unfair that her and her friends get the evening off while you’re forced to listen to these self-labeled war heroes prattle on about patriotism and the importance of this terrible holiday as if you and your compatriots aren’t even here.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” she relays after a few seconds.

You try not to laugh. “Tell him I say thirty-two, and the winner gets ten Krown.”

Another short pause. “He finds these terms acceptable.”

You subtly shift your weight back and forth between your feet throughout the speeches — which add up to thirty-one minutes, if you count the awkward transitions between them — having grown unused to the heeled shoes in the last year of wearing flat black boots every day.

You’re finally dismissed, the formations breaking as riders move around to find their friends for the rest of the evening. You turn toward third wing, looking for Imogen, who will be the easiest to spot with her unconventional hair color — you’re sure she absolutely despises this whole thing, but especially the required dress.

“Cadet Aetos,” someone calls, and he freezes at the voice for a split second before turning toward it.

The colonel insignia on the man’s collar and the shape of his jaw is enough for you to connect the dots — that’s Dain’s father, and he’s approaching with both General Sorrengail and King Tauri in tow.

You’ve just spotted Imogen and Bodhi, but you can’t leave now, not when three of the aforementioned war heroes are looking directly at you. You plaster a smile onto your face, adjusting your shawl. “Your Majesty, General, Colonel,” you greet in order of rank, extending a perfect curtsy to the king with a polite smile and a nod of the head to the others.

The monarch smiles back, but the officers don’t.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the Colonel says, turning his gaze to you. Ice spreads through your veins, and for a moment you wonder if he possesses some physiological signet that he’s using on you, or if he’s just that cold and calculating because he knows exactly who you are.

But neither of those options explain why the quadrant’s poster boy is looking at this uniformed officer — his own father — like a wolf that’s about to bite.

You give him a slight dip of your chin in deference. “Cadet Callwell, sir. Second squad, flame section, fourth wing — the same as your son. I can see the family resemblance,” you add with a disarming smile.

Dain winces beside you.

Your graceful response doesn’t seem to have thawed things between you and Aetos Senior any further, but luckily, someone changes the subject of conversation; King Tauri himself. “Tell me, cadets, how are you finding your studies?”

“Very well, your Majesty,” you answer with a polite smile. “We are fortunate to have such experienced and knowledgeable professors.”

You nudge Dain’s foot with yours, silently prodding him to say something.

“Yes,” he agrees after a few seconds, “Fortunate indeed. The last year has been a challenge, but one that I know will prepare us to serve our country well.”

That is exactly what the King wants to hear. “And how fortunate am I, to have such valiant students with such bright futures ahead of them.”

“You flatter us, Your Majesty,” Dain responds, finally having found his voice.

General Sorregail still hasn’t said a word, watching the pair of you silently.

The Colonel gives you both a curt nod. “Thank you, Cadets. That will be all.”

Dain bows, and you drop another curtsy to the king, earning yourselves another fond smile before you turn away, but as you cross the courtyard, your blood is boiling on Dain’s behalf. Colonel Aetos hadn’t even spared him a smile. No loving touch, no real goodbye for his only son whom he may very well never see again, no use of his name, just Cadet?

Dain speaks first once you’re out of their earshot, sounding stunned. “I don’t think Tauri even realized you were marked. How did you…”

“It’s a party trick of mine,” you answer, stopping to sit on a small stone bench by one of the courtyard’s open archways. “One I learned very quickly after I got this.”

You let the silk drape drop from your shoulders, exposing the smoky relic trailing up your arm. Dain’s eyes catch on it immediately, like they do every time you’re not wearing long sleeves, studying the intricate swirls that don’t seem to follow any particular pattern, winding up and down your arm near-randomly.

“It’s the first thing anyone sees about me, or any of my friends. But I figured out that if I was perfect in every other regard, if I was charming enough and followed all the rules and did everything correctly, they wouldn’t notice it,” you say, gazing up at the stars.

It’s a remarkably clear night, several of the summer constellations visible, but he remains focused entirely on you as you continue.

“The thing people don’t realize is that we’re all from “good families”, or we were, before they killed our parents. The Laurents were one of the most successful families in Tyrrendor before their assets were seized. So were the Durrans. Xaden is technically a Duke, now that he’s of age, but his duchy was burnt to a crisp.

My point is, we all know how to stand on ceremony and lay a proper table and dance a waltz and speak to authority figures, but people see the relics, or the names on our flight jackets, or how we speak or braid our hair or anything that shows our culture, and they forget all that. They just see a pack of rabid dogs.

Navarre used to respect us, to look at us like we were valuable. And then once we asked for not just a seat at their table, but for a table of our own, they decided we weren’t worth the dirt our houses were built on, and that everything we touched was tainted. They torched my mother’s rose garden and shattered every window in the house the day they arrested my father, just because they could.

So I know it sounds pathetic, or bratty, or whatever other adjectives you want to use, but being able to wear high heels and makeup and a pretty dress once a year is important to me, even if it’s for a holiday celebrating the death of so many people I loved, because it’s the only time that I get to feel like the girl I used to be, who didn’t have to fight for her life every day, who had parents that loved her more than anything in the world, and who was looked at like a person, not a fugitive or a liability or a wild animal.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he says softly. “I know I will never truly understand, but I get it. And for whatever it’s worth, you look perfect.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He starts another sentence that’s interrupted by the crackle of fireworks exploding into the air, startling both of you. He laughs, a sound you’ve hardly ever heard over the last year, but you like it.

You drape the silk back around your shoulders to fight the chill of the night air and pat the cold stone next to you, inviting him to sit. He accepts, perching on the other end of the bench and looking up at the night sky, keeping a respectful distance between you as the show continues, a few minutes of comfortable quiet.

With one last fizzling red firework, the display ends, and you hear applause from the other side of the courtyard, where most of the quadrant is gathered.

“Dain,” you say quietly, throwing him off balance, “I wanted to apologize earlier, but…”

“What for?” he asks, that cute little confused look on his face, head tilted and brows pinched. It would make you smile if you weren’t about to rip the bandage clean off, to end whatever this is before it can even start.

You choose your words delicately. “Tauri may not have realized who I am, but your father certainly did, and judging by the way he left things with you, he was clearly upset by it. If that’s going to have consequences for you, that he found you talking to me…”

“Oh, he’s always been like that,” he dismisses. “He’s never been one for any kind of affection. I’ve learned not to take it personally.”

It all makes sense now, why Dain is… like that, why he never touches you, why you’re always just Cadet Callwell to him and never anything else, why he’s so strict and by the book; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

But from the two minutes you’d spent with the Colonel, you can tell that Dain is twice the man he’ll ever be; not cold and uncaring, not prejudiced or cruel… he might even have room for someone like you in his heart.

You shouldn’t get your hopes up about that.

“Still… I’m sorry,” you say softly. “If he gets mad at you about it, say the word and I’ll keep my distance, or ask to be reassigned. I don’t want to make things tense between you.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “I’m sorry he made you uncomfortable. He tends to have that effect on people. It’s part of the reason I didn’t have many friends growing up— the other kids were scared of him.”

He smiles, but you can tell there’s a tender wound underneath. “And I wanted to say it earlier, too, but thank you. For helping me not look like a total idiot in front of the king, and for showing me a new perspective.”

You smile — not the fake one he’d seen you give Tauri, but a real smile, one that makes your eyes sparkle like the stars. “Of course.”

“Your friends are probably looking for you,” he says quietly, and you startle as you realize he’s right, that you’d completely forgotten about finding them, too focused on impressing the King, and then you hadn’t wanted to abandon Dain after that conversation… It’s not like you wanted to spend time with him or anything. You definitely wouldn’t choose him over your friends, right?

You rise from the bench, smoothing a hand over your skirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, giving you one last look, soaking up the sight of you in that dress before you walk away and things go back to normal between you: regular uniforms tomorrow morning, and your usual rivalry and bickering at formation, with your friends constantly watching the pair of you and scrutinizing his every move.

If you hadn’t each inherited the wars of your fathers, maybe then this could work — but then you would never have met.

He doesn’t know if that would be better or worse.

#dain and love #dain aetos #dain aetos x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine

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pupyr0arz · 1 day

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May we have a crumb of kidnapper!Gaz cuddling with his beloved? After bringing them nice gifts just bc so ofc theyd let him love on them bc he treats them like a deity?

Ask and ye shall receive 🫡 it gets there eventually. I might write more straight fluff after this.

He watches as you flip through the glossy catalogue. He gives you new ones every other day, it feels, leaflets and cutouts and magazines. Women’s clothing, men’s clothing, food, perfume, watches for you to show any interest in any of the pictures. He still doesn’t trust you with anything electronic, even with him in the room, and gave you a tight smile when you asked. You ignore the guilt you feel for bothering him about his rules, the welling shame that he’s stressed over you when you refuse to eat. Leftover, misplaced reactions. You haven’t seen another in months, it feels, he’s taken up the spots of your friends and family when you got particularly depressed, and you’re stupid brain is transferring that onto him.

You snap out the scented cardpaper that came with the magazine, activating it with a rub of your fingernail. It smells like flowers more than it does chemicals, hearty and thick. He doesn’t seem to have much of a budget, like some kind of cartoonish villain that spawned from somewhere. Some lonely rich man refusing to fed his dog anything but imported caviar.

“Do you like it?” He interjects, leaning forwards with his hands on his thighs. They twitch, and you know he wants to grab you, but he doesn’t touch you. He never does. What kind of man kidnaps someone, and then respects their boundaries afterwards? “It’s a nice brand.” He encourages, like he’s asking a toddler to eat their vegetables, like when he’s bothering you about your health. “I’ve found myself a fan.”

You already know he wears perfume. You set the card down before you crush it, not wanting to dwell on that memory with him in the room. “I think it’s fine.” You say roughly, and you know you’ll wake up with it on your nightstand like everything you show the tiniest smidge of approval for. The angry tone of your train of thought sputters and stops as a smile breaks out over his face, eyes softening.

“Thank you,” he says like you’ve just jumped into traffic to save his dog’s life, and you have to cling on to the head of resentment that he’s doing this to fuck with you. It’s the only thing in this goddamn room you can hold on to, your fingers will slip on silk sheets and his stupid outfits and nice words.

“When do I get out of the dungen?” You prod, and a flash of annoyance crosses his face. He hates what you call ‘your room’, carefully insists upon it being your home now, like some kind of refuge. You aren’t of the opinion that anything involving chloroform counts.

“Sweetness,I want you to get settled in first, you know that.” He chides softly. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t hit you, doesn’t do a goddamn thing but treat you like some fucked up stray he picked up off the street. Your eyes dart to his hand. He doesn’t have a bandage there anymore, and you resist the impulse to reach out, open the floodgates and feel for any remaining damage. “You don’t need to be more stressed than you already are. I promise, when you’re feeling up to it I’ll take you out. Wherever you want.”

“My house?” You jab and he leans back, gives you a conflicted look like he cares and you cut him off. “What if I never get better?”

His brow furrows. “You’re improving.” He says, but you have him on the back foot now.

“It’s been months, hasn’t it? I’m still not ‘adjusted’.” The magazine crumples in your fist. “What if I don’t break like you want me to? If you can’t fuckng Stockholm syndrome me into your pet?”

Kyle doesn’t look scared, or even upset. His face had smoothed out sometime during your rant into warm, affectionate amusement. “Darling,” he says, tone indulgent, “My career gives me some insight here. We might be taking it slow, but you’ve made so much progress. We’ve made so much progress.” He gets off of the bed, raising a hand to cut off your attempt at retort. His anxiety is replaced with his calm, confident conviction.

“I promise, everything is going to work out like I told you.” He pauses, and adds in a more condescending voice, “do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

You drop the baller up magazine on the ground, bile welling up in your throat, and flop onto your bed. You bury your face into your soft pillows like some kind of stupid teenager, fear and helplessness making you clench your fists because he believes it, he absolutely believes it'll work, that he can wear you down, and he’s not going to let you go.

He picks up the magazine before he leaves. He’ll be back in what you’ve taken to calling half an hour, give or take, ready to start prying at you again. It’s still at least eight more days of this before you have the chance for a short break, if he vanishes off to work where he studies psychological torture and kills people with the million guns in his car.

You can’t help but believe it too.

—

You wake up feeling uniquely reckless. You’re alone right now, which is probably better because if he was here you might lung at him, if just to soothe the unplaceable itch underneath your skin. You can’t help but think of it as a game some days, some fucked up chess where you gain some by lashing out but lose more because of the way he smiles at you while he holds an ice pack to your jaw, apologizes for holding you down while you scream and thrash at him.

You want to tear up your sheets, but you can’t muster up the energy when he’ll have them replaced without a second glance. It feels like you can’t make mistakes here, like he doesn’t want a single thing from you.

You know what he wants.

You roll out of bed, flipping off the security camera in the teddy bear on your nightstand. He coats everything he does in pastels

and soft words and sweet things and it’s like punching a goddamn pillow. Not a speck of resistance, not a sign you’re making progress convincing him you’re a bad captive to have.

You take a sandwich and a carton of milk out of your mini-fridge, wanting to get it out of the way before he decided to come down and needle you to stick to your meal plan. You sit down at your little dolls-table, on your little dolls-chair with your plastic utensils. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll go out today, leave you in the quiet for a few days. Long enough to remind yourself that glass breaks and you can bleed without him there to wipe everything spotless. Short enough that you don’t start rotting inside. It’s never that lucky, you’re always left trying to keep from watching the door, pretending you don’t hope that it’s his smiling face ready to carve away your memories of times without him.

You don’t know how many more points of failure you have left in you before you have to give up the ghost. You unclench your jaw, sticking your tongue beneath your teeth so you don’t grind your teeth together. You’re developing too many stress habits. He doesn’t tell you you’re being hysterical, but as you sit on a cushioned seat in a room full of all your favorite things, while eating your favorite foods, you’re starting to forget the taste of chloroform.

—

You wake to the side of your bed dipping under Kyle’s weight. He smells like gunpowder and wet leather, unfamiliar and harsh in the enclosed vivarium that’s become your home. Kyle’s wearing his outside clothes, usually so careful to keep the glossy barrier separating you from his work intact. You stare into the dark, not turning over as your limbs lock. Old, bad habits. He knows you’re awake.

“Sweetness,” he mutters in the dark, “can I touch?” He doesn’t say please, but you can imagine the word hanging heavy behind his lips, his pleading eyes locked on you.

“Yeah,” you mutter back, rolling onto your back. His hands come up immediately, shoving under your shirt and you yelp at the touch of his icy fingertips. Kyle tuts, pressing his head into your cheek, shushing you like some hysterical mutt. He’s glued to you in what must be seconds, determined to tangle your limbs together like every time he touches you it’s the last.

It doesn’t burn, but it melts something in you, angry scattered half thoughts of pushing Kyle away or denying him crumbling into inconceivable dust when he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. Tentatively, you twine your fingers with him and his breath hitches, and then he sighs, ecstasy incarnate, relaxing on you with his full weight.

“I love you,” Kyle tells you like it’s a secret every time, like the words are something he’s stolen and fought and killed for. He has, and he’s come to present them to you like the jewels and the books and the presents. “I love you with my whole heart, every inch.”

You swallow, tucking Kyle’s head under your chin, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. “Okay,” you say, your voice very small and not quite there, but Kyle’s hand squeezes painfully tight for just a second. It’s the first time you’ve said a single word when he tells you, and you know it’s as good as at this point.

“So much,” Kyle says, voice wrecked like you’ve done something to him, tugging him undone with just your voice.

“Yeah.”

#Sorry it’s not super cute 😭 they just weren’t at that point #Now they are + midpoint #Maybe kgaz brings kidnapped a kitten or something #Gets allowed a hug or holding hands #Anon #writing #snippet #gaz #stalker gaz #cod x reader #cod #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz x reader #.bark #If it’s rough in places shhhh

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