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keravnous · 2 months

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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

#i'm back girlies #john wick smut #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #smut #my writing #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves smut

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genericpuff · 4 months

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ok listen right

please don't take the implication of what i'm about to say the completely wrong way, there's a point i have to make here

there's this gross thing that happens in LO that's been definitely talked about numerous times (by many people) where fashion is used to label a character's like, "alignment" between "good" "bad" "pure" "tainted" etc. this is something that comes up a lot when discussing Minthe and Persephone because there are a LOAD of double standards in how Minthe was treated and viewed for dressing like a "slut" but then Persephone wears the exact same fit and suddenly she's a queen-

(image courtesy of @anoldplace on Instagram, I'll be showing a couple of their posts in this because they show off a lot of the great - and frankly disturbing - parallels in LO, whether intended by Rachel or not)

-but can we talk about how the "bad ending" version of Persephone where she ends up with Apollo slaps WAY FUCKING HARDER than anything we've seen her dressed in since she got with Hades ??

fucking hello?? where's THAT fit ??

you're telling me this girl is queen of the underworld and the best she can do in the fashion department is looking like a color-swapped version of Hera ???

and I WANNA MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR, this isn't me trying to say "Persephone would have been way cooler if she got with Apollo", that is FAR from the point, more so just pointing out the pattern of Rachel aligning "bad" with "dresses with more flavor than an extremely out-of-touch conservative boomer". Even when she tries to draw Persephone in more "out there" clothing it just comes across as ... tacky? And only at her own detriment?

Like, how the fuck is this supposed to be Persephone being drawn through a literal male gaze (Apollo):

And THIS is supposed to be Persephone being drawn from a female gaze (her own because she dressed herself):

Like literally how? How does this happen? Especially when the latter is STILL being framed from a male perspective (the green guy behind her, "Jeffrey") but we're supposed to believe it's some "boss babe" moment for Persephone to just be walking down the street while getting oggled inappropriately by a male onlooker? How could these scenes be any more different and yet more alike? She's still being objectified for the characters around her and the audience, but we're supposed to believe the second is better than the first one because... she chose to wear that?

Sure, one could argue that at least she dressed herself and that definitely gives her agency, but it's really Rachel telling on herself where her priorities are in trying to write a "feminist comic" that she had Persephone dress herself and then STILL have its only purpose be for men on the sidelines to stare at and objectify her. When you just know this same outfit would have undoubtedly been used to slut shame characters like Minthe or Thetis or Leuce.

I don't even know, man. The intentions in LO's writing are so confused, contradictory, and ultimately pointless. It's trying so hard to be "feminist" and a "deconstruction of purity culture" but then it turns around and reinforces all that same shit it's claiming to be fighting against anyways. Persephone would be an evil slut if she was with Apollo, look at her outfit! But not here, not the banana purse dress being oggled by strangers on the sidewalk, not now that she settled down with her old rich husband who she only knew for a couple weeks before being separated for 10 years but their love was just so strong and the thirst for dick so real that she and him loyally waited for one another until she was old enough to make it "not be creepy" anymore for them to hook up, but only after marriage. She's definitely not a gold digger like Minthe or a vapid slut like Thetis or a homewrecker like Leuce, nah.

I just wish she'd dress herself, for the love of god. Let her dress herself with her own input and not the influence of the people around her or the tone of the comic's own internalized misogyny that demands "woman must always be objectified for better or for worse, that is The Rule!"

Of course she can't "dress herself" though. She's an extension of Rachel and Rachel herself writes like an out-of-touch boomer who will and has gladly gone about how men are just clamoring at the bit to stare at her and get to her... but then claims she "didn't realize sexism was all that bad" until she started working on LO.

Sorry, this post got very long and very mean, I initially just wanted to make the comparison in a very silly haha "wild how bad ending Persephone has way more visual personality than good ending Persephone" way, but then I thought about it too long and pissed myself off LMAO

And no, I don't want to go back to beating the dead horse of "banana dress bad" because honestly, I think in any other context or comic, sure, it would be very cute to see her walking around in an outfit she chose herself even if it's "objectively" not a great outfit, it shows agency and not caring what other people think which is VERY freeing. But we're not reading that comic, we're reading LO, where a woman's worth and value is only determined by how the men around her react to her and only Persephone is allowed to be empowered by wearing outfits that would otherwise be treated as "slutty" if worn by anyone else.

I don't want the message to be "Persephone looks like a dumbass bimbo" or, on the flipside, "Persephone looks boring and out-of-touch", I want the message to be "Persephone is valid for dressing how she wants, just like how the women around her are valid for dressing how they want regardless of whether or not they're protagonists or antagonists."

Quit using women's fashion as an alignment chart, quit using these "not so sly for a misogynist guy" dogwhistles as a way to "other" the women around the power fantasy main character. Women deserve to dress how they want without shame or objectification - all women, not just the women you like.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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hijackalx · 7 months

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GALE SFW HEADCANONS:

finally we got our lover boy here. its not a secret that he like gets super easily attached. i kind of hate that they patched that out bcz it fit his character so much. but yeah in my mind its canon he gets attached suppperrr easily also kind of the type of guy to love bomb tav. not in the manipulative way tho like he genuinely thinks hes in love.

he gives everything he has in relationships too like tav IS his everything. he can be pretty clingy but thats just cuz he loves them so much ❤️ ok yandere vibes hold on. not really but imagine.

the type of dude to draw pictures of him and tav holding hands in his diary (they are not drawn good) also definitely talks to himself a lot, or maybe to his cat (sometimes abt tav)

hands down the funniest mf at camp like hes the type thats just naturally funny he doesnt even try to be. its hard to take him serious sometimes bcz of it😭😭 he gets mad af about it too. like his funnyness is a blight on his existence he just wants to be taken seriously. also feel like he has the worst luck too like fucked up things always happen to him and thats also hilarious LMAO constantly has the camp in stitches

he has bad spatial awareness so hes always triggering traps and tav gets so mad 😹😹😹

love language:

giving= words of affirmation and quality time

always wants to be with tav. also loves to compliment them but he does it in his corny ass wizard way lol like in the most extra way possible. he cant just say "ur eyes look beautiful today" hes got to say some shit like "ur viewing orbs are looking most ravishing this eventide". i bet he would write poetry abt tav but he wouldnt give it to them bcz hes lowkey embarrassed 😔 like insecure in his ability not embarrassed by the action itself. he just wants to do tav justice and he doesnt think he can.

receiving= quality time

as long as tav wants to be with him too hes happy. he worries abt being too clingy so sometimes he'll distance himself and if tav closes that distance on their own itll make him so happy. like thats the best thing ever to him. to have somebody that wants to be in his presence and listen to him ramble.

i feel like gale is similar in height to astarion so like 5'11/6' hes probably closer to 5'11. like that is the most gale height to me. also hes a little thicker with some muscle. hes def got a lil belly 🤭❤️ his pecs are rlly smthng too like thats where most of his muscle goes. those look heavy let me carry them for u king 🤲🏻😼

GALE NSFW HEADCANONS:

A FREAKKKKKK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS MAN IS A FREAK. WHAT was that shit in the sky ?????? THE FUCK ??? like he is THE MOST kinky mf here he will do almost anything. ONLY with ppl hes comfortable with tho. otherwise hes vanilla af. i honestly feel like hes mostly submissive tho just cuz hes chill like that. equally gives and receives. like straight up tav is his BABY he will do ANYTHING for them. probably introduced to most of his kinks thru tav (and mystra....... unfortunately.....)

loves to give head. like dear god. will beg tav to let him for real. hes very good at it too

incorporates sooo much magic. will make fake!gale fuck tav so he can watch. will use hot and cold magic and all that. electricity. the thunder stuff or whatever its called. literally anything u can think of to spice it up. he has thought of it. will also do freaky shit like using magic to mess with tav in public if u know what i mean

doesnt have a high body count i lowkey feel like mystra was his first. and he hasnt smashed anybody since. until tav.

exhibitionist AND humiliation kink. so these work hand in hand bcz like i said he doesnt do kinky shit with ppl hes not comfortable with so doing it where strangers might see is ultimate humiliation for him. but also likes to humiliate tav with it too.

will say a lot of nasty shit. this i feel he doesnt go super overboard with but its nasty compared to how he usually is. mostly when hes begging.

im gonna say gale has a solid 5 on him. and hes got hair i feel like most of the companions do but it works rlly good on gale lol. like hes got a happy trail and everything 🤤 nice hairy armpits too so u know hes got that manly ass MUSKK 💦💦💦 anyway i think his pp is pretty straight. like a wand lol. its a pretty normal pp.

aftercare with gale is the best yo like he makes sure tav is taken care of first and then cleans up on his own unless tav offers which he usually tells them to rest lol. hes just so sweet.

#gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale headcanons #bg3 headcanons #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #x reader #my headcanons #love languages #love language headcanons

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hauntedestheart · 9 months

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When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is I reach for my phone. I've seen a lot of articles say that doing this is supposed to be bad for you, you're supposed to limit your screen time and not use electronic devices in bed and blah blah blah... but whoever wrote those articles clearly wasn't living my life.

Hell, I barely know who's living my life.

See, the reason I check my phone in the morning is because checking it is the only way I'm gonna find out what I did last night. Take, for example, the photo I found on it this morning.

Oh god, I'm cringing just looking at it. I didn't take this photo! Yeah, sure, I'm a hot guy who goes to the gym, but I swear I'm not the kind of douchebag who would pose nude like this. Someone else took this photo, and they used my body to do it.

Scrolling through the apps on my phone, I begin to piece together the events of last night. According to some Lyft receipts, my body left the house a bit before midnight and headed across the bridge to uptown, and didn't head back home until around five in the morning.

My bank statement informs me that I stopped at a fancy store to buy a new jacket (which I find in the closet) and then I headed to a bar I'd never heard of where I bought several rounds of shots and a plate of mozzarella sticks. It's even logged in my calorie counter app.

On Instagram I've been tagged in a story by someone I've never met before, and when I click on it there's a short video clip of a man standing on a table in some bar shaking his perky ass around and- oh, yup, the guy is me. I tap to the next video and my body has lost its shirt, probably so everyone can see my abs flexing as I do body rolls, and then in the next clip I'm down to just my skivvies and a stranger's hand is grabbing my junk and shaking it around. Thankfully, that's the last video in the lineup- though there's an ache in my ass that hints that it wasn't where the night ended.

This might sound like the kind of fun, drunken bender that a guy my age might get up to, but that's not what's going on here! I don't know why, but for the past few months every time I've gone to sleep at night, my body has woken back up and gone back out. At first I thought I was just sleepwalking- mom said I did it all the time as a kid -but sleepwalkers don't do the things that my body does.

Sleepwalkers walk. My body hits the town.

I always wake up safe and sound in bed in the morning, which is a small blessing, but everything else is a complete mystery. I don't know what is doing it, or how they're doing it, but I'm pretty sure it's another person. They basically told me so.

A few weeks after it started I bought a night vision camera and set it up to monitor my bedroom, hoping to glean some sort of clue about what exactly was happening to me, but whoever was in my body just deleted the footage. When I woke up in the morning, the only thing I found on the camera was a very long video of my body shoving a dildo up my ass, moaning like a whore while the other hand explored the muscles of my torso... and at the end of it, when my body was finally drenched in semen, it looked straight into the camera and winked.

The me in the video had a cocky expression on his face that I'd never seen before and to be honest, that kinda freaked me out! In a fit of desperation, I decided to leave a note taped to my bedroom door.

What do you want? I wrote. And when I woke up in the morning, someone had written something underneath it:

; )

Which... I still don't know what to make of that. I think whoever is doing this thinks that they're funny. Since then, my body snatcher has gotten into the habit of leaving me little notes and photos like the one up there.

My body snatcher seems to really like my body, which- hey, I'm proud of it too! You don't work as hard as I do on my abs without being a little vain, and if I was gonna snatch someone's body I'd probably go for someone who was packing a dick like mine. I can't even say that I blame them. But the number of photos I've found on my phone of myself groping my pecs, flexing my big biceps for the camera, licking my own armpits... it's a bit too much.

And that's the absolute worst part of it! Whoever's doing it is getting cocky. Look at that photo- the camera set-up, the hand written note, the strategically placed paint... this isn't just some random selfie taken on the spot, this required setup. They're mocking me, letting me know that they've got me where they want me and there's nothing I can do about it.

The pictures have only been getting bolder and more scandalous- some of the more recent ones were taken in public places, and they're starting to involve props. I'm nervous about what they're going to come up with next- but I guess I won't know until I wake up.

#male possession #yes I'm still alive I'm just terrible at finishing things so I'm sitting on a bunch of drafts #but I like this confessional style format so I might toy with it more

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live-laugh-lenney · 3 months

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Hellur, how are uu!!! This is my first time in tumblr. And there are only a few of george clarke or arthurtv fics. Very thankful for one of the people who creates them🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

May i request a reaction for Arthur or George where all of their fans love their gf, especially she's just a normal beautiful gal 😍😍😍 what if their girl has dimplessss

hi lovely. welcome to tumblr, welcome to my blog, welcome to a safe place to come vent and chat all things arthurtv and chaos crew as well as youtube! lots of love! thank you for popping by - don't be a stranger, at all. i have so many thoughts for this :')))

G E O R G E

everyone loves her.

he takes his time to introduce her publicly because she's isn't a girl who is known - she's not a youtuber, she's not a tiktoker, she's not an influencer so he wants to slowly wean her into the chaos of his life and shield her from twitter's hate and the tiktok comments that will be written about her.

because, of course, there will always be some people who dislike her - its part and parcel of being with him and she knows that.

those that love her, she loves back. she always keeps an eye on her social media, always checks in with them, replies to their tweets and she does little q and a's on her instagram story about herself... with the occasional question about her and george or anything to do with their relationship (without going into much detail - she leaves that for his podcast).

and he definitely has her on for an episode, alongside andrew, like a couple's podcast episode where they just spill the beans on what it's like to date max and george. from the horse's mouth comments from someone who is dating someone so loved and well-known in their industry line of work.

"i'm pretty sure everyone loves yn more than they love me."

"what can i say? you're not the only one with a pretty face., georgey boy."

"it's the dimples, i'm telling you."

and she will always tease him because she knows how loved she is in amongst his followers. always having pictures taken at events they see her at, taking cute and funny selfies, hugging those who want to give her a hug and george just loves to see it happen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A R T H U R

his followers speculate before arthur actually announces that they're in a relationship...

he's much more of a soft launcher with the two of them as opposed to completely introducing her - he never sees the point in posting her alongside her social tags because she's not someone known to many in the world.

he can't hide on social media; and that doesn't stop him from being a simp for her. people go digging once they see them together in public, people see that he likes her posts, they can see his comments and he doesn't see the problem because that's his girl and if he wants to show his love for her than he can. he just chooses not to launch her hard by giving her a dedicated post so people know who she is.

so when it's been long enough, and he sees that people love her and want to see more of her, he starts bringing her onto his channel.

that's how he properly and formerly introduces her.

"yn's here with me today."

"he needs the views, figured he may as well use me as clout."

"well- no, that's not- no-"

he gets so soft in the face, cheeks going red and he stutters and she loves that he still gets giddy over how she has such witty remarks back to him.

"i'm just messing, i'm here for my five minutes of fame."

"again, not what's happening."

and it's just sweet moments where people can truly see them for how they actually are together - so sickeningly in love with each other that it's almost too sweetly gross to witness.

and, my god, the edits that come out of it are something yn could sit and watch for days because it really captures just how they are as a couple. and she's no stranger to sharing them on her socials, saving them to her camera roll, showing them to arthur when they're sitting and aimlessly scrolling their accounts, commenting how she loves them and that it's so special to have their sweet and loving moments documented in such a way.

out in public, he's so soft with her and always stands close to her on their museum dates and they're always holding hands down the busy streets of london and he always holds her close to him on the tubes whenever they need to get public transports and he's always weary of her going over to meet those who had seen the two of them in the street... people take photos, they take videos, they share them all over the internet - they can't stop them from doing that. he knows she's just being kind but he always tells her that she can never been too careful. but she loves them just as much as he is thankful for them; and of course, he sits back and watches as they start showing off how much they adore her. xx

#arthurtv #arthurtv headcannons #arthurtv imagines #arthurtv fics #george clarkey #george clarkey imagines #george clarkey headcannons #george clarkey fics #chaos crew

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greenboyfriend · 6 months

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pick an image! (tarot card reading)

image source ❁ image 1: an aged, leather book, with many, many pages. it makes you wonder what's inside, but due to its thickness, maybe it doesn't... ❁ image 2: a pleasant smile in the hands of gods. overlapping colorful wings form a small space in the middle. if you threw this at the wall, it'd definitely leave an imprint. ❁ image 3: a mysterious brass key. to what does its dainty swirls open? no one knows but you! how do I pick? everyone has their own method of getting in touch with their intuition. for me, when I know it's right, I feel a lightness in my chest, and when it's wrong, a pit in my stomach. don't think too much about it. whichever you choose will be right! BOOK A READING THRU DM/ASK!

1.・。.・゜✭

boy howdy, y'all.

you see the change you need to make, and yet you're still resisting? maybe you're scared of what this change will bring, but in your stagnancy, you're missing an opportunity for growth. the most important thing is that you tell the truth. right that wrong-- let everyone know what's really happening. whatever your reason for inaction might be, know that you do, in fact, possess the strength to overcome your issue(s), no matter how much you think you don't. you've already reached a major milestone, too, so why keep yourself in a box? reap that reward. you worked for it, after all! this important change will have to do with you clearing the air, speaking articulately, and being sure that you share the absolute, honest truth. consider a direction change. sure, what's gotten you here has worked wonders, but what will get you to your next goal? don't be afraid to try new things!

(7 of pentacles reversed, ace of swords reversed, king of swords, four of pentacles)

2.・。.・゜✭

whadda hell? such similar cards and yet such distinct meanings...

unlike those who chose image 1, you have not yet reached your goal. but don't worry! you're almost there!! you've just got to keep trying... easier said than done, right? it seems like you really want to give up, or are doubting yourself. this is a strong energy-- maybe you've been hurt in the past because of a similar situation, so you're refusing to acknowledge what's happening at all. maybe you don't believe in your own strength, but know that it is there. you've come all this way-- think of this as one more hurdle to jump before you take a lunch break. and what a wonderful lunch it will be, indeed!!! something that will be important will be finding out what's real and what's not. break up this complicated situation into segments and slowly analyze how all the pieces fit together. try to remain objective during this process, it is important for your future success. and finally, the scariest hurdle of all: simply having fun! you don't need to be guarded all the time, and maybe that's the lesson you're tackling right now. there's a very strong vibe of "recapturing innocence", in the (inno-) sense that you must shed the learned, knee-jerk responses of heartache. in order to feel better, you must let yourself free, but don't worry; your heart will always come back to you. don't let your inhibitions stop you from living the life you want to... need to....... deserve to live!!! so take that crazy chance and engage in unadulterated, unfiltered, unstoppable whimsy. this will be the key that takes you to new heights!!!

(ace of swords reversed-- this hoe really jumped out of the deck to see you. say hi..., the fool, 7 of pentacles reversed, king of swords)

3.・。.・゜✭

okay so everyone's going through it. okay

god damn. y'all really need a hug, a hot cup of cocoa, and a cat in your lap, because fuck!!! you're experiencing a betrayal. deserted in your time of need, you're left to wander far, far away from home... you will find happiness in trying new things and keeping your head up, but don't let discovery be your excuse to neglect your needs. above all else, you need to heal. this will be a time of balancing these two things: trying out new developments and changes, while also healing your emotional wounds. you may be more interested in the former than the latter. you may feel like you're too weak to face this pain, but know that hard times help redefine the person you are. it's easy to wave it all away and throw all your energy into what's new, but what will really matter when you're 75 and looking back on your life is how you treated yourself during this time. did you dutifully lick your wounds, tending to yourself as you wish someone else would? or did you discard yourself in the same way you discarded your feelings? it's a tough ask, and a bit shocking to think about, I know. but imagine looking back and feeling pride in how well you managed things, the comfort gained-- almost magically-- from yourself, and the good it did you. okay, okay im getting off my soapbox now! just know you're headed towards good things. it may be a long process, so be brave, and steady. take breaks! drink water! stand motionless in the shower for 30 minutes, it's ok if that's what you need to do cause guess what?!?! you deserve to be taken care of, especially by yourself!!!

(3 of swords reversed, ace of swords reversed, 2 of pentacles, 6 of swords reversed)

lots and lots and LOTS of love for all of you silly little geese. I wish the absolute best for you! although I don't need to hope for the best... because I know all of you will prevail!!! simply because ur interested in what ur intuition seeks to teach you. please accept my kind words even if im a stranger on the internet! please know you deserve every tender moment that life has to offer and more, because you're just a motherfucker who's out here trying their best, just like most everyone else, and oh my god no matter what anyone tells you that is enough!!!!!!! sorry. I got back on the soapbox. BUT ITS TRUE!!!

#auuughggfhhfh sorry for the big fucking thing at the end I just dont want anyone to feel discouraged #I want to spread the love~~ yahooyahoo~~~ <3<3 #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a photo #pick an image #intuition #spiritual #spirituality #pac

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kentosovertime · 3 months

Text

(n.) the extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love

➳ nanami kento x gojo's sister/afab reader - 6.5k (oopsies)

➳ a/n: does nanami deserve a happy ending after shibuya? did anything happen between reader and geto after nanami left? (so many ideas just off of this one fic and its so refreshing to write gojo platonically for once) enjoy~

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, tension, angst, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, breeding, stranger to friends to strangers to lovers, idiots to lovers on a journey, miscommunication, everyone's depressed anxious and existential

10 years ago…

“And why exactly am I the one to be dragged along for this?” Nanami’s eye twitches in annoyance as he follows Gojo down the hallway to where the classrooms are. “Where’s Geto? This seems more his speed.”

“I’m not bringing Geto along for this.” Gojo scoffs loudly at the idea. The last thing he needed was Geto giving her fuck me eyes like he did when he stayed at the clan houses for the summer. “The pervert can’t be trusted with such a delicate task.”

“Trouble in paradise, Satoru?” His voice drawls, bored out of his mind already. These dramatics were a waste of his time. Whatever this was, he didn't need to be here.

Gojo’s blue glare pins him as he stops outside the first year classroom, an edge of distress in his gaze.

“I brought you because I trust you around my-” A cloud of dust suddenly plumes around Satoru’s head and Nanami watches as a chalkboard eraser clatters to the ground from where it nailed him in the… is his infinity off?

“It's the first day, you ass!” Someone hisses behind Satoru, just out of Nanami’s field of vision as Satoru rubs the back of his head with a pout. “Can I go one god damn day without you showing up and making my life more annoying than you make it at home?”

Nanami's eyes widen slightly as he peeks out from behind Satoru to take in the girl handing Gojo’s ass to him. Tall.. curvy… with long white hair- his thoughts are cut off by a pair of squealing girls inside the classroom. A quick look has him seeing them pointing at Satoru and whispering, along with a boy who’s rolling his eyes at their antics while keeping a very close eye on you.

“How did you even know I was here?” He whines, rubbing the bump on his head. “You should be paying attention to Yaga.”

Nanami watches as she huffs out an exasperated sigh and points at her eyes, covered by sunglasses.

“Six eyes.” You snip, turning your finger to point aggressively at him. “And you stomp around like a toddler and control your volume as well as one. Where’s Geto? He’s the capable one between the two of you.”

“Sorry.” Nanami finally pipes up, giving you a small wave as he clears his throat. “I was enlisted instead. You try controlling this menace… You must be his.. sister?”

“Mhmm..” You turn your blue gaze to him, taking him in as you nod your head in Satoru’s direction. “Surely you’re not friends with this? I implore you to have better taste.”

You didn’t know your brother had decent friends, you hum to yourself. Your sharp eyes take in his presence, the cursed energy around him steady and calm despite dealing with Satoru. His presence and attention feels soft… there’s a rightness to it.

“See, Nanamin? She’s just as bad! Stop acting like I’m the only one who’s annoying. And you-” He turns to you with an assessing glare. “Talking about Geto a lot... obsessed much?”

“Must run in the family.” A bored yawn comes from your mouth as your brother’s teeth grit.

You 1, Satoru 0.

An uncharacteristic snort flies from Nanami’s throat and your heart flies into your throat knowing that you’ve managed to almost make him laugh. He’s so serious you’re sure it's not a common occurrence. You want to hear him do it again.

“We’ll leave you to class.” He doesn’t give Satoru the option as he pushes him down the hallway and out of the building. “I’ll see you la-”

Nanami turns to the quiet spot looming behind him that’s normally filled with Satoru’s endless prattling, only to see him gazing up at the building with a worried look on his face, chewing on his cheek in thought.

“I had to threaten the clan to get her here… helps that they can’t touch me now.” He says softly. “They don’t see how good she is… they only see that she doesn't have the limitless technique. Not how she’s used the eyes to adapt other techniques.”

“Where else would she be if not here?” Nanami is sure that he knows the answer, hoping he’ll hear something else come from his senior’s lips.

“Sixteen’s a little too young to be breeding stock for the Zen’ins. Naoya’s a piece of shit.” Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. His eyes meet Nanami’s over the rim of his round sunglasses, more serious than he’s ever seen him. “Geto and I.. We won’t be on campus often.”

He holds Satoru’s gaze for a moment longer, giving a quick nod in agreement. Even if he feels he’s being selfish in fulfilling this for him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

By the end of your second year in Jujutsu High, you’ve felt like you can breathe for some time now. It’s not that you don’t appreciate everything that Satoru did to get you here, but it's nice not to have to deal with the shadow he cast while he was a third year.

At least you had Ken, even if he’d be graduating at the end of the month, leaving you alone here without someone to lean on. You feel he counts on you just as much as you do him, opening up about the hole Haibara left in his life before you came to school here.

You lay on a couch in one of the common rooms, your feet propped on his lap as he reads. You examine the ends of your hair absentmindedly, trying to build up the courage you need to tell him how you feel.

There’s no guarantee that you’ll see him again once he graduates and takes on jobs. No guarantee that he’ll survive them. You don’t want to have regrets when it comes to him. Not when you’ve never had someone like him in your lonely life in the Gojo clan.

“Ken…” You start, licking your lips nervously.

“Yeah, hun?” He shifts to gaze at you over his book, looking at you curiously.

“I…” You start, swallowing around the lump in your throat, chickening out at the last second and changing the subject before he can ask why you’re acting so cagey. “Where are you planning to be based after graduation?”

“Oh.. I..” Your eyes note a nervous flare in his cursed energy, his body tensing under your legs. You pull your legs from him, sitting up as your brows pull together.

“Is everything ok, Ken?” You asked worriedly. “Listen, I can take care of someone if they’re bothering you.”

“It's not that…” He sighs and closes his book carefully before turning to you. “I haven’t told anyone yet but… I’m leaving jujutsu. I’m going to work a normal person's job away from all this death and despair.”

“O-Oh?” Your heart seizes, scared he’s going somewhere that you won’t be able to reach him. Your voice cracks, betraying your emotions. “You’re still going to visit… right?”

“N-No… I don’t think I can do this,” he waves his hands around at the school, “anymore, hun. It’s too much. All the pain.”

You stare at him, your blue eyes unguarded as they start to mist. He’d just leave you behind? Not talk to you? Not beg you to come with him even if your clan will never let you follow?

“Good to know I mean nothing to you.” You bite out, your bitter attitude you reserve for those you’ve written off. This is just the first one to mean something to you.

You leave before he can see your tears fall. There’s no death for a jujutsu sorcerer without regrets… you suppose yours will be no different.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Present Day

You yawn and settle in the chair, crossing your arms as you watch Satoru sitting in the seat across from you.

“I trust you’re not destroying my house with that student of yours.” You hum, examining your manicured nails.

“Well Yaga’s cursed doll may have broken a TV but I replaced it. Yuji needs to watch his movies.” His grin widens.

“Then I don’t get why you had the higher ups pull me from my assignment.” You huff in offense. “That was good money.”

“Like you need it.” He rolls his eyes and unwraps a pastry that he munches on loudly. “Besides I’d like you to hop in to help with Yuji.”

“Yes, master. Anything for you, oh, Strongest One.” His jaw twitches and you mentally note another win on your tally board. “You really have him just sitting in my basement watching movies? Remind me to pray you never have kids.”

“I’m fantastic with kids! They love me!” He argues before dropping into a more serious tone. “I have someone I trust with him but I was stopped by two unregistered special grade curses last night. Keep them alive pretty please.”

“Someone you trust? I thought that list was nonexistent these days.” You figure keeping them alive involves ensuring Sukuna stays sealed and these two stay healed up with your reverse curse technique.

Satoru’s phone rings in his pocket, making him smirk when he sees who it is.

“The sewer?” Your nose crinkles in disgust as you listen, wondering why curses can’t appear in a five star hotel and spa. You’ll make sure that your dry cleaner’s bill makes its way to your brother if he expects you to go there. “I have a higher ups to terrorize but I can drop off some back up for you.”

“You better be providing hazard pay for my clothing.” You mutter as he hangs up, giving you a shit eating grin.

“You could try not wearing $900 shoes while fighting curses.”

“Says the man who spends over a thousand on one shirt.” You scoff.

“They don’t get dirty. One of us has limitless.” You glower at him as he pretends to draw a tally on his side of the board. “Don’t look at me like that. At least you won’t be bored.”

Satoru stands, picking an invisible piece of lint off of his navy blue coat, waiting for you to stand, placing a hand is his so he can teleport you.

Sparing poor Ichiji a ride into the city for you and putting his plan into motion for you? You should be thanking him for being such a wonderful brother. He’s truly the best matchmaker in Japan.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Nanami panted in exertion, his stamina starting to fail, his movement growing sloppy as he compensates for the wound seeping blood into the torn fabric of his shirt. He dodges the swing from the patchwork curse in front of him, in a state to only be able to defend. He grits his teeth in frustration, the match up unfair when he can’t damage the soul of his opponent that’s constantly in flux. He needs to distract him long enough to make a break for it and report this to Gojo.

A light, quicker cadence of footsteps enters his range of hearing as he ducks behind a large piece of debris, not seeing the arm that had shifted yet again, bending around the rubble to reach for the killing blow, but it never comes. Instead his vision is filled with the flash of blue cursed energy, the veins of energy moving to push the curse’s reach away, grabbing a hold at launching him across the room.

“Thank yo-” His mouth goes dry as a blur of long white hair streaks across his field of vision, charging the curse from where she slammed him into a pillar. “Don’t let him touch you!”

Fear like he’s never known floods his system. You shouldn’t be here. Not if it means exposing you to the possibilities that this curse presents. He won’t let you be the next face that he sees, torn, bloody, and lifeless, when he closes his eyes at night.

“I know.” You snap at him, your cursed energy wrapping around your body like a blanket, making the curse’s attacks graze right over you as energy blasts forth and ties its way around every piece of the curse it touches, slowing him now, sealing him like the talismans you specialize in before he graduated.

“I forget you know everything.” He grunts, the impatience and immaturity bubbling up to the surface as the memories of your last conversation together flashes through his mind.

“I should have known Satoru Gojo’s sister would give me a run for my money.” The curse cackles maniacally, continuing to fight but slowly drawing back as her technique starts to overwhelm him. “He’ll be so pleased to know you’re a pawn to use in his plan.”

Nanami circles around him, running towards a weak spot in the wall, grateful that at least he has an opening to end this for now. He swings his blunt blade at the 7:3 weak spot, shattering the concrete and catching the curse off guard.

“Put me down!” You hiss as he appears suddenly, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you to his good side to drag you away from the curse laying in the rubble behind them. “Let me finish the damn fight, Kento!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t put you down until you’re out of the sewer and approaching the road, his pain taking over as he presses a hand against the wound and his hand comes away coated in blood, turning your face sheet white.

“You’re hurt-” You reach out to him automatically, knowing you can help but you pull away at the last second. You can’t do this out in the open. There’s somewhere you can bring him to patch him up.

“Where did you take me?” He asks warrily, unsettled by the ritzy interior of the building they’re in and that the door man didn’t even bat an eye when the two of you entered in this state.

“Satoru owns the building.” You say plainly, refusing to meet him in the eye. He supposes he deserves such a reaction from you, knowing he hurt you all those years ago.

He follows you into the elevator and up to the top floor, taking in the penthouse apartment that screams Satoru as soon as they enter.

“Uh uh.” You glare at him as he tries to move into the living room to sit to sew himself shut to stop the bleeding. “Bathroom. You bleed on Satoru’s couch and he’ll have my ass. I’ll be right in to help you.”

He opens his mouth to ask how you could possibly help him, but thinks better of it considering your mood. He listens, leaving you to where you disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink.

He leans against the counter of the sink, pressing a towel he found against the wound, dialing Satoru’s number to warn him about the unregistered curse that can kill with a single touch.

“Want to tell me why you’re doing this?” He rumbles low in his chest, his eyes darting to the crack in the door, making sure you weren’t lurking where you could hear him. “You know she wasn’t ready to see me.”

“If I told you, you’d call me a liar.” Satoru sings across the line, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Maybe I’m just being your bestest friend ever~”

“Whatever you’re trying, I’m not falling for the prank you’re setting up.” He hisses, the anger bubbling anew. “There’s stirring things up, Gojo, but this is cruel.”

Nanami can practically see Satoru shrugging nonchalantly, like he couldn’t possibly be doing something wrong.

“Have fun, bestie~” The phone beeps, indicating that he ended the line, making Nanami let out an exasperated sigh.

“Take your shirt off.” You order as soon as you cross the threshold with two glasses filled with a generous serving of expensive whiskey, handing one to him before downing yours in one gulp.

“E-Excuse you-” He sputters, freezing in place. “Did you just ask me to-”

“Strip? Yes.” You meet his eyes, keeping your gaze purposefully blank. “How else am I going to heal you?”

Heal him…? He blinks at you in shock. You mastered Reverse Curse Technique? Enough to heal others? Only Shoko was capable of that…

His fingers move hesitantly down the buttons on his shirt, shedding it and tossing it on the sink so he can wash it when you’re done. He notices that you purposefully advert your eyes from his form, frowning at the disappointment he has no right to feel.

“This is new.” He says as carefully as he can, wanting desperately to know everything you’ve been doing since he left.

“I had a lot of time during third year.” He notes an air of sadness in your tone. “Why do you think Satoru chose me to help you with Yuji?”

He tries to answer but hisses in pain as you prod the wound, kneeling in front of him so you’re eye level with it, adjusting your grip

“I figured he’s bored and wants to spice things up by torturing his “friends”.” He watches with rapt fascination as the flesh at his waist starts to stitch itself together, leaving his skin like the wound had never been present. The thing you couldn’t heal was the damage the curse had caused to his soul by trying to transfigure it.

“Seems accurate. Considering he didn’t tell me who I’d be helping.” You sigh, your brows pulling together in concentration as you direct your energy into the technique. “But he knew you’d need my skills… this and the sealing abilities.”

A silence stretches between the two of you, but you’ve never been one to be alone with your thoughts for long, even given your present company. “I thought you were done with jujutsu.” A pit forms in your stomach. He was back after everything that happened and it was like your pain was for nothing. “How long have you been back?”

“I was… but I knew I couldn’t help people here more than in an office cubicle.” His skin jumps slightly as you pull away and adjust your grip to heal a smaller spot left the the side of the tear in his side. “About a year…”

“A year?” And you didn’t come find me? Somewhere small and distant cries inside of you at that. “You were here during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons?”

“I was stationed to help in Kyoto… but I didn’t see you there.” He looks away with a sigh, his skin tingling as you move to wipe the residual blood left on his skin. “I looked for you. I figured they would split you and Gojo between the two locations.”

“I was sent to update the seals on the doors around Tengen to ensure his safety while everyone was away. And set barriers around the school entrances to him. Besides, I’m hardly his counterweight to send elsewhere. I’m only a Semi-Grade 1.”

“You don’t need to be a Special Grade to make a difference or to save more sorcerers from dying at the hand of curses.” His jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, feeling bad as soon as he sees your eyes soften like they used to, seeing right through him.

“You know I would have been there if I wasn’t ordered to attend Tengen…” You stand, dusting the dirt from your knees and leaning against the wall opposite of him. “Especially for the young ones.”

It wasn’t just Nanami that had experienced a classmate dying on duty. The other two girls in your year died on missions, one in year two the other in year three. You’re sure that if you still agree on anything, it's to make sure students don't need to shoulder the burdens of the jujutsu world if it could be avoided.

“That wasn’t fair to say to you. Seems I can’t ever say the right things around you…”

“No it wasn’t.” You wish the fluttering in your heart would stop and leave you to die with the regrets you expected to bear until you were no more. You laugh humorously, all too familiar with the brand of pain he brings into your life. “You excel at walking all over my heart. I used to like you, ya know?”

He stares, blinking rapidly at you as the new information slots into his mind. The shock reverberates through him. You’ve always been as outspoken and upfront as your brother… would that not have extended to you telling him before he graduated?

Once the shock abates, he’s left with a sense of longing that couldn’t be resolved. “Used to” like him. Past tense. You’d probably moved on by this point. He remembered what Satoru had confided in him when he asked Nanami to look after you. You were 26 with a long list of potential suitors from prominent families to choose from.

Any hope that he had rekindled in seeing you again slowly starts to die.

He was too late, and made too many mistakes. Maybe he would leave this world with regrets after all… despite coming back to jujutsu to make things right with you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The unease of seeing Ken again weighs on your heart, especially when you keep catching him looking at you like a wounded puppy days later when you decide if you’re helping out your brother, you can stay in the comfort of your own damn home.

“Ms. Gojo, ma’am?” Yuji cocks his head as you walk across the living room to bring your stuff up to your bedroom. “Are you staying in Sensei’s safe house with us? I promise we’re not that bad to hang out with. You don’t need to look so down.”

The comment stops you in your tracks, making you look back at where Nanami and Yuji are settled on your sectional. Nanami’s gaze is carefully averted, trying to not have his mood called out by Yuji too.

“Yuji, you know this is my house, right?” Leave it to Satoru to try sounding cool by claiming he owns a dedicated safe house. “Satoru is borrowing it for the time being… sorry. More like commandeering it. Asshole.”

“I like this one…” A deep voice purrs as an eye and mouth appears on Yuji’s cheek before he slaps it, wincing at the pain before it moves to the back of his hand as he goads you on. “If you dislike the man, help me destroy him.”

“High praise from the King of Curses.” You deadpan, mentally rolling your eyes. “Stay cooped up in there or I’ll make sure you sleep another thousand years.”

“Such vile words from a woman’s mouth. In my day, you’d be slain so deliciously for such impertinence.”

“Whelp.” You shrug, looking very much like your brother at that moment. “Good thing I’m allowed to have thoughts and opinions in this age.”

You disappear up the stairs, ascending them without paying any mind to the final words flying from the demon residing in Yuji’s body.

“Woman! I didn’t dismiss you!” Sukuna’s yells echo after you to the second level of your home and he snarls when he hears you snort at the dramatics, listening to Yuji chastise him for disrespecting you in your own home until you get far enough down the hall to not hear them anymore.

“Wait up.” Nanami jogs up the stairs after you, trying to take your bag from your arms. “I didn’t know this was your place either… I sort of took the master bedroom.”

“... Is Yuji in the spare room?” You hold onto your back tighter, not allowing him to carry any of the weight for you. If you had known that you wouldn’t have a room to sleep in you would have stayed at the hotel you were in.

“He is. Listen… I don’t mind sharing with you. It’s not like we didn’t in school.” He rubs the back of his neck, knowing that there isn’t another bed in the house. “Of course, that is, if you’re comfortable. I don’t want to assume it's ok, not knowing your current situation.”

His heart beats in a frantic rhythm in this chest. If this was your house, he didn’t notice that you lived here, let alone another man. There had been a basic set of feminine clothing in the closet and a small stock of high end body care items in the bathroom, but nothing to note a masculine presence had ever occupied the space. A tiny corner of his heart holds onto the hope that he was right all those years ago, that he would one day love you and be able to have you.

“As long as you didn’t become a pervert in your old age.” He almost doesn’t catch the smirk twitching at the corner of your mouth and the playful gleam in your eye, he rolls his eyes with a chuckle and yanks your bag from your grasp.

“I’m only a year older than you.” He playfully flicks your nose, his eyes lighting up when you scrunch your face and swat his hand away, the echoes of who you were in school still there.

“You didn’t even deny it.” You whine and make your way into your room, seeing his neat pile of items on your spare night stand, the rumpled blankets next to the side of the bed you normally occupy, fills you with a nostalgic kind of warmth. “You better not be. I sleep naked.”

You double over in laughter, hearing him choke on his shock before it throws him into a coughing fit, his face bright red. He’s still so easily flustered, even looking like… well… like that.

Your cheeks flush a light shade of pink, remembering what he looks like under those blue button downs. He didn’t look like that in his third year and you wonder how he managed to maintain his physique while working in the corporate environment in Tokyo.

“Don’t worry. I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, hoping your flush can be excused on your fits of laughter. Resolving yourself to settle in for the night, you start removing your jewelry, starting with your earring, setting them on the nightstand . “I’ll wear pajamas for you.”

Even if you didn’t want to.

Hours later, Nanami lays awake, willing his mind to be as blank as the ceiling he’s been staring at. Eventually, he shifts, settling on his side, facing your back. Pajamas hadn’t been the mercy he thought they would be.

His gaze trails the bare expanse of your back where your silk tank top dips, stray strands of long white hair escape the messy bun you tied before burrowing your face in the pillows. His journey is halted by the faint white scarring that stretches across your left shoulder blade, disappearing around your front.

The lines of the scars weren’t raised or angry, indicating a reverse curse technique was used to heal them. But the fact that any mark was left at all? It either took her long enough to get to healing them, or they were serious enough that not all the damage could be erased.

The fear that he felt in the sewer when she appeared pales in comparison to the guilt that slams into him. Had he been sitting at a desk in some high rise in the city, selfishly avoiding his fate, while you were out risking your life?

Never again. He promises himself.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“You shouldn’t go, Yuji.” Your grip tightens on where your phone is still glued to your ear, Ken waiting on the line for you to relay the emergency in front of them.

A high school was set in the sights of the patchwork curse that almost managed to kill Nanami and Yuji’s friend was stuck within its halls. Yuji’s body shakes with the desire to run into the fray.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Gojo…” He sprints past you, slamming open the door before he disappears, running as fast as he can to the school’s campus.

“Yuji!” You shout after him, gritting your teeth in frustration. He shouldn’t have to shoulder more burdens than he already does.

“Y/N.” Kento murmurs over the phone, pulling you back to attention. “They lowered a barrier. We need to make sure he can’t get away and drop another one around them.”

“You’re asking me to sit on the sidelines.” You hotly argue, storming out to find your car, following Yuji regardless of what your role will be. “You can’t just push me to the side because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt!”

“No. I’d never, hun.” Your old pet name sounds strained on his tongue, a long beat of silence stretches between you before his voice cracks, filling the silence. “I just… We can’t let him get away. I need you when this is over.”

It only comes at the cost of tying your hands. Imprisoning you beyond a barrier where you’re stuck without being able to back him up or even know if he’s alive.

“Y-you better come back to me then.” You choke into the phone.

“Always.” He promises and you both know that promise is a lie.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You pace the sidewalk next to your car, the barrier still in place until you were told to drop it. A trail of cold sweat drips down your spine with each minute that passes without any update on what’s happening within the barriers.

The ringing of your phone makes you jump out of your skin and you answer it without a glance at the caller ID.

“You can drop the barrier.” Your brother’s voice sings through the phone and it makes your stomach drop that Kento wasn’t the one to reach out to you. “The slimy bastard escaped through the sewers below the barriers.”

“But w-what about-” You stammer, your insides twisting and catastrophizing the worst case scenario.

“He’s fine, Y/N.” His voice is softer than he’s ever addressed you and you stammer out an excuse, that he wasn’t what you were going to ask about. “You don’t cry in the bathroom of someone’s going away party and then run out if you don’t care about them.”

“I told you to never bring that up again.” You croak, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “I was just upset that he was leaving. It’s not that deep.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He dismisses you easily. “Thank me for forcing you on a mission together when you idiots admit your feelings for each other. Especially if Yuji’s not around to save him from the patchwork’s domain expansion next time.”

“You didn’t want to lead off with that!?” You scream into the microphone, pulling the gaze of a couple of people walking across the street. As the barrier you set dissolves, you launch yourself into the driver’s seat. “Where are they? I’ll get them.” “Ichiji is dropping Yuji off to me. They left already.” He hums. “He’ll go back for Nanami after. He’s catching Ino up so he can search for the curse in the sewers.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” You growl at him, annoyed that you continue to be ignored when you could be in those underground passages, tracking and sealing him away with your talisman technique. The tires on your car squeal as you peel out of your parking space, turning the wheel to head home.

“Rest.” Satoru says simply. “We have at least three unregistered special grade curses on the run and no clue what’s organizing them. Whatever is coming, we're going to need you with Shoko.”

“Nursemaid. Got it.” You can hear how he rolls his eyes before he simply hangs up on you.

The halls of your home echo when you unlock the door, the stagnant air clinging to your skin and mocking you with what it would feel like if you didn’t share this space with Kento.

You let your body carry you to the kitchen, your bare feet padding down the hall until you find your liquor cabinet, downing a double straight with a grimace. The glass clatters as you set it on the counter and slide it away from you.

Your shoulders droop as you lean against the counter, letting your head hang so you can take a steadying breath. You remain that way until you hear footsteps approaching you from the front door.

Your tired gaze meets Kento’s and a silence stretches between you as you simply take a moment to look at one another, to realize that the other is still there and that hasn’t been ripped away from you.

“A-are you ok?” Your eyes widen as Nanami walks towards you with purpose, your feet slipping backwards until your lower back meets the granite surface of the counter. “What are you do-”

The question dies on your lips as the distance is closed with his hips against yours, pinning you in place as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He uses the position to hold your face in place as he slams his lips to yours desperately.

A shocked whine emanates from your throat, but you're quickly melting against him, moaning openly as you seek his lips in return, fisting his shirt so he doesn’t try to pull away.

HIs hands slide in a path down your body, his palms finding purchase on your hips, gripping the skin there to try to get closer. You groan, wanting to feel him grind against your center instead.

You twine your arms around him, refusing to break where the kiss has grown heated, your tongue tangling together, drunk of the taste of one another. You use the leverage to hop up to sit on the counter and you gasp into his mouth when he doesn’t miss a beat, easily gripping the back of your clothed thighs to spread them around his waist, urging them to lock at the ankles behind him, your ass perched on the edge of the flat surface.

You imagine what his hands look like gripping your ass, kneading the soft skin there as he uses his raw strength to move your hips against the growing erection in his pants.

“K-Ken please.” You plead breathlessly as the sloppy, wet kisses transition across your cheek, to along your jaw and down your neck. “Fuck- please-”

“Please.” He rumbles your own command back at you before reaching to fist a hand in your hair, forcing your head back and to the side with a sharp gasp. “Use your words or I’ll have to start guessing how you’d want me to take you.”

“Please. I n-need-” A small sob bubbles out as he immediately bites down on the juncture of your neck. “K-Ken, I need more.”

“Shit you’re so eager…” A low growl rumbles from him as he loops his fingers in your pants, starting to pull them down your legs with your panties. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you need me.”

“I need you.” You lean forward as soon as your pants are off to kiss him again, your hands easily locating the belt cinching his slacks up. You pull it open and pop the button before pulling the zipper just enough to slide your hand in.

His hips buck into your hand as you wrap your fingers around his length, pumping until he’s mad with the need to be inside of you, scrambling to drop his pants to the floor so he can tug you closer to shoves his way inside of you.

“Hun-” His fingertips dig bruises into the skin of your ass, dimpling this skin with his hold as he leans to lap at the skin at your neck, his hips still grinding into your hold around him. “We should s-slow down. Let me t-take care of you first.”

It took everything in him to try to pump the brakes. After 10 years of knowing you, he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“L-Later.” You pant. “We’ll have time for that later. Just please f-fuck me.”

“I don’t have a-” You pull him by his cock, trailing his head through your folds, shuddering as you tease your clit with it before positioning the tip at your entrance.

“I don’t care, Ken.” You feel as if you’ll explode if you wait a moment longer. You don’t want a barrier between the two of you, the consequences of that be damned.

He pulls you forward as he thrusts into you suddenly, making you fall back onto your elbows with a long moan, your cunt taking the brunt of the force of his cock bullying its way into your vice grip.

“M-move-” Your body shakes, squirming on his length for any measure of friction you could find to help the burning heat spreading from your center.

“I can’t yet, baby.” He bows over, resting his forehead on your shoulder, giving the skin there a soft kiss. “Or I’ll fucking cum in you too soon.”

Instead he takes a deep breath, reaching between you to rub your clit in steady circles, building you up to be able to cum with him.

“Baby.” He coos in your ear, slowly starting to pull out of you before slamming home against your cervix, increasing his pace while he acclimates to your tight grip. “Your precious little cunt clamped down on me when I mentioned coming in you.”

It does again, pulling him deeper as he groans, nearly losing himself in the process.

“There it is.” He growls, pushing you back to lay on the counter by your neck, pinning you there with his hand around your throat. “You like the thought of me breeding you, princess? None of those jujutsu suitors good enough for this pussy?”

“T-There aren’t any-” Your legs spread, falling wider to accommodate his thrusts as they build in intensity, his thumb rubs frantically against you, doubling its speed when he feels you clench around him, groaning at the high pitched whines that accompany it.

He soaks you in as you cum, the flush of liquid against his hips that make the slapping of his hips against yours that much more obscene, how your eyes have gone so cloudy and trusting that you accept being prone with his hand where he could harm you, and the roundness of your mouth as your brows furrow together as you shake violently with your high.

“K-Ken-” Your broken voice cracks as his thrust overstimulates you. “G-God I need your cum inside of me. Pl-please daddy-”

The pet name has his eyes rolling back, his cock twitching inside of you before it explodes against your womb in spurts of cum that continue until you’re leaking it onto the floor below you.

“Shit.” He curses, a small panic in his eyes as he comes down from his high. “I.. I’m sorry. I wanted to be slow the first time… So you know how much I loved you.”

His confession thunders through your chest, sending a truly genuine smile to grace your lips.

“You love me?” You inquire as the room still spins in circles, making sure he said what you thought.

“I do.” He smirks, leaning in for a slow, loving kiss. “From the day I met you until we’re parted.”

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210 @rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

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literary-illuminati · 2 months

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2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

#book review #the saint of bright doors #vajra chandrasekera #sff

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princesssmars · 2 years

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I NEED ;) a poly Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson fic with either any kind of reader. Maybe protecting each other in the upside down, or being completely parents to the kids (lots of cute fluff), or reader is with Mike/will/the others because they went with Mike to see el and Will and Eddie/Steve thinks they are safe there and it’s funny because it then goes to their pov and their being shot at (maybe they call each other at some point and their like got to go we’re running from the literal FBI).

Relationship HC's - poly!steddie x reader

MY FIRST REQUEST MFS LETS GO also you guys work quick lmaooo. but I also like eddie more than I thought I would so here this is. i wanted to include both if you were with them vs with mike will and johnathan so idk if it works but uh yeah enjoy it anyway (anon im sorry this took me 5 years)

cw: uhhh fluff, violence bc Stranger Things. i guess scary things bc Stranger Things. a hiiint of spice bc i cant help myself

so here the three of you are, the ex-king, the freak and the nerd

how you got together ? no idea

most likely you and eddie met steve while going to pick a movie as a treat for him since you tutor him so he wont fail senior year a third time

steve went through his usual bi panic when he saw these two pretty people walk into the store and tried to turn on The Harrington Charm™️ and lets just say hes lucky you both thought he was cute

so badda bing badda boom ur all dating

the party loving you to bits

not being upset when you get asked to "babysit" or just hang out with them, like being an extra for hellfire, chilling and listening to music with max, etc.

and also eddie adores you for being into dnd, he tried to get steve into it and he loves him but was like nah 😐

jane and will even start to like you before they visit based on everyones letters

steve being highkey lowkey jealous because eddie already basically stole lucas dustin and mike and here you go winning over everyone 💀

but he does love it, as we've learned mans wants a whole damn hockey team of harringtons so seeing you being so good with kids does something to him

breeding kink anyone

then that just makes me thing of the three of you lying in bed late at night talking about the future you all want

if its rich boy!steve then him thinking of moving you all to some big house near the city with enough room for the 3 9 of you <3

you and eds def tease him for it but the idea of staying in a nice house and raising a family with them doesnt sound that bad...

but then spring break happens

you think itll be fun, a chance to relax from your studies, chill with your friends, maybe even go on a date or two with your loves

then the next thing you know your house phone is blowing up because dustin n steve say your eddie is wanted for the murder of chrissy fucing cunnigham

greaaaat

now your all driving around in the woods and you find eddie nd hes so god damn terrified and grabs you n steve and hugs you so tight :(

you and eddie being shocked but also kind of hurt when finding out about the upside down and stuff bc why didnt steve warn yall about this shit ???

but he was scared of putting you both in danger wanted you both to be safe etc etc

valid ofc bc hes definitely not pytting the loves of his life in danger hello ??

you and steve being so hesitant to leave eddie by himself so you leave him a bunch of kisses to get him by <3

and then after all this your girls max is cursed next ? and some stupid high school jocks are hunting your boyfriend ?

best spring break ever .

this was messy as shit and i might continue but until then peace out .

#steddie x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x steve harrington #poly reader #from ur beloved procrastinator

1K notes · View notes

somberjoon · 2 months

Text

SYZYGY [1]

✩ pairing: alpha namjoon x chubby fem!omega reader

✩ genre: wonderous , soulmates , strangers to "friends" to lovers , fluff , romance🔞 , life lessons , slice-of-life , brief angsty situations , happy ending

✩ word count: 6.4k

✩ chapter warnings: cussing , cover art does not depict fmc features, drinking / mention of bar hopping , Namjoon is drunk upon meeting FMC but there is nothing that happens! , lots of inside feelies and thought processes

✩ summary: Namjoon would say that he truly lives the normal life. As an alpha, he works the job he wants, he goes out when he has time, and he has never received a single late-fee on payments. He's living the mundane life- until an unknown omega literally drops into his life. Where did she come from? Why him?

✩ cover: me

ch.1 , ch.2 ...

“It is your time, precious one.”

“What if- what if I’m scared?”

“You have no reason to be fearful.”

“I was born to do this- he is just a man, an alpha that I know nothing of- what if we are not compatible like you say we will be?”

“Do you find me inconsistent in the success of my pairings, precious one?”

“No, I am just afraid I will not live up to your expectations now that I am to be on my own.”

“Oh, my dear, that is the reason you were matched.”

“What?”

“Please, trust me once more and trust yourself always from now on.”

“Of course.”

“It is she that loves all thy flaws.”

Namjoon

It’s another small bar that plays shitty remixes. The only good things about these places are the owners with their intimate service and the perfectly made drinks.

“What song is this?” Namjoon just about screams into Jimin’s ear. Another remix plays, probably by a newer pop star that he has yet to familiarize himself with.

“I don’t know or care! It’s your turn!” Jimin points at the messy stack of cards in the middle of the small table. Namjoon gives a lazy eye roll and intently looks at the cards in his hands once again.

“Do you have a five?” He turns to Seokjin to scream into his ear.

“Hah! Go fish, bitch.” Namjoon begrudgingly pulled another card from the only neat stack on the table.

“Can we pick something else?” Namjoon yells between the two, hoping to God that they heard him and will take pity on him.

This is the one night in a whole month that he has had time to go out and forget about his job. The first shitty bar was just what he needed. Drinks were made with alcohol that was poured with a heavy hand and the music was chosen perfectly. You always have to start with the loud, dance club settings when you bar hop. Then, by the end of the night, you’re sitting at a chill bar that provides board games for its patrons and puts the correct amount of alcohol into drinks. Plus, if you have the right vibes, you can score some free samples. By now, the owners have given them a few too many and all three of them should definitely leave soon.

“I have a better idea!” Jimin yells. Instead of the others responding, they just wait for Jimin to say what’s next on the agenda. He’s basically been running the whole night, deciding where they go next and what the feel is after each one. He’s the pro.

“Let’s go home.”

“Thank god.” Namjoon mumbles to himself. Immediately starting to put their cards away in a mess of backwards and upside down stacks. It was Seokjin’s turn to pay for the tab, so he’s up and heading for the main bartender in a hurry. Apparently they’ve all had enough for the night. By now it’s not just fun noiseless thinking and laughing about ‘the good old days’, it’s tired mumbling and sighing at the hit of cool air that greets them outside of the bar.

“Ugh, Joon, you should just let us crash at your place. I really can’t imagine the price of a cab right now.”

“I don’t care, I just wan' be horizontal as soon as possible.” Namjoon mumbles at them, already leading the way to his studio apartment.

"You're such a fuckin' nerd." Seokjin giggles to himself, making Jimin join in."

"Because I use 'horizontal'? Ya'll can fight over the fuckin' couch cuz' you're not sleepin' withme in my big, sof' bed."

That just eggs them on more, leaving Namjoon to lead the way as they stumble along behind him.

“Uh…Namjoon?”

Seokjin’s unsure voice asks behind Namjoon as he clicks his apartment door’s locks into place. His limbs seem to lag as he tries to peel his shoes and jacket off.

“What?”

“I thought you said you didn’t go out last night.”

“Bro, I didn’t.” Namjoon adds a whiny ending in his answer. Both Seokjin and Jimin have been asking if he went out without them- the whole night he’s had to convince them he stayed in on a Friday night to work.

“Then, why is there an omega in your living room?”

“There’s not an ‘mega in my liv-” Namjoon finally pries his shoes off and turns to find a female standing just next to his couch. Her scent hits him like a bag of bricks- it’s fucking everywhere, like she scented ever piece of fabric in the house and pushed out some more just for extra measure.

“Alpha!” Her bright eyes land on his still adjusting eyes. He’s trying his best to piece together why the fuck this is happening. He must be really fucking drunk. They must all be. There wouldn’t be a random omega in his home. He hasn’t touched another person in months thanks to the workload he has.

“Namjoon? She’s talking to you.” Jimin pipes up, trying to cover his nose with his jacket sleeve. He can’t think the smell is bad can he? Namjoon thinks her scent is nice, really good, perfect even- but as his eyes turn to Jimin and Seokjin he can see their discomfort.

“You’re talking to me?” Namjoon asks stupidly. He can’t, for the life of him, get ahold of a single thought. There’s no reason for her to be here talking to him.

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says surely. “She sent me to you.” She ends with a giddy smile.

“Namjoon if you’ve got some weird roleplay going on please let us leave.” Seokjin says finally, pushing Namjoon into his apartment more to dispel the situation and- apparently- leave the stunned, drunk alpha alone with this unknown omega.

“Who are you?” He asks, studying her to try and figure out if this was an omega he forgot he had a thing with before. Namjoon can’t imagine her as anyone he’s been with before- he’d surely remember a face like her’s, a scent so perfect.

“Y/N. I’m your gift!” She says with certainty, never letting her smile leave as she waits for him to react to her. Instead, he just feels extremely light headed. With a few slowed-blinks, Namjoon collapses to the ground with a few thuds.

"Please don't die. Please, please don't have drunk too much and die before I could do anything."

Namjoon wakes to a pounding in his head that seems to be speaking to him as well. A foreign voice worries around him. It isn't until a touch to his forehead that has him bolting up from a lying position to come face to face with a woman that he definitely thought he dreamt up.

"Oh, thank The Goddess! I thought you drank too much." Namjoon tries to push himself away from the woman, going as far back to his headboard as he can get.

"I definitely drank too much, 'cuz who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd remember." He watches confused as she seems to straighten the hoodie she has on- a hoodie he realizes is definitely his- and prepares herself for an introduction.

"I'm Y/N, your personal omega match." She gives him a grinning greeting that shows her confidence and content in a situation he sure as hell isn't familiar with.

"What- what does that mean?" Namjoon tries to rub the hangover from his eyes, an ache being soothed only when a constant pressure is held to his temples. He listens to her as he continues his ministrations.

"The Goddess raises us, teaches us how to be perfect for our matches. No matter the combination, no matter the gender identity- there's always a match for someone. But, the chosen match only goes through if the one we are matched to deserves it. Our safety is her number one priority."

He takes in this headache of an explanation, trying his best to piece together why the hell he was chosen. He's trying to figure out if this is really happening to him- if this is real, despite him knowing of those that had been 'gifted' an alpha, beta, or omega.

"I can help you with the pain, I was taught how to alleviate hangover symptoms."

"No, no it's fine, don't touch me." Her face falls at what he says upon opening his eyes. The look of devastation on her face worries him, itching to figure out why what he said had made her so unsettled.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Why?"

"I have been touching you. I brought you to the bed and made sure you didn't sleep with your jeans on. And I've been switching out the cool rags all night to check if you were still sweating. I definitely should have asked."

The scent he was so used to he forgot about it, is now mixed with a burnt equivalent.

“It’s alright. I was- yeah I don’t remember much. So, thank you for helping me.”

“Of course! I love helping, I could make you soup if you’d like. I- I don’t know what you like yet but if you let me know what you need right now I can figure it out.”

Namjoon gives pause at the sheer want that’s on her face, the softness in her scent now. He’s never had another person in his home making him things and wanting to take care of him besides Seokjin and Jimin. Those two will try to help him out whenever he even voices a discomfort, but this stranger is sat kneeling on his bed, tending to him as if he means something to her. He doesn’t know how this works exactly, where she comes from and why she’s so comfortable with him without knowing anything about him. He can’t just take advantage of her either. He’ll learn.

Even as Namjoon prepares a soup he would most definitely not have put the effort into making any other time he was drunk, Y/N is looking over his shoulder and watching what he does every step of the way. Just as his dog at his parents house used to do, she’s right on his heels, trying to memorize the steps. Even worse, her scent is giddy-ingly releasing as if she’s not in control of it. Luckily, he finishes it without spilling or burning himself, setting the bowls on his only place to properly eat in his apartment- a small peninsula in his kitchen that extends to fit four people. He sits to find one Y/N having already gotten him water and found acetaminophen to set next to his bowl.

“So, you were busy while you were waiting for me, huh?” Namjoon quips more than anything. He gestures to the air around them, the scent. His dry humor doesn’t seem to hit the spot, though.

“I’m sorry about that as well. I was so excited to see a home, your home, and your space. And- I know it’s important to not interfere but it just- came out.” She cringes at herself, her eyes finally leaving him to focus on her bowl of food. Namjoon finds himself hiding his smile in his bite of food, savoring the flavor that he hasn’t had in a while. His amusement doesn’t last long with his overthinking. The first bite of her soup is at her lips before he asks.

“Did it smell bad? Is my scent not- ya’ know? Not good?”

“No! Not at all. Your scent is- well- really good to put it simply. At first I was just so excited my own scent was pushing out, but then- I smelled you. It was addicting, and I found I was just curious about what our scents are like together. I’m sorry I disturbed your space.”

“It’s okay-”

“You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.” She states.

“I’m not. You’ll come to learn I’m very verbal about my wants and disinterests- so I’m telling the truth when I say that your scent is ‘really good’ as well.” Namjoon makes a point to jab at her earlier description, finally bringing another smile to her face.

“Okay, I’ll remember that. And I’m glad you like it.” She shyly admits.

“Now that we know that, though, let’s just try not to push it out as much until we get to know each other better- just so we don’t act on instincts too haphazardly.” Namjoon politely suggests. He’d never put someone’s scent over consent and their verbal wants and needs- but if they are truly matched by The Goddess, then he knows that an interest will develop and then scents cloud instincts and will make them both do things they may regret.

Looking at Y/N now, he can imagine it. He can imagine her being the omega he’d do anything for. Right now, his imagination is only based on what The Goddess has given him, though. That’s the problem. He needs to know her inside and out, not just her sweet, warm scent. The softness of her hair- long, warm brown curls that cascade down to her hips- needs to be a feeling that he could recall into his fingers at any moment. He would need to be able to lick his lips and taste her on them. She’d need to be ingrained into him, just as much as he makes sure he’s the same for her. They are the only two that will know each other as intimately as he wishes. Until then, he will care for her as he’s supposed to, and they will get to know each other- as friends.

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And I’m guessing you had no clothes?”

“I didn’t know they’d drop me here naked, I just grabbed the first things I found comfortable.” Again, she seems to be more embarrassed of herself in that realization, but she pushes on. “I can get a job. The Goddess taught me how to have good communication and hard work.”

He didn’t think of that. Should she work? Does she want to work?

“For now, let’s just see how things workout, and if you wish to work, I’ll help you with the process. If you enjoy being here without one, or find out you hate it, then no big deal- I earn enough. Let’s get you some clothes today, though, some things that are better suited for your skin, yeah?” Her eyes light up immediately, her eyes never leaving Namjoon in the dark about how she feels. He likes that already.

“I can go outside today?”

“Y/N, you can go outside whenever you want-” He catches her ready to interrupt but he can already guess what she’ll ask. “We’ll talk about scenting another time. But, I am not going to tell you what you can and can’t do. I’m assuming you want to stay here-” A few satisfied nods from her is the answer. “Then we’ll have some basic rules. We tell each other where we’re going, or if we want to go out and do something- just so we know and just so we’re both as safe as possible. We don’t invade each other’s privacy ever- when doors are shut we always knock and when we’re curious about something we ask. We tell each other how we feel if we are having issues or when one wishes to communicate a change in the rules. We are two separate people who have our own needs, and we both need to respect that. I think those are most important, but- do you want to add or change anything?”

“I appreciate how thorough you are, but where do I sleep?”

"How about this? It's soft and similar to the one you're wearing."

"Hmmm, I don't know if this is what I want to wear daily, though."

"How about we just get some basics you immediately like and then we'll get more later on when you figure out what you like in broader areas."

The main issue with shopping for a once-celestial-being is that clothing was never a unique-based choice for them. Everything was uniform and based only on what that person chose to cover.

"I like simple things, but I just want some more color."

Namjoon scans the racks of the clothing, but only the sections with more colors. Even then, all of the clothing in the women's section is different. Cuts and flares are different or nonexistent. He finally just looks up to ask a question, but finds Y/N with two arms full of choices.

"There's just so much and I've never tried them before…can I just try stuff on?"

Namjoon waits an odd amount of time to see the first outfit that Y/N shows him. It's not a crowded store, nor are the stores around them busy. But, when she walks out with a tight forest green crop top that obviously shows she has no bra on he immediately feels like every eye is on them. He's not one that cares about it, he's definitely a 'free the nipple' kinda' guy. But the very brief sight has him standing up immediately from the waiting chairs and blocking her from the small entrance that people could see through.

"This one is so soft and I love this color. The skirt is a little weird, though. Does it look okay?"

Namjoon pulls his glued gaze from her face to travel down her body. A body that he is now seeing in a new light. The clothes fit as if they were made for her- even a small pudge of her stomach sticks out between the top and the skirt to pull his gaze in. The skirt isn't weird, it's a creme colored, long cargo skirt that is probably a new style he's a little unaware of. If anything, it's perfect and is as lovely as she sounds. It matches her, unlike his hoodies and matching sweats- though he has to stop himself from wishing she’d just wear his clothing all the time. He gets to her feet, his oversized socks and the smaller pair of slippers that Jimin usually wears in his apartment are on her feet. It's so cute and so soft that he has to completely ignore it to give her an honest sounding answer.

"It looks really good." He says it with a heady voice, already obsessed with how everything looks on her. "Is it comfortable?" He changes the topic to not have to say more than he needs to.

"Yes! I tried on some jeans but the baggier stuff and skirts are more comfortable right now. I can try those later on. I like the sweats and softer stuff, this one was just one I wanted your opinion on."

"Okay, grab whatever you'd like and then we can get shoes and bedding." Namjoon turns before she answers, hoping he isn't stinking up the damn shop.

Now that they’ve left the clothing shop, Namjoon feels like he can breathe. Despite Y/N having already chosen what she’d found comfortable, she wanted his opinion on a few more options just so she didn’t get ‘too much’. He really didn’t mind buying everything she liked, but she was insistent on living with only necessities- just as she did before she was ‘dropped’. That’s how she describes it, so he will as well. All her clothing is plain and is like her clothing before, as she described. Tight, simple bands and flowy fabrics that were different shades of and between white and black. Now, she just wants to add color and, apparently, his opinion.

“Why do I need extra bedding? Is there an omega version of most personal items? It was always pretty equal before- everything was perfect.”

“I think that’s the point of being directly raised by The Goddess, it’s all catered to you. You don’t think that a blanket could be two different things to one person there? Like, perfectly soft and fuzzy to you but silky and cool for another.”

“Oh, I never thought about it that way. We just got necessities there and, to be honest, there wasn’t a need to share.”

“It’s just easier for those here to have their own stores or versions of preferred necessities because of your skin. Clothing and bedding is softer in certain stores, products can be found in a large variety based on needs and wants as well, and depending on your second gender there are just other needs you have- you know that though.” Namjoon really hopes that this won’t be a conversation he has to have when they barely know each other. He couldn’t imagine The Goddess making things as important as heats and ruts to be something unnecessary in Her ‘magical land above’.

“Yes, I know. I’m already recognizing that face you make. Please don’t be shy with me- I kind of lied about sharing things back then- we shared heats and ruts with each other if we wished. It wasn’t sacred there like it is here- it was just a means for survival and The Goddess knew it was something that was our choice. Here, though, it’s far more special and we are taught that- I’m only yours, and if you'd like, you’ll be mine.”

She says these things with such confidence and assurance. He can’t just let her be this open without him giving that energy back, but he’s more so just not ready. This time to get to know her is crucial and keeping their personal information separate if wanted is important to him. He also can’t blame her, she just told him that their bodies were shared if wanted based on survival, and they were watched over all the time and provided for without having much of a say. It’s all just another thing to learn- he’ll learn to get used to her nonchalance.

“When it comes up we’ll talk about that then and figure it out together.” Namjoon assures her, hoping he sounds as reassuring as possible.

“Okay. Ooh, these are nice!” Y/N points at a specific type of blanket in one section. She touches the samples of comforters that line the wall under each different type on the shelf. He likes these comforters as well, the airy, padded blankets provide warmth but don’t make you sweat in the hotter months.

“These ones are good during the hotter seasons as well- I think they’d be good.”

“Can I get two? For nesting.”

This part doesn’t take long at all. Namjoon suggests some things and lets her pick out whatever her heart desires as this is all stuff he’ll be less helpful in. By the end, Namjoon is carrying the two clothing bags, and two regular pillows while Y/N’s usual giddy face doesn’t struggle at all to carry the two comforters and two plushies she thought ‘looked like him’. He tried denying the panda, but the koala wasn’t an awful comparison. (He folded immediately).

“What’s next?” She asks with excitement on her face.

“We plan dinner and then go to bed.”

“Oh..okay!” The excitement leaves her, but only for a second.

She never thinks long about what it is she’s taking in. She’d definitely not one to take things lightly, as she said she’d been memorizing his fucking expressions, so it’s probably just content. She’s content to be here and do whatever he suggests because that’s all she knows.

“How about we go out to dinner? Is there anything you like?” He watches her think for another slow couple of seconds, and then she’s excited again to talk to him.

“Whatever is your favorite. I’d like to just try something new.”

“You’re going to be sorely disappointed.” Namjoon gives her a mischievous smile that’s more fond-looking when it’s directed at her.

It’s a seedy pizza spot that is honestly not actually all seedy. Namjoon was never one to judge a place or person on how they look- so, when he stumbled upon this place that seemed to be the only thing open after a late-night recording session, he gave it a shot. It’s shitty on the outside with a dirty, worn down awning that could just be black on purpose and a sign that you can barely read. The inside is far better, luckily. It’s as clean as you could probably get the place without gutting it, and the owner is the one making the pizzas. It’s not very seedy because of that and the fact that the owner won’t share his real name. He named it ‘Mario’s’ only because he likes the games and wanted people to think he knew what the fuck he was doing. So, Namjoon isn’t sure- but the pizza’s fucking amazing.

Y/N doesn’t look like she should be walking into the establishment. She’s bright-eyed and wanting to take in the world as it is her first time seeing it, technically. He doesn’t know how exactly she lived or what she has seen, but it really seems as if she’s appreciative of even the dust lining the crevices of the flooring.

“Hey, music man. The usual?”

“Yeah, but double it, please.”

“Ooh, pretty lady here.” Despite Namjoon never having a jealous moment in his life before this, he immediately tenses up at the attention he gives her.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.”

“Very sweet, well I’ve seen you in here by yourself too many times- so, I’ll charge you for one order today, ey? Nice date, nice price.”

“Thanks, man.” Namjoon tries to get the conversation over with, looking over to Y/N to see that she doesn’t mind one bit.

“Is this a date?” She suddenly asks, bouncing off the idea that the owner obviously put into her head.

“Just dinner as friends right now. I’d let you know if it was a date, I’m really possessive.” Namjoon says it a little louder than necessary as he leads her to a booth seat that conceals her from the counter’s view. “Let me pay, I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon misses the giddy smile that Y/N has at the new information she now holds in getting to know her alpha. They aren’t each other’s yet, but he’s all she knows right now and he’s treating her so well. It seems bound to happen that he’ll become closer to her- her's, in all senses that she finds meaningful. It’ll mean she’s doing well, and that she won’t disappoint The Goddess or Namjoon.

The wait isn’t long, Namjoon’s favorite part besides the perfect slices of pizza.

“One pepperoni slice and one cheese. I’m a simple man.”

“I like simple.” Is all she tells him with a shrug before she greedily eats the cheese slice. She talks as she eats, not caring for the food in her mouth. “Wow, there was nothing like this! We didn’t need to eat, but there were cravings in our time of heat. I usually craved something sweet, and with only the necessities being our priority it was usually fruit. We learned to cook basic things as well- breads, soups, and different kinds of rice.”

Namjoon feels comfortable talking with a half-full mouth now as well, becoming more and more comfortable with a stranger that he just acquainted himself with this morning.

“You’re in luck, besides music, I’m a professional take-out order-er.”

“Mmm,” it seems she takes that information and is already imagining the good food that she doesn’t know exists yet. “I didn’t know you made music- that’s your job?”

“Yeah, I produce music but I’m mostly at home doing it. Sometimes I’ll go in to help with a recording, but that’s not often. I just get paid to make the beats or change lyrics whenever they need help with that.”

“That’s really cool. Could I hear something sometime?” She looks so interested, so enthralled by him that he almost chokes up at the attention she’s giving him. He doesn’t feel worthy as an alpha to be someone she’s interested in. He’s never had someone look at him like he has all the answers and can provide for her without a second thought. He knows this is a learning process for them both, but he’s thinking that she’s already set on whatever it is she was made for- while he’s just a man that is still figuring out everything himself. A stable job and a home that he can provide isn’t enough. He isn’t enough yet.

“You’ll probably hear it all the time when I’m working during the week.”

“Yay.” She gives him that same smile, now with her lips sealed because of the food in her mouth. Grease stains her lips and he has to push down the want to wipe it from her. Her lips, now that he’s looking, are plump and the pink of them is hiding under a layer of orange grease. Despite that, they’re still kissable, memorable, probably soft and pliant in times of need-

“Here’s a napkin.”

“Thank you!” She takes it and immediately uses it.

He has to stop doing that.

It’s only once they’re home and have hauled everything up to the apartment that Namjoon realizes it was a horrible idea to share the bed. He wants to be a gentleman and he doesn’t want to just push her away. She’s here for an obvious reason, they were matched- supposedly perfect for each other- and he only feels like a dick pushing her away to sleep on his uncomfortable couch.

He shows her how to use the washing machine, and as they wait it’s far more awkward than he means for it to be.

“Have you tried the TV yet?” Namjoon asks as she goes through her bag of clothes to show Namjoon the contents. He mentally smacks himself, he really didn’t have to ask, he could just turn it on and put a random show on to end the night.

“No, I didn’t want to touch anything I wasn’t familiar with.” She’s nonchalant about it, why can’t he be nonchalant about it?

“Okay, I got these to sleep in, they didn’t have that many options so I hope I can borrow a shirt to sleep in if that’s okay?” She holds up a pair of sleep shorts that has far too little fabric. It’s her choice to wear them- he’s not a fucking teenager, he’ll be fine.

“And I know it’s most decent, so I did find these to wear…” she has to find the tag and read them. “Sports bras.” She holds up the three-pack proudly to show him. Despite her being the one to show him, he feels invasive, immediately turning away after a quick smiling nod to turn on the TV.

“And then this skirt as well as this smaller one, and a more flowy one. The fabrics are nice- I like how different they are here.”

“Very pretty.” He says, hoping it was normal enough.

“Thank you! And then just a few more of those shirts like the green one and a couple hoodies and sweats like yours. We’ll match! Plus these shoes and socks will go with everything I got.” She excitedly looks over her things again and again. She’s so happy with just those, so happy with the simple things and the shitty restaurant that he’d never even think about taking a woman to unless they were much more comfortable together.

In his thinking, he doesn’t notice Y/N standing in front of him until she’s holding up that pair of sleep shorts for him. He takes them without thinking, looking up from the couch to give her a questioning look.

“You said we could talk about scenting later. Is scenting my clothes off-limits?” She looks down at him with worry in her eyes and a peak of worry slips through to make him weak in the- everything, really.

“No, uh, no that’s okay.” It’s a possessive thing he feels when he scents the shorts, looking up at her as he gives them a good rub against his neck and even going the extra measure to make sure his scent is thick and potent.

“There.” He hands them back, the soft fabric going straight to her nose to take in a whiff. He wants so badly to know how much she enjoys it, if she enjoys it as much as he enjoys her’s. She takes her time, then points to the pile of clothes.

“Can you do the rest once those are clean?”

“Yeah.” It’s a breathy response, hanging onto the hope that he’ll be able to scent her at some point. Having his scent on her things, on her body, it truly finalizes the fact that she’s here for him. She was made to bless someone- all pretty omega, inside and out, and soft features with a soft body. She was made to bless him, he realizes. Though he doesn’t know if it was meant to be him from the beginning, she was still curated in a way that led them together. He doesn’t deserve it. Not when he’s clunky and unconfident in his abilities to be her alpha. His instincts are kicking in without the confidence to even put them to use.

“Let’s get the bed ready, however you like it we can change it, yeah?” He’s suddenly antsy in his need to make his room presentable and safe. He’s grabbing both blankets and pillows and is in the bedroom before Y/N even makes it there, still becoming more and more tired after her adventures today.

“Are you tired?” He asks, noticing her tired eyes and the shorts still lifted to her nose. He gets a nodding answer. Perfectly, maybe by fate even, the dryer chimes its finish, indicating that now both of her new blankets are clean and warm.

While he is just about freaking out over never having made a nest before, Y/N is at his side and pulling one thing at a time from his arms. She places the blankets haphazardly in his eyes, just making a small dip for her to cuddle into. Even in her fog of scent and growing tiredness, she is able to do what she needs for her comfortable nest. He even lingers on the fact that she’s making it on the correct side, probably having already noticed where his scent lingers the most.

“Okay, we sleep.” she almost gets into the bed before Namjoon is tugging at her (his) hoodie, pulling her back.

“No outside clothes. You need to be comfortable and clean.” She immediately obeys, pulling her (his) sweats down as he looks up at the ceiling to admire the texture. He remembers she needs one of his shirts so he uses that as an actual excuse, plucking a random one from the hangers to hand to her. He completely turns around for that part, waiting only until he hears her settle into the bed before he turns back to her. He catches her arm sticking out, patting the large space next to her, before disappearing again.

She’s going to be the death of him, really. A pretty omega nesting in his bed.

He’s a rod next to her. Stiff and trying to take up as little room as possible. He has work tomorrow and a new responsibility he has to navigate- he can’t just stay up all night and be useless in both ways.

“Namjoon.” Despite how tired she was, she whispers to him with a lucid voice.

“Yeah?”

“I’m just- I don’t know- tense? Could I…sleep with your hand?”

This is more intimate than he thought it’d be. To have her in his bed, wanting his wrist to scent freely and maybe even scent herself. He’s not one to take scenting lightly. To him, it’s special, and should be sacred to the one he is to be with for the rest of his life. He was fine with the clothes, he maybe even thought about it a few times since their shopping trip- but is this too much too fast?

“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I know we didn’t talk about that yet.” She whispers again.

“Y/N.” It’s silent for a few long seconds.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure if I want to scent right now, but could I- could we just try this once and I can let you know how I feel?”

“Are you sure? I know I just came to you so abruptly, I don’t want my presence to change your previous boundaries. I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He really thinks about it, about how he’s felt before with others he’s been interested in. Even with Seokjin and Jimin, he’s never thought about scenting them or even needing to push out his own scent in situations that needed his ‘dominance’ for assistance. It was never something he prioritized, or had a reason for. So, the fact that it’s now wanted and needed, it feels intimate. But, maybe wanting to give this to her is what’s right. If not, and he’s reading this wrong, he’ll let her know. His own rule was to be open and to voice their concerns.

“It’s okay, here.” He sticks out his arm before he can overthink it more. She takes his hand as if it were a precious jewel, her skin is just as soft as he imagined. Maybe it was even better- but he can’t explain it. All he knows is that his own skin seems to call out for her, yearning for a touch he has just met. A touch that he only knew of a second ago. He grasps onto her hand, rubbing his thumb into the back of it as she directs him to her nose. The brush of her nose is like static, a shock to his system that he’s never felt before. His sensitive scent gland there is immediately releasing his scent in wafts that she only snuggles closer to.

“It’s so good. Is this okay?” She mumbles, clearly trying to keep a clear head as well.

“Yeah, yeah.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, but really he’s just trying to keep cool. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, it’s safe and warm. Thank you, Namjoon.”

With her nose and upper lip pressed to his wrist- with a mumble of his name whispered into his own skin- he lets out a ragged breath, and he himself tries his best to drift to sleep. It isn’t long before he’s actually tiring down, her sweet, warm scenting pushing out to meet him. She could probably scent the nerves. He doesn’t mind how it happens, nor how they’ll wake up at this point. Now, he can rest, knowing a sweet omega is safe in his home.

#bts au #bts fic #namjoon au #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #namjoon x reader #bts abo #bts omegaverse au #alpha namjoon

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