#they will probably return after he is healed
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♯ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 ◞ 𝑱𝑯⁸⁶
✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⤫ fem!reader x jack hughes
✰ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⤫ in which jack’s gf is worried about her boyfriend and his injuries
✰ 𝐜𝐰 ⤫ curse words, tiny angst, fluff
✰ 𝐚/𝐧 ⤫ oh to take care of bf!jack after a tough game
you release a shaky breath, the tip of your thumb between your teeth as you bite your nail nervously. the lump in your throat only grows twice the size as your eyes stay locked on the devils' bench where a trainer was talking into Jack's ear, an uneasy expression on his face as he holds his hand out so they could tape it.
there was no doubt that he was gonna go out there again. they could tell him his fingers were broken, or on the verge of falling off and he'd still want to finsish the last 5 minutes of this game. and a part of you understood that. it was the Rangers, it was the first home game after a horrible road trip and Jack wanted to finish the game off strong.
your heart remained in your throat the remaining minutes, unable to appreciate the rest of the game until the buzzer sounded, the Devils' winning 6-2. this was only Jack's 3rd game back from a previous injury that you knew he wasn't completely healed from. you had urged him to take a few more games but when the Devils' losing streak extended to 7 games, Jack had insisted that he was ready to return.
this wouldn't be the first time you're anxious over Jack playing through an injury, or getting one during the game and just acting like it never happened. nor would it be the first time the two of you would inevitably have an argument about it later. however thoughts of arguing were pushed far back when Jack and Luke made their way out of the locker room, the usual post-win spark missing from your boyfriend's eyes as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck.
you give Luke a quick smile over Jack's shoulder before pulling out of the hug and grabbing both of Jack's hands, unsure which one was the victim of tonight's escapades.
"I'm okay baby. It's just a little slash. they're not even broken, look," he says and wiggles his fingers in a little wave that gets him an amused little smile from Luke, one he was hoping to get from you but instead your lips pull down a little further and you pull away from his touch completely.
"This isn't funny Jack. I don't care if they're not broken, you were obviously in pain. And there was no reason for you to go out and play those last six minutes. You guys were leading by four." you try to keep your voice steady while berating him but by the way his eyes soften he probably heard the worry in your tone.
Jack sighs as his gaze moves from you to his little brother akwardly shifting around, trying to make it seem like he's not listening but obviously hearing every word.
"Let's not do this here, we can talk about it at home," Jack pleadingly states, dropping a kiss on your cheek as he interlocks your fingers and make your way towards his car, Luke trailing silently behind you two.
The silence from the drive follows the three of you into the apartment, Luke mumbling something about going to bed and you and Jack retreat to your bedroom as well.
"Are you gonna say what you wanna say or are you gonna continue throwing death glares my way the whole night?" Jack asks, exhaustion prevelent in his gaze as he takes a seat on his side of the bed.
"I'm not gonna say anything, we both know you never listen when it comes to this anyway. It's pointless, can we just go to bed please?" you say and Jack's eyes widen at the resignation in your tone.
After getting into night clothes and brushing your teeth, you and Jack lay side by side, your breathing the only sound in the room. Usually Jack would pull you closer to him by now, falling asleep the moment the smell of your shampoo fills his nose, but he's not sure you want him to touch him right now.
"This is my job. You knew how much I loved hockey when you started dating me." Jack says quietly, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you love it more than you love yourself? More than you love me?" you whisper, the words getting caught in your throat because you're afraid the answer might be yes.
"Are you asking me to choose between the sport I love and the woman I love? Because the answer would be you in every lifetime. And I'd give it up for you, but I can't promise you a little part of me won't resent you for it." Jack whispers back, the words barely audible as if that's a confession he's never even thought about, never mind verbalized.
"I'm not asking you to give it up," you answer and you hear his relieved sigh.
"I'm just asking you to love yourself a little more. Take the extra game off if you need it. Spend the last six minutes on the bench when your team is winning by 4 goals and you're injured. You only have one body Jack, and you're not going to be 22 forever, take care of it. You don't have to do everything by yourself you know? You can't win on your own, let your teammates carry some of that burden. Let me take care of you. Is that too much to ask?" you ask desperately, turning your head to look at him.
"No baby, it's not." he says, pushing himself up on one elbow so he's laying on his side and looking down at you, resting his other hand on your stomach.
"I don't want you to feel like I'm not supporting your dreams," you whisper, tearing up a little and Jack's heart squeezes tight.
"You're my number one supporter, babe. Always. I know that. It's why you're so worried about me. And I understand and I can't promise you I won't do what I did tonight ever again, because I'm me, and I'm bound to mess up, but I promise I'll try my hardest to be careful and take care of myself okay?" he says softly, kissing your tears away, and pulling you on top of him as he lays on his back.
"I love you so much," you say kissing his chest.
"I love you the most," he whispers back, squeezing you tight, as both of you drift off the sleep.
The next morning Jack leaves you sleeping in bed, and sneaks out to the kitchen where Luke's already making pancakes.
"What are you doing?" Jack asks, not bothering to say good morning.
"Giving you a head start on your apology breakfast," Luke answers and Jack can't help but feel a pang of affection for his little brother.
As much as Luke likes to pretend he was doing this to help Jack, he was really doing it to help you. Luke could see how upset you were last night and he wanted to do something nice for you.
"Aww Lukey," Jack coos ruffling Luke's hair on his way to the fridge.
"If you didn't make my sister upset every weekend, we wouldn't have to get up at this ungodly hour each time," Luke mumbles and Jack freezes at the word 'sister'.
"Sister?" Jack asks
"I uh- may or may not have accidentally saw that you ordered her ring." Luke stutters and Jack's eyes narrow.
"Saw it where?" Jack questions walking closer.
"Um-" Luke swallows nervously
"Saw it where?" Jack asks again, picking up the spoon and holding it towards Luke's throat like one would a knife.
"Jesus Jack. Fine Quinn told me." Luke admits, breathing a little easier when Jack lowers the spoon, even though it was never really that threatning.
"How the fuck does Quinn know?" Jack whisper-yells.
"Trevor told him."
"Fucking Trevor. Can never tell him shit. I'm gonna kill him," Jack replies, while Luke silently questions why Quinn and Trevor were even talking to each other.
"For what it's worth, I can't wait until she's officially part of the family. I think she's perfect for you and I'm so beyond happy for you." Luke says and Jack immediately pulls him into a bone crushing hug.
"Thank you," Jack says softly as they hear soft footsteps approaching.
"Aw," you say taking in the sight of the two brothers hugging.
"What are you doing up? You're supposed to sleep in on your off days," Jack says walking over and pulling you into his arms.
"So are you. I woke up cause your phone was ringing," you answer handing it to him.
"Who was it?" he asks, putting it on the counter without even looking at it and leaving kisses on your neck.
"Trevor," you reply
"Fucking Trevor,"
#── ❛ 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐢’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ✗ jh86#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes x you#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes fic#jack hughes x reader
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Another Merlin au prompt! This time featuring Morgana, because I haven't been giving her enough love recently!
In a season 4 au, the Cailleach never tells Morgana that Emrys is her destiny and her doom. Instead, she merely tells Morgana that Emrys is her destiny. So, instead of fearing Emrys, Morgana believes that Emrys is the key to achieving her destiny and conquering Camelot. Thus, she starts her hunt to try and find an ally in Emrys.
Through the Druids and the Catha, Morgana learns that Emrys is the Old Religion's god of magic and is destined to come to the mortal plane in the form of a human to bring magic back to the land after a great tragedy. Morgana hadn't heard of Emrys before since Morgause (in her hubris) did not focus on educating Morgana in the gods and goddesses that they were supposed to worship, instead focusing on teaching her powerful, dark magic and battle strategies against their enemies.
So, Morgana spends most of seasons 4 trying to find Emrys and ally herself to him. Morgana eventually learns from a druid that defected to her cause that Emrys has already taken his human form and lives in Camelot, working in secret to bring about magic's return to the land. Morgana was shocked by this, since it was possible that Emrys had been in Camelot even before she knew of her magic, but also pleased, as having Emrys already established inside Camelot would make a takeover much easier!
Morgana, from there, starts attributing her every victory and defeat to Emrys in some way. She succeeds in killing Uther through the enchanted necklace? Emrys must have been in on her plans and delivered the final blow while Arthur trusted him to try to heal his father! Her plan to drive Arthur and Gwen apart through shade Lancelot succeeds? Because Emrys ensured that no one suspected the shade before he did his job, of course! Her magic fails during her takeover of Camelot? Emrys must be angry with her for trying to conquer Camelot without him! She makes it out of Camelot alive even without her magic? Praise Emrys!
Morgana's beliefs are further solidified when Aithusa heals her. She asks Aithusa who she is, how is there another dragon? Aithusa is too young to speak, but she instead shares images and ideas with Morgana. In Aithusa's memories, Morgana couldn't quite see the face of the dragonlord who hatched Aithusa, but she knew how that magical power felt! It must have been Emrys, as the druids also told her that he was the last dragonlord! He must have sent this young dragon, his own kin, to heal Morgana and keep her safe before their destinies came to fruition!
When they're captured by Sarrum, Aithusa called out for her dragonlord, and after a couple hours in that damned well, a golden light filled the entire space, and their magic-binding chains were removed, allowing them to climb out of the pit and escape. There was no doubt in Morgana's mind that Emrys was the one who saved him, but to her disappointment, he was not there when they escaped.
(Merlin, back in Camelot, performed a ritual to send his magic to aid Aithusa, wherever she was. He could sense her cries and her fear, but he couldn't pin down her location, so this was his only way of sending help.)
By season 5, Morgana's patience was growing thin. She knew that Emrys probably had some grand, years-long plan for how they were going to conquer Camelot and let magic reign, but she wanted the throne that was rightfully hers! But to do that, she needed Emrys. So, she sought out the Diamiar to ask how she could find Emrys. Unfortunately, she never found the Diamiar and was forced to retreat.
Fast forward to Kara being captured and Mordred begging for her life and getting locked up with her. In this au, Merlin helps break Mordred and Kara out of the dungeon and helps them leave Camelot safely, leading to Mordred not growing bitter against Merlin, but still holding animosity towards Arthur for not being merciful towards Kara.
Kara takes advantage of Mordred's newfound anger towards Arthur and convinces him to join Morgana's forces. Morgana welcomes Mordred with open arms, but he's hesitant to tell her Emrys's true identity after Merlin saved him and Kara. However, after Morgana tells him that the only way that they can defeat Arthur is with Emrys fighting alongside them, Mordred reluctantly tells Morgana Emrys's true name: Merlin.
Morgana is absolutely shook by this news. How could her ultimate ally, the key to her victory, be one of her worst enemies?! He was Arthur's most loyal lacky! He saved Arthur's life repeatedly, keeping her from the throne! He had poisoned her!
Morgana was in absolute denial over this news, until she started thinking over it. When she had first told Merlin about her magic, he had tried to help her and led her to the druids. Yes, he had poisoned her, but that was the last push she needed to join Morgause. Perhaps that was his plan from the beginning? To ensure that she joined her sister and fulfilled her destiny in becoming a high priestess?
And his position as Arthur's closest confidant and servant gave him the anonymity to not be noticed by the nobility and the perfect place to manipulate Arthur, weakening him and his kingdom from within! Emrys truly was a mastermind with a plan to take down Camelot! And to think, she had fallen for his disguise as a cowardly servant as well! He was effortlessly playing all of Camelot for fools!
And oh, Morgana could see his vision! Emrys- Merlin- would crush Arthur's heart, his very soul, by revealing his power and his glorious destiny of returning magic to the land. All Merlin would have to do was pull the rug out from underneath Arthur, and Arthur would be so heartbroken and weakened by the betrayal that Camelot would be ripe for the taking!
Perhaps Merlin would revel in Arthur's humiliation? Wrap obedience spells around the king's mind and make Arthur his servant? What glorious justice that would be!
The most powerful sorcerer in history, magic incarnate, living in Camelot and having the absolute trust of the king! Everything was poised so perfectly! Morgana had to give Emrys credit for this, he had set everything up, from Morgana's rise to her true power to surrounding Arthur with commoner knights who owed more to Merlin than they did to the king, so that Arthur's end and magic's rise was inevitable. She did wish he would have told her about his plans sooner though. They could have been working together all this time!
Still, this meant that all of the pieces for magic's takeover of Camelot were in place! All she had to do was reach out to Emrys and let him know that she was ready, and they could conquer Camelot!
Mordred tries to warn her that Merlin is trying to fulfill the prophecy is a different, more peaceful way than what she has in mind, but Morgana brushes that aside. Emrys was her destiny, the key to her success!
However, after luring Merlin into the crystal cave and finally offering an alliance with him so they could take over Camelot, Morgana was shocked to be vehemently rejected by Merlin, with Merlin telling her that there was no way that he would ever betray Arthur, Emrys or not.
Morgana was not really expecting that and was forced to revise her plans. She needed Merlin to be on her side if she was going to have any chance at taking the throne from her undeserving brother, but Merlin, despite all of his power and destiny, was reluctant to join her and take his rightful place of power.
It was rather confusing for Morgana. Why would Emrys truly want Arthur on the throne? Was Arthur already his thrall, and he didn't want to lose his puppet king? No, if Emrys had Arthur under his power, magic would already be returned to the land.
Perhaps it was some sort of odd affection that Merlin had towards Arthur? That must be it! Merlin had been forced to tolerate Arthur for so long that some sort of forced feelings of connection towards Arthur had wormed their way into Emrys's heart!
So, Morgana goes on a campaign to win Merlin's loyalty over to her by 1) trying to undermine Arthur's rule and make his look like a fool and 2) make herself look like the better option. She has dozens of spies in Camelot and has sorcerers who can scry for her, so she knows when Arthur treats Merlin like a fool and dismisses his thoughts like an arrogant prat, and she chooses those days to send Merlin gifts, like spell books filled with useful curses, enchanted jewelry to make him more powerful, and the severed head of an assassin who managed to land a cut on Merlin while he was trying to kill Arthur (on Morgana's orders, but that's just semantics).
Morgana also sees how Merlin's living situation with Gaius isn't great, so she sends him things like new luxurious clothes and rich foods, which are things that she supposes that he'll have to get used to after he takes his rightful place as the conqueror of Camelot.
Merlin, however, remains suspicious of these gifts and knows that Morgana is trying to tempt him to her side, so he ignores them for the most part. Eventually, Arthur finds out about Morgana trying to bribe his manservant with extravagant gifts and loses his mind over it. He knows that Merlin would never betray Camelot to the likes of Morgana, but the fact that Morgana has set her sights on Merlin puts him very ill at ease.
And this, of course, devolves into a tense game of tug-of-war between the Pendragon siblings. Both of them are tripping over themselves trying to prove themselves to be more deserving of Merlin's loyalty, while Merlin just wants to go back to sleep.
Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation of this prompt! I think that seeing a high-stakes sibling rivalry between Arthur and Morgana over Merlin would be pretty funny!
Also, please let me know if there are any other Merlin characters you'd like me to feature! I'm working on some Gwen-focused and Lancelot-focused prompts, but let me know if there are any others you'd like to see!
And, as always, thank you for reading through my rambling! :D
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PART 3 TO THE EX WIFE
This is the final part, I hate this but whatever I don't care :) Love to everyone who read this <3
Part 1 , Part 2
It had been a couple of days since you had kicked out John and his bitch of an ex. It was peaceful but very quiet. There was more room for your mind to start spiralling into thoughts, so you either had music playing through your speakers or the tv on throughout the day, just to make it seem like someone was here with you in the house.
You had the locks changed and also blocked all contact with him, yes it was hard but you believed it to be the best thing to do. No more temptation to let him back into your heart. He hurt you and now you had to heal from the wounds.
However, John wasn’t giving up on you that easily. He would show up to your house daily, knocking, wanting for you to listen to him. But why should you? He wouldn't listen to you, no matter how many times you expressed how much you wanted him to get rid of his ex.
Today was Saturday. You were fresh out of the shower and heard repeated knocking on your front door. Choosing to ignore it, you did your usual routine before the knocking reached a point where your eye was borderline twitching.
With a huff, you turned on your heel and charged through the house. When you got closer to the door, the louder the thumping got. “Fuck off John!” you yelled but the sound was relentless.
Unlocking the door, you twisted the handle and yanked it open “Will you stop before you break down my damn door” you say but when the person on the other side isn’t John, your angry temper fizzles a little but not much.
“John’s not here” you go to shut the door but his arm stops you and you roll your eyes before opening it again.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care” you say with a shrug and watch as he looks past you and into your house. “I’m being serious Simon. His car isn’t even here” you point to the empty spot next to your car on the drive and feel your lip quiver for a second.
No. You were done crying for him.
“Did something happen?” he asks and you cross your arms over your chest “As if you don’t already know. You’re probably one of the first people he would’ve told. Is that why you’re here? He gave up begging so he sent one of his men to do it for him” you scoff while he stands there looking confused. You don’t think you ever seen such emotion on him.
“I haven’t heard from him in a week. I have no idea what’s going on” he says truthfully and you’re shocked.
“Really?” He nods his head and you believe him. “Why don’t you tell me about it? Whatever it is sounds like he’s in the wrong” you contemplate it for a while before stepping to the side and letting him inside of your home.
A couple of weeks later, Simon had been coming over a lot more. He expressed his hatred for what John did to you. You were confused at first, he was the closest thing Simon had to a family. They were friends, comrades. It was strange at first, but you were glad to have someone on your side, telling you how much John had fucked up.
One night, you were laying on the sofa and stretched out your legs. They landed in Simon's lap and you had apologised before pulling them back to your recent position, but Simon had grabbed your legs and put them back into his lap mumbling something like “You’ll get cramp” but the way his fingers brushed against the skin of your calves made a fire inside you ignite. Maybe it was from the lack of touch from someone but it was all you could think about the entire night until he left to go back home.
When he returned to your house a couple days after, you kissed him. It was a rushed decision but the way he kissed you back made you realise that he wanted this as much as you.
From there on out, your relationship got more physical. You would grab him as soon as he walked through the door. Him scooping you up into his arms, dropping the things in his hands to the ground in the process.
A month and a half later, you were in bed. Legs spread with a head settled in between them. Your hands gripped onto his dirty blonde strands as he ran his tongue up your sopping cunt. “Fuck Si-” you moaned as he sucked on your clit making you buck your hips and push his head further down onto you. You felt as if you were in heaven, floating on a cloud as he devoured you.
Well you were in heaven until you heard knocking at the door. That fucking door will be the death of you.
“Ignore it” Simon grunts before pushing two thick digits into you, making you hum and forget about anything for the moment.
The doorbell started to ring and you huffed angrily. “It's him” you groaned while covering your face with your hands but Simon continued to swirl his tongue, happily lapping you up.
You weren't going to be able to come like this. “Simon stop” you say regretfully and he pulls his fingers from you making you whine at the loss of them.
You had to deal with this or else you’ll never do it. Sighing, you get up off the bed and put on your robe. Before leaving the haven of your room, you press a kiss to Simon's lips “We’ll continue this when I get back” you feel him smile against your lips before slapping your ass and falling onto his back on the mattress.
You pick up the documents on the kitchen counter and walk to the front door where John stands. He looked rough but you didn’t care as you shoved the envelope at him.
“Make sure you sign them John”
He held them in his hand and looked up at you with sorrowful eyes. “Sweetheart, is there anything I can do to save this. Please”
“No John, I never will listen to anything you have to say ever again” your voice had no emotion in it, you were done. Finally done.
You heard footsteps behind you and felt a kiss was placed on the top of your head. John looked shocked at the sight of Simon but nodded to himself “I’ll sign them” he sounded broken and you felt a sense of relief.
Before he left, he looked to Simon and spoke once more “Look after her will you?” you felt Simon pull you softly backwards and stood in the doorway blocking you from view. “I’ll do a lot more than you ever have” is all he says before slamming the door and locking it.
He turns around with a smile decorating his face and mischievous glint in his eye. “Now that's dealt with. Where were we?” you grin before sprinting back into the bedroom to continue what was so rudely interrupted.
Tags: @knightofsexyness, @sleepyoriana @odettecigno @thigh-o-saur @blackhawkfanatic @hotvinimon @ghostlypatrolstranger, @nadinesabre, @v1x3n, @dakotapaigelove, @butchers-girl, @mayadarlings <3 <3
#captain john price x reader#price x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty
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as i am currently on that transmasc bloodcycle bullshit, it occurs to me i have a trans blorbo i can in fact make suffer with me
and while im projecting, why not give leo my habit of announcing his predicament in the funniest way possible
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#rise leo#rise donnie#my art#this is my go to way of saying im on my cycle#my siblings are entirely unimpressed and used to it#leos family is too#but between the immense injuries he got during the invasion and everyone being kinda emotionally fragile for a bit#i think he probably skipped a couple months and wasnt in the mood to play into his usual antics when it did return#but this is long enough after it all that everyones mostly healed up#and emotionally starting to recover#and leos the sort of bitch that the louder he is the less serious the drama is#(affectionate)#so if he walks in a room and shouts that hes bleeding#its more likely hes got a papercut than any actual injury#don knows this#hense why he catches on so quick#and seeks vengance for the half-a-second of genuine concern#(tbh hes probably internally relieved to hear leo make any type of joke or dramatics again at all)#also#i dont have any personal interest in diving in depth to what a mutant turtle teenagers period looks like or involves#my boy bleeds and is uncomfy cos i am bleeding and uncomfy#(tbh in all likelihood hed not have to deal w this at all cos splints and donnie would have long since found a way to get T & other meds)#edit: moved the trans flag down a couple panels to help the pacing of the joke
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enjoying anders n amara friendship
#i just said the other day that i always take him on the deep roads expedition#but i was like. no he hates that and she genuinely would not put him through it#hed worry abt it at the last minute bc she never cracked healing and shed kiss him on the cheek#so he was surprised into a smile and not frowning as she turned away. just in case#it really is a good thing she didnt bring carver after all#anders is probably a bit in love with her because you know what hes like#but i think its less of a secret and more that everyone knows#she cant return it that way but she likes to be loved#and she loves her friends very intensely the differences kind of blur like with fenris#sorry im sleeby so im ramblin. love my girlie and her big heart#amara hawke
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“If no one’s passing to Jamie we can always drop him to midfield.”
Okay, so I’m don’t think Nate’s motives for suggesting this back in 2x03 were entirely motivated by an understanding how to best utilize Jamie, but he was the first to suggest that our number 9 might play in another position. That, in combination with how they both spotted Colin being open in the lastest game against City… I am very interested in seeing how Nate’s to Richmond will jell with the team’s Total Football approach and Jamie’s new position in it.
Roy does say that Nate’s great at the things Roy is shit at, and back in 3x07 Jamie had to be the one to tell the coaches how to best use him in their new game plan. You have to think that if Nate had been there, Jamie probably wouldn’t have had to that, yeah?
Think there might be something here. Something intriguing.
#hmm hmm hmm#i'm still not super onboard with nate coaching richmond in the long run#though i am VERY invested in them all renconciling!#but i can't deny the potential here...#should i have thoughts on the actual football of it all?#probably not#but there's no one here to stop me#i also think that there's some unresolved tension with nate and jamie#mostly from nathan's side#him and jamie worked together well enough after nate's initial glee at the team giving jamie a hard time upon his return#but i think - without having much basis for it - that nathan never fully let go of the fear jamie had once instilled in him#it was managed but lurking under the surface the wound of the abuse never healed#and we never say jamie explicitly make nice with nate - he apologized to the team not to the coaches#yeah i am intrigued#nathan shelley#jamie tartt#3x11#football
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Just got back from watching Return of the King extended edition at the cinema and now the movie is spinning around in my head like a rotisserie chicken
First of all this movie is SO GOOD you guys. Like we all knew, but it's like i rediscovered it. This movie is SO GOOD someone should give it 11 Oscars thus making it the most Oscar winning movie ever tied w titanic
Secondly something really funny happened. Now that I'm a mom, i have a very potent motherly instinct that my daughter triggers in me, but as we were sitting in the cinema, everytime Frodo came on screen that instinct was ACTIVATED. Like I've always wanted to protect him but this was a whole new level
There's something about how quickly smeagol was lost to the ring. It is instantly, in a way no one else in the story has experienced. Something about how inevitable it is, how this was always how it was going to go, how he was always meant to fall to its power
The parallel of the scene where smeagol asks for the ring and kills his friend for it, and the one where Frodo asks for it back from Sam and he gives it willingly
Or the parallel of the scene where Deagol and Smeagol fight over the ring and the scene at the end, the culmination of the entire story, when Frodo and Gollum fight for it as well. How it was always meant to end like this, because this was how it started. How the ring has always gained power by sowing chaos and turning people against each other, how its biggest strength was inspiring obsession and how that very same power is what caused it's downfall.
I never thought about it before but i love how Merry and Pippin fit the respective colorschemes of the two kingdoms of men they end up serving. Merry looks like someone right out of Rohan, even the color of his clothes. Pippin w his darker hair and clothes fit right in w the Gondorians. It makes me wonder if this was taken into account when their wardrobes were designed in preproduction
The look Elrond has when he sends Arwen to Aragorn, and then again after they kiss and embrace. He is weeping for the loss of his daughter. He is so happy she found her happiness. He knows he's never going to see he again. I am crying
I love how you can see when he stands on the pier at the grey havens, Frodo is pale and still a bit sickly looking, but once he steps onto the boat, he instantly gains color back, he has rosy cheeks and a sunkissed face. Even just stepping onto that boat, he's begun his journey towards healing, and that's why he can give his friends such a genuine smile
I also love the inherent selflessness of the action. Frodo doesn't just leave for himself, he also leaves for Sam. After everything they've been through, Sam was never going to be able to stop worrying for Frodo. He would never be able to cast the responsibility aside, he'd spend every day needing to check up on him. "You cannot always be torn in two" Frodo says because he understands that Sam isnt able to fully commit to his family, to just be a father and husband, because he is also still Frodos servant, protector, best friend, gardener. By leaving, he is allowing Sam to let go. Sam comes home, heaves a sigh - of relief, of acceptance? - and says "well.. I'm back." And i truly believe that until that moment, Sam hadn't fully come back to the Shire yet
#return of the king#this is not to say that friends aren't allowed to rely on friends#but i think frodo himself needed to know that Sam could let him go and live in peace#anyway... i probably have more thoughts but this was just a quick dump#frodo baggins#there was some stuff about denethor as well but i forget#maybe it'll come to me later#anyway the point was that sam was probably fine spending the rest of his days looking after frodo bc he cares deeply for him#but the question is whether was that somethong Frodo wanted for Sam. especially because he understood#that despite sam's best efforts frodo was never going to fully heal. that he needed a kind of healing sam and the shire couldnt bring
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at work there's this absolutely gorgeous ice gray tabby with white and her fur is so silky soft and she's so ROUNDY AND SWEET HOW IN THE FUCK HAS SHE NOT GOTTEN ADOPTED YET
#nonsense radio#ONE OF THE SILLY ORANGE GUYS GOT ADOPTED TODAY THO :) he was hanging out with me and my mom for the past week or so#he has a broken jaw that'll never heal quite right and missing an eye but he's just a sweet little guy i'm so glad he found a family#and according to my mom they put him in a really expensive carrier so he'll probably get the best care money can buy... ohhh i love himmm#i'm a bit worried though because we recently had a cat be returned after only two days because she ''wasn't adapting well''#(she was fine they just completely ignored the goddamn care instructions our boss gave them...)
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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,
your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡
thank you!! here’s part 3 :)
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.
you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.
no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.
in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’
you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.
you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.
the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.
you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.
the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.
you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.
you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.
you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.
you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.
just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.
you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.
the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.
you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.
“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.
you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.
simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.
“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.
you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.
“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.
simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.
you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.
your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.
there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.
“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“did you follow me in here?”
“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.
“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”
your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.
simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.
he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.
no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.
“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.
you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?
these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.
“fuck off,” you tell him.
“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.
“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”
he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.
“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.
“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.
“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”
“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”
you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”
he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.
johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.
but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.
the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.
cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.
but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.
now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.
“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.
“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.
“you should’ve just killed me.”
author’s note:
not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.
and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!
anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)
taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina
#ghost cod#ghost x gn reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley angst#call of duty fic#captain john price#gaz call of duty#soap call of duty#captain price#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#141!reader#141 x reader#task force 141#tf 141#ghost mw2#call of duty angst#johnny mactavish#john price
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On today's episode of LotR AU: Boromir Lives, it's after the battle of Pelennor Fields! There are so many great possibilities to explore when Boromir finally, finally returns to Minas Tirith--- making the agonizing decision to follow Aragorn through the Paths of the Dead instead of going straight to the city with Theoden, fighting like a demon outside the gates, learning about his father's death, and then choosing to leave again to accompany Aragorn to the Black Gate, but right now it's WHUMP TIME.
Obviously, first up is Faramir. If Boromir is with Aragorn, he won't enter the city until after the battle, and so he wouldn't know anything about Faramir's flight from Osgiliath or the pyre in the tombs.
In the few days between the battle and leaving for the Black Gate, I envision Boromir operating on undiluted adrenaline as the wounded and dead are tended. Who needs food? Who needs sleep? Not Boromir. He's returned to his city at its lowest possible moment and he's going to DO EVERYTHING TO FIX EVERYONE ALL AT ONCE.
The scene where Pippin finds Merry wounded and dazed and wandering the streets, has always been a favorite of mine and was one of the first LotR illustrations I ever did ~20 years ago. In the book, Gandalf is the one who comes to carry Merry up to the Houses of Healing. In this AU, you know it's Boromir.
Anyway, eventually Legolas and Gimli probably have to force some rudimentary self-care.
Boromir Lives AU: Aragorn's Coronation
Boromir Lives AU: Faramir and Eowyn's Wedding
#boromir#au: boromir lives#lord of the rings#lotr#hurt/comfort#whump#faramir#eowyn#eomer#merry#pippin#gimli#legolas#minas tirith#return of the king
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I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).
I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense.
That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it.
And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit.
And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims?
Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.
Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing?
And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased?
Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.
He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own.
Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends.
Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.
You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust.
And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.
Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.
Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.
Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.
#baldur’s gate 3#bg3#baldur’s gate iii#astarion#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion headcanons#smooth brain astarion I will defend you until you can do it yourself#trauma can give you literal brain damage#of course he's a little eccentric#tw: trauma#tw: abuse#smooth brain astarion
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a star — gojo satoru x f!reader
a/n: lovesick gojo does smth to me
it’s not often that you don’t find your husband on the jujutsu grounds terrorizing some students, save for today that is. however, it doesn’t pose that much of a problem to you. in the end, he is your husband and you should know him more than anyone else.
so you pride yourself in the fact that you quickly spot his figure on top of one of the buildings. you swiftly make your way up. your shoes click on the roof as you walk towards your husband, “hey ‘toru.”
“hey,” he smiles while you sit beside him and get yourself comfortable. his face turns towards you with a little tilt of his head, “why’re you here, wifey?”
“why’re you here?”
“fair point,” he sighs blissfully, “reminiscing.”
you hum quietly and your hand moves slowly to hold his own. your thumb slowly rub his hands. he chuckles at your concern before pulling your hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss, “don’t worry; I am not sad.”
he takes a deep breath, “it’s just nice to remember these fun moments every once in a while.”
you nod quietly before looking in front of you, the view captivating you even if you have seen it a million times. tokyo was always a sight to behold from such heights, especially in the night. you close your eyes for a moment, taking it all in.
“yuuji is getting stronger.”
you perk up at your husband’s comment then you murmur, “yeah.”
“so is megumi, but he just has to adjust his way of thinking.”
you smile, “good thing he has you to do that then.”
he throws his head back in laughter, “I am his teacher, after all.”
“everyone tends to forget that,” you tease and he rolls his eyes, “all mighty silly teacher.”
with a tsk, he raises his index finger, sporting a smug grin, “didn’t you know that women like their men dumb?”
“I don’t know if all women do that,” you hum before resting your head on his shoulder, “I sure do, though.”
his hand slips around your waist, and he gasps, “are you flirting with me? I will have you know that I have the prettiest woman ever as my wife.”
“she’s a lucky one.”
he frowns then pouts, lips jutting out and everything, “she sure doesn’t think so.” poking your side, he huffs, “she’s always so mean to me, the epitome of bullying even.”
you giggle swatting his hand away, “you probably deserve it.”
“you’re just like her,” he whines. you giggle and he slowly rubs your side after he lets out a grumble. you let out a soft breath and your hand moves to hold his own. his hand squeezes yours and you squeeze it in return.
the atmosphere is filled with the sound of the soft breeze and crickets’ noises. you’re both left to relish in the silence and the comfort it gives. you’re both looking up at the sky. your gaze trails to the trees on the ground that sway with the wind.
you see the tree where shoko was healing haibara that one time. you see the vending machine that satoru and suguru always hit. you see the bench that nanami always used to sit on. you see the cabin that you and satoru used to hide in to escape from yaga.
you finally understand why your husband chooses this place.
he gets to truly see it all because despite his six eyes’ powers and capabilities, it doesn’t let him see what he truly cares about: friends and memories. from here, he is able to be the spectator that relishes in memories that passed, but will always live in the minds of those who experienced it.
even if, sometimes, only one of the two remains.
feeling your throat tighten at the melancholy thoughts, you take a breath. you take a moment then you inquire, breaking the silence in hopes of distracting yourself, “sooo, what are you watching?”
“a star,” he answers simply.
you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on the dark blue canvas above you, “‘toru, there are no stars tonight.”
he breathes out a chuckle, “I know. I said a star not stars.”
you narrow your eyes, “what do you mean?—“
and then your eyes lock with his own. he is staring intently at you, almost memorizing your features with a lovesick smile on his face.
you don’t know when did he take his blindfold off, but you’re met with his azure eyes that have love and adoration swimming in them, shades of blue mixing in with the invisible shades of love.
you see your reflection in his eyes and others could swear they see hearts surrounding your figure. his eyes are now a canvas for what he wholeheartedly believes to be the love of his life.
the small soft quirk of his lips is noticeable. the light crinkle of his eyes as he gazes at you gives away how he feels. his entire face is glowing as it faces your own. his hand reaches to hold your face and he grins.
“my star.”
.
.
.
“satoru, that was so cheesy!”
“you love it.”
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copyright © tender-rosiey
do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo imagine#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x y/n#jjk x y/n#jjk gojo x you#jjk gojo x reader#jjk gojo x y/n#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru x y/n
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w/c: 750
Part I - A drabble - headcanon thingy of our favorite king of red flags curses, set in a Heian-era village. i dunno anymore. | Part 2 here
Childhood!FriendSukuna who first met you as he stood at the brink of death.
"Mom, hey, mom." You tugged at her sleeve, directing her gaze at a frail boy, about seven or eight, on the verge of collapse behind the village market stall, "Can I give him an apple?"
It's a bad month, she thought, glancing at the contents of her basket; this kindness might cost an empty stomach later on.
"No dear, he'll be fine." But you already ran off with an apple, your tiny legs making their way to the sickly boy.
"Here," you held the apple in front of his face, to which he narrowed his eyes, extending a scrawny arm to smack it away.
"I don't need your trash." He barked, his voice harsh as he gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting at your feet, “Peasant.”
As soon as your mother dragged you away, he picked up the apple, eating it whole.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who didn’t mind the insults the villagers threw at him while he was knee-deep in mud, plowing the fields for a cup of stale rice in the evenings.
"That brat is cursed," the whispers would grow amidst the village's council meetings, "If we stop feeding him, he'll leave."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose malnourished limbs betrayed him as he fell face first on the rice terrace with the hot sun still ablaze on his back.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who woke up almost a day later under an unknown ceiling, fever gnawing at his head under a wet cloth.
"Mom! Mom!" You shrieked from the corner of the room, "He's awake!" and a woman came in with a warm cup of tea, the taste of which lingered on his tongue as he drifted back to sleep.
"Let me die, brat." His hoarse voice was still weak when he came back to his senses as you placed a fresh, dampened cloth over his forehead.
"My name's not 'brat,'" you informed with a scoff, "It's (Name); what's yours?"
Too ashamed to admit he didn’t know the answer, he turned away and closed his eyes.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose mouth hung agape when you pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead one night while muttering, 'mother told me that a kiss can heal any sickness'.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, who disappeared as soon as he found the strength to walk again, returning to the fields only to find that the farmer's wife would no longer spare him dried-out rice when he finished a day's work.
"They should have let him die," he heard the farmer's wife proclaim through the thin walls of the cabin, "That self-righteous linen maker and her irritating daughter. That brat probably cursed them, too."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who killed the farmer and his wife, unleashing a torrent of power he never knew resided within him; some kind of strange magic, he thought, wondering if the whispers of curses were more than the village gossip. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood, and for the first time, he could breathe.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who disappeared after the crime, only to emerge a decade later, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake as he razed and burned each village in his path - laughing as he watched the terror-stricken villagers bow at his feet, crying and begging and dubbing him devil.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who spared you as the village you once called home turned to ashes around you.
"I owe no debt to you now." He announced.
Tears pooled in your eyes, and a scream escaped your lips as you broke down on your knees before him, "I should have listened," you wailed, fingers clawing at the dry dirt beneath you, "They said you were cursed," you hurled a mass of dirt at him, hitting his chest, "They said the devil came to the village the day you were born."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who passed through the village again the next day, just to see you lying between the rubble, limbs sprawled on the dirt and ashes.
"I've extended you kindness." He said, covering the sun with his frame as he loomed over you, "Leave."
And you laughed, shaking and howling until the sides of your body started stinging, and the words came out as mere gasps; "And go where?"
"Wherever you wish."
"Home," You declared, locking eyes with his confused expression, "I want to go home."
You weren’t sure what sick thoughts ran through his mind when he leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your forehead, so you smiled, his face still a mere inch away from yours; "It's my fault." you confessed, "So, the next time we meet, I'll fix it, okay?" A deadpan expression took over as you added, "I'll kill you myself."
-
#jjk x reader#sukuna X reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna X you#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x y/n#ryoumen sukuna X reader#ryoumen sukuna X you#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk X you#jjk x y/n#jjk headcanons#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk sukuna
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𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃
✰ PAIRING — fem!reader x jack hughes
✰ SUMMARY — in which jack’s gf is worried about her boyfriend and his injuries
✰ CONTENT — curse words, tiny angst, fluff
✰ WC — 1.47K
✰ NOTE — oh to take care of bf!jack after a tough game
you release a shaky breath, the tip of your thumb between your teeth as you bite your nail nervously. the lump in your throat only grows twice the size as your eyes stay locked on the devils' bench where a trainer was talking into Jack's ear, an uneasy expression on his face as he holds his hand out so they could tape it.
there was no doubt that he was gonna go out there again. they could tell him his fingers were broken, or on the verge of falling off and he'd still want to finsish the last 5 minutes of this game. and a part of you understood that. it was the Rangers, it was the first home game after a horrible road trip and Jack wanted to finish the game off strong.
your heart remained in your throat the remaining minutes, unable to appreciate the rest of the game until the buzzer sounded, the Devils' winning 6-2. this was only Jack's 3rd game back from a previous injury that you knew he wasn't completely healed from. you had urged him to take a few more games but when the Devils' losing streak extended to 7 games, Jack had insisted that he was ready to return.
this wouldn't be the first time you're anxious over Jack playing through an injury, or getting one during the game and just acting like it never happened. nor would it be the first time the two of you would inevitably have an argument about it later. however thoughts of arguing were pushed far back when Jack and Luke made their way out of the locker room, the usual post-win spark missing from your boyfriend's eyes as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck.
you give Luke a quick smile over Jack's shoulder before pulling out of the hug and grabbing both of Jack's hands, unsure which one was the victim of tonight's escapades.
"I'm okay baby. It's just a little slash. they're not even broken, look," he says and wiggles his fingers in a little wave that gets him an amused little smile from Luke, one he was hoping to get from you but instead your lips pull down a little further and you pull away from his touch completely.
"This isn't funny Jack. I don't care if they're not broken, you were obviously in pain. And there was no reason for you to go out and play those last six minutes. You guys were leading by four." you try to keep your voice steady while berating him but by the way his eyes soften he probably heard the worry in your tone.
Jack sighs as his gaze moves from you to his little brother akwardly shifting around, trying to make it seem like he's not listening but obviously hearing every word.
"Let's not do this here, we can talk about it at home," Jack pleadingly states, dropping a kiss on your cheek as he interlocks your fingers and make your way towards his car, Luke trailing silently behind you two.
The silence from the drive follows the three of you into the apartment, Luke mumbling something about going to bed and you and Jack retreat to your bedroom as well.
"Are you gonna say what you wanna say or are you gonna continue throwing death glares my way the whole night?" Jack asks, exhaustion prevelent in his gaze as he takes a seat on his side of the bed.
"I'm not gonna say anything, we both know you never listen when it comes to this anyway. It's pointless, can we just go to bed please?" you say and Jack's eyes widen at the resignation in your tone.
After getting into night clothes and brushing your teeth, you and Jack lay side by side, your breathing the only sound in the room. Usually Jack would pull you closer to him by now, falling asleep the moment the smell of your shampoo fills his nose, but he's not sure you want him to touch him right now.
"This is my job. You knew how much I loved hockey when you started dating me." Jack says quietly, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you love it more than you love yourself? More than you love me?" you whisper, the words getting caught in your throat because you're afraid the answer might be yes.
"Are you asking me to choose between the sport I love and the woman I love? Because the answer would be you in every lifetime. And I'd give it up for you, but I can't promise you a little part of me won't resent you for it." Jack whispers back, the words barely audible as if that's a confession he's never even thought about, never mind verbalized.
"I'm not asking you to give it up," you answer and you hear his relieved sigh.
"I'm just asking you to love yourself a little more. Take the extra game off if you need it. Spend the last six minutes on the bench when your team is winning by 4 goals and you're injured. You only have one body Jack, and you're not going to be 22 forever, take care of it. You don't have to do everything by yourself you know? You can't win on your own, let your teammates carry some of that burden. Let me take care of you. Is that too much to ask?" you ask desperately, turning your head to look at him.
"No baby, it's not." he says, pushing himself up on one elbow so he's laying on his side and looking down at you, resting his other hand on your stomach.
"I don't want you to feel like I'm not supporting your dreams," you whisper, tearing up a little and Jack's heart squeezes tight.
"You're my number one supporter, babe. Always. I know that. It's why you're so worried about me. And I understand and I can't promise you I won't do what I did tonight ever again, because I'm me, and I'm bound to mess up, but I promise I'll try my hardest to be careful and take care of myself okay?" he says softly, kissing your tears away, and pulling you on top of him as he lays on his back.
"I love you so much," you say kissing his chest.
"I love you the most," he whispers back, squeezing you tight, as both of you drift off the sleep.
The next morning Jack leaves you sleeping in bed, and sneaks out to the kitchen where Luke's already making pancakes.
"What are you doing?" Jack asks, not bothering to say good morning.
"Giving you a head start on your apology breakfast," Luke answers and Jack can't help but feel a pang of affection for his little brother.
As much as Luke likes to pretend he was doing this to help Jack, he was really doing it to help you. Luke could see how upset you were last night and he wanted to do something nice for you.
"Aww Lukey," Jack coos ruffling Luke's hair on his way to the fridge.
"If you didn't make my sister upset every weekend, we wouldn't have to get up at this ungodly hour each time," Luke mumbles and Jack freezes at the word 'sister'.
"Sister?" Jack asks
"I uh- may or may not have accidentally saw that you ordered her ring." Luke stutters and Jack's eyes narrow.
"Saw it where?" Jack questions walking closer.
"Um-" Luke swallows nervously.
"Saw it where?" Jack asks again, picking up the spoon and holding it towards Luke's throat like one would a knife.
"Jesus Jack. Fine Quinn told me." Luke admits, breathing a little easier when Jack lowers the spoon, even though it was never really that threatning.
"How the fuck does Quinn know?" Jack whisper-yells.
"Trevor told him."
"Fucking Trevor. Can never tell him shit. I'm gonna kill him," Jack replies, while Luke silently questions why Quinn and Trevor were even talking to each other.
"For what it's worth, I can't wait until she's officially part of the family. I think she's perfect for you and I'm so beyond happy for you." Luke says and Jack immediately pulls him into a bone crushing hug.
"Thank you," Jack says softly as they hear soft footsteps approaching.
"Aw," you say taking in the sight of the two brothers hugging.
"What are you doing up? You're supposed to sleep in on your off days," Jack says walking over and pulling you into his arms.
"So are you. I woke up cause your phone was ringing," you answer handing it to him.
"Who was it?" he asks, putting it on the counter without even looking at it and leaving kisses on your neck.
"Trevor," you reply
"Fucking Trevor,"
#jack hughes fanfiction#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes fic#hockey blurb#nhl blurb#hockey fic#nhl fic
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IN THE DARK CORNERS
PAIRING — kim mingyu x reader | choi seungcheol x reader
WORD COUNT — 2.2k
SYNOPSIS — mingyu used to be your lover. now he has to watch from the sidelines as you’ve moved on to someone else.
TAGS — once again a college au, fem!reader, jealousy, explicit sexual content, voyeurism, pretty much just porn with no plot, semi-public sex, dom!cheol, read at ur own risk !!
mingyu would overall consider himself to be a smart guy.
he never needs to put a lot of effort into his classes to pass them, he’s quick-witted and pays attention to detail. everyone around him has always praised him for his intelligence.
but right now, he feels stupid. he has for a while at this point.
his jaw is clenched as he leans against the wall with a cup of beer in hand. normally he very much enjoys the parties hosted by his friends — today is a different case.
it’s not just anything that’s making him feel this way.
at the other side of the crowded, warm room stands his former teammate choi seungcheol. he was their team captain up until last year, having to resign from the position after suffering a leg injury, and he apparently hasn’t felt the need to return to the football team yet despite his leg being all healed up.
choi seungcheol is a nice guy. he can also be real damn scary if he wants to be.
he’s about two years older than him. mingyu found he was always easy to get along with — until two days ago, when he discovered you out of all people had started dating him.
you. his ex-girlfriend. you broke up with him a while back after a fight he honestly can’t even remember the words nor the cause of. it was bullshit. something that shouldn’t have happened but did.
somehow, he’d let you slip through his fingers. like many people, he failed to realize what he had until it was gone. failed to see the signs he was supposed to see until it was too late. he feels stupid because he’s always so fucking smart — until the one time he wasn’t.
he tried to get you back. you wouldn’t let him.
now all he can do is stare at you from the other side of the room and watch you kiss a guy that isn’t him. you’re all over him, sitting on his thigh, and he’s constantly got his hands on you, arm looped around your waist, fingers rubbing your clothed skin.
wonwoo suddenly comes up to him, nudging him in the side. “are you trying to kill the guy by looking at him?”
“hm?”
“seungcheol. green with envy much?”
mingyu shrugs. “maybe.”
“well, you’d probably be smart to make it less obvious,” wonwoo remarks before leaving, “for your own sake.”
the words leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. he wishes he could just stop looking at the two of you, wishes he could just stop thinking about it for a damn second.
he’s certainly not a lightweight, but even he suffers the consequences of taking too much alcohol. his head feels fizzy, and he loses focus for a second, only to realize you and your boyfriend are gone from your places by the couch.
looking around frantically, he suddenly catches the glimpse of the little red dress you’re wearing at the other side of the room — you’re going upstairs with him.
and he finds himself desperately eager to follow you. that’d be so wrong though, wouldn’t it? he’s not some stalker, obviously. he just wants to check things out.
or so he convinces himself.
his brain is against it, his heart has other plans.
his legs seem to have their own will. before he can stop himself, he’s walking up the stairs, cursing to himself when the hallway is somewhat empty — until he hears the noise of something clattering onto the floor two rooms further.
taking a few steps into the direction of where the sound came from, he briefly looks behind him to check whether anyone’s there, proceeding when there isn’t.
the moment he pushes the door open just a bit further, he spies the office supplies carelessly thrown on the floor, his ears catching onto the familiar sound of your soft laughter.
he takes a step forward, detecting motion at the other side of the bookcase. he’s able to hide right behind it, watching you lie down on the wooden surface from the open cracks of the shelves.
the tight dress on your body is hiked up by your boyfriend as his hands roam all over your body, the sounds of your shared kisses making mingyu feel warm, his cheeks flushing, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
he knows how much you love a good make-out session — he also knows you like to speed things up a little when you need to be touched.
he’s frozen in his spot behind the bookcase when he hears you let out those needy whimpers that would turn any man on like crazy.
“shit—i should probably be quiet.” you giggle with your hand half over your mouth while cheol has you pinned underneath him, right on top of the desk.
“i’d love to see you try.” he mutters to you, fingers already hooking on the fabric of your matching lacy, red panties.
the worst part is that mingyu remembers that pair — one of his favorites. you look stunning in that little red set.
but your new boyfriend doesn’t appear to be paying that much attention to your lingerie. you’re both panting, all hot and heavy, clearly not in the mood to take things slow right now.
he sinks down to his knees on the floor, fingers harshly digging into your thighs as he spreads your legs to give him the access he wants, and you so eagerly let him.
“so gorgeous, baby.” cheol whispers to you before burying his lips and nose into the wetness pooling between your legs.
mingyu feels himself growing harder when he hears you cry out, your back arching off the cold desk, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
with your dress pushed up to your upper chest and your panties discarded on the floor, you gasp for air, fingers pulling on his dark strands of hair. you won’t last long if he keeps this up.
the first loud noise escapes you when he suddenly slips his finger into you. “cheol!”
the man between your legs shows his disapproval. “c’mon, baby, keep quiet for me. you want me to keep going, right?”
“yeah, yeah—” you nod almost desperately, “—‘m sorry.”
he cocks his head as if to say, that’s what i thought.
sly fucker.
he’s got you in the palm of his hand though — especially when he dives right back in, eager to see you fall apart while pumping his fingers in and out of you.
mingyu is so lost in the sight that his hand travels down to his belt buckle almost automatically. he’s so rock-hard in his pants that he could cry.
it doesn’t take cheol long to get you so worked up that you’re about to cum — which is exactly when you beg for him to fuck you instead, claiming you just need him inside you.
and your boyfriend happily obliges.
with your legs hoisted over his shoulders, he hovers above your body, watching the way you gasp and whimper when he pushes himself inside you.
“so full, cheol—” you moan once he’s nearly balls deep inside you, biting your lip to keep the noise down.
“you can take a little more though, can’t you, sweetheart?” your boyfriend asks teasingly, the subtle mocking undertone making you shiver. you love it when he’s all dominant and cocky like this, and you love to play into it.
a lazy smile appears on your face. “depends on how hard you give it to me.”
he smirks, biting his plump lip as he picks up the pace. you hold onto him, relishing in the sound of his moans by your ear.
“always so greedy,” cheol muses, eyes shining as he scans your figure, “always wanting more.” he pushes into you with the last syllable, unable to hold down a grin at how breathlessly you gasp.
oh, the guy gives it to you good. something you absolutely deserve — mingyu just wishes it was him giving it to you instead.
he hates it. he hates how pretty you look in his arms, under him. he hates how you both look so fucking perfect. he hates how dirty and perverted he feels.
he hates that the thrill of possibly getting caught makes him harder.
he watches as seungcheol takes you fast and hard, his hand pumping his own cock at the same pace. your body welcomes the muttered sentences of praise; pulling his body as close as physically possible, spreading your legs a little wider, fingers digging into his back a little deeper.
mingyu knows you love your praise just as much as a bit of force, and your boyfriend seems to know it too. he leaves red marks over your body, sucking at your skin, pulling out for a moment to shove his fingers back in instead.
you’re a whiny, moaning mess as three of his long fingers pump in and out of you. “thought i told you to keep it down.”
“fuck—just feels so good, cheol—”
“i know, pretty girl. you’re doing so good.”
god, you’re just so engulfed in your need to be filled up that you’re willing to do anything for the man currently in between your legs, and he fucking knows it.
mingyu is obsessed with the way your cunt sucks in his fingers so easily. he can literally hear how wet you are — cheol’s quick fingers are squelching into your heat, thumb circling over your clit until all you can do is make sweet sounds into his mouth.
it all gets too much, and your hand reaches down to take a hold of his wrist, but his movements don’t falter. it takes less than a minute before you cum on his fingers, desperately clinging onto him. sharp overstimulation hits your body when he pushes his cock into you again, not allowing you to come down from your high.
the feeling makes you go insane. you clench on him as a reflex, and he groans in response because you’re just so damn tight, almost suffocating him.
his big hands are grabbing your waist, basking in the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him. you notice through your bliss that he’s getting more desperate, movement more erratic, kisses sloppier, breathing heavier — how you love seeing him fall apart.
“takin’ me so well.” he smiles, biting his lip as you rake your nails over his abdomen.
“mhm. ‘s all for you, baby.”
he physically can’t not cherish the way you gaze at him so lovingly while getting your back blown out. if anything, it’s a talent. “yeah? such a good girl for me.”
you capture his lips in another kiss, one that’s a little sweeter than before. his hair is soft, the roots of his strands a bit damp from the sweat, but you don’t care.
you’re mewling in your spot on the desk, every other thought you ever had thrown out the window. all you can focus on is cheol fucking you like his life depends on it.
his chest is then pressed up against yours, his one hand on the back of your head, holding you still and close while he gives you hard and deep strokes.
“shit.” he curses, getting closer now that you’re tightening up more.
he’s reaching down to touch your clit again, rubbing the sensitive spot, causing you to buck your hips against his.
“cum with me, cheol.” you beg him, your sharp nails digging into his shoulder blades, which always works well on him — it makes him so utterly weak.
it brings mingyu just as close to his release. he’s so lost in his lust that it almost feels like you’re saying the words to him and not seungcheol, so he lets his back rest against the wall as he gets himself off at the pleasure of watching you.
“i’m so close, baby.” cheol mutters, his thick brows knitting together once he throws his head back in pleasure.
your body shakes as you come undone underneath him, your arms wrapped around his back. your boyfriend can’t hold back any longer when he feels you hit your peak — his hips stutter, eyes squeezed shut as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling his moans.
your secret spectator has to cover his mouth to avoid making any noise. his balls are tightening, sweat beading at the nape of his neck right before he pathetically cums in his pants, some of his release dripping on the floor.
his own chest still heaves as his eyes find the little drops of sweat rolling down cheol’s back, his eyes moving down to the sight of your boyfriend pulling out of you, leaving a trail of his cum seeping out of your pussy.
the sight is enough to make him hard again.
you’re panting in your place on top of the desk, still coming down from your high before your boyfriend speaks up — but his words aren’t directed at you.
“did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
mingyu’s heart drops in his chest. shit, was it that obvious? he thought he did a good job at being relatively quiet.
now he’s left with two options of what to do next. either he owns up to it or gets the fuck out of here.
and he thinks to himself, fuck it. not like the situation could get any worse anyways.
so he steps forward, into the light.
thanks for reading! let me know if u liked it x
® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.
#kim mingyu x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#kim mingyu fanfic#choi seungcheol fanfic#mingyu x reader#seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#scoups fanfic#seventeen x reader#seventeen smut#seventeen fanfic#caratwritersclub#kim mingyu smut#choi seungcheol smut#scoups smut#mingyu smut#original post
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♰ skipping heartbeats — nanami kento
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 3 - curse user!nanami
nanami wants to see every jujutsu sorcerer dead, but he might make an exception just for you
contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, sorcerer!reader, rough sex, slight overstimulation, begging, pet names, unprotected sex, villain nanami, jjk typical violence, tw mahito apperance :/, exes, angst, soft dom nanami, wall sex — 5.6k
He was never the same after Shibuya.
It's been two years, but you still remember that October with clarity. Memories blur at the back of your eyelids each night, carving images into your irises; each time you think you’ll get a full night of sleep, Nanami Kento returns to haunt your dreams, then lingers to steal your waking moments.
The change in him had been gradual, subdued. He’d hidden it well, so well, in fact, that everyone had believed that he was doing fine. Even you, the one who should’ve known him better than anyone, had never gotten him to reveal his darkest thoughts.
His succumb to madness was slow, but it was the consequence of a near decade. The burden of a sorcerer weighed heavily on everyone, but it hit Nanami the hardest, years and years of survivor’s guilt and misery bearing on his shoulders.
Then Halloween in Shibuya had happened; Nanami nearly lost his life, and something in him snapped. It wasn’t long after that he left. You haven’t seen him since.
Close to twenty-four months have passed since he disappeared, but his presence still lingers, twisting your world and your life into a den of chaos. No one is left at the school, and there are hardly any sorcerers left in Japan. Those who are still alive have moved anywhere but Tokyo, and those who stay know it won’t be long before they lose their lives too.
Your breath catches as you listen in silence, recounting every moment that led you here.
There is a scream from the other building, listlessly crying for help, but you won’t reach them in time, nor do you have the power to fight back. Despite your endless intelligence, your technique isn’t built for combat. It isn’t a threat to semi-grade one curses, and it certainly isn’t a threat to Nanami Kento.
You squeeze your eyes shut, slumping against the wall as you hold your arm, a bloodied wound seeping through your sleeve. There is no one here to heal you, no one left to help. Shoko moved away from the school months ago, once she realized that too many sorcerers are dying and Gojo is never coming back.
After that, many of the students left too; save for the few third years that had been determined to stay and fight.
The scream sounds again, before it’s cut off, abruptly. Another student gone. Another sorcerer dead.
You’d been such a fool to think you could take the place of people like Yaga, Gojo, Nanami; that you could bring together the last remaining sorcerers in the city. They’d been ones to look up to, strong and steadfast, but you are neither of those things.
You are the weak one who’d managed to stay alive, and the last person that probably should’ve.
Still, you persist, not giving into death so easily. There has to be an escape route; if you can’t save the students, maybe, just maybe, you can save yourself. There is still hope, as long as just one sorcerer is left in Tokyo. The school can be rebuilt, the curses can be exorcised, and things can go back to normal.
As long as you stay alive.
You listen, waiting for another sound before you move, attuned to your surroundings. The doors are shut, locking you in, and it’s too dark, too empty in the building for you to hide anywhere. Classrooms you’d once shared with Gojo open up like an endless chasm, the vending machine you got sodas from with Geto leers at you, and the hallways you’d kissed Kento in…
The memories are so soured.
You’re so close to the door, though. So close, and you can be free of the ghostly memories, and this time, you’ll leave Tokyo once and for all.
There is nothing left for you here now. With each day that passes, you start to realize more and more that no one is coming back. They’re all gone, and Nanami is not the man he’d once been.
You shuffle along the wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows, away from the lights that flicker up above, destroyed by the veil of cursed energy. While your entire life has been a cacophony of evil, never before have you felt, so intensely, that you’re in a horror film. You are the final girl, ironically, without an ounce of heroine vigor.
All you have is a sliver of willpower to stay alive; just a few feet away, and you’ll be there, outside, able to escape from this pit of hell.
It’s so close—but not close enough.
“There you are!” a voice cries out, ringing like a jovial song through the hallways. It is eerily familiar, much too high-pitched and enthusiastic for such a brutal warzone. “We’ve been looking for you.”
You turn, shoulders stiff as you try hard not to freeze. Behind you, a young curse stands casually, his blue hair rolling over one of his shoulders, a stitched face smiling at you evilly. He’s pleased to see you, that much is obvious, and he prances over to you, fingers waving in the air.
“Oh, I can’t wait! I have to make you last because we’re running out of sorcerors to play with!” The tone is horrifyingly amused, more frightening than Geto in his final hours, of any of the clan higher-ups, even of Gojo at his absolute worst.
It’s the tone of someone who feels nothing, who cares about nothing, and who will enjoy watching you bleed.
You open your mouth, throat dry as you scramble for words, for a way to defend yourself. Three seconds stretch out into a minute while you contemplate, but Mahito is already upon you, his eyes flashing with excitement.
This would be it, wouldn’t it? How poetic that this wretched curse would be the one to kill you, after he took everything from you two years ago.
He advances; but something stops him, another aura. It’s not as powerful, but it’s much more commanding, much more human.
“Mahito.” The tone is forceful, flat, without any nuance of sound. It comes from behind you, and you stiffen, knowing from the simple string of letters who it is. The sound of the voice has something unfurling in your chest, choking you, rendering you helpless. “Don’t touch her.”
“Why?” Mahito whines, curling his fingers around your hair, his cursed face and energy too close, too frightening for you to move. “There’s no one left to kill. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Find something.” Nanami’s to you in just a few steps, and you can feel his presence behind you, the voice that slowly sneaks up on you. He smells the same as he did back then, and you squeeze your eyes shut, try to remember that he’s not Kento anymore, and whoever he is, you don’t love him.
You can’t.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Mahito grumbles, but after a few seconds of staring down Nanami, he leaves, skipping off to some other corner of the school. It’s disgusting how pleased he is by the murders he’s committed, but why shouldn’t he be? If his goal is to rid the world of sorcerers, he’s done quite well at accomplishing it.
Which meant every one of your students is dead. Which meant any remaining sorcerers are gone for good. There isn’t a jujutsu sorcerer left in Tokyo but you, and even though you need to call for help, no one can get here fast enough to save you.
Nanami, slowly, comes around to glower before you, standing too close, his breath ghosting your shoulders. You feel his gaze like daggers, dragging over every inch of you, regarding you with a thinly veiled disgust.
You’re not ready to face him, not after all the time you’ve been apart, but you don’t have a choice. He’s in front of you within seconds, looking down at you from the bridge of his nose, his hair mussed, but still in the same style that he’d worn two years ago.
It is, really, the only thing about him that hasn’t changed.
“How the hell did you end up back here?” That’s the first thing he says, the tone crazed and so opposite of the flat inflection his voice had always held. The sound leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you twitch, trying to keep your expression from shifting. Not even a simple greeting before he’s already mocking you, judging your poor choices, the ones that will get you killed.
You say nothing, but regard him with a dry mouth, letting your eyes drift across his broad shoulders, down his chest. He’s covered in blood, stained deep maroon—evidence of his murders, the color so different than the gore of curses.
The old beige suit is gone, replaced by an expensive black one, tailored perfectly to every angle of his body. Nanami has traded in the blue button-up for a crisp burgundy one, and though the tie is different, it’s recognizable.
You’d gotten him that tie for his 28th birthday, one of black silk embossed with flowers, tiny white ones woven within the vines. You’d purchased it on your trip abroad.
It makes you sick. You’re not sure how long you can look at him without expelling the contents of your stomach.
“You know,” he says, not waiting for you to answer as he walks around, swinging his weapon that is now used for evil. “I thought that maybe when I left, you’d decide to do something with your life.” His irises that are now so dark, nearly black, pin you. Gone, too, are the old glasses, exposing his severe, narrowed eyes. “You stayed in Tokyo to rot.”
“What choice did I have?” you ask, wishing you could speak without your voice cracking. Yet, when Nanami stalks you like prey, calculating, the familiar blade in his hands, you feel a flare of fear start up in your stomach.
You don’t know the man before you. He’s beautiful, as handsome as you remember. Yet, he stares at you with disdain, and he’s cruel, so cruel. His lips are hardened into a permanent scowl, seeping through his merciless laugh.
“Well,” Nanami stops pacing and stands in front of you, running a hand down the side of the cursed tool, thoughtful. “I had hoped you’d come with me, but I knew better than to ask. Your moral convictions would have prevented that, darling.” A smile drips with poison as your steadfastness falters, the name sliding smoothly off his tongue, something about it still so sweet, even with his malice. “You always were too good for me.”
That isn’t true, at least, not in your mind. He had been a good man once, the very best. Maybe you could’ve done something to stop this, to help him. Yet, as many times as you run it over in your mind, even you can’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen.
“You’re right,” you say, grateful that your voice sounds a little stronger, a little harder. “I never would’ve come with you. You’ve killed our friends. You’ve killed children, Nanami.”
Something shifts between you; his eyes widen as he takes another pace forward, nothing but inches separating you. Against every intelligent cell in your body, your heart skips, breath catching at his proximity.
“Nanami?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with a sigh. The air grows stagnant around you as he notices the lack of warmth behind your apathetic eyes. “Here I thought you’d still call me by my name. We did once share a bed after all.”
“That means nothing to me now,” you spit, wishing he would stop staring at you with such hunger. You’ve never been immune to him, and you’re not sure you are now, not sure that you won’t waver at his feet, if even out of panic. He’s so solid before you, a resolute being of power. Perhaps he’s even stronger now than he was before. “Look at you. I don’t know who you are.”
Nanami points the sword at your throat, and though it’s blunt, not sharp enough to do any damage, you still weaken in the knees, stare back at him with something akin to dread. Your eyes are wide, but your breath comes out steady as your hands shake by your sides.
“I’m the person who decided to do something, finally.” Nanami raises his voice, every word punctuated by years of repressed anger. “Sorcerers grumbled for decades, centuries, but no one made any effort to make a change.” His jaw clenches as he drops the weapon back down, sniffing with abhorrence. Nanami’s in your personal space, his breath hot on your cheeks, and you feel tears well up in your eyes, even when you’re not sure why. “Even Gojo Satoru, who claimed to hate the higher-ups, who saved Yuuji Itadori, did little. I’m the person who realized that nothing’s going to change, not unless the system is burned from the inside out.”
A twitch starts from your heels, rising as he glares down at you. His features are tense, every muscle in his body taut. Still, there’s something about him. There’s something about the way he’s wearing the tie you once bought him, as familiar as the tall, strong frame that leers over you.
“There’s none of us left, Nanami,” you say, blinking away those tears, even though he’s already spotted them, the corner of his lips quirking with a crazed glint to his eyes. “You’ve made sure of that.”
“Then a new order of sorcerers can build its way from the ground up.” Nanami leans forward, his face near yours as he cocks his head. “I’ve succeeded.”
You squeeze your fingers into your shirt, twisting them around the stiff cotton tightly. Your heel slips just one inch back, away from him, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by your ex-lover.
He scoffs, a smirk widening.
“What’s wrong?” Nanami says. A veiny hand snakes between you, and he cups your cheek with a softness that goes against every fiber of what he stands for. “Are you afraid of me?”
Your lips part, but words don’t come out. Instead, you blink up at him with glossy eyes, your heart hammering in your chest.
“You probably should be,” he continues, his fingers brushing your jaw, luring you in, a security blanket that he will snatch away once you get comfortable. “I’ve ruined your life.”
The room feels colder than it did before, as terror starts pressing down on you, your entire body shaking with anxiety. Still, your eyelids flutter at his touch, every cell within you reacting out of muscle memory, weakened by the killer’s touch.
“A life that you once promised to protect.”
He smiles, and it’s so cold, a rival only to the devil's, even though it ignites a flame in your chest. “Why do you think I saved you for last?”
Your eyes burn with tears.
“Still as pretty as I remember,” Nanami hums on the edge of a sigh, and his gaze darts all over your face, searching for a secret buried there. His tone is rough, but, somehow, there’s an ounce of affection there too, like a part of him is still holding onto the near decade you were together. It’s no consolation, but it gives you some satisfaction; at least it meant something. “You have a new boyfriend?”
You turn hot all over at the way he grins at you, watches the flush form on your face as your eyes fly open. Nanami has you in the palm of his hand, easily, and whatever happens, it’ll be up to him. “N-no,” you stutter, his thumb sliding over your mouth, knocking against your teeth.
His grin is wild, predatory. “I knew I’d ruined you for anyone else.”
A breath catches in your throat, and your chest rises and falls heavily from the wave of desire that goes straight to your stomach. You feel as if your knees might give out, that you might need to grab onto him, just to stand upright.
It’s sickening, and you hate yourself, hate how much you want him, even though he’s the one that killed the people you care most about.
“Kento?” you ask in a small voice. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I don’t know.” He softens, just a hair, and easily, he’s back to the man you remember, the sweet, caring one you thought you’d marry one day. “I probably should… but I think I might just fuck you instead.” The words are muttered against your lips, and you stumble forward, gripping his strong biceps, a feeble attempt to keep from puddling at his feet.
His face clears once again, stoic, and harsh. Maybe it’s all a ploy to get you in his arms, to weaken you even further, but you don’t care. You’ve missed him, you’ve missed him so much, and you’d die to kiss him one more time. The blood on his face doesn’t matter; nothing matters except how much you once loved him, the love that never went away, even in the times you wanted to hate him.
You wonder whether or not Satoru would sympathize if he was here. Maybe he’d understand why you never went after Nanami and holed yourself up in the school instead. Although you tried to protect your students, you could never act out of violence, and that had cost you everything.
You know you've made mistakes, perhaps more than anyone, but you can’t control your heart; it’s a heart that is caged by steely ribs, and still the possessor of your fragile mind.
“Kento,” you say, running your hands all over him, the muscles that have only hardened, grown with time. “I miss you.”
It’s nothing more than a whisper, but it still changes his entire demeanor, turns him into something desperate. Kento comes on twice as strong; every caress sends a wave of need through you. When you whimper, toppling under his gentle touches, he kisses you hard, pushes you backwards into the wall.
The taste of his lips is almost too much, a conflict of memories piling onto you, transporting you into a version of yourself that is two years younger, much more hopeful. You kiss him like you’re twenty-two, unsharpened by the world, because despite what you have suffered, life was better seven years ago than it is now.
The illusion is short-lived, though; Kento is rougher than he used to be, and he shoves you hard, bruises your lips. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, sloppy kisses smearing saliva all over your cheeks.
He may not be as kind as he once was, but you’ll never be able to deny your attraction for him.
“Fuck.” Kento unzips his slacks, palming at the bulge that already lies within the tight material. “Look what you do to me, baby.” It catches you off guard; he’s never called you that before, never sounded so lewd instead of loving. “Think I started getting hard the second I saw you. Remember the last time I was inside you?”
You groan against his lips, breathing heavily as you thread your smaller hands in his hair. He tastes like alcohol, and you know that he’s always enjoyed a drink, but it was never this prominent on his tongue. That observation alone makes you wonder what else about him has changed; if he sleeps on the same side of the bed now that you’re gone, if he likes to read just as much as before, if he still takes his coffee with just a splash of milk.
The thoughts hurt, searing a hole through your chest. You try to ignore them.
As you kiss, Kento manhandles you backwards, his fingers spread over your collarbones. Your back hits the wall, a ghoulish crack reverberating throughout the room. It hurts, but the pain is outweighed by the feeling of him all over your body, the sheer anticipation for him to touch you like you need.
“Want you,” you say, as his hands clamp around your delicate wrists, pinning them against the wall. Kento’s palms are so much bigger; he’s so strong that it’s devastating. You have no choice but to let him take from you, to kiss down your neck and leave a bruise you won’t be able to cover up in the morning. “Please.”
“Dirty girl,” he laughs, breathless against your throat, the sound vibrating against the strained tendons there. Hastily, he spins you around, forces your face into the wall, your chest pressed into it. Your cheek is cold, smashed into your bone against the plaster. “I’ve killed everyone in this building, and here you are, begging me to touch you.”
The rough tone sends desire coursing through you, and you cry out against the wall as arousal bleeds out of you. Kento kisses you, across your shoulders, his cock pressing up against you, hard and thick.
A groan releases into your ear, and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in anguish. Begrudgingly, Kento lets one of your wrists go so that he can drag your skirt down, leaving you with shivering legs in the cool October evening.
You reach back to grab at him, desperately needing him inside of you; but he stills you with his hand, laughing eagerly into your skin.
“So impatient. Thought I taught you better than that.” Though, he drags your panties down quicker, lets them pool at your ankles along with the dark-colored skirt. It’s obvious he wants you just as much; he wastes no time dragging a hand down his cock, the tip already beginning to leak.
“Kento,” you say against the cold wall, throbbing, swallowing down all your need for him. It’s too dark for you to see every one of his pretty features, but his shadowy eyes gleam ruthlessly in the moonlight. “Let me kiss you again—”
Kento tsks and shakes his head, brushing your hair over one shoulder. “Now, that can’t happen. You’ll fall in love with me again too easily.” A laugh forces its way out of his chest, and you hate that the sound creates pressure in your body. You’re already in love with him, but his grip is too tight on you; you can’t kiss him, even though you want to.
A finger runs between your folds as Kento reaches between your legs, gathering slick in the process. His skin is cold, and you whimper; he used to be so warm, a natural furnace. Yet, he’s teasing you now, listening to your breathy little whispers as you lean back into him.
Without thinking, you grasp his hand with your own, slide it forward as the veins and tendons flex under your palm. This time, he complies; he lets you push his fingers into your cunt, much thicker and longer than your own.
“Oh sweetheart,” he says, full of scornful sympathy, so contrary to the soft kisses on your neck. “You’re soaked. Have you really missed me that much?”
Your breath grows hot, heavy as he sinks his fingers deeper into you. You think about how much you loved him two years ago, and how much you still do.
Everyone you care about is gone, everyone but him. Perhaps Kento is the only one who’s truly ever mattered, because even if you’d been asked to kill him, you never would’ve done it, never could’ve; you’re not strong enough.
That’s where you and Satoru differ.
Kento slides his fingers in and out, stretching you, brushing against your swollen clit that’s begging to be touched by him. He bites down hard on your shoulder, blooms a bruise there and marks you as his forever, even if you’d never be anyone else’s anyways.
Already, you feel your climax building; you’re breathing heavier, crying out his name in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own. “I’m c-close,” you manage, and that is the wrong thing to say. He stills all at once and slips his fingers out of you, a web of arousal smeared over his knuckles.
Between your legs, you’re sticky, cold, but you barely notice. Your attention is directed on how aching and empty you are when his hands leave your body.
With a whine, you force your hips backwards, hating the chill that surrounds you all at once. “I wanna cum—”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Kento smiles against your neck and drags his cock against the small of your back, swollen and hard. “But I know you can ask much nicer than that.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, “please, Kento, please, please, I need you, I—”
“There’s my good girl.” A breathy laugh leaves him as he angles the tip against your entrance, slow, pressing into you. “Fuck,” Kento groans, loudly, drawing out the syllables. “Squeezing me so tight, baby, you’ve been waiting just for me?”
“Ken—” you say, and it’s all you can manage, the little nickname that no one’s ever called him but you. Kento buries himself inside you, his hot, muscular chest pressing into your back, pinning you against the cold wall. He’s so much bigger and wider, and his body encases you, shielding you from the agony that he’s dealt with his own hand.
You’re not sure if you can stand on your own — not under the weight of your solid and forceful affection for him.
“I know, I know," he says to the sweet sounds that escape you. "I’ve got you.”
Kento reaches around and cups your breast, squeezing hard. His thumb flicks over your nipple, the nail dragging against it cruelly as he swirls over the padded bra. Still, his blanketed touch is electrifying; your fingers curl into the wall, smooth, clawing without anything to grab onto.
He fucks into you, slowly, his strained cock rough against your walls. It’s just as you remember, and you long for your old life, wishing that there was a sorcerer out there whose technique could somehow turn back time. Then, you’d do something different, even if you’re not sure what.
With each thrust, his speed increases, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. Kento’s groans are so pretty, and tears roll down your cheeks at the feeling of him within you, surrounding you, the man you still touch yourself to at night, even when he’s a cold-blooded killer.
“It’s been a while since anyone’s fucked you like this, hm?” Kento says, cooing, almost sorry, even if he doesn’t realize how true that is. You feel dizzy with him, the sound of his syrupy voice, so deep and invigorating. “Need to cum so bad, don’t you, pretty?”
“Please,” you say, and you almost tell him you love him, almost let it slip, even though it can’t. This is nothing, this is nothing, this is nothing, you try and tell yourself, but you’re too distracted by the sounds, the utter sin that you’ve committed here in this school.
You’ve betrayed everyone, and you’re still betraying them now, your weak heart nothing but a burden.
Kento says your name, groans it around your ear as he presses harder into your body. His cock angles upwards, forces itself past your aching walls, and, he’s buried in you completely. There’s a lingering sting, a bitter pain, but Kento feels like home. Your stomach tightens, bursting with energy.
“You’re so perfect, aren’t you? So beautiful. Always take it like you were made for my cock,” he groans, and you suck him right back in, clamping around him tightly. “I missed this pretty pussy; maybe as much as I missed you.”
Tears well up in your eyes then, and you sob, reach around to grab his hair. You need to feel him all around you, remember what it was like for him to love you in return.
He hits a spot within you, and you arch into him, crying, a mess between your legs and on your face.
“There?” Kento says, but he already knows the answer, grinning as he kisses your cheek, your temple. “How could I ever forget the sweet sounds you make when you’re about to cum.”
You press his head closer, feel him kiss your neck again, softer this time, lovingly. He runs a delicate hand across your ribcage, your stomach. “You going to let go for me, angel? Surprised you lasted this long after two years. Think my sweet girl deserves it.”
“K-kento,” you whisper, but his name doesn’t get far; it’s cut off by your moan as he rips the orgasm from you, and you clench around him tightly, shaking.
“That’s it,” he says and shudders, grunting as he forces out the words. Your body jerks involuntarily into him as you slump against the wall, trapped between it and Kento. Already, you’re so sensitive, and your tears don’t stop falling as he pushes his cock into you again and again.
Kento’s heart is heavy within his chest, pounding against your back. You feel sick, helpless, missing him endlessly, even with him right at your fingertips. You can’t believe that you’ve lasted two years without him; how can you survive a lifetime?
“Take me with you,” you plead, your eyelids fluttering close as you try and remember the feeling of him, memorizing it in case this is the last time. “Please.”
“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” Kento jerks back into you, forcing your cheek further against the wall. His hand is stiff against your head, even though he strokes your hair gently, encouraging. “I’m supposed to kill you, remember? I’m supposed to rid the world of every last sorcerer.”
“I need you, Kento,” you cry, feeling close to another orgasm already. Tears are running down your cheeks, your lips wet with spit as your mouth parts. “Just like it was before. I love you; I love you so much, I’ll be so good, I’ll—”
Kento groans your name and cums inside you, thick ropes painting your insides. It’s too much, everything about this is too much, and you’re squeezing him again, painfully sensitive as you orgasm once more.
Nonsense spews from your lips, and you grab at him in desperation as he finally drags out of you, the absence of him shattering you completely. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, and his cum drips down your thighs, leaving you nothing more than a cold, ruined mess.
Kento shushes, soothes you with sounds that are closer to taunts as you spin around, grab at him, claw at his wrinkled red shirt. There’s still blood on his face, but even then, you accept him; you’ll forgive him for every wrongdoing he’s committed if he lets himself love you once more.
“I want to go with you,” you say, and though his face is hard, he’s caressing your cheek with an opposite sort of touch, sadness in his weary eyes.
“I know you do,” he says, and there’s a conflict within him as his features contort. It’s the only evidence that maybe, deep down, he cares about you still. “But I’m not the man you want. Not anymore.” It’s a whisper, a prayer, and goodbye.
You nearly slap him as he straightens, inches away from you. You feel that you’ve been pushed into a pit of inky chaos, left soaked and naked from the way down, humiliated. Your cheek is red from where it was pressed into the textured paint, stinging from the pressure.
“Kento, please,” you beg, and he takes a step back, hardening his eyes. “You can’t leave me again. I’d rather die. I’d rather you kill me.”
You’re not sure which of the statements snaps him back into himself once more.
Kento blinks, then lets a cold smile filter onto his face, one that lingers darkly on every corner of his expression. A smear of blood remains on his sharp cheekbone, and he wipes it clear, grazing his eyes along your body in a way that makes you feel so small. You’re nothing to him, then; even though you had been once.
“Oh, I decided I won’t kill you this time,” he says, pushing his hair back into place as his spine goes rigid, straightening like a marionette string. “I want to make sure I have a pretty girl to come back to every now and again.”
“What?” It leaves you forcefully, and you’re choking in shame, because you hope the words are true. You can’t stand a life without Nanami Kento, even if that life is nothing more than seeing him in the cracks of moonlight, the shadows where no one knows he’s lurking. You’d take that before a lonely existence, void of the sweet lips of the devil that you pray to.
“I’ll leave Tokyo,” you shout, red-faced and teary eyed, your words nothing more than empty threats. “I’ll leave the country. You’ll never find me.”
Nanami grins, laughs at you coolly, a sound that chills you to the core. “Oh, I’d find you.”
You don’t have time to formulate a response. A breath forces its way out of you, but the wretched curse reveals itself from the corner of the room, stopping any words from escaping your lips. His eyes hungrily roam every inch of you, lingering on the lower half of your exposed body; you wonder how long he’s been there, watching, not saying a word.
“Are you done yet?” Mahito asks, dragging his lurid gaze away to face Nanami. “You’ve had your fun, let’s kill her now.”
Nanami’s eyes flash. “Leave her,” he says, scoffing. “She’s already as pathetic as it gets. Killing her won’t make a difference.” He spits the words coldly, and turns, following the curse out of the room
tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess
I GOT SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS ONE SHDHFHS
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#jjk x reader#kento nanami x reader#nanami x fem!reader#kento nanami x you#nanami x y/n#nanami smut#kento nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x you#nanami x you#jjk x y/n#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you#jjk x fem!reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#♰ theatre of vampires#rylie writes ₊˚🎧#villain nanami
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