#except i don’t think he recognized me because i was never even friends with him lmao. wrote tons of poetry about him ✅ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojonanami · 6 months

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BLOODSUCKER - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp? ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, dub/con, blood kink, gojo has fangs, biting, marking, bloodsucking, fingering (f!receiving), swearing, semi-public sex, sex against a car, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, baby), ✴︎ wc: 2,704

“Can I have a bite?” He whispers, lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending a warm flush down your body — and why did he smell so intoxicating?

The night had gone on normally enough — yet another Halloween party you had been dragged to (after you had lost a bet and ended up being the designated driver for the evening) in another coordinated themed costume — this time for the Barbie movie. Yet another throng of costumed drunks and weirdos you had to wade through while your friends had their fun. And you thought the night would be boring.

Oh, you were so wrong.

He saw you first. You were only sure of that, after, because you remembered the prickling of your skin when his ice blue irises had found you lounging in the loft area upstairs — where most people had begun to clear out of after the keg had arrived downstairs. You had let your hair out of your wig, your head aching from the weight of the hair on your head and the cheap elastic band trying to work its way into your forehead.

You unlocked your phone, looking at yourself in your camera, pouting at the state of your hair — unkempt and unruly from the wig, but you only could do what you could.

“Great, now I can be a scary Barbie,” you murmur, locking your phone, as you pocket it.

“Oh, you’re not scary,” and your head snaps up, eyes finding those pools of still blue that looked like you could drown in them — and you very well would. His lips were curled in a small smile, his skin looked pale in the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing you be a little scary,”

“Satoru,” your lips twist, fuck, you thought he’d never show up to this party — you had avoided him flawlessly since your breakup — if you could even call it that. You never official — you were never anything, just a situation that was more than a booty call, but less than a relationship. Every invitation was only accepted with assurance and recon that Satoru would not attend, every exit strategy was planned, and every move was carefully made.

Except this one.

“Oh, you recognize me?” he gasps in mock surprise, lips in that shit eating grin you had loved to kiss off of him, but now, all it did was make you want to slap him, “surprised you did after you’ve avoided me for so long, sweetheart,”

“And apparently you’re the one with brain damage because we broke up — don’t call me that,” you sigh, eyes glancing down at his outfit — a black and white suit with a high collar, as his mouth moved as he spoke, you caught sight of fangs on his teeth, and his eyes glinted with a crimson tint dipped in an ocean of blue, “your costume is fitting — you definitely did suck the life out of our relationship,”

“Bitter doesn’t suit you, baby,” your eye twitches, as he dares closer, eyes glinting in the low light of the kitchen, “plus y’know, you always did the best sucking,”

Your traitorous cheeks flush, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes betray you by flickering downwards, “fuck off—“

“Oh, I know you want me to fuck something — don’t think it’s off though,” he looms closer, licking his lips, as he smiles — and your heart forgets to beat — did he always smell this good? He smelt of musk, wood, and everything warm and honeyed — the scent melted over you, plying your resistance with sweetness in contrast to his vulgarity, “look at you, haven’t even touched you and you’re so pliant, where’s that mouth now?” And his thumbs drag down your lips, pulling at the bottom one — “looks better wrapped around my cock, doesn’t it?”

And his words snap you from your trance, slapping his hand away, “didn’t expect an apology from you, but I thought you’d do better than this shit,”

“Can you blame me for missing you, pretty?” He pouts, “thought you loved me more than that,”

“And I thought you loved me enough to commit but looks like we both are wrong,” you roll your eyes, “go find someone else to fuck with, Gojo,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Aw, baby, don’t act so unfamiliar, you had my dick in you after all, you can still call me Satoru,” and then there’s a cheer in the living room that cuts off your retort, as he turns to look.

And that’s your cue to leave, you slip away from him, grabbing your jacket, making an Irish exit, slipping through the throng of people partying. You manage to get down the street, the streets quiet now, the sounds of the party growing more distant by the second. A sense of dread settled over you the more you walked, forming a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach. The streetlights flickered above you, the wind cutting through your jacket as you pulled it closer around you. Your car was close, right past this wooded backyard, trees lining what seemed to be an abandoned home. There was only a few more yards — and then you heard a twig snap — your head snapped around to look behind you.

And that was your mistake.

A hand clamped over your mouth, as you gasped against it, another tight around your middle, your scream was muffled against the palm. And then a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Boo,” before he lets you go, and you whirl around, smacking Satoru against his chest, hard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your heart was pumping, hard, nearly banging against your ribs, body still shaking with adrenaline, “what the fuck - that’s not fucking funny,”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny — it was supposed to be spooky,” he grins, unaffected by your anger, as your fingers clench into fists, “you didn’t give me a treat so I had to play a trick. It’s the rules of Halloween, pretty,”

“It wasn’t spooky, it was fucking scary—“ you move to hit him again, and he catches your hand by the wrist, and he’s pulling you close, “let me go, Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, his fingers caressing your cheek, and you feel your knees knocking together, the world shifting beneath your feet, “I’m sorry for frightening you, sweetheart,” and he’s helping you walk over to your car, “just wanted to make sure you get to your car safely,”

Why were you letting him help you? Why was your body leaning against his? Why were you letting his arm slink around your waist, fingers squeezing your hip? But those same questions sunk away into the inky abyss of your mind, as thoughts blurred over each other, and all you can think about was him.

“Satoru,” you murmur, as you stumble against him, and he catches you by your waist, steadying you, “I don’t know what’s wrong,” your head rests against his chest, but you felt so comfortable, so…content.

“It’s okay, baby, I got you,” he purred, his words only intoxicated you further, drizzled like melted molasses down your throat, “that spook I gave you earlier really took it out of you, but,” his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours — and they glowed, a shiny blue that unnerved you, “should I show you something really scary?”

“Satoru, what—“ and he’s kissing you, lips sliding against yours — he tastes familiar, hint of candy corn that he was always a fiend for, but he tastes even sweeter than that, headier too — before he parts, “what are you doing?”

“Showing you just how much I missed you,” he hums, thumb gliding over the length of your cheek, “y’know how hard it was for me without you? Wouldn’t be able to sleep. I could only think about how I had screwed thing up. Would take these long walks at night when I couldn’t sleep,” and his fingers trace down your jawline, before reaching your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse, “turns out those walks were good for one thing,”

“And what’s that?” You murmur, still utterly distracted by his touch.

And he brushes his lips against your neck, teeth grazing against your pulse, “Finding a way to keep you — forever,” and his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, as his arms press your body to his, your hands sliding up his chest, caged in by his form, “can I have a bite?” he whispers, lips against your ear now, sending a flush across your cheeks, “just wanna mark you again, like i used to, make you mine,”

For a moment, the curtain snaps back, mask slipping, as your eyes flutter open without the rosy glasses he had slipped over your eyes, “I’m not yours,” and you only see him — the true him — for a moment.

His muscles tighten, fingers digging into your sides harshly, gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, his gaze is dark, navy instead of the usual cerulean with a ring of red that pierces through your skin, but his teeth — his teeth scare you the most — his fangs aren’t fake, his tongue sliding against them both, as he flashed an unnerving smile at you that sends your blood running cold.

But not colder than his.

“Satoru — what—“ and his lips find yours again, sending a headiness throughout your body, from your head to the tips of your toes, “I-“

“Just let me have this, just this one night,” he murmurs, words as smooth as glass and as needy as need itself, “please,”

And you’re the one pulling him to you, back against the cool metal of your car, and your fingers cup his face, pulling him against your lips. He tastes like want, his tongue parts your lips, as his fingers slide up your dress, sending goosebumps up your thighs, “Fuck, all it takes for you, huh?” He murmurs, and his fangs nibble at your bottom lip making you gasp, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, until he reaches your neck.

“Been thinking about this for far too long, sweetheart,”

two fingers drag down your neck first, as he tilts your head for easy access, and you shiver at his touch — was he colder than before? “I’m going to be doing a lot more than marking you like I did before,” his lips press a delicate kiss to your neck, “need to taste it,”

And his fangs drag over your soft flesh, before he finally bites you. Your mouth hangs open in a sharp gasp as his fangs pierce your skin, and your head lolls back, as pleasure floods your body. You feel your warm blood dripping from your neck, slipping down your skin, as he sucks from you.

He pulls away for a moment to look at you, your scarlet blood dripping from his mouth, painting his pale pink lips burgundy, as his tongue darts out to catch the blood slipping down your chin.

“You taste like everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck, “sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, aren’t you?”

You whimper, “Satoru, feels so good,” and he’s kissing you again, letting you taste your own blood on his lips, it only makes you want him even more. But this isn’t right, something wasn’t right—

“Just give in, sweetheart,” he’s dragging your hands down your sides, squeezing your hips, as his palms rest under your thighs, “let me make you feel good,”

And he lifts you, guiding your legs to wrap around your waist, as his large palm slides up your thigh, hiking your dress up. He grins, looking at your soaked panties, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp and squirm, “wonder if you taste even sweeter down here, baby?”

You whine louder, as his fingers slide into the waistband of your underwear and snaps it against your skin, “Your blood is pumping harder than ever, bet it tastes even better like that — full of your fear, full of your pleasure,” his fingers are sliding your drenched panties down, “fuck, you’re a little freak, bet you got wet when I grabbed you, can’t all be from the last few minutes,”

And his lithe finger sinking into you, as your lips part in a gasp as he bullies your walls, “So tight for me,” he groans, as his finger curls against you, making you moan, and his teeth graze against your neck, before sinking in. You both moan in tandem, as he drinks more of your blood, as a second finger parts into your folds, your release dripping down his palm. He’s stretching you out — fingers pistoning in and out, Pleasure courses up and down your body, toes curling, as all you can hear is the sucking of his fangs and the squelch of his fingers in your cunt.

And then he hits that spot, and you’re cumming, slick dripping down your thighs as you moan, as your hips move against his fingers, riding out your orgasm. He pulls your fangs from your neck, letting your blood drip down your neck.

He tilts your head back, letting him look at your fluttering eyelashes and fucked out expression, lips parted, as your blood paints your skin a beautiful maroon.

“So fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart,” he’s pulling his fingers from you, as you gasp from the emptiness. He places them in his mouth, cleaning them of your release, “think I may get addicted baby, gotta have more of you — doesn’t matter if it’s your blood or your cum,”

And you hear the clink of your belt buckle and sound of his zipper, as he frees his cock, rubbing against your dripping pussy, “Gonna let your ex fuck you against your car? Gotta have you baby, but if I take you now, I don’t know if I’ll ever let you go,” he’s teasing the head of his cock against your pussy lips, “do you still want me to do it?”

You whine, back arching against the hard surface of the car, “please, I need you,” your fingers wrap around his neck, his lips against yours, “Satoru—“

And he’s sinking his cock into you, as he’s lifting your legs to your ears, ankles by his ears as his hips flush against your ass, “Fuck, can you feel me kissing the deepest part of you?” His hips roll into you now, slowly at first, again and again, as your walls throb around him, the car groans and your ankles ache against his slow thrusts, “best cunt I’ve ever had, and all fucking mine now,”

“Toru, please, more—“

And he barks a laugh, sweat slipping down your forehead, his balls slapping against your ass, “so needy f’me, you’re mine aren’t you? Say you’re mine,” he’s grunting as your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close—

Your orgasm washes over you, toes curling, and he leans forward, fangs sinking into you, as he fucks you through it. The blood he drinks makes your head dizzy with pleasure, until he pulls away, letting your blood drip from his lips. And he’s grunting, hips stuttering as he bottoms out — making you gasp and whine again. Until he’s cumming inside you, painting your walls white, emptying his load into you. He’s fucking his cum inside your cunt.

And he’s easing your legs down as the two of you come down, his face buried in the nape of your neck, licking at the blood dripping from his bites — your neck beginning to ache and sting now.

“So pretty, so perfect,” he coos, his lips curling still red from your blood, as he’s curling his arms around your waist, “gotta take you home so I can taste you all over again.”

“No, I can’t. This was a one time thing—“

And he’s tilting your chin up, eyes flashing dangerously, as his lips curl, “I told you, I’m not going to let you go, besides,” he turns your head towards your rear view mirror, your eyes beginning to glint red, “I have to let you have a bite of me later,” and you can feel your blood run cold, “it’s only fair, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

✴︎ a/n: was possessed to write this by the halloween spirits -- also i have a thing for bloodsucking now unfortunately. have a spooky season :)

✴︎ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @happymangospot, @hiimarandin, @bunsunee, @5-xiaoo,

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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 months

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Hate That I Love You

adam x insecure!tsundere(ithink) GNreader

Summary: You’ve been Lutes friend for a long while, and occasionally you ran into Adam; after finding out about the extermination thanks to him, you become a three party group. Except you can’t accept liking Adam, him being obnoxious and egotistical, you pretend you hate him. That blows up in your face.

Warnings: Suggestive, swearing, angst ish, hurt/comfort i think, insecurities around strength (mental and/or physical), implied but never confirmed virgin reader, readers looks get insulted nothing intense nor specific, descriptive panic attack/fainting, reader throws an object at adam’s head, NO YN, GN, No alluding to or mention of bodytype/hairtype/skin colour. oh possibly OOC adam idk, not proofread so sorry luvs, I think that’s it if not let me know! enjoy :3

Word count: 2K

Your index finger sat atop the straw sitting in your drink, moving it around the glass as you mindlessly listened as Adam ranted to you and Lute, mostly Lute, about Charlie Morningstar. You weren’t an exorcist- no, you actually didn’t know about the exterminations at all…up until recently. Thanks to one of Adam’s childish outbursts, you had a long night with Lute explaining the whole situation to you. Now you were sworn to secrecy, and conversations of the madness that the extermination were and everything they came with, AKA Charlie.

Adam wasn’t ever your buddy, he was just someone who shamelessly attached himself to Lute's hip; but you put up with it because of your good friendship with Lute. Now, he’s somehow weaselled his way into believing you were part of this weird “team” purely based off of association.

“I mean who does this long horned, pointy teeth, pussy mucher think she is?!” Adam screamed slamming his hands against the table, you rolled your eyes at him and his stupid antics. “You’re one to talk,” You replied, his eyes snapping toward you. “You’ve got both horns and teeth. Why don’t you take that funky band mask off anyways?”

Scoffing he rolled his neck side to side. “Because this is my job, my persona, how’re people gonna recognize me without it!? Duh, dumb bitch.” Muttering the insult quickly, he leaned his cheek on his palm and went back to sucking his drink.

“With all due respect sir, this is really bad news, we can’t let Charlie persuade Sera.” Lute piped up, her mask discarded showing the genuine emotion on her face. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was a friend, someone she was in love with, an annoying brother-like figure, or just her lazy ass boss. Maybe all of the above.

Which is probably one of the reasons you kept your tiny little crush on Adam to yourself. He was cruel to you anyways, always comparing you to someone faster, funnier, stronger, hotter at least that’s what you told yourself. Instead you chose to be more of a bitch back, acting as disgusted and disinterested as you could, especially when Lute was around as she could sniff out a lie like some psychic canine.

“Yeah, duh Lute i fucking know that. You think I've been jerking off this whole time! No, eyes, ears focused, I haven't cum in days.” He whined, throwing his head back. Lute only scoffed glancing over at you slumped back in your seat barely sipping your drink, eyes casted downward. “You don’t have to be here for this kind of talk,” Lute started saying, her hand inching across the table to yours, but she was stopped by Adam once more leaning forward, gloved palms slapping against the table.

“The fuck are you saying Lute!? We get another fucker in this circle and you wanna cast her out. Un-fucking-believeable. It’s like you want Charlie to win.” Throwing a napkin at Adam, Lute slid her hand away from you. “They’re not even an exorcist Adam, you’re the fuck head who got them in on exterminations!”

“No i didn’t, they walked in on a private conversation.” Eyebrows knitted together you lurched forward, anger fueling you. “Oh piss off Adam, how many times are we gonna go over this stupid situation! I’m not your fucking friend, i’m not ‘in’ on it, i’m here for Lute and you won’t fucking leave!”

Adam had a bored expression on his face while you ranted, unfazed by anything you’d said. Lute however bit her lip clasping her hands together. In a fight between her boss slash friend, and her friend, she didn’t know what to do. “You always have your nose up in Lute's business, it’s so annoying. Lute’s my man, okay she works for me! Guess who comes first in this business chica? Not you.” Adam mocked sticking his tongue out at you.

Standing you picked up your cup whipping it at Adam’s head, he dodge it easily, but your emotionally fueled violence made you quickly regretful as both Adam’s and Lutes eyes looked at you questioningly. You’d never really lost your shit before, and this wasn’t the worst Adam has said, so they were a little confused at your outburst, yourself included.

“Listen, Adam, I’m-“ Before you could finish Adam keeled over, laughing maniacally as you watched. After a few short laughter filled moments, Adam straightened, elbows on the table, hands hammocking his chin as he smiled up at you.

“Got some bite in you for sure huh babe, ha! I’m not surprised, honestly when i saw you i was like ‘this bitch has a face made for hell’, you probably got up here cause you were unfuckable so, like, virgin. Oh! Oh! That makes so much fucking sense dude! Ha! Bummer, I could smell the weak loser on ya, didn’t I tell ya danger tits?” Adam questioned head turned toward Lute after his animated, and very condescending speech.

Lute only looked down, not responding. Meanwhile you were horrified, you’d always felt a little less than Lute, after all she carried out holy duties, ones that you hadn’t fully known up until recently, so hearing Adam say the same things you thought of yourself, shattered you. Your face felt hot as tears gathered on the waterline of your eyes. You didn’t belong here, you said it for the longest time everyone here was mindless optimist zombies, Lute was your only lifeline, and for a few months you suppose-Adam.

You never hated him, but it’s clear he’s only fond of Lute. You’re the intruder, you’re the odd one. Clenching your fists you didn’t even bother with a come back, you slid out from your table booking it to the door. Tears unwillingly slid down your cheeks, your chest heaving as your throat closed silencing whatever weep dared to exit your throat.

You could hear Lute calling after you but you genuinely didn’t want to be followed by her, you were embarrassed; the last thing you wanted was the strong exorcist coming to witness you crumble. Throwing the door to the building open your wings sprung out on reflex, and after a few quick steps you took off. You couldn’t quite see, or breathe for that matter. Your mind lagged behind you, replaying the moments in your head that matched up to Adam’s insults.

You blinked rapidly as you attempted to focus on the clouds beneath you and breeze around you, but you couldn’t. You choked once more, your stomach convulsing inward causing you to gasp, a sob violently escaping you as you rocketed toward whatever surface you could find. Suddenly you hit something solid, stunning your flight and causing you to spin down, plummeting. As you fell, the breeze stabbed you as you cut into it, your wings sagging and loosely flailing above you, it felt so calm and freeing you didn’t feel the will to stop.

By the grace of god, however, you were caught and roughly smacked against the chest of someone, their arms clutching you tightly. You barely heard a ‘gotcha’ before your vision tunnelled, stomach flipped and you lost consciousness.

——

Waking slowly, your eyes stung the moment they opened, nearly watering at the blinding white that invaded them. Willing yourself to rise, you lazily scanned the room you laid in. A living room, coloured with yellows, creams and whites, it was, in all honesty, way too much. A large portrait of a man with a woman, meticulously scrapped out, hung above the fireplace. You’d never seen this man ever before, and the woman was too scratched out to get any idea on who it was. Suppose these people never existed as it was a painting, but there was something about the man that captivated you so deeply.

“Look who finally rose, sleeping bitchy.” You immediately felt sick, turning your head unsurprised to see Adam standing there smugly. You frowned deeply, it felt nearly impossible to twist your mouth in such a way, but there was no hiding your distaste in seeing the angel. “Why am I here, Adam.” You say scaldingly, eyes closed attempting to shield yourself from whatever foul look took over his face. “Well after your little shit show, a little over dramatic by the way, Lute left to find you, and I went for a fly. Then suddenly minding my own business I see you tryna play asteroid! Then when I caught you, your dumbass went out.”

Sighing loudly you pulled your hand down your face. “Please, admit Lute put you up to it.” Slamming a glass of water down on the table along with a platter of fruit, including oranges, pomegranates and mangos, Adam grunted moving his hand to sit on his hips. “The fuck she did, she’s not getting the praise for this one.” You looked up at him and then down at the fruit and drink on the side table just to your right, you nodded at it. “What’s this?”

You barely whispered out. Blowing air out threw his lips effectively raspberryingring the air, he shrugged. “Stuff for you, duh, you’re like sick or something right?” You nearly smiled at that, you’d never had Adam have that reaction. Quite the array of fruit as well, carefully you picked up a few pieces of orange, as well as mango that had a toothpick sticking up from them you munched down. You hummed, watching like a hawk as Adam walked across from you and sat on the other couch.

“How long was i out?” You questioned after swallowing, gulping down some water feeling the soothing sensation on your raw throat. “Maybe thirty minutes, not long. I texted Lute, I told her you were with me, safe.” That made you pause, you gazed up at him from the bowl of pomegranates you started digging into. “What? Why didn’t she come?” Adam huffed, throwing his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Because I told her not to.” Your mouth fell open eyes wide.

“Why thee holy fuck, would you tell her not to come?” Sitting up straighter you swung your legs over the side, sitting properly instead of lounging. Adam wouldn’t meet your gaze drifting off to the left and right. “Fucking… fuck!” He exclaimed almost in what sounded like exhaustion. Watching him closely, you waited as he seemed to have an inner debate with himself. Then swiftly he gripped his face and ripped off his mask.

The face you were met with was like a punch in the gut, yeah he could be compared to men you’ve seen in your lifetime probably at a gas station or cheap bar, but it was Adam. The man you’ve been trying so hard to hate, getting into cussing battles, throwing insults at each other that rolled off the back, occasionally praising each other's insults, forcing yourself to loathe him when you both kinda knew it wasn’t and now it was real. You got to look in his gold eyes, the dark thick lashes accentuating the uniqueness of his eye colour, the chin hair that crawled just under his chin -which you never expected him to have-, his tousled brown hair, thick eyebrows one eyebrow pierced - also a shock to you-.

He looked like the asshole he was, and it made you fucking sick. Trying so hard to hate him had come to this? Him unmasking himself after saving you? Cruel, you wanted to hate him, get over him not know that all he said about him being the hottest, the dickmaster, pussypounder-whatever, was probably true, that he’s hot. You were embarrassed to feel the nasty hum of jealousy claw at you when you could see the woman in the painting in your peripheral, that was obviously him, with some woman. He was wanted, and taken before.

Flicking his tongue over his lips you caught a glimpse of a tongue piercing because of course the pretty boy would get whatever he wanted without worrying about rules. He shuffled nervously biting his lip as you eyed him shamelessly, which to him was judgemental, his nerves suddenly making him feel sweaty. “Why?” You ask breathily, you were too enchanted to care how he perceived that however. His eyes properly met yours, your legs crossed subconsciously at the zap you felt just by a look.

“Youre fucking dumb you know that? You think I hang with Lute when you’re around because Lute’s there?!” Adam stood after the exclamation, his eyes shooting around the room, hands flying to his hair. “I can’t fucking do this a third time! Fuck!” Tossing a vase across the room you watched unfazed by the sudden explosion, after all this was your thing too.

“I only go round Lute like that because you’re there dumbass, i tried easing up on you; just like Lute said! But you, oh noooo little bitch, just had to be so fucking bratty.” Standing over you sneering, you made no attempts to move, not genuinely scared of his anger but instead, perhaps, a little aroused. You in a way understood where his frustrations came from anyway, you in a sense felt the same way. Might be why you lost it earlier, the yearning had gotten too real, and he seemed so focused on Charlie.

“I am so disgustingly attracted to you, not even in a sex way! And I know how to deal with that a lot better.” Swinging his hand out sassily, he smirked to himself. Plopping next to you he rested his cheek on his hand, elbows rested on his legs. Plucking an orange from the table you watched him eat it, juice moistening his lips. “You think i’d peel fruit, save, house and give water to some broad I genuinely hated? No, stupid.”

Laughing dryly, you looked up away from Adam’s intense gaze. You smiled, eyes falling from the ceiling to your lap. “God i fucking hate you,” Adam’s face looked horrified, opening his mouth to speak, you stopped him grabbing his cheeks and pulling into a searing hot kiss. Your lips crashed against each others’ lazily but passionately, opened mouthed and slightly sloppy. It was slow however, a kiss that wasn’t just a kiss, neither of you wanted to haste past such a moment, such emotion. Adam’s arms wrapped around your hips nudging you forward, understanding the message you moved in closer, your body’s pressing against each other as much as you could from the seated position on the couch.

You dug your fingers into his hair, brainlessly playing with different strands as your tongues slid along one another’s without care, tasting the orange he just ate presently on his lips and to tongue. It felt heavenly being up against him, Adam smelt so good, he was so warm and you could feel how badly he wanted this. His body jittered, his hands gripping you like you’d disappear if he loosened. Pulling away and looking at Adam, he made no effort to move eyes still closed like trying to etched this memory in his mind. You hummed lovingly, brushing hair away from his forehead. “You’re a dumb bitch.” He whispered raspily, opening his eyes, although not by much as they lidded with lust.

You smirked at him brushing your thumb against his bottom lip. “I know. You too.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel fluff

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sluttywoozi · 6 months

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Fine Line | jwy x reader

Summary: There’s a certain rivalry that exists between the two hottest people on campus. You’d think having such a thing in common would foster a bond, but from the first day you met, you feared you and Wooyoung could be nothing but enemies.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.7k | Genre: college au, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: drinking mention, dom!wooyoung, brat!reader, mouth covering, hand behind back, petnames (princess, baby), fingering, praise kink, closet sex, semi public sex, possessive wooyoung

There’s a certain rivalry that exists between the two hottest people on campus. You’d think having such a thing in common would foster a bond, but from the first day you met, you feared you and Wooyoung could be nothing but enemies.

The tension was instant. You met once at a party and there was a moment of like recognizing like before he turned his nose up at you and dragged someone else into the conversation. Every time you’ve met him since has been like that - eyes meeting, a flash of connection, and a suddenly uninterested Wooyoung doing anything he can to avoid talking to you.

It’s not the type of treatment you’re used to, and it’s definitely not what you prefer, but you can’t say it doesn’t present the slightest bit of a challenge. You want Wooyoung to like you, want him to talk to you and laugh with you and cling to you like he does all his friends, and perhaps, secretly, you want to do things friends don’t do, too.

So you stay persistent, keep going up to him at parties to say hello, keep your eyes and your heart open as he observes you, and keep your hurt feelings to yourself when he yet again deems you unworthy.

Until San’s party, that is. Wooyoung and San have such a bond it seems no one can get in between, but tonight, that’s exactly what you’re going to do, because if San accepts you, then Wooyoung will have no choice but to do the same.

It’s easy enough once you find your in. San can talk Overwatch scores for hours and you just so happen to play, and in no time, he’s clutching onto your shoulder and laughing himself breathless at your recount of your most recent loss. You can feel Wooyoung watching you, feel his eyes as they dart back and forth between you and San, feel his ire as San hands you his phone, asking you to put your number and username in so you can play together sometime.

Before you can hand it back, it’s being snatched out of your hands by a glaring Wooyoung, except to your surprise, the glare isn’t directed at you. It’s pointed towards San, who, instead of looking nervous or scared like many others would be, is smiling a secret, satisfied grin as he watches Wooyoung delete your contact.

Wow. You knew Wooyoung didn’t like you, but to get upset with his best friend just for talking to you? You have to admit, that hurts. But beneath the pain lies anger, indignation, offense, and those are the feelings you latch onto.

“Okay, Wooyoung. Message received. You don’t want to be friends and you don’t want to share either, so I’ll just find different parties to go to. You won’t have to see me again.”

You wish your voice wasn’t shaking but at least your fingers aren’t as you plant your cup in San’s still open hand and spin on your heel, ignoring greetings and calls of your name as you make a beeline for the door.

You’re only a few feet away when a hand catches yours and tugs you into the hall closet. Even in the dark, you know it’s him, know it’s Wooyoung, and being in such close proximity with him has your head spinning.

“We need to talk,” he starts, but you don’t really feel like listening.

“Do we? You’ve never had anything to say to me before,” you sass back, shivering at the way his hand tightens around yours.

You can practically hear him rolling his eyes, his consternation palpable as he backs you into the coat rack, hangers clacking against each other at the impact.

“I’ve always had plenty to say to you, princess, I just didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”

The condescension in that single word shouldn’t make magma pool in your belly but it does, and for once, you’re at a loss for words.

“Oh, now you’re quiet? Good. It’s my turn to talk,” his voice is hard, heated, unlike you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re right that I don’t want to share, but it’s not that I don’t want to share San, it’s that I don’t want to share you.”

“Share me? I don’t belong to anyone so there’s nothing to share.”

“That’s the problem,” he hisses through gritted teeth as he takes a step closer, his toned chest brushing against yours.

You’ve never been this close to him before and it has your heart racing, the scent of his cologne filling your senses and clouding your thoughts. You bring your other hand up to rest on his shoulder as your knees grow weak, your fingertips digging into the lean muscle when he takes hold of your hip with his free hand.

You feel him leaning in closer and closer in the black of the closet, know his mouth is just centimeters from yours, know that if he asked, you’d-

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His lips meet yours urgently, no softness to be found as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and nips at it, his tongue soothing the sting before he pulls you into his body and wraps his arm around you, his other hand still holding yours tight.

You make a sound into his mouth when he untangles it but quiet down when he brings it up to your cheek, his hand tilting your face so he can kiss you at a better angle and his tongue delving into your mouth when you open up for him. He kisses you with his whole body, his shoulders curving into you and his hips bumping against yours as he crowds even closer to you.

He breaks away to whisper into your mouth, “Can I-” “Yes,” you sigh, before you even know what he’s asking. You’d let him have anything from you at this point, would do anything, be anything, for him, because all you’ve ever wanted was his attention, his shine, on you. Now that you have it, you won’t give it up.

You can’t help but hope he won’t give you up either as his hand glides up your thigh and unbuttons your jeans, his fingers sliding into your underwear with shocking ease. He doesn’t mess around, immediately gathering arousal from your entrance to rub into your clit, his lips finding yours just as you let out a moan.

Your whole lower half throbs, your jeans feeling so constrictive you wish you could just strip them off, though you do appreciate the extra pressure they put on his hand, his touch feeling that much more intense because of them.

Before long, you’re yearning for something inside, your core aching with emptiness as he rubs sloppy circles around your clit. “I want-”

“Hush. You don’t get to ask for things right now.”

“Why?” You whine, dragging out the end of the word and grasping his wrist with one hand. He unwraps his arm from you and pulls your hand off, bringing it behind your back and whispering, “Because I’m already giving you what you want, aren’t I?

You squirm at being called out, but you can’t deny it.

“That’s what I thought.”

He lets go of your hand and brings his own up to cover your mouth as he sinks two slender fingers inside you to the knuckle and curves them toward your abdomen, finding your g-spot so fast, you realize suddenly that he will make you cum in this hall closet.

You don’t know if you need permission but you’re certainly not going to ask, not with one of his hands over your mouth and the other in your pants. Not when you can hear the way he’s panting, not when he’s mumbling to you, or maybe even to himself, “Fucking tight,” and, “So wet, shit,” and, “Perfect pussy, baby.”

The praise makes you preen, your body melting into him and your lips curving into a blissful smile beneath his hand as your walls flutter around his fingers, your high approaching you much faster than expected.

He knows it, somehow, and tears his hand off your smiling mouth to press his own grin to yours in a kiss, his satisfaction and pride tangible as he fills you with his fingers again and again, the slick sound of his movements making your cheeks heat.

When his thumb swivels to find your clit and he murmurs, “Cum for me,” you feel the wave of pleasure drag you under, your cunt locking down around his fingers as he grinds them into your g-spot. You whimper weakly into his mouth, the sound barely audible over the noise of the party filtering in through the door, and he answers with his teeth digging into your bottom lip again, this time in reprimand.

If you didn’t know every single person outside of this closet, you would moan even louder out of pure spite. Instead, you sigh against his lips as he pulls his fingers out of you and turns his head to the side, the sound of him sucking his fingers clean making you clench.

When he’s done, he wipes his fingers off on his shirt and rebuttons your jeans, letting one hand rest on your hip and the other find yours.

“Let me drive you home? I haven’t had anything to drink,” he whispers, kissing you to prove himself. All you can taste is you, so with a nod and a quiet, “Sure,” you agree.

“And… let me take you out on a date?” He sounds nervous, his voice wavering just slightly and his fingers twitching in yours.

“Yes, Wooyoung,” you can hear the smile in your voice, feel it in your cheeks, in the stretch of your lips.

He exhales a relieved breath and pulls you to the door, leaning in for one last kiss before opening the door, peeking his head out, and tugging you into the hallway. It seems San, the precious angel, has guided everyone outside so you can exit in peace, and as you make your getaway, you vow to actually add him in Overwatch.

You’re sure asking Wooyoung for his gamertag will lead to a most exciting (and possessive) reaction, and you can only hope he’s willing to give you what you want yet again.

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fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege.

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson.

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing.

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds, he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you.

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition.

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying.

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you.

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it.

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else.

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild, lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #for now...#harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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seeingivy · 8 months

Text

labyrinth

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

remember this speak now fic. now reimagine it, except YOU'RE the one getting stood up at the wedding. and then you meet your ridiculous neighbor and fall in love in an elevator months later.

an: I believe it was my beloved @satoruhour who asked me if I could do labyrinth for taylor as gojo! and here I am <333 truly one of my favorites on midnights that makes me so, so emotional I could vomit. anyways, enjoy pookies

You think Suguru Getou is beautiful. On all days, both blatantly and inconspicuously, absolutely and wholeheartedly. When he wakes up in the morning with a messy mop of hair on his forehead, when he slides into your shared apartment with a surprise bouquet of flowers, and when he gives you a cheeky wink every time you're both done screaming at each other after arguments.

Suguru Getou is the first person you’ve loved. The only person you’ll love. He burns hot, bright - like the gazing sun, opening a locked cage you weren’t aware of until he handed you the key. Opening a spur of emotions - intense, extreme, fierce, and great.

It all builds up to this. You and him - at this altar together, despite it all. That every rotten part of you is okay, because Suguru knows and looks past it. That nothing can chase him away, because you’ve weathered it down. It’s your turn - to settle down and it's in the palm of your hands.

Under the palely lit lamps, on this day, Suguru Getou has outdone himself. He’s gorgeous. His hair is nicely tamed back at the nape of his neck, his pink boutonniere pinned to his perfectly crisp suit, and a bright, soft smile on his face as you both beam at each other at the altar.

“In tradition, this is the moment to speak. Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You look at Suguru and laugh - a moment the two of you left in the ceremony as a mere joke - as you look out at the stands. You both joked that one of your friends, like Haibara or Shoko, would stand up to make their last ditch efforts before you two got to continue forward to your vows.

You turn your head to the side to give Shoko a wink, flirt with her one last time to get her to do it. Except when you catch sight of her, she has a horrified look plastered on her face. And when you scan the crowd, the same look is mirrored on everyone’s faces. Your mom, the girl you were best friends with in sixth grade, your neighbor from down the street, Haibara.

That’s when you see her standing there. In her pale blue dress, hands shaking as she talks.

“I’m-I’m not the kind of girl who does this and I-I don’t mean to barge in on such a big day but-”

You feel your heart sink into your chest, the warmth and heat - any shred of elation, joy, bliss you were feeling mere seconds ago draining from your chest. You know what’s coming next.

“But you’re not the kind of guy who marries the wrong girl, Suguru. You-it’s always been you and me. It’s never going to be anyone for me but you. And I know it's the same for you too."

You swallow hard as you push your palms hard into the stems of the bouquet. You can feel your cheeks burning again - except in embarrassment this time.

Does the preacher say something? Is Suguru supposed to say no? Is he even-

You turn over to look at him, his hazel eyes moving to meet yours, the look on his face so blank, so foreign from the boy you’ve known for the past two years that you can barely recognize him.

“Can we talk?” he whispers, nervously eyeing the crowd. You swallow hard, like burning acid is running down your esophagus and give a halfhearted nod. He takes your hand, giving you the tiniest of smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, as you two nearly sprint down the aisle past where Hana is still standing, tears streaming down her eyes.

He slams the doors shut behind him as the crowd breaks out into loud chatter behind you, shameful, humiliating tears falling onto your perfectly powdered cheeks.

“Y/N. I-”

Through the messy blur of tears, when you squint your eyes, you see it. Suguru Getou is beautiful. At all times, but not right now. His face is filled with shame, his shoulders hunched over, and his usual calm, delicate manner all haphazard, panicked. He’s fidgeting with his hands, pacing back and forth, words carelessly falling out of his mouth under his breath.

“You-you want to go, don’t you?” you ask, your voice a mere whisper in the air.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, stifling your sob into the fabric as his shirt as aimless apologies fall out of his mouth, his once warm hands, scalding - burning your arms.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that and I would never mean to do it like this. But-but I was standing there and I saw her and it kind of ca-came together-”

“Did you know?” you ask.

“I didn’t even know she was com-”

“Did you know you loved her still?” you ask, your voice more firm.

He looks at you, eyes narrowed, before looking down at his hands, twisting the rings you were supposed to exchange in a few minutes in his hands. And you suppose this reaction - Suguru Getou’s silence, his first time being something other than beautiful is answer enough.

Ten minutes later, he walks past you - your sister, the nanny you grew up with, your college best friends - hand in hand with Hana as they nearly run out cheesing, his initial despair left replaced with bliss as he leaves you in your white dress.

And you know that out of the infinite moments of your life, it’ll always boil down to this one. That you’ll be getting over this - how tasteless, how cruel, how evil the situation truly is.

After a month of being encouraged by people to move forward, to bounce back, you do it in the way people don’t expect. You move away. And three months after the fact, when your pain is still raw in your chest, you meet Satoru Gojo.

You lean against the wall of the elevator, pressing the faded star button, as you scroll through your errands on your phone - buy paint, email landlord, mail ring.

Mail ring.

You reach into your bag, the thought of it possessing a sudden will to see it. You yank it out and press your coffee into the crook of your elbow, focusing on the jewelry - a silver band with a pear shaped diamond in the middle. The ring Suguru’s mom wore when she was married to his dad. The one you were supposed to wear when he married you.

Suguru asked you to mail it back last night. A roundabout way of course - initially filled with concern, deeply sincere and rehearsed apologies, before cutting to the chase. And you question the thought process.

You break up with your first love. Date another girl for two years. Get engaged, plan an entire wedding, walk to the altar. Just to stand up and walk away, because it’s always been her.

And a mere three months later, reach out to ask for the ring back, because he has to propose. Again.

You ponder your options, in earnest. Granted, you’re definitely in the anger stage of your grieving process, corny terms used by your corny therapist, who is trying her best.

One. Mail it back. Tell them to go to hell.

Two. Throw it into the ocean and say you lost it. And then tell them to go to hell.

Three. Don’t respond and pawn the ring for a decent amount of money. Use the fortune to send an ungodly amount of ominous letters to their house, telling them to go to hell.

The elevator bell rings, stopping five floors short of the lobby, as two kids and a tall, pale haired man shuffle in. You give the three of them a polite smile as you slide to the side, opening up the space for them.

“It’s female rage, Gojo.”

“Female rage? I thought using the word female was bad, Tsumiki.”

“It is. But not here.”

“So if I use female as an adjective it’s not a bad thing?”

The girl, barely thirteen you’re guessing, groans in frustration as she approaches the shorter boy, who is quietly leaning against the wall with his nose stuck in his video game.

“Megumi. Tell Gojo he’s being stupid.” she states.

He looks up at the two of them, giving a soul shattering glare, before nudging her to the side.

“On a good day, you’re both objectively stupid.”

She rolls her eyes as she shoves him, muttering how annoying he is under her breath. And now they’re both shoving each other, pushing harder with each consecutive push before the boy bumps into you. You land against the wall and drop your latte all over your clothes, the cold liquid staining your white button down shirt.

You groan, knowing you’ll have to go back up and change because the stain is so blatant, putting a pin in your errands and heading to work. You look up to find the pale haired man, blue eyes widely staring into yours, as he starts profusely apologizing.

“I’m so sorry. We- I’ll pay for your dry cleaning. You know. Kids. They were raised in a barn.”

“We were both raised by you.” they deadpan.

You sigh, lifting the wet cloth off of your shirt as you look up at him, waving your hand in the air.

“Ah. It’s okay, it happens. It’s no problem.”

“No really. We insist. And-and problem solved. You can take my shirt instead!” he says, brightly smiling at you.

You frown, looking up at him.

“You’re like six feet tall.”

“I’m actually six three.” he responds, winking.

You stare at him since he’s now unbuttoning his shirt as the elevator keeps moving down, and hands it to you. It’s pale blue and definitely too big for you, but he literally grabs your hand and places it into your palm, giving you a boyish smile.

That’s when you take your moment to indiscreetly ogle him. For three reasons. First, he’s a stranger who just stripped in the elevator. Surely, a nutcase. Or a sex offender. Two, he’s smiling at you like he’s the sun. And three - he’s ripped. Like full on, toned Greek God ripped.

“Do you want a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“What? No- I wasn’t even looking. And-and take your shirt back. Who just takes their shirt off in an elevator? This isn’t going to fit me and I’ll look like a rodeo clown with this on and-”

He laughs as he takes the shirt from your hands, holding open the sleeves as he instructs you to stick your arms in. You shake your head, which he rolls his eyes at, as he drapes the shirt around your shoulders, moving forward to pull your hair out of the collar.

“You talk a lot, stranger.”

“Huh?”

“You. You talk a lot. Just put the shirt on properly and tuck it in - it’s like oversized and female fashion or whatever.” he responds.

“Quit saying female. You sound like a pervert. And you look like one too.” the boy responds, rolling her eyes.

The elevator door slides open, the lobby bustling in front of you. You shuffle out of the doors, yanking his shirt around your wrists as you adjust it on your frame. You turn your head to find him absent from your side, the three of them still standing in the elevator.

“Are you not getting out?”

“Miss me already?”

“What? No. No, I just- you bothered me the entire way down and you’re not even getting out?”

“Have to go get a shirt. I gave mine up for a pretty girl.” he responds, winking again, as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Five days later, you muster up the courage to mail the ring. It’s packed into an envelope, sans words or writing, because if Suguru gave you silence at the end, he doesn’t deserve your words at the end either.

You lean against the elevator, twisting over the envelope in your hands, as you feel the sweat sticking on your palms, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest that it’s really all over.

It should be the end. But every sinking, disgusting part of that moment - the eyes on you, your family nearby, your dress made to perfection - make you think that you’ll be getting over this your whole life. That you’ll never move forward. And why should you?

The door stops, five floors short of your stop, and the same guy - the pale haired one from a few days prior springs in, a wide smile crossing his face as he sees you in the elevator. He leans against the wall with you, so close that you can smell his cologne - musky and fresh.

“Hi stranger. How was the shirt?” he asks.

“I don’t like the color you’re wearing. Please don’t take it off because I don't want it.”

“I was asking about the shirt from a few days ago. Not the one right now. Though if you’re doing a reverse psychology thing, I’m more than happy to oblige.” he responds, laughing.

You feel your cheeks burn at misunderstanding, reaching up to fidget with the ends of your hair as the elevator keeps moving down. The two of you stay in silence, the consecutive beep on each floor seemingly getting louder until it lands on one.

You make your move to walk out of the elevator, except he’s blocking the entrance and very aggressively pressing the button that closes the door.

“What? Hey, I was getting off on that st-”

“You were getting off at that stop. And now you’re not.” he responds, pressing the shiny button marking the eleventh floor.

You cross your hands across your chest, glaring bullets into this idiot's face.

“Is it asshole day? What’s your problem?” you ask.

“I need a favor. And I’ve been trying to catch you in the elevator for five days now and only just found you. Who knnows how much longer it would be until I saw you again?”

“So you couldn’t ask like a normal person? You just had to trap me in here.”

“Obviously.”

You groan as you lean against the wall, watching the floors beep as they go up again.

“So what do you want, stranger?”

“I’m glad you asked. And it’s Gojo. My kids - you met them the other day - I’m trying to do that whole touchy-feely thing with them so they open up more. And they’re learning how to apologize this week, stranger.”

“So you want me to come so they can apologize to me? And it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say it. But yeah, just make something up about how that day was really bad for you or something so that they feel even worse and sincerely apologize.”

You glare at him as the doors open and he grabs your wrist as he leads you down the hallway.

“Lying is all touchy feely and perfect for processing your feelings right?” you ask, sarcastically.

“Of course! I’m so glad you get it.”

You glare as he sticks his key in the door and then standing behind you, two hands on your back as he pushes you in. The two kids are sitting at the table, the girl with her nose stuck in a book and the boy flicking through his video games again.

You give the two of them a smile as Gojo holds out the chair for you, taking the seat at your left.

“Hi guys. I’m Y/N. Gojo tells me that you both have something you want to talk to me about.” you say, giving the two of them bright smiles.

“Megumi. And he’s forcing us to apologize to you. I personally think he should be giving you an apology for getting naked in an elevator and then waiting for hours going up and down to find you again.” he deadpans.

You turn your head to Gojo. Hours? You mouth. He profusely denies the claim by shaking his head, signaling for you to turn back to Tsumiki. You nod, turning to her.

“I’m Tsumiki. Uh. What do I do first? Oh- OH. I just want to ask if there’s anything you want to tell me about what happened the other day. Like how it made you feel or whatever.”

You try your best to conceal your smile at her bluntness, focusing on what Gojo had asked you to do.

“Well, thank you for asking Tsumiki. In all honesty, that day was…not an easy one for me. It started out pretty rough, like a lot of days do lately and”

You pause, thinking back to that moment. Of that morning - when you couldn’t make your bed perfectly, the sheets still wrinkled, the coffee not tasting just right, struggling to find an outfit and settling for whatever was closest, and that god forsaken sparkly ring. You can feel your eyes burning, your vision blurring as you clear your throat.

“I-I was going to do something that was really hard for me. I-I got engaged. I mean I was engaged and I actually almost got married. Like, walking all the way down the aisle and white dress married. And then I didn’t. And then I-I moved here because everything there reminded me of it and the guy, god that idiot, called me and asked me to send the ring back. And-and he wants it because he wants to use it for the girl who stood up at our wedding. And yeah, I get it, they’re happy and whatever and they want to get married as soon as possible, but god, it-it’s just humiliating to have the same thing happen twice and for things to move forward so fast when I’m still stuck there, you know?”

You feel one of your tears fall straight onto your hand, suddenly aware that you’re crying in this stranger's house and you’ve said too much to a fourteen year old who's supposed to be learning how to apologize. You look up to find the three of them staring at you - eyes wide and pinched expressions on their faces.

“You got stood up at your own wedding?”

“Tsumiki. That’s rude.” Gojo responds.

“It’s okay. Yeah, I did.” you respond, waving him off. He looks wildly uncomfortable at the entire thing - probably because he's one of those emotionally repressed guys whose never seen a girl cry.

“Please tell me you did something crazy when it happened. Like screamed or something, oh my god.” she asks, excitement filling her face.

“Tsumiki.”

“Um. Well, I think I technically broke a bunch of candelabras? Does that count?”

“What?!” she asks, her excitement only growing as she takes your hands into hers.

“Well, after the two of them left together, I went back in. And everyone was trying to console me and whatever and I don’t know it was just weird. Irritating. So I was trying to gesture them all to move away and I accidentally knocked down the candelabras lining the aisle. Except they were all so close together that I pushed one and then they all went falling.”

She leans back in her chair, mimicking the motion as she turns to Megumi, the two of them discussing how loud it probably was. Gojo’s leaning onto the table, cheeks resting against his palms, as he stares at the two of them, a soft smile on his face.

“Tsumiki. Megumi. You forgot something.”

“Oh. Oh! Right. We’re sorry for what we did, really. That day must have been bad and you were probably just stuck thinking about how lonely and lame the entire situation is, like really it’s got to be depressing on so many levels and-”

“Tsumiki.”

“Sorry. Again. For making a bad day worse. And for bringing it up again. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re really cool. And he’s lame. Like most men, obviously.” she says.

“Cool, huh? I’ve never had someone describe my situation as cool, Tsumiki.”

“That’s because you probably know idiots. You’re like the main character of a really cool movie, where you like commit a murder or create a heist or something.” she says, jumping out of her seat as Megumi follows her into the kitchen, the two of them giggling about spies.

You turn to Gojo, giving him a half smile as the two of you watch them in the kitchen.

“You know when I said to make up a story, you didn’t have to add that much detail.”

“What? Oh. That was all real.”

He puts a hand on your head, awkwardly patting your hair as he gives you a weird look.

“Ah. Sorry? My bad. That really sucks, babygirl.”

You laugh at the utter awkwardness of the moment, at this gangly idiots' efforts to console you. You’ve seen every effort of comfort in the past three months - the awkward pinched smiles from your moms friends, your angry friends promising to egg his house, the half glass full righteous parents telling you that everything you lose is a step you take. But you’ve never seen this.

“Gojo. Were you raised in a barn? What’s wrong with you?”

“Sue me. I’ve never had a friend get stood up at her own wedding. What do you even say to that?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if ‘that really sucks babygirl’ is where I would start.”

“My bad. Please let me know your preferred term of endearment and I’ll do better next time.”

You give him a smile as he leads you to the kitchen, splitting the only thing he has in his fridge - an eight foot white sheet cake - with you as you both smile at each other over the counter.

You sit in the stands next to Gojo and Megumi, the three of you splitting a bag of skittles as you watch Tsumiki walk up to the plate. You’re not sure how you ended up here, exactly. The timeline gets muddled in your head. Because that apology led to you returning the next day to show Tsumiki a video of you breaking the candelabras.

Then you were eating dinner with them the next day, all fancy and so that Tsumiki could knock over some candelabras of her own. Then Megumi wanted to do a deep clean of the apartment the next day, which you helped with. And then you picked them up from school when Gojo was stuck in traffic and then he drove all the way to your job with an umbrella so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain and then you just saw him all the time.

And now you’re here, at Tsumiki’s softball game. She’s an aggressive player, the metal making loud cracking sounds against the ball when she hits, her determination to run off even faster.

“Gojo.”

“Hm, pumpkin?”

“Gross. 3/10.”

“Pumpkin is a 3/10 but sugar is a 5/10? You’re ridiculous.”

Ever since Gojo’s babygirl line, he’s been testing out different endearments as he talks to you. You give him a rating out of ten, which he is always offended by.

“Sugar is like old money. Leather jackets, slicked back hair, Danny Zuko.”

“Danny Zuko is ugly. I’m way hotter than him.”

“Anyways. Do you ever think that Tsumiki is a little…intense? I mean, I don’t know she’s all about rage and the thrill and exhilaration and that’s okay but-”

He frowns, looking out at her - a determined, intense expression pressed on her face at second base.

“I guess. But, that’s just because of everything that’s happened. She-she’s used to being so smiley and carefree all the time. And I told her that when she’s with me and us, that she doesn’t have to be anymore if she feels the need to be. And I guess letting go of that, letting everything out is intense for her. And she’s just trying to feel it all.”

You put your hand on his knee and squeeze, giving him a smile as you look out at her too.

“I get it. I used to feel that way when….you know. I guess I just thought it was right to do it the intense way, to fight, to love like a knife, like a closed fist. That if I argued and felt and did all these things as intensely as I could, it would be right.”

He puts his hand on your knee now and squeezes, leaning his head against yours. Tsumiki sprints two bases, scoring a goal as she jumps up and down - her chest heaving up and down from panting. The two of you instantly jump up, hands locked together as you jump up and down just like her and excitedly cheer her name. Over the cheering, he responds, eyes still focused on her high-fiving all her teammates.

“I get what you’re saying. But, I don’t want her to think about love that way. It would kill me if she did. I want her to feel these intense feelings but love should be soft. It shouldn’t be a war, it should be a home. I don’t want her to ever have to fight for it, I want it to creep up on her - build a place in her heart that always stays there. Don’t you agree, pookie?”

You turn to him, glaring at him through his stupid light blue sunglasses. One of the best things about being friends with Gojo? That he so earnestly, so deeply wants the best for Tsumiki and Megumi that it makes your heart hurt. That his love for them is so unconditional, that you just want to witness it - have the sweetness rub off of you.

He makes two sets of dinner each night, because they’re both picky eaters. And every time you tell him to just be more firm, to sit them down and make them eat it, he refuses. Because the thought that either of them would be so stubborn that they wouldn’t eat dinner at all and go to bed hungry is worse than taking the time to make two sets of food. One now, because you always make the other.

He makes Tsumiki watch documentaries about famous female figures - politicians, music artists, writers. Tsumiki’s well versed in every feat of women - from Taylor Swift’s sold out shows to Jane Austens’ impact as a romance writer. He goes out of his way to make sure that she has positive female role models, to try his best to give her things that he can’t blatantly offer. He loves them so much. He loves so much. It’s truly the best thing about him.

The second? That he takes something serious but still manages to make you laugh at the end.

“Pookie, Gojo? Really? That’s a 0/10. You can do better than that.”

“The reservation is under Gojo. It should be two rooms, connected. Four queens.” you say, tapping your knuckles against the counter as Gojo ushers Megumi to the bathroom - who has been complaining of a very full bladder the entire drive down.

The four of you had come down to the closest beach town for Christmas and Megumi's birthday, planning to spend a few days in the area until the new year rang in. The woman hands you two keycards and you give her a smile as you wait by the elevator for the two of them to return.

Six floors later and the four of you are pushing into your rooms, Tsumiki and Megumi immediately flopping on the beds and eating the little chocolates placed on the pillows as you and Gojo roll your eyes.

You unlock the connecting door and push your bag through to find one king bed in yours and Gojo’s room as Gojo joins you at his side. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin shoulder as you both groan.

“Fuck. No blanket hogging, snookums.”

“Disgusting. Negative ten, Gojo.”

He immediately plops his things down onto the left side of the bed and you land on the right, setting out your chargers and taking off your jewelry as you hop into the shower. Eight months ago, you would have been so opposed and appalled at the affair - having to share a bed with Gojo - but you’ve honestly seen too much of him now that it doesn’t phase you.

Granted, when you met him, he literally took his shirt off. But you're so casual now that the boundary of sharing a bed is virtualy nothing. And you've literally done it before.

You get ready in the bathroom while Gojo takes a shower, despite the fact that he’s literally naked a few feet away. You’ve shared his bed when you end up staying too late - because you’re not breaking your back by sleeping on the floor and neither is he. He eats from your plate because you never finish his own and you always steal sips of his coffee even when you say you don’t want one.

One time he used your toothbrush by accident. That however, the two of you never moved past.

You pad into the bathroom, filling up the room with a decent amount of steam as you fill up your scalding shower and indulge yourself in all the fancy bath soaps and salts in the shower. Leaving with muscles soothed and pruney fingers, you towel your hair up and throw on your sweats to nestle into the clean sheets. Gojo’s now sitting on the right side, lazily flicking through the channels.

“Gojo. I was on the right.”

“Yeah, my bad. I realized I totally claimed a side first. I know you hate sleeping by the window because you’re convinced some big bad man is going to come steal you. Now he can come get me!”

You look over at your side table, the things you set up before now switched to your side. They're all laid out perfectly, the way you had left the, except on the opposite nightstand.

“Gojo?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know how to put my stuff like this?”

“Huh?”

“The chargers. The jewelry.”

“Oh. Just noticed that’s all. You spend like a few minutes every night before you go to sleep making sure it’s all right. That your chargers aren’t tangled, the rings and earrings are together and stuff. Just figured I’d put it that way so you wouldn’t have to.”

You smile, cheeks warm at the thought of Gojo paying attention enough to notice that you do that and going as far as doing it for you. After he remembered your irrational fear of getting murked in the night and moved when he didn’t have to. Granted, Gojo’s thoughtfulness is always one of the things you’ve loved most about him.

Oh.

You look over at him, knees hiked to his chest, messy white hair and that loose old t-shirt on his frame as he pokes through your stash of snacks. His eyes are so intensely focused on the movie - Danny Zuko dancing on the screen in Grease - as he nervously fidgets with his knuckles like he always does.

No. No no no no no no no no no no.

You’re falling in love. You’re falling in love with Satoru Gojo, you’re falling in love again and you shouldn't be.

Gojo looks over at you, bored blue eyes immediately filling with concern as he jumps up, arms resting falling against your biceps. You bring your fists to your eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to push them down as he whispers, softly broaching the subject.

“Hey. You okay? The fake burglar scared you that badly?”

You snort through your tears as he squeezes your arms.

Fuck. You’re down bad. Down horrendous. That joke wasn’t even funny and it made you snort.

“What’s wrong, my little tater tot?”

“Five.”

“I thought that was at least a seven. You love tater tots.” he whispers, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rubs small circles into your back, his soft voice vertebrates through his chest.

What happened? When did you get like this? When did you start sharing beds and leaving a toothbrush and a spare pair of clothes at his place?

Why-why is every part of you open with him? Why do you want to open it for him?

You can’t. You just can’t.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” you murmur into the clothed fabric of his shirt.

“Words please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You crumple the fabric of his shirt in your fists, burying down every feeling - overwhelming, endearing, warm and bright - and lie through your teeth.

“Nothing. I-I just remembered. It’s Suguru’s birthday.”

He pulls you out of his arms, bringing up his hands to your cheeks, as he gives you a lopsided small.

“Sucks. Want me to kill him?”

“Obviously.”

“Consider it done.”

You smile as he lets go, dragging you back onto the bed with him. And you both watch the movie - you swooning over Danny Zuko and Gojo telling you that he’s way hotter than him the entire time - until you somehow end up nestled in his arms in the dark, his soft sleep breaths lulling you to sleep.

You're screwed.

You and Gojo pad down to the little restaurant the hotel has the next morning, leaving a very grumpy Tsumiki and so fast asleep he’s nearly dead Megumi in their beds. You and Gojo opt for a booth, sitting on the same side, as you look through the menu.

“Splitsies?”

“Huh?”

“Splitsies. You pick the savory, I’ll pick the sweet, okay?”

You nod, cheeks burning as you look through the menu at the implication, trying your best not to focus on your legs pressed together, his hand so casually placed on thigh like it’s second nature.

It is second nature, he does it all the time. But should he, if he’s just your friend?

Your friend that you’re in love with?

“And for you, ma’am?”

“Oh. Um-”

You scan your eyes down the menu and pick the first thing listed, eggs benedict, earning a weird smile from Gojo as they walk away with your order.

“Okay, my little eggs benedict. You’re paying because you hogged the blanket all night.”

“Three. Unoriginal. And you literally stopped my circulation at one point, so you pay.”

“Ugh. The things you do for love.” he responds, eyes focused on the window to his left.

“Excuse me?”

Gojo looks over at you, a weird expression in his eyes. And you feel your eyes widen when you realize this is another one of Gojo’s jokes - like when he calls you his wife, says that you’re both two parents roughing it through the world - and feel the embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you bury your face into the drinks menu.

He slides his arm around your shoulder, whispering into your ears with a smirk.

“It’s eight in the morning. Are we really going to drink right now?”

We.

“Sh-shut up. I was just looking.”

“What’s wrong with you? You’re being all squirrely and weird.”

“No, I’m not. Yo-you’re being weird. You fucking pervert, always going on about some we this, wifey this shit.”

He drops his hands on the table, squinting at you like he’s trying to discern the writing on your face. And after a few seconds his face lights up, replaced by a devious smirk that you absolutely hate.

“What, Gojo?”

“You just realized, didn’t you?”

“Realized what?”

“That you love me.” he states, matter of factly.

You feel your jaw drop as you stare at him, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as you feel your cheeks burn, his closeness to you making you even more embarrassed. At him saying that, so bluntly.

“I don’t love you, Gojo.”

“Oh, you totally do. Is that what you were crying about last night? Overwhelmed with your love for me?”

Satoru Gojo. Fucking mindreader.

“No. No, I don’t- I can’t-” you mutter, hands in your face as the entire thing bubbles out, your big secret wide open.

You can’t love Gojo. You just loved Suguru. And you don’t love anyone like you love Suguru and you shouldn't with what happened and

Satoru puts a hand on your head, ruffling your hair.

“Y/N. Just, stop panicking. I'm teasing. You don’t have to be all embarrassed and figure out what it means that right away. You-you have a lot of baggage that comes with feeling like this. I’m guessing your first line of defense is to run off or push me away, so I can’t do to you what Suguru did. But - just calm down, okay? Eat eggs benedict and french toast with me and then drive along the coast.”

You stare at him, his expression so calm, so serene at something so serious that it’s off putting.

“Can you do that for me? It is my birthday, you know?”

"Your birthday was like three weeks ago."

"Yeah but it's still my month. You have to give in."

You nod at which he gives a bright smile, squishing your cheeks with his hand as the plates get placed in front of you. You both tangle your arms, the entire elephant you just spilled out ignored, as you share your plates of breakfast.

“Do you like the food, my little strawberry?”

“Yes. And that was a 8/10, not bad.”

“That was horrible. You're blinded by love already.”

The entire thing twists into a maze in your mind. A labyrinth of every moment you’ve ever shared with Gojo, with Suguru, with every complex feeling that comes with love - picking up the kids from school, him brushing your hair for fun, comparing hand sizes, doing a staring contest but instead just admiring each other's eyes.

Which is why when you come back out from your day with Tsumiki and Megumi, tuck them both into bed, and end back up in your room, you’re so anxious it’s all tumbling out of your mouth.

“Gojo.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t do this. This thing- I-I can’t do this. I want to go home. Can I go home?”

“What? Are you okay, you-”

He stands up, leaning forward to press his hands against your cheeks but you immediately back away, flinching away from his touch. He frowns, the motion catching him off guard, as he steps back.

“You want to go home? I mean, I can wake the kids and take you now but-”

“No, no. I want to go alone, I don’t want you there, this is all a lot and-”

“Y/N. I said not to think about that. You-stop thinking it into this big thing it’s not.”

You crouch down onto the ground, hiking your knees to your chest as you cry into your bones, the tears spilling down the side of your legs. You can feel the sobs racking out of your chest and Gojo’s arms holding you still, the presence you’ve relied on for the past eight months burning you.

“Y/N.”

“Gojo.”

“Are you scared I don’t love you back? I- you know I do right?”

You look up at him, blue eyes widening in shock as he pulls you into his arms properly, squeezing hard.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for a while. Don’t- don’t doubt it okay because I do. And-”

“It’s not that.” you whisper.

He pulls back again, hands resting against your cheeks - which you allow this time - as he frowns. He nods lightly, signaling for you to talk as he rubs his fingers back and forth on your cheeks, the touch soothing.

“I’m scared that I love you.”

“Hey. I’m not that bad.”

You laugh, which makes him smile, as he lightly applies pressure to your cheeks.

“I’m scared because I don’t know how to do it when it’s like this. I-I handed my heart over and someone broke it and if you do that, I can’t-

“I’m not going to do that.” he responds, voice firm.

“You love soft, Satoru. You- there’s so many parts of me that are hard, my heart is all rough and calloused over and yours is soft and perfect. I love like a knife, like a battle, like it’s a war and I’m fighting for my life. You love like it’s the air you breathe, like you’re watering flowers and building a home. You-you don’t want to love me when I don’t know how to do that and I’m like this and you should just leave when you can. I’m like a labyrinth, a big jumbled mess that you’ll have to spend forever figuring out.”

He sighs, eyes clenched shut and shoulders tensed up.

“Y/N. You contradict yourself in every sentence and it pisses me off.”

“What?”

“You’re right. I love like it’s air I breathe, like I’m watering flowers and building a home. I’ve been building ours for months now and you really think I’m going to walk out of here because it’s not perfect? I knew this was what I was getting into and I wanted it.”

You can feel your ears ringing, tears rising in your eyes because you know whatever he says next is going to inevitably make you sob.

“Gojo. You, it’s a mess up here. I can't do that to you.” you whisper, tapping your forehead.

“A mess to you, right now. Nothing about you is a mess to me. There-there’s so much that’s happened, that’s twisted all these things that are supposed to be good into bad. But just-just work with me here, okay? We’ll untwist them. We’ll make your labyrinth into a nice little garden with a pond, okay?

You push your face into his shirt, his heart pounding against your ears, as he wraps his arms around you again.

“You want a garden and a pond in our litte love house?” you whisper.

“Yeah. Megumi always stares at flowers when we walk to school, I think we should do gardening when we move out of the apartments. And we can sit there together, you know?”

“Yeah.” you whisper.

“Are you letting me?”

“Letting you what?”

“In. In here and here.” he says, pointing to your head and then your heart, which is violently thumping.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, before whispering a soft thank you in your hair. You cry a great deal more, his soft words soothing you down, until you’re tangled under the sheets together, every part of your body vibrating with what just happened.

“Go to bed, my love. We have to get up early tomorrow.”

You turn to the other side and he snakes his arms around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“My love? It’s ten out of ten.” you whisper.

You feel him press a kiss to the back of your neck before you both fall asleep, the warmth enveloping you in the deepest rest you’ve ever had.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

Text

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.

The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.

Curtsying to her.

“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”

The Queen and King.

The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?

The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.

Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.

“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”

Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.

She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.

Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.

Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.

“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”

“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”

The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.

The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”

Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”

Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”

Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”

“My pleasure.”

Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.

Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.

She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.

“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.

“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”

“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”

Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”

They dance.

-----.

The night is a dream.

Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.

I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.

She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.

-----.

The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.

“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”

Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.

Inside she is seething.

“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”

She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.

Inside the baroness is not so sure.

“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”

They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.

Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.

She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.

“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”

Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.

It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.

The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.

Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.

Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?

Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?

The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.

-----------.

Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.

One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.

The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.

The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.

“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”

He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.

Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.

I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.

Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.

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#Cinderella fan fiction #my writing #cinderella retelling #this is turning into a full novella #this is why i write short stories #BECAUSE BOOKS GET SO LONG #long post

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 10 months

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when my hands were caked with dirt at the foot of the grave, you loved me still; ask atrocity of me and see how i tremble with willingness at the sound of your voice.

mt19 x reader: everyone loves to be taken care of.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, oral sex/fingering (m on f, another exception!), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), kind of oral fixation (have you seen the state of that mouthguard), hair-pulling (bring back the curls), lots of praise and tension and all that nonsense, lots of talk about alcohol, also a lot of emotions! (be warned about those damn emotions! this one has a similar vibe to my qh43 og snakes one, i think), idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(long a/n: my favorites - when i tell you i got carried away (again). but how could i not, when mt19 could not even play in the final cup game because he broke the bone that protects his heart? when poetry like that calls, you have to answer. the playoffs inspired me, mt19 inspired me, enough that i created this fictionalized mt19 character that is basically a bunch of insecurities personified. and the other character is just more of those in bartender form (i loved my bartending years! but they gave me a lot to think about!). so, sorry. this one’s a little sad, sometimes. but you guys seem to like the sad shit, so i hope you like this. apologies if i get caught up in the theatrics, at times. we haven’t done a takeaway in a while, so here’s one - you deserve to be chosen and loved and taken care of because you’re you, not just because you’re around. on a less serious note, can you tell how infatuated i am with mt19′s tooth gap? yeah, i know, i made it too obvious, i need to relax. i got a couple okays on the princess name, so if you don’t like it, you should have said something. am34 is up next, i’m thinking some classic older brother’s best friend, we’ll see if the muses are kind to me. please let me know what you think, i think i’ve made it obvious that your interaction means everything. also you guys literally should have seen me trying to figure out the physics of fucking against a barstool, it was legitimately ridiculous. gif is not mine. sending so so so much love to you and your snakes. go canucks. see you soon. be your own first choice.

meeting new people simply came with the job of bartending. new faces filtered in and out of your bar like wisps of fragrant smoke, most of the time too fleeting to truly remember, never mind get to know.

however, the first day he entered your bar, a peculiar feeling hovered around you: the feeling that you already knew him, deeply and personally.

of course, you recognized him and his small group of teammates from the games that constantly played on the screens above the bar, but this was different. you couldn’t quite place the reason behind the feeling, not yet.

he didn’t approach the counter right away, but it was a saturday night, a busy one, so you were constantly being pulled from one patron to another, barely noticing the passage of time as your hands seemed to never stop moving.

but at some point, there he was, sitting at one of your stools, looking at you like he had all the time in the world, a confident, just bordering on arrogant smirk slanting across his face. you didn’t have the presence of mind or time to appreciate the rest of him, not right now.

but you were paid to treat all customers the same. and at the end of the day, that’s what he was, at least then. just another customer on a busy, hectic night.

“what can i get you?” you asked as you mixed a drink for the party at the other end of the counter. your voice was steady, knowing, friendly, but only just.

his smirk deepened as he leaned forward. “all business for the princess, hm?”

your brow furrowed in confusion before you realized where the name had come from. you absentmindedly adjusted the plastic tiara a birthday party had given you earlier that night - the group of girls around your age had gushed about how delicious their drinks were, how you had made their night, how you just had to have it, how it would look so pretty with your hair.

they were sweet, and they tipped well, so you didn’t push the birthday girl’s hands away when she slid the crown from her head and onto yours, even smiling a bit at the gesture. it was hard not to smile at women being girls again, and you loved the opportunity to be apart of it.

“princess is my side hustle,” you said to him now, keeping your tone even as you poured the colorful drink you were mixing into two glasses.

he made a face that you couldn’t decipher before leaning on one of his hands. “well, listen,” he started, to which you raised a brow. you didn’t like being told to listen - you just did, it was something you were good at, and being told to made you not want to anymore. he nodded to the group he came in with. “my friends over there bet that i couldn’t get your number. want to help me prove them wrong?”

you turned to drop off the drinks before running his words over in your mind. you were hit on all the time, another part of the job. people were attracted to being taken care of, and it was your job to take care of them, which always led to some misunderstandings, some one-sided crushes, some regulars that tipped much more than they needed to.

but something in your stomach dropped at his wording. you didn’t like it, not at all.

“did they?” you asked, actually focusing on his face for the first time that night as you ran a rag over the counter. his eyes were blue, so, so, blue, and almost comically confident, unwavering. as was his smirk, his full lips so perfectly placed and practiced, not quite like a natural habit but more like a learned one.

and then there was the brutal cut of his jawline, only made more prominent by his scruff of facial hair. the way his hair curled over the tops of his ears, a youthful but not juvenile look. his long lashes, elegant nose, flushed complexion, it was a little too perfect, at least for you, right now.

all of his features together appeared more like a masquerade ball mask, not a real, genuine face. it was off-putting, this actor in front of you, the one you had seen on television so many times.

he hummed in affirmation, smirked deeper.

you sighed. “that’s too bad,” you said, to which he gave you what looked like his first genuine expression of the night - one of confusion. “i only give my number to people who ask for it because they want it.”

you had long ago learned your lesson about being the person someone spent time with in order to please someone else. it never ended well.

his brow furrowed in further disbelief, complete lack of understanding, maybe a bit of shock, but you only tossed the rag aside and grabbed a glass. “now, how about a drink?”

he didn’t respond for a second, searching your face for something, maybe an explanation, less probably a spark of remorse. you let him. you weren’t going to budge on this, not tonight, not for him.

he shook out of it, literally, a small shake of his head before the mask was back on, in full strength. “yeah, sure. just an ipa, whatever you’ve got.” he addressed you by the name on your name tag, an act you normally hated, but didn’t mind so much now, in his deep tone.

you gave a small grin as you filled a tall glass. “thank god,” you started. “after the million mixed drinks i’ve had, you might just be my favorite customer.” you set the glass down on a paper napkin in front of him, only meaning to meet his eyes for a second.

once you did, though, you did a double take, now trapped in his gaze, completely transfixed on the pure hope you found there, so devastatingly poorly hidden. this, this was genuine, no mask to be found. the innocent hope lit up his eyes, his face from within, exposing an almost childlike expression that had you so deeply intrigued.

“yeah?” he asked, his voice no longer oozing with arrogance but instead with something you knew well. unbridled wanting. hope, hope, hope. he might as well have the word please scrawled all over his face in thick marker.

you felt your lips curl up at this new discovery, this crack in his exterior that gave you a sense of deja vu. “yeah, matthew,” you said, a little slowly, letting the rest of the bar melt away for a second.

this moment felt hot, sticky, like you were both suspended in amber, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

but moments don’t last forever, and suddenly one of his friends was slapping him on the shoulder, saying something loudly about taking too long. you weren’t really listening as you watched his face again harden into that confident expression.

he ordered a round for his friends, and the moment was gone, lost in the neon light, and you were soon pulled again to another patron, the chaotic rhythm of saturday night overtaking you again.

you didn’t see him for the rest of night, caught up in your work. towards the end of your shift, though, you happened to look up, towards the door, urged by some magnetic force, and found his gaze awaiting yours right before he walked out of the door.

a real face, a real look, unveiled and vulnerable, swimming with heat and hope and a million other dangerous things. an expression so true that you had to look away from it’s veracity, complete candor. when you looked up again, he was gone, and you assumed that would be the last time you saw him.

so, a couple nights later, deep into your shift, you almost dropped the glass in your hand when you turned and found him sitting on that same stool at your counter, looking up at you expectantly with those storybook eyes.

“matthew,” you said, softly in greeting, almost a question, confused at his presence, especially on a weeknight, without his teammates. alone, seemingly.

“princess,” he responded, an imperfect smirk playing across his mouth, revealing more teeth than he had the previous night - enough that you could see the gap between his two front, a little detail so beautiful you might have sighed.

“no crown tonight,” you responded, half smiling.

“it was never the crown,” he said, to which you gave a slight shake of your head. it didn’t hide your shy delight.

“where are your friends?” you prompted, slightly suspicious.

something that looked like hurt flashed ever so briefly across his eyes. “they’ll be here, princess, don’t worry.”

you shrugged. “wasn’t worried. just wondering why you’re here alone.”

your last word seemed to strip him entirely, lay him bare in front of you, completely vulnerable. you regretted it immediately, felt almost mean.

“but i guess you’re not alone, right? you’re here with me?” you gave him a smile, tried to will one out of him, too, half-succeeded. “ipa?” you asked, eager to bring this interaction back within the boundaries you were familiar with, ones you could control.

“whatever you’ll give me,” was his odd reply, one that had you scrunch up your face instead of reaching for a glass. “ipa works.”

your voice was laced with confusion. “i know it works. what do you want, though?”

again there was that child-like look in his eyes, veiled by a thin film of doubt, uncertainty.

and somehow you thought you knew what might have been holding him back. you shifted forward, leaned on your elbows, closer than you had been to him before. “what if i promise you’ll still be my favorite, hm? will you tell me then?”

you watched his gaze dip down to your mouth as you spoke, linger there before meeting your eyes again. not like you minded, much as you wanted. a spark of warning fired in your stomach. don’t get too close, it mumbled, you can’t fill anyone’s void.

unfortunately, it was hard to deny the utter satisfaction you felt when he looked at you like this - like you had wiped away all the bad things in the world.

but then hands landed on his shoulders, loud greetings between friends exchanged, ripping you both out of the moment.

“now i know why chucky wanted to come back here,” one of them said eventually, looking at you with a gleam in his eye you didn’t quite like. “i remember you, beautiful.”

“shame,” you said, “i don’t remember you.”

he put a hand over his heart like he’d been hurt, but his smirk was brutally arrogant, almost animalistic. “how about we make sure you don’t forget my name again, yeah?”

you rolled your eyes. “matthew, come get your dog,” you said as you grabbed a couple more glasses and began to pour the same drinks they had ordered the other night.

“you want me to start barking? ‘cause i will,” the persistent teammate pushed before turning to his side. “but it seems like you’re the one she’s got on a leash, matthew.”

you watched his face carefully as you slid the drinks their way, interested to see what would win out - the desire to maintain his mask around his friends or whatever was building between you two.

you bit your lip as you watched the internal struggle play out across his face, shooting a pleading look your way for a millisecond.

you decided to throw him a bone, put his friends in their place. “i meant to tell you. i put your game on yesterday,” you said to him.

“did you?” he asked, so blissfully hopeful.

“yeah,” you said, leaning forward again, letting yourself get a truly greedy look at him. “but i like you better in person.”

you reveled in how desperately pleased he looked by your admission.

“we were playing too, you know,” someone said, half laughing.

“were you?” you asked, a theatrically confused expression on your face. you shrugged. “don’t think i saw you. maybe i was distracted.”

one of his friends laughed. “don’t feed him, beautiful, he’ll just keep coming back.”

but you didn’t even look at whoever said the comment, instead completely locked in on matthew, and he on you.

“god, i hope so,” you said, barely more than a whisper, only meant for him.

just something you said, a true thing, and yet he did. every couple of days you would look up and there he would be, on that stool at your counter, looking up at you. sometimes his friends would come, and sometimes they wouldn’t, and on nights he was playing you would always put the game on the television where you could best see it, so you could best see him.

and despite everything he did, everything he said to you, which screamed longing and interest and want, you were surprised every time he came back. surprised that his interest in you didn’t wear off after the first couple indulgences, like it seemed to with everyone else.

but, then again, matthew struck you as the kind of person who could make a home out of anything, anyone - like the kids who would cry if someone tried to come into their treehouse, as if the magic of the place was defined by it being all for them.

sometimes this job made you feel like a building with a revolving door, so many faces fading immediately as they came into your life. it felt so good to have whatever this was, this constant, even if that warning voice tried to convince you it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t last.

one night, when you put his away game on, he was picking fights, antagonizing the other team, all the while chewing on that abused mouthguard, which never failed to catch your attention, send a little shiver down your spine, make you wonder what those teeth would feel like on your bottom lip, your fingers, your neck.

this night, though, the officials had had enough, and handed him a game misconduct. he skated off the ice, into the tunnel, chants and boos echoing through the arena so loudly that even the television cameras caught their strength.

still, when the camera focused in on matthew’s face, there was nothing but that cocky, knowing smirk, that one that he had showed you the first day. that fake one. you narrowed your eyes at the tv, felt your stomach turn at the fact that he could be two people at once. how could you ever trust him that way? how could you ever believe that he really, truly, wanted you? that warning voice compressed into a lump that settled in your stomach.

the lump was still there that next night, and so was he, there in his usual spot, right before you were about to close. “missed you, princess,” he said, those blue eyes so full of meaning.

and you hated how those words meant so much to you. “yeah?” you asked, wiping down the counter. “what’d you miss?”

you expected the answer that so many people in your life had given you before: how they liked how you made them feel, how you paid attention to them. nothing about you, rather something that said more about them.

so you were stunned when his gaze dropped to you lips and stayed there. “think i started to dream about your smile,” he said, and you may have sighed, just a little, as you felt your cheeks flush.

“did you watch me?” he asked, that spark of hope lighting up his face in a silent plea.

you nodded slowly, remembering the game. “wish you had stayed on the ice longer.”

he shrugged, the motion emphasizing the muscles in his shoulders and neck. you pretended not to notice.

“why do you smile when they hate you?” you asked, your head tilted in genuine curiosity, recalling his face as he made his way down the tunnel.

there was that mask again. “i love it.”

“you don’t,” you said, shaking your head slightly, watched him swallow.

“what?” he asked. you could have imagined the smallest shake in his voice.

“you don’t. you do that other smile you do.” you didn’t tell him your theory, that you knew if a crowd booed loud enough, maybe he could close his eyes and pretend they were cheering, instead. pretend it was love.

he made a sound that was half-laugh, half-scoff. “what other smile?”

you bit your lip, unsure how to explain it. you reached your hands forward, paused for a moment as his eyes widened, so flooded with want. that beautiful second of expectation before a first touch, the first of what you inherently knew would be many.

“like-” you put your hands on his face, ever so lightly, moved his lips until that cocky smirk was opposite you. “like this.”

“like this, princess?” he asked through your fingers, his breath on your palms, and heat thrummed in your stomach.

you nodded slowly, reluctant to take your hands off of him. “and my favorite one is like this,” you said, moving his lips again until you were satisfied with the replica smile you had created, toothy and wide and beautiful - until you realized he was smiling at you like that anyways, without any manipulation.

you grinned back at him, melted at the simmering heat and longing in his eyes. before you could question it, you let yourself tap one finger to his front teeth, feeling the gap there, that imperfect feature you had most loved when you first saw it, felt your throat tighten at the way he was looked at you, the way he let his mouth just barely close around your finger.

a feather light motion that made your next breath come out shaky before drawing yourself away. you hadn’t realized just how close you had drifted towards him, even with the counter between you.

you glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it much later than you expected. “i need to close,” you said, clearing your throat. “i need to count the register.”

“okay.” he looked dazed. maybe in a cartoon there would have been pink mist or little hearts floating around his head.

you tried to collect yourself, ignore the phantom of his lips around your finger, a ghost of a kiss, a promise, a plea.

you gave a shake of your head. “i need to sit there. the register unlocks from that side, in front of your chair.”

your stomach dropped at the sudden darkness his eyes took on, so much so that you knew you would give in to whatever he said next.

instead of getting up, he pushed his hips up and back, spread his legs apart, settling deeper into the seat. “seat’s open, princess,” he said, and the confidence in his voice, all over his face, it wasn’t fake, it wasn’t a mask.

it was real, genuine, set ablaze by your touch.

you looked around. you were closed, everyone was gone on this monday night, except the owner, a lady older than sin who was mopping in the corner, and who was known for minding her own business.

there was nobody to judge you there, nobody to punish you for giving into this, exactly what you wanted.

time felt like jelly as you made your way around the counter, paused for a beat in front of him before he helped you up onto his lap by your waist, faced you towards the register drawer, let his arms rest around your middle.

“this okay?” he asked softly, his breathy rasp warm on your neck.

you breathed out a yes, slightly overwhelmed by all of this touch at once. his chest behind you, radiating heat, his thighs firm below you, thick arms around you. here he was, everywhere, all at the same time, and after only interacting with a counter between you, this felt almost absurdly perfect, forbidden.

so perfect that it took every semblance of your concentration to unlock the register drawer, to push the rise and fall of his chest to the back of your mind, to ignore how your own body seemed to melt into his, relax completely, an utterly miraculous contrast to the stiff, constantly active way you usually were at work.

“still okay?” he asked as he rested his head on your shoulder. you could feel his facial hair through your thin shirt, smell his cologne, knew you would smell like it, too. his thighs flexed underneath you, and you could have moaned. you were having trouble focusing on counting, never mind answering his question.

he rumbled with a laugh you felt more than heard. “princess?”

“still okay,” you managed, “but you have to be still. i need to count.”

you felt him nod and smile into your shoulder as you got to counting, the rhythm of the bills eventually lining up with the rhythm of his breathing against your back, so peaceful and right that maybe, eventually, you both would have fallen asleep like this.

“finished,” you whispered when you were done, organizing everything back where it needed to go, soaking up the last few moments of his touch for that night.

“already?” he asked, although it had probably been half an hour.

you hummed, pushed yourself up and off of him, even as his hands continued to reach for you, his gaze hungry.

so hungry it scared you. you still didn’t quite know if he just wanted someone, or if he wanted you, if he would have acted this way for anyone who asked the right questions, gave him the attention he craved, saw through his mask.

hungry, hungry, hungry, and what scared you most was that you knew that you weren’t hungry for just anyone. only for him. and that question of reciprocation, it was like injecting ice into your blood.

“it’s late,” you said. “you have to go.”

if he was hurt, he didn’t show it, seemingly completely fine with taking things however slowly you wanted to. “okay,” he said. “may i have your number, please?” there was your favorite smile.

you smiled, despite yourself. “why?”

maybe it was the late hour that caused him to misspeak when he said, “because i want you.” he quickly realized his mistake and flushed, only just. “it!” he corrected, looking like a kid with chocolate he wasn’t supposed to eat schmeared all over his face. “i meant i want it.”

you fluttered at his mix-up, delighted that maybe he meant what he said. enough that this time, you didn’t deny his request.

it was a while before you saw him again in person, as he had back to back games and then several away contests before coming home again. but, like always, you put him on the screen by the bar, feeling yourself warm every time the camera caught his face.

one night, a late night, a couple hours after one of his games had ended, you looked up and you saw him at the doorway.

a bad feeling immediately bloomed inside you.

it had been a tough loss, close until the end, and one of his stupid penalties had forced a power play goal in overtime for the opponent. worse, this result had been crucial for their playoff bid. it wasn’t looking good.

you had not expected to see him tonight - he usually didn’t come by on game nights, only on nights off. and he didn’t look right as he stood under the neon signs at the door, he looked off. he looked drunk.

his speech was slow and slurred, making you cringe. after a couple of years at this job, oh, how you hated drunk people. oh, how you never wanted to see him like this, so at the mercy of something as truly stupid as alcohol.

and even more so, how you hated to see him drink himself stupid, how you wanted to make everything all better. you signaled for the bar-back to cover for a moment.

you walked around the counter and approached him. “matthew,” you began, “what’s going on?” you tentatively touched his forearm before grabbing one of his hands, wrapping it in both of yours, bitterly aware that he was not present as you were.

“oh, princess,” he said, stumbling just a bit into your grip as you pulled him outside. he mumbled something you couldn’t hear before laughing, but the laugh was cruel, devastated.

when you were outside, the only audience was the small group of smokers that always hung around the front of the bar. you took his face in your hands. “tell me what happened.”

“what happened?” he said slowly. “what happened?” he repeated, maybe asking himself. “ruined it, always ruin it, ruin everything.” his voice came out like a haunted childlike sing-song. it made your heart shatter.

you looked in his eyes, still holding his face. “you do not ruin everything, okay? you just need to go home and sleep this off.”

“princess, princess, always tryna’ make me feel better,” he slurred, letting the whole weight of his head rest in your hands, your fingertips touching the wisps that curled around his ears. he stumbled forward into you. “need to kiss you, yeah? make me feel better.”

you dropped your hands from his cheeks as if you had been scalded. if your heart wasn’t broken before, it was now, as you pushed his chest away while he leaned forward. you felt tears begin to prickle on your waterline.

of course, he wanted you now, when he was begging to be taken care of, when he was outwardly desperate to be reassured, when his vision was probably so impaired that he couldn’t really even see your face.

of course he wanted you now, when you could have been anyone.

“one of our cabs will take you home,” you said, trying to hide the wobble in your voice as you waved one over, barely able to look at him.

he pouted. “what?” he said, teasing, but there was a bite to his tone. “don’t like me like this? not your favorite anymore?”

you didn’t have the energy to scoff. “don’t be mean. sober up. goodnight.” you opened the car door for him, forced him down into the seat.

“don’t you want to kiss me?” he pressed, looked up at you, like he had before so many times from his barstool. like he had so many times, when it had been different.

oh, how they love to be taken care of. and look at you, taking care of them. desperate, foolish girl.

and even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie, to say no. “ask me when you’re not out of your mind.” you shut the car door and turned away, wiped your eyes with your sleeves quickly and methodically before taking a breath and getting back to the bar, to your job.

but you were a shell of yourself for the rest of the night, his words repeating over and over again in your mind. make me feel better.

so you blocked his number that you had just added, sighed of relief when one of your colleagues mentioned his team was headed away for a long stretch on the road. a week and a half without him. surely, completely isolated from him, you could forget about what happened.

and you half-believed that, until you came into work that next day and realized you would not be completely isolated from him at all.

right next to his stool there sat a bouquet of flowers and a red jersey, folded up. you already knew what name was on the back. you stood still at the entrance, reluctant to approach the offering.

“left it earlier,” the owner called from across the room, sweeping. “i told ‘m to fuck off, but he wouldn’t.”

“thanks anyways,” you said.

“i asked him why not,” she continued, the barest hint of a smile on her thin lips.

you furrowed your brow, confused.

“asked why he wouldn’t fuck off,” she said, “took him a second.”

you breathed out a laugh.

“said you didn’t know how much he cared, yet. and he needed you to know.”

you swallowed. “that’s nice of him,” you said, running the words over in your mind.

“not everyone deserves your second chances,” she said. “but i don’t let just anyone in our bar before we open.”

the words settled between you like diamond dust. the owner finished sweeping and left.

you approached the gift, found a note sitting on top of it in terrible handwriting.

i’m sorry, it read, i’m back next thursday. i’ll ask you then. you wondered briefly what he was going to ask you before you recalled what he had said to you that night when you put him in a car. your inability to fully turn him away.

you took a shaky breath as you read the last line of the note.

even if i’m not your favorite, you’re still mine.

your stomach fluttered, surprising you. so simple, and yet those words meant everything to you. that even when he got nothing from you, he wanted you still.

you hoped and hoped and hoped he meant it, and you believed it enough that you put the flowers in a vase and wore the jersey for each of his game days.

thursday came faster than you thought it would, probably because of how nervous you were. in this time apart, anything could be true. he could mean what he said, he could want you and only you, you could be counting down the minutes until finally kissing him, touching him how you so desired.

deep down, you were so deeply afraid that when he showed up, if he even showed up, that dreamy facade would be broken, and instead all of your greatest worries and insecurities would be realized.

throughout your whole thursday night shift, you were jittery, versions of how tonight could play out flashing through your mind.

the entire night flew by, until eventually it was time to close, and you tried to ignore your heart sinking. maybe this version of tonight, the one with you alone, maybe this one was for the best.

you counted the register, began to mop, waved goodnight to the owner as she left for the night and reminded you to lock up.

you did your final wipe-down of the counter, feeling the devastation begin to finally set in. you scrunched up your face, told yourself you wouldn’t cry on your bar top.

“princess.”

you looked up, and there he was, draped in neon light, and for a second it looked like sunlight streaming in through church stained-glass windows.

the sentiment didn’t seem altogether different. how many prayers had been answered at this bar? how many homemade temples had been elicited? how many haphazard gods?

“didn’t think you were coming,” you said as he made his way over to you, sat down on his stool, exactly the same dynamic as that first day, but there was no one else. only you and him.

“it’s my fault you ever had a doubt,” he said, looking up at you with those blue, blue eyes, an ocean of apology.

you nodded, tossed the rag aside, rested your forearms on the counter and looked at him, eye to eye, and waited for him to say something.

“i’m sorry,” he said simply, and there was no mask to be found, only genuine regret. “i’m sorry i showed up here the way i did, i’m sorry i embarrassed you at work, i’m sorry i made you feel like just another person.”

you felt your heart stitching itself back together, however painful the process. he gently took your hands in his, warm and rough and firm. “you’re not just another person, okay, princess?” his voice was rough.

your exhale was choppy, so forced you had to close your eyes for a second. how long had you waited to hear somebody say that to you?

“you didn’t embarrass me,” you whispered. “i could never be ashamed of you.”

he gave the smallest laugh, shook his head. “even now, that’s what you focus on. how i’m feeling.”

“only because i care about how you’re feeling,” you said, almost defensive.

“you gonna let me care about how you’re feeling?” he asked, his thumbs tracing circles on your palms.

you stayed quiet, bit your lip, searched his eyes for an trace of doubt, falseness, didn’t find any. only a slowly simmering flame, drowning in want.

“you’re too far away,” you whispered.

“i’ve always resented this counter,” he said with a hint of a smile.

you gave a small smile back as you walked around the bar top, finally stood in front of him, exhaled before sitting down on top of him, your legs straddling his hips, your faces only a breath apart. you clasped your arms around his neck, leaned forward into his chest as his hands settled on your hips.

“ask me,” you all but begged.

his voice was a low rasp, his gaze syrupy with lust. “don’t you want to kiss me?”

you nodded, and he smiled, and then you were leaning forward, finally capturing his lips in a kiss that felt like neon light and television static and a million pleases, all finally answered with of course, anything for you.

you let yourself melt into his chest, tangled a hand in his curls, felt his grip tighten on the flesh at your hips.

he smiled into your mouth when you ran your tongue along the gap between his front teeth, groaned when you began to move your hips back and forth across his lap.

you tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck as you felt him grow harder beneath you, to which he bit down ever so lightly on your bottom lip, the feeling even better than what you had imagined all those times you had watched him gnaw on his mouthguard.

he used his grip to set your hips into a rhythm as you ground down on his lap.

“want to taste you so bad, princess,” he breathed into your mouth. “let me take care of you, yeah? just want to make you feel good.”

you nodded feverishly, tugged at your clothes as he lifted you off of his lap and rested you back onto the counter.

laid bare for him, you become aware of how wet you already were, perhaps the result of all the waiting, the questioning, the wanting that had existed between you both since the beginning.

he groaned at the sight of you. “fuck,” he rasped, “so wet already, hm?” he ran a finger through your folds, brought it to his mouth and sucked. “who’s this for, princess?”

“for you,” you whimpered, so eager for him to touch you how you wanted. “for you, matthew.”

“all for me.” you could hear the satisfaction in his voice before he leaned forward and began to tease you with his tongue, forced a choked moan from your throat.

one of your hands braced the counter for stability while the other shot forward of its own volition, grasping a handful of his curls, making him grunt. the noise vibrated through you.

“fuck,” you bit out, overwhelmed. he pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your hips push up into him and your grip on his hair tighten. “fuck, you’re good at that.”

you felt his smile as he pushed two fingers inside of you, began to move them in and out slowly while continuing to tongue your clit.

you moaned loudly as your eyes rolled back, the combination of sensations making it hard to control your breathing, stop your back from arching up off the counter.

he brought his other hand to your stomach and pressed down, cementing your hips down into the bar top, intensifying every shock of pleasure, immediately bringing you impossibly close. “fuck, i can’t,” you whimpered, your hand grasping for sheets that weren’t there. “can’t, shit, so close-”

he lifted his head up, thumbed your clit while curling his fingers slightly inside of you. “gonna cum for me?” he cooed.

you nodded, eyes scrunched shut.

“cum, then, princess,” he pressed. “make a mess for me, hm?”

that building wave finally crashed over you, and you gave him exactly what he wanted, reveled in the fact that you could.

you caught your breath, let out a weak exhale, opened your eyes when you felt him press a light kiss against your hip, on the side of your ribs, up to your collarbone, finally on your lips.

pressed against you, you could feel every inch of him, so hard, immediately making you hungry for him again. “more,” you pleaded simply.

“yeah?” he rasped against your lips. “want more of me?”

you palmed his cock in reply, making him hiss, helped him move his clothes aside. “need to feel you inside me.”

he shifted you off of the counter and against his stool, which you immediately bent over and rested your forearms on.

he groaned, pumped his cock once, twice. “tell me this is okay, princess.”

you nodded. “please fuck me, matthew.”

he did as told, pushing inside you entirely, barely giving you any time to adjust before he set a brutal pace, practically splitting you in half.

“holy fuck,” he choked out as you stretched around him. “shit, you’re so perfect for me. bein’ so good, princess, stretching for me so well.”

you moaned as you began to adjust to his size, every part of you still so sensitive from your last orgasm.

he built up his rhythm, forceful and deep but never so much that it hurt, only a pleasant pressure that began to build inside of you.

“so deep,” you whined, your voice muffled by your own arm, “fuck, feels so good.”

he grunted in time with a slow thrust in response, making your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation.

“want to see you,” he rasped, hooking one hand around your thigh and flipping you around before pushing back into you, so that now your back was against the stool, your front facing him, one knee bent. he groaned when your eyes met. “fuck, like that.”

you reached one arm up to his shoulder for support, rested the other one back against the stool. your thighs began to shake from the stimulation, making you clench down on him harder, urging another deep moan from him.

time disappeared as the rhythm of you both continued, so lost in the feeling of him and his noises, so perfect and better than anything you had imagined.

at one point, he brought one of his hands to your clit, began to tease you again with his thumb, while the other hand braced the back of your neck.

“hm, look, princess,” he said, his voice rough with wear, as he forced your gaze down to where your bodies met. “watch me fuck you, yeah?”

you whimpered at his crudeness, couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight in front of you, his cock thrusting into you, his hands willing you to the edge again.

he let out a choked laugh. “oh, you like that, hm? feel you close.”

“fuck, i’m so close, matthew,” you whimpered, feeling your legs give out.

“‘s okay, princess, ‘m there too,” he mumbled, his motions becoming less controlled. “cum with me, yeah? want to feel you cream on my cock.”

you did as he asked, spurred on by his words, the overstimulation. you felt him reach his high with a groan, warm inside of you, his body collapsing against yours.

you held each other close for several long moments, the only noise between you satisfied breaths and shallow heartbeats. the air was warm, so peaceful, and you bit back a smile at how this bar was now forever changed - this peace would never leave.

you felt his facial hair scratch gently against your shoulder as his head rested there, so content to simply have you close.

it could have been a lifetime. it was probably a minute or two.

he was the first to speak. “so,” he said, drowsy and sweet, “you guys still open? how’re my chances of getting a captain and coke?”

you smiled. how far you had come from the man with the mask asking for anything, maybe an ipa.

if please had been written all over him before, x’s and o’s were now, in pastel pink.

“anything for my favorite,” you said, and he kissed just under your ear.

fin.

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im-a-hoping-beetch · 6 months

Note

Many people genuinely get confused when we, native people, get uncomfortable when Katara, a native character, is reduced to a mom and her canon relationships with characters are put down in favour for a boy who lived in a society that benefitted from her oppression, antagonised her and her friends for most of the series and was even racist at times. But because he's hot and had an episode with katara, everything should be forgiven, because god forbid a native girl gets with anyone who isn't from a group of people who aided the genocide of her people. God forbid two characters who experienced genocide have a relationship and connect over this shared trauma, in favour for boy who also has mom trauma

Look, while I can understand your feelings of discomfort towards the ship, I’d still like to put certain things into perspective.

Now, I don’t really know what you meant by her being “reduced” to a mom. Do you mean that her relationship with Zuko would confine her to such a role? Which, by the way, is absolutely laughable, since one of the main reasons why so many ppl ship these two is bcz unlike every member of the gaang (aside from Suki), Zuko is the only one with who she doesn’t have to act like a surrogate mother. Katara is allowed to be angry and be vulnerable with him. All things that we rarely see her be able to do with the rest of the bunch, let alone her own brother.

Actually, one of the main appeal of the two is bcz, both have the same level of of maturity and similar way of interacting with the members of the gaang. Which is why so many ppl label the two as “parents of the group”.

But, if you’re talking about how, we zutarians usually talk abt the intricacies that come with her being a motherly person, I’ve got some news for ya. Most of us, usually, never fail to highlight how much of a tragedy, her being pushed into a role of adulthood at such a young age is. Also, on how, ironically, her canonical partner (Aang) has never really helped with that phenomenon, actually he perpetuated it even further.

Besides, wanna talk abt canon relationships being put down for a boy, well, look no further than canon itself, anon. I’m guessing that you’ve probably read this post, due to the phrasing at the beginning of your ask. One thing I specifically touched on, was how much of Katara’s existence seems to revolve around Aang, the biggest example being, the comics. In them, we do see the creators ready to strain Katara’s established relationships with the gaang (aside from her brother) in order to shove kataang down our throats. Cuz if you think abt it, Toph and Katara’s interactions are heavily reduced, let alone meaningful ones and do not even get me started on Zuko or Suki.

Yes, Zuko lived in a society that benefited from her oppression. He has antagonized her and her friends. But Zuko is also made to recognize the harm his actions have caused. Additionally, at no point is he not faced with the consequences of what he has done towards the gaang. Every single member gets to express anger or/and resentment over what he’s done in the past, Katara is no exception. Actually, she’s the one who’s given the most leeway in terms of doing so. Even for things he had no control over such as her mother’s death and the fire nation raids. However, instead of whining about how he’s not responsible for all of this taking place, something he could’ve easily done, he makes it up to her. He helps her seek justice for her mother while her canonical future boyfriend is out here reducing her righteous anger to blindsided revenge.

I don’t know what you mean by “Because He’s hot and had an episode with her, everything should be forgiven.” To me, that last part owed to make me scratch all the dandruff off my braids. Language is a powerful tool, but often than not, people don’t really know how to use it nor seem to understand the ramifications of their use. When you say “everything should be forgiven”, you are framing forgiveness as something passive, when, here, it is active. Someone does the action of forgiving Zuko, Katara does. Katara forgives him, because he earned it.

Right now, I’m assuming that you thought you were in defence of Katara, but the truth is that you are actually perpetuating an habit that many have had when it comes to the Southern Raiders. Which is to perpetually strip any agency Katara has in an episode literally centered around her character!?!

Nobody forbid anyone from anything. If people don’t feel comfortable shipping these two, so be it. However, to act as if Zuko hasn’t actively fought against the system that has led to those atrocities being done or like he hasn’t used his position of power in order to make actual change or/and retributions, is simply disingenuous.

Aang and Katara did have a relationship, but have never connected over their shared trauma. More specifically, Aang failed to connect over their shared trauma, when he should have and instead used as a way to silence hers. @sokkastyles makes a very good point about it in this post.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zutara #anti kataang #anti bryke #anti aang #atla fandom critical #zuko #katara #pro katara #the southern raiders #anti atla comics

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month

Text

A Poor Plan to Confess

Dieter Bravo x plus size female reader (Moon Pie)

This is fic is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.1k

Warnings: Dieter being a bit rude, porn use, mention of masturbation, teasing, improper toy use?, very bad communication, some mentions of sexual activities and acts, Nerdie is unsure of what she wrote

Summary: Dieter is doing his best to stay sober. You have a large part in his plans. They aren’t well thought out.

Notes: Written for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge. @wannab-urs brought me back to Dieter, originally I didn’t have any ideas for this and then boom! 🤯 I had a few. Thanks to @missladym1981 for beta reading for me. 😘

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

A joke between old friends. Dieter was doing well. Three years sober, well from the harder drugs. He still had the occasional joint and alcohol. You weren’t really into the weed, thought it stunk to high heaven. Dieter always managed to find some really fragrant strains though, smelled like incense. Type you would burn laying on a chase couch in a fancy silk robe. Maybe smoke one of those long cigarettes except it had bubbles coming out of it. Dieter bought you one and told you to make bubbles come out of it over FaceTime.

The two of you have many silly jokes over the years. Some about video games, some about animals, some about his job and yours. He never wanted to hear about relationships and didn’t mention any of his to you. You asked why one day because friends normally at least mention if they’re dating someone or not and Dieter flat out told you, “I don’t need to have the image of you fucking somebody in my head.” Had you not been as secure as you were, you’d take offense, but you left it alone, keeping it in the back of your mind.

One thing Bravo hadn’t joked about thankfully was his sobriety, finally taking it seriously. He told you that if he ever called you mentioning coke or pills to lock him up and prevent him from calling anyone for the drugs. This was another joke. He even bought you handcuffs, zip ties and some bondage tape. His assistant dropped it off with a quizzical look on their face. You smiled and put them in your office. You knew why they had that look, you two as just friends and Dieter’s never given you anything like that before. Like an idiot, you googled how to use the zip ties and tape, ending up on Pornhub and unaware that someone was banging on your door.

When the next pop-up blocked your screen again, that was when you heard, “Hey! You alive in there?! Open the hell up! What kind of friend are you?” Running downstairs, you open up the door recognizing the voice, Dieter’s at your door. It’s 11:30 at night. He stares at you and you wonder why. Ah…I’m in my nightgown. My pink satin one to match the handcuff fuzz. I don’t think I washed my hands, and they smell like…fuck.

You now know why.

“Moon Pie, you got someone up in here? Didn’t know you had someone. I need your help your help though, just a room.” He pleads at your doorstep, before you can answer, whatever ad has finished and there’s loud moaning from the video you had been watching. His eyes cut upward to where the noise is coming from. “Or maybe not. I didn’t think you watched porn.”

Putting your hands on your hips, “Anyone can watch porn Dieter. Am I not allowed according to some weird ass rule you have? I have sex sometimes too!” His eyes went wide as you stepped aside letting him in and he raised his hands to signal defeat, though he did laugh when you said the word sex.

“You can’t even say fuck Moon Pie. Listen, let’s not talk about that. I need you to keep me here. I’m feeling like I may need to make a bad call. I did give my assistant my phone, but I don’t want to chance it. You still got that box?” He pays your shoulder, plopping down on the couch.

“Go find your silly box yourself Dieter. I’m going back upstairs.” Waving your hands, you start upstairs, making it up three stairs before some slaps are heard from your laptop in your room. You really need to turn that off.

“To finish your porn instead of helping your friend?” He popped up met you at the bottom of the stairs, “Come on! You still have the tools, right?” His hands ran up your arms. This man. Despite showing up unannounced, late, interrupting some ‘me time’ and requesting he use tools you don’t know how to use save for the handcuffs, you’d still help him out. Even if he could be troublesome and rude at times, he always supported you in work endeavors and listened to you talk way too much about Final Fantasy games. He blames you for knowing about crystals and different jobs like paladin and black mage.

You didn’t answer him and walked upstairs to your room, to turn the porn off but the screen was frozen, playing the same moan ever and over. The image had a man zip tied to a pole while standing as a woman sucked him off. They both were letting out a combined moan. Swallowing hard, Dieter watched you switch your weight between your large hips, he removed his robe and brown t-shirt leaving himself in his brown pajama pants and removing his gray socks. “Moon Pie. Have you ever done that sort of thing? I doubt it.” His voice snapped you after your haze, turning to look at him, confusion dots your face.

“Why did you remove your shirt? I just need to tie you up and prevent you from leaving right? Put your shirt back on Dee.” His chest only has a small splattering of dark hair on his golden skin. He lays across your bed grinning. “Wait how long am I supposed to keep you here? You’re not getting me arrested.”

“I was hot and until I don’t feel like using. Where’s the box?”

“Stay there, it’s in my office.” You’re back momentarily with the fabled box and open it, taking out the handcuffs, zip ties and tape. “Here which do you want me to use? I’m tired.” Dropping the box on the bed, he frowns, you’re not playing along, you see annoyed. Shouldn’t you be happy he’s across your bed? Dieter is, why aren’t you?

You are tired sure, but you’re hornier and more aware that Dieter is not going to want anything to do with relieving any frustration you have. Holding your hands palms out, “Just tell me what you want me tie you up with so I can set up the guest room.”

“Hey, why are you pissed at me? I’m not leaving until you help me, you said you would.” Dieter scoots to the edge of the bed and leans on his elbows. “Are you really that mad I stopped you from finishing your porn? You don’t need it.” He picks up the handcuffs out of the box and studies the pink fuzz. It looks about the same shade as your nightgown. Moon Pie hasn’t used these has she? No, they don’t look used. I think. These are mine, I bought them for her to use with me. She shouldn’t be watching porn. I need to be the toy.

“Damn it Dieter! I’m not just your friend, I’m a woman who has needs no matter if you wanna think about it or not! Fuck you!” Charging at him, you grab his shoulders and knock him back on the bed, pinning him to bed. He slaps the handcuffs on your wrist and his. “What the hell?! They’re only supposed to go on you not me!”

Bravo licks his lips and turns his head to the side to kiss your hand after pulling his wrist to his mouth. “Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs. You should fuck me Moon Pie.” His curved nose inches closer to your hand and sniffs it. He has your scent now, sticking one of your fingers into his mouth and pulling it back out.

The sensation from his lips went straight to your cunt and you stifled a moan. He will not have his way; you can ensure even if you’re handcuffed to him. “You said you couldn’t picture me fucking Dee? Are you looking for that much of a distraction?” You moved to sit beside him on the bed, but he pulled you back on top, his free hand roaming freely over your love handles. “Dee, I’m not just going to be used for you staying sober.”

Leaning forward, his face connected with your neck, licking it, “I’ve been using you to stay sober since I finish rehab three years ago. I knew if I went back, it would disappoint the hell out of you.” His teeth bit into your neck and a whimper escaped, small but it was enough to encourage him. “I didn’t want to think of someone fucking you other than me. I’m sure you have; they’re flies drawn to honey.” His hand ran from your rolls to your ass squeezing it. “If I’m going to stay sober for you, I should have you, shouldn’t I?” Rolling his hips up into yours, he licks the bite and lets go of your ass slapping it.

Dropping your hips, you press right into his clothed bulge, feeling it throb against your bare cunt. “You’re insane Dieter, how does that make any sense….?” Unfortunately, he’s making it so much worse, your nipples are visible through your nightgown, erect as you leak onto his pants from your core. “This is only because you stopped me earlier with your stupid request.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself Moon Pie. Only I’m going to see you like this from now on, right?” The pads of his fingers trail up your spine and pull down one of the straps of your nightgown letting a breast become fully exposed. He licks it before blowing on it, eliciting another whimper. “Tell me I’ll be the only one. I’ll take the handcuffs off and make sure you come. Don’t be difficult tonight. Not when I need you.” He doesn’t wait for your answer before taking it in his mouth, and sitting up, pulling you into his lap. Instinctively, both of your hands grab his head, pulling his one hand back. He disconnects from your nipple to yelp from his shoulder suddenly going back.

You grin and try to reach for the key that’s in the box since he’s distracted, but Dieter gets on his knees and pulls on his wrist, having your arm come back toward him and making you fall face first into the bed. “Dieter let me get the key, then I can lock you in another room. Clearly you need to be.” His fingers trace your thighs but don’t go any higher, sighing, he lays down next to you.

“You seriously don’t want to have sex with me? Even after I tell you I want you to be my only one? So cold to me.” He pouts. This man is seriously pouting after he’s teased you? He doesn’t move as you get the key and unlock yourself. You consider handcuffing both of his hands but release him as well. Moving to the edge of the bed, you stand and turn off your laptop then return to sit on the bed.

“You’ve got to do better than trying to guilt me into it. You’re horrible at this.” You laugh as does he. If it had been anyone else, you’d never speak to them again at minimum, Dieter rolls on his side and kisses your thigh.

“We’ve been friends how long? You know I’m shit at this. I feel like I should ask, you’re not going to have me arrested for this are you?” You poke the scruff on his cheek.

“No, though I should. You’re insane Dieter Bravo. We’ll sleep on it.” You lay back and scoot up to the head of the bed, closing your eyes.

“Did you want to finish your porn? Or make our own? It will be Moon Pie’s debut!”” Slinks up the bed and lays his head on your chest, kissing your collar bone.

“You’re a dumbass Dieter. I would tie you up but you’d like it too much. Go to sleep.” Placing your fingers in his hair to scratch his scalp makes him purr, wrapping a leg around one of yours.

“Keep scratching my head like that and we won’t be sleeping at all you cheeky Moon Pie. I’ll be under that gown soon.” His face found its way back to your neck, licking the teeth marks he made earlier. Letting out a soft groan, you pull on Dieter’s hair, so he pulls his head back. “Jokes on you, I enjoy my hair being pulled. Manipulate me more.” His grin is criminal, he should be arrested for that if anything.

It wasn’t even two hours before Dieter had your legs up around his waist. He’s temperamental and a horrible communicator but damn if he didn’t have you call him an Oscar winner while he rutted into you from behind giving you your third orgasm before one in the morning.

Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @pedroshotwifey @heareball

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x plus size reader #dieter bravo x you #Nerdie fic rec #dieter bravo brainrot club

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halsteadlover · 9 months

Text

Shadows From The Past

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by anon: I don’t really know if this is how you make a request if it’s not correct me but would you possibly be able to write one where Jay has an episode because of a criminal that took tours in Afghanistan as well, like an episode in the show in season 5 I think. Where the criminal gets shot and dies and J is the only one there and you go to check up on him and he points gun at you because he’s having an episode idk I really don’t know, but could it end in him apologizing a lot and feeling really bad then just cuddles?? Thank u and uh if you see this could you pls just remind me when it’s done possibly. Thank you so much!!!❤️

• Warnings: mention of blood, gun, PTSD.

• Word count: 5825.

• A/N: hi everyone! Long time no see. I know this is ugly af but I tried my best. I hope you’ll like this piece anyway, please let me know what you think. Comment, like, reblog if you want this would be amazing! Thank you so much for your support, and for everyone who stayed even if I upload once every 100 years 😭 I love you all so much ❤️

Jay had always tried to do his job the best he could, giving everything in his power to every case he worked on, always trying to focus on nothing but bringing justice to the poor victims. He had always tried to be as objective as possible, leaving emotions out and thinking and planning every move to make lucidly. Some cases were easier, others a little less.

There were moments of his life, some shadows of his past, that still echoed in his present. They sometimes came back so strong and overbearing, they made him risk his present, all his progress and happiness, even his future.

And the case he was working on was one of those moments.

Following the discovery of a man's body, Intelligence was assigned to investigate this case. After questioning witnesses, analyzing the victim's life, talking to family and friends, suspicion fell on a person Jay met while serving overseas in Afghanistan. In fact, Don Stanton had served in the 3rd Battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment at the same time as Jay, but he had never had the opportunity to speak in depth with him.

In fact, after returning home, Don didn't do too well, soon spiraling into drug, alcohol and illegal dealings.

From the moment they found out about this suspect, Jay felt something stir inside him, though he didn't know exactly what. He tried to disguise it or he would’ve estranged from the case but he couldn't hide his feelings from you, who knew him like the back of your hand and had learned to know every single nuance of him and recognize when something bothered him.

To try to get Don to confess, Jay offered to go undercover, build a relationship with him in a way that would make him trust him, and no one could be perfect for this role except someone who had gone through the exact same shit during the war as Jay.

It goes without saying that you didn’t agree with this decision at all and Voight would’ve even agreed with you if this wasn’t the only lead you got to catch the killer.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked Jay as you adjusted his hidden microphone in his shirt. “You can always back out, someone else will go or we will find other leads to catch him.”

Jay sighed. “It's an undercover operation like any other Y/N, if anyone can do it it's me.”

You looked up at him, your hands still on his chest as you tried to analyze his expression on his face. “No baby, it's not an operation like any other. The suspect served in your own battalion, you met him and you can tell from a mile away you're upset about…-”

“Goddamn Y/N stop it! You've been asking me if I'm okay since this morning! I'm fine, I don't need a babysitter!” he snapped raising his voice and this sudden outburst made you withdraw your hands in shock.

Jay immediately regretted those words the instant he said them. He noticed the sad expression that appeared on your features and felt guilty like few other times in his life. “Baby… Shit…” he sighed again, running his hands over his face in frustration. He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I don't know what has gotten into me. I’m sorry baby.”

You remained silent for a few seconds, looking at him for a moment before speaking. “Jay I'm just worried about you, I know it's hard for you but I want to help you… It breaks my heart seeing you like this,” you mumbled softly, your throat tight in a knot, your heart heavy.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry love. Come here,” he whispered, pulling you into a hug and holding you with all the love he could. “It'll be okay. I can do it. You don't know what people like him are like, like me, he won't trust anyone and if there's someone who can make him confess it’s me. We served together, we saw the same crap, I can understand him,” he continued, pulling away from the hug and looking into your eyes.

You looked at him intensely, as if you wanted to read inside him, trying to discover a shred of hesitation or uncertainty.

“Jay, you are not like him, he is an alleged murderer, drug addict and alcoholic, you are a decorated detective. Don't even think for a second you're like him, okay?”.

He caressed your hair, and then nodded, smiling slightly. “I know, I know.”

“If something, anything, goes wrong you're out, you understand me?” you threatened him, pointing a finger at his chest.

He chuckled, caressing your cheeks. “Yes ma'am. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

If only he believed it too.

The truth was, Jay's mind was racing and image after image, memory after memory, everything seemed to be resurfacing, moments of the past he wanted to forget at all costs but which was about to overwhelm him like a river in flood.

He didn't want to talk to you about it, he knew he'd get over it – just like he had all time – he didn't want to worry you any more than you already were.

While he was in the car waiting for Don Stanton to show up, he read the message you sent and a small smile crept onto his lips.

From Baby D💕, 3.13pm

Be careful love. I'm here for whatever you need. I love you.

That message made the abyss in his heart grow and a feeling of guilt took over him. But the way he loved you, God, he didn’t know what he would’ve done without you.

From Jay, 3:16pm

I love you too babe, more than anything and everyone. Everything will be okay.

He put the cell phone back in his trouser pocket, trying to concentrate exclusively on the case. He sat in the car for about ten minutes before seeing Don in the distance. He looked around suspiciously before approaching Jay's car and quickly getting in.

“Drive,” Don ordered, and Jay gave him a confused look.

“Where? What is going on?”.

Don snapped his eyes at Jay. “Didn't you say you wanted a job? Drive then. Go straight, at the first crossroads turn left, I'll tell you from there where to go next.”

Jay understood there was no way to get an explanation and after letting out a sigh, he started driving, aware that you and the rest of the team would’ve followed him from afar.

After driving for about twenty minutes, he and Don arrived at an abandoned building. It looked shabby and it must’ve been unused for at least twenty years.

“What the hell is going on Stanton?” Jay asked, for the umpteenth time. Don stopped in his footsteps, turning to him, looking annoyed and angry.

“What part of ‘I'll explain in a moment’ you don’t understand?”.

“I won’t do anything until you explain to me what hell is going on. This place is clearly a mile away from legality and I'm not risking my ass for whatever bullshit is going on here. So either tell me what's going on or I'm out.”

Don sighed, glancing between Jay and the building, looking uncertain, even almost frightened. Jay noticed this and realized whatever was going on, they weren't alone and that there was nothing good about that abandoned building.

He approached Jay, walking fast and hands in his trouser pockets. “Then leave.”

“C'mon man talk to me...”.

“Damn it! I'm in deep shit man, I can't back out!” he exclaimed in despair.

“Why? What did you do?”.

They were all at the edge of their chairs as they listened through Jay's microphone conversation, knowing that a little nudge was enough to get Don Stanton to confess.

“Don, talk to me. I can help you, I know you're not doing well, I totally understand. You don't have to do anything, whatever it is...”

“You can't help me… I… I fucking killed a man!” Stanton exclaimed loudly, running his hands through his hair “But it wasn't my fault! They forced me! I… I really needed the money…”

There were some moments of silence in which you and Voight exchanged a look. He confessed, but why didn't Jay arrest him?

“What are we going to do here Don?” Jay asked, trying to stay calm as his heart was pounding.

“They gave me another job. A gang member… They want me to kill him and they’ll pay me almost ten thousand dollars.”

“Don, for fucks sale! No life is worth this money! How can you do this? You were a fucking soldier, you risked your life to protect others, to protect this country and now you're the one hurting people!” Jay exclaimed, more angrily than he would’ve liked.

“I know! I know! They've foreclosed on my house… I'm out of money… I need it man…” Don muttered.

“Halstead what are you waiting for? Handcuff him,” Voight ordered over his mic but Jay didn't seem to listen, in fact, he didn't even seem to be on this planet anymore.

You were worried sick, your stomach was in a vice. You knew Jay couldn't do this, he was too involved to be able to deal with all of this, to deal with his past.

“Voight we have to do something,” you said, turning to your now impatient boss.

“Let's just wait few seconds.”

But when you saw Jay enter the building your heart stopped for an instant and fear took over. Before Voight could say anything, you leapt out of the car at lightning speed, waiting for no one, thinking of no one but Jay.

You pulled out your gun from your holster before entering the abandoned building. It was larger than it appeared externally and at first sight there was no sign of Jay.

Your heart was beating so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears and with every step you took, fear ate you more and more. What the hell was he thinking? Why did he come in here alone with a criminal?

As you climbed the creaking stairs to the first floor, a shot rang out from the walls and you jumped. “Oh my god,” you murmured in a trembling voice before starting to run as fast as possible towards the place where the shot came from. Your mind began to project images of Jay lying in a pool of his own blood, dying, and the very thought made you die inside.

God let him be okay, please.

Once you climbed to the third floor, however, you saw him in the distance but before you could take a step towards him or even take a sigh of relief, a bullet was fired in your direction, forcing you to take cover behind a pillar.

A gun fight with some men ensued, and though you knew you had to focus on saving your own life, you couldn't help but glance at Jay from time to time, noticing him hunched over Don Stanton, trying to revive him.

The rest of the squad arrived at that moment and you managed to take down three men who were shooting at you. You approached Jay while the others explored the rest of the building for anything suspect.

“Jay,” you called but he didn't seem to hear you as he tried to stop Stanton's bleeding, “Jay,” you called him out again but still nothing, no answer. So you placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to make him aware of your presence but that touch made him stiffen and you almost had a heart attack when he pulled out his gun and turned, pointing it at you.

“Woah!” you exclaimed loudly, spontaneously raising your hands to let him know you were unarmed, “Jay, what the hell are you doing?!”.

His gaze was fixed on you but he wasn't really looking at you, his eyes were empty, without the light that characterizes them, his forehead was wet with sweat as his chest rose and fell quickly as if he had run a marathon.

“Jay put that gun down. It's just me. Can you hear me? Everything is fine.”

You continued to speak but your voice reached far into his ears which continued to ring incessantly. You didn't dare take a wrong step, or try to get him to put down his gun because you knew Jay wasn't there right now, that his mind was unconscious and his body uncontrollable. He was still in war and he saw you like an enemy and not his girlfriend.

But that didn't make the moment any less scary.

Jay, the person you most trusted in the world, with whom you felt safest, was pointing a gun at you and anything could trigger him to shoot you. You've never felt so small and helpless, even after facing the most dangerous and depraved criminals, you felt so scared and intimidated.

He'd had similar episodes, where the PTSD made him lose touch with reality, but he'd never come to that, never pointing a gun at you and threatening to hurt you.

“Jay!” you almost screamed and only then did Jay seem to come to his senses.

When he realized he was pointing his gun at you a wave of guilt fully overwhelmed him and he dropped the gun from his hands in disbelief at what he had just done.

What the hell had he been up to? Was he really point a gun at you? The love of his life?

He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe he was capable of doing such a thing and as he watched your face contorted in an expression of pure fear and terror, as he watched you back away until you ran away, he realized he seriously needed help.

The case was finally closed but never like then it left you an unbridgeable abyss inside you.

Since you'd left that building you'd been trying to avoid Jay even though he'd been trying hard to talk to you. You knew it wasn't his fault, that what happened was just a consequence of everything he'd been through, that knowingly he wouldn't do anything that could hurt you.

But that episode had shocked you more than you could ever admit and the image of that gun pointed at you continued to haunt your mind.

You were at your house, sitting on the couch staring at nothing in particular, contemplating whether to respond to Jay's many texts and calls. You knew you had to talk to him, you couldn't avoid him forever, but you needed some alone time first, to digest everything that had happened.

But when the bell rang you understood this was not going to happen.

You stood up and your heart skipped a beat when you saw through the peephole it was Jay. You took a deep breath and opened the door, realizing you couldn't avoid him forever and sooner or later you had to deal with the confrontation.

Jay was a walking disaster.

He didn't know what to say, what to do, how to act and especially when he noticed the way you kept avoiding his gaze, he panicked even more. You made room for him to enter and he felt his heart break when, in an attempt to say hi, you pulled back slightly.

“Uhm… Hi… Come in,” you murmured nervously before going to sit back on the sofa.

Jay closed the door behind him, walking over and sitting next to you. You brought your knees to your chest and he didn’t miss this gesture, he didn't miss the way you tried to distance yourself from him, how you tried to protect yourself by moving away from him.

“How are you feeling?” you asked feebly, finally looking up at him and a chasm opened inside you as you saw his tired, destroyed eyes, the melancholy expression on his face.

“I'm fine but...”

“No Jay,” you interrupted him “Don't start with these lies, you know I can't stand them. You pointed a damn gun at me, you are definitely not fine.”

You knew it was tough, but it was time for him to face the shadows of his past that kept haunting him, it was time for him to face reality and realize he wasn't good at all, that he kept lying to himself and pretending to be in a state of well-being which, unfortunately, wasn’t true at all.

He sighed and it was him who lowered his gaze that time, unable to look in your eyes anymore. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans before resting his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He was silent for a moment before returning to his previous position.

“You're right…” he murmured, almost afraid to admit it aloud, “I… I'm not okay I know, I’ve realized it… But Y/N, darling, I just want you to know I would’ve never done that… I would never hurt you…”

“Jay…” you sighed “I know that, but… But what if you won't regain control of yourself next time? What if you won’t come to your senses and shoot me?”

“No! No! Fuck… This will never happen again, I swear…”

“And how do you know this, Jay?” you asked, a lump in your throat, eyes brimming with tears as you tried to hold them back. “How do you know you’ll be able to stop the next time that in the grip of a similar episode you’ll point a gun at me again?”.

Jay had never experienced a worse feeling in his life. He always promised himself he would given his life to protect you, that he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe, that he’d rather die than know you were suffering.

He loved you more than anyone else in the world, more than he ever thought he’d love someone and knowing he was the one who tried to hurt you, destroyed him. He’d never forget the expression of fear, terror and pure shock with which you looked at him in that damned building, it would’ve haunted him forever.

“I would never hurt you Y/N, you… You are the most precious thing in my life. God, I'd die to protect you…” he babbled in desperation.

“I know, Jay. I consciously know this,” you answered, putting your feet on the ground and approaching him without touching him. “I want to help you, but...”

“But what?” he whispered, his green eyes bright with tears as he looked at you. A tear slid from your eyes onto your cheek but you immediately wiped it away before you spoke again. “You want to leave me right? You are afraid of me?”.

You remained silent for a moment.

“Y/N I… You can't leave me please, I can't do this without you, I need you. You're the only person I'm still here for, helping me through this shit… Please…”

You cried. “I have to protect myself Jay,” you wiped away another tear “I don't want to leave you, God. I love you so much…”

“But you're afraid of me,” he stated, swallowing the lump in his throat. He looked down at the floor and his shoes to try and mask the tears he couldn't control anymore and streamed down his cheeks. He stood up, suddenly feeling suffocated, and ran his hands over his face as he began pacing around the living room.

“Hey…” you said, standing up and approaching him. You placed your hands on his arms to make him stop and he directed his eyes at you. They were red and shiny from tears and God only knew how much it hurt you to see him like this, how much he didn't deserve all that suffering.

You placed your hands on his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. “God baby,” you whispered “I hate seeing you like this…”. He hugged you, squeezing you so tight it made you gasp for breath.

You hugged him back, putting your arms around his neck and letting yourself be cradled by that embrace. You stroked his hair while he hid his face in the hollow of your neck, letting go in a desperate and liberating cry.

“It's okay love, it's okay,” you whispered, as you too were crying, “Let's sit down.”

You sat back on the sofa and you hugged him, letting him rest his head on your chest as he let out all the anger – mostly towards himself – and sadness he felt.

“Cry all you want, I'm here. I don't want to leave, I'll always be here with you Jay,” you mumbled, caressing his hair. He wrapped his arms around your chest tighter, as if he was afraid to let you go.

“I'm so sorry my love. I didn't mean to scare you… When…” he sighed “When I realized what I was doing, the way you were looking at me…” he couldn't finish the sentence, because just remembering the expression you had in that moment pushed him over the edge again “God Y/N I will never forgive myself for what I did...” he got up, sitting on the sofa and running a hand through his hair “When I saw your face… That moment I understood I seriously need some help, I don't… I can't risk hurting you, losing you, I don't want you to be afraid of me. I want to be your safe haven, I don’t want you to doubt for even a second I can intentionally hurt you… I… I don't want you to look me with that terrified and fearful look again... I can't...”

“But I'm not afraid of you Jay, I know you were going through a lot , the case was heavy to deal with…” you tried to comfort him.

“Yes you do,” he smiled at you bitterly, eyes and nose still red from crying “No lies remember? You told me before and even now…” he tried to stop crying but failing “You hugged me and you were tense and the thing is, I can't even blame you… It's only my fault for believing all the shit the war brought me could just go away on its own and I will never be able to forgive myself for how I reacted, in that building, when you were putting my mic...”

“You weren't yourself,” you whispered.

“I know… But I won’t let you to suffer the consequences of what happens to me… But on the other hand I'm too selfish to let you go, I love you too much Y/N and I know if you're not here I… I'll never be able to face this alone.”

“But I don't want you to go through this alone,” you retorted, grabbing his hand with yours and intertwining your fingers as your eyes were on his. “Jay I will never leave you… You’re my whole life and I want to be with you at every step you take, I know it will be hard, I know it isn't easy, I know there is a long way ahead but we’ll do it together. I won't leave you alone… I was just scared in that moment, let's be honest, who wouldn't, but I don't want to abandon you, okay? I just need to know you’ll really, really, try to face these ghosts.”

“Absolutely, I don't want to hurt you anymore…”

“No baby, you don't have to do it for me but for yourself,” you didn't let him finish the sentence “Because you went though what no other human being can go through and you deserve to be happy, to fully live your life, to do your job serenely, you don't deserve to wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares. You are strong, one of the strongest people I know and if there is anyone who can do it, it’s you, love, okay?” you stroked his cheek and he nodded faintly.

“Promise me you'll really try? Not for me though,” you continued as he looked at you with all the love he felt for you. “I can take it, past the fear I know it's not your fault baby, you don't control it. I can't even imagine what you're going through, what you saw over there, anyone who didn’t experience it will never be able to, but I swear Jay I… I would die to give you all the happiness you deserve.”

“You are my happiness,” he retorted and you smiled feebly when you saw him calm down a bit “Tomorrow I’ll look for someone and start doing therapy, I promise I'll do it, for you, for me, for us.”

Your smile grew on your lips. “I know you will. I'm so proud of you.”

“So you won't leave me?” he whispered so softly he almost sounded like a child intimidated by the response he’d receive.

“No baby, never, I swear. I'd take a bullet for you if it means to make you happy.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he mumbled. He placed his hand on yours which was still on his cheek, then bringing it to his lips and leaving a kiss on the back without his eyes ever leaving yours. “I love you so much Y/N, so fucking much I can't even breathe right now. I don't know what I did to deserve you,” you smiled again “I always want to see you smile like that, God… I can't even explain what you do to me. I… I want to make you happy as much as you make me happy. I'm so sorry baby, I'm sorry for everything...”

“Shh, it's okay, it's not your fault I want you to put it in this cute little head. I love you too Jay so much, more than you can ever imagine.”

You stayed on that sofa embraced for and indefinite amount of time, cradled in each other's arms. After some time you managed to get Jay to eat something before letting him take a shower, needless to say he was going to sleep over at your place.

You both got into bed and, due to the exhaustion, the intense emotions experienced that day, it didn't take long for Jay to fall asleep, his head resting on your chest as you held him and hugged him. But you couldn't sleep a wink, the events of that day still clear in your mind.

When Jay woke up in the middle of the night, it didn't take him long to realize you weren't there anymore. He sat up in bed and looked at the time on his cell phone, which read 1:32 in the morning, before getting up and walking towards the living room.

For a fraction of a second he thought he heard a sob but he thought he just imagined it. But when this sobbing sound was accompanied by a sniffling, he knew he didn’t imagine them at all.

He walked quickly to the living room and his heart skipped a beat when, in the dim light, he saw you sitting on the sofa, your knees drawn up to your chest as you cried. He turned on the lights and didn't miss the way you tried - in vain – to quickly dry your tears.

“Y/N… Baby… God, what happened? Are you hurt?” Jay asked after rushing over to you, kneeling right in front of you.

You mentally let out a curse, aware that you wouldn't be able to escape this. “I'm fine,” you replied though, hoping for a nano second he’d buy it.

“Oh baby don't lie to me, you don't cry if you're fine. Please talk to me, are you okay? What happened?” he continued to ask worried. He grabbed a handkerchief from the top of the coffee table and handed it to you, watching you intently as you blew your nose. He sat down next to you and started stroking your hair in an attempt to comfort you.

“Don't worry babe, it's okay. Nothing happened, go back to sleep you're tired.”

“How can you even think I'll leave you here alone?” he said “Wait, I'll go get you a glass of water.”

Before you could object, he was up and in less than no time he returned with a glass of cold water which you drank with pleasure. “You want another one?” he asked and after you mumbled a ‘no’ he took the empty glass from your hands and placed it on the coffee table. “Are you feeling better?”.

You nodded. “Seriously baby, I'm fine, go back to bed.��

“How about you stop lying to me and start telling me the truth? You're making me worry to death love.”

You sighed deeply, feeling the urge to cry coming back. “It's just… It's been a busy day and I needed to vent.”

Jay was silent for a moment, wiping away a single tear that slid down your cheek. “Talk to me baby, I'm here for you.”

You shook your head and then stood up. “No, there is nothing to say. Let's go to sleep, I'm getting tired too.”

“No, we're not going to sleep until you tell me what's going on,” he stood up too, looking at you with such intensity it almost took your breath away. God why did he insist so much, why didn't he just let you cry and forget everything?

“I told you Jay, I was just venting after today.”

“Yes, but it's not only that, I'm sure,” he retorted, taking a step towards you. “Baby don't you trust me? You know you can talk to me about anything, I just want to help you.”

“I-it's not that, of course I trust you.”

“Then talk to me,” he pressed, now on the verge of losing his mind “What...”.

“I don't want to bother you, you already have so much to think about.”

“Y/N I want you to listen to me very carefully now because I won't say it again,” he spoke, placing his hands on your face to force you to look at him. “There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you, and nothing, I say nothing, is more important than you. You never bother me and never will. You want me to be honest with you, to ask for help, but you have to do it too, you don't have to be afraid to tell me about something it’s bothering you.”

You started crying again and he hugged you, holding you close as he stroked your hair. “It's alright baby, I'm here. Cry all you want, let it go. I won't leave you.”

“It’s just…” you sobbed at a loss for words, letting go as a wave of guilt washed over you. You placed your hands on his bare chest as he continued to hold you.

“Y/N, please, I hate seeing you like this. What are you afraid of? Why don’t you talk to me?” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Because I feel guilty,” you answered so feebly you feared he didn’t hear you.

Jay placed two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “And why’s that?”.

Another sob escaped your lips and at that point you slightly moved away from him, no longer able to hold his gaze, his closeness. You ran your hands over your face and then through your hair, not quite knowing what to say.

“Because I was fucking terrified! And… And I feel guilty because I know what happened wasn't your fault, you weren’t yourself…” you sniffed as the tears continued to flow in rivers, leaving you not even a chance to talk “I know you’d never consciously do anything to hurt me but seeing you point that gun at me… Jay, I…” you sighed “I've faced criminals, murderers, but I've never been so afraid and terrified as today and for a moment I really thought you’d shoot me. The way you looked at me… God I can't get it out of my mind and I'm hating myself because it wasn't your fault…”

Jay stood there attentively listening to every single word you said as every second that passed he felt a part of himself die.

“That's why I didn't want to tell you about this, because I know you’re blaming yourself for everything and you're already going through so much Jay and I don't want to add this other burden on you...” you continued and at that point he approached you again, putting his hands on your cheeks and wiping away the tears with his thumbs as you did with him.

“Y/N…” he said your name as a little prayer “You really think I don’t know that? I know you, I know when something is bugging you, I know when something makes you feel sad. I saw the way you looked at me this whole evening, the way you were tense and I'm so sorry for putting you in this situation my baby. I hate myself so much for this, you didn’t deserve any of that,” he left a soft kiss on your forehead.

“And I love you so fucking much,” he continued “You're willing to suffer alone just to not make me worry but you don't have to. Your feelings are as valid as mine, you have to tell me when you're hurt, when you feel like crying, when you're scared even if I'm the cause. I want to listen to you and do everything in my power to fix what’s hurting you and I promise I will. We have a long way to go, you said it too, but we can't do it unless we're both honest with each other, if we don't express our fears, our apprehensions,” he said wiping away your tears as you did nothing but keep crying “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me Y/N, you saved me from a chasm that I am trying hard to climb over, you are my lifeline and I want to be the same for you. I can never apologize enough for what I did today, but I promise I’ll do everything I can to put all that shit behind me. But you need to talk to me, okay? You are so fucking important to me and I'm okay if you're okay. I can't focus on anything else if I don't know you’re happy and to know that I need you to tell me everything that goes through your mind, and I will do the same… Okay baby?”.

You nodded and in response you pressed your lips onto his in a sweet, long-awaited kiss before hugging and squeezing him as if your life depended on it. He was right, God was he right about everything.

He was your everything.

Your sun, the love of your life, the reason for everything.

You were his salvation.

You were the light at the end of a dark tunnel, the first breath of fresh air after being underwater too long. You both knew that even in the most difficult moments you’ll be able to overcome everything and that you could always count on each other in joy, fear and pain.

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leclerced · 30 days

Note

hear me out

lando and oscar just can’t keep their hands off of you and it’s kinda a secret like you were dating oscar and then all 3 of you started dating but McLaren was like “ummm guys this isn’t good for our PR” and so you keep it hush hush like NO ONE knows except for you 3 , the boys trainers , and Zak Brown. So during COTA you guys do the little teenage dream fuck your small town bf on a back road or whatever… but a group of teenage boys were out hunting , and coincidentally were F1 fans , so they recorded you and leaked it on F1 twitter so your relationship is not only OUT but so is your new sextape !

and there is a race the next day meaning none of you will be escaping this.

-🪼🪼🪼

ur insane for this jelly. adding a read more bc this is lonf

the thing about small towns is that everyone knows everyone. and they keep up with each other even if they move out. you start popping up around formula one drivers and people are gonna see it. even if it’s just one of them, they send it to all of their friends and family. the first time, it’s a screenshot of you in lando’s vlog, “hey didn’t we go to school with this girl?” and later, when you’re being posted on main at every race, every kid you went to school with is sharing the photos, “how do you think they met?” “which one is she dating?” the guy you went to prom with has an odd sense of satisfaction knowing he got to feel you up after the dance and now you’re rumored to be dating some race car driver(s).

when you get spotted in a club with them getting handsy, it 100% makes its way to your parents. your kindergarten best friend’s aunt sends it to your mom, “honey, is she doing okay?” and you want to die in a hole when she forwards you the texts, “honey, i hope you’re being safe! nancy is worried. send her a text to let her know you’re doing fine. she said she messaged you on christmas and never heard back.”

when the race is back in your area, the whole town is buzzing thinking you’re bringing them back home and they’ll get to meet some celebs. you’d never allow it, you just know the girl you fought with from preschool all the way to your high school graduation would love to tell them any and all embarrassing stories. even stopping at one of the small stores is risky, no telling who is the cashier now.

but if you stay on the back roads you can avoid most of the houses you know, and the rental truck conceals your identity. there’s an old spot you want to show them. you def think it’s secure. it’s got a decrepit house on the corner, no one really knows who owns it so you know the owners won’t be around to yell about trespassers. you have to climb through a barbed wire fence behind it and make your way through some woods before you find the clearing. it’s obvious it’s still the spot for some people, it hasn’t been forgotten since your class graduated. the tradition of debauchery in the woods has been passed on.

there’s a circle full of ashes, the same spot your friends had campfires years before. it’s the first spot you ever kissed anyone, smoked weed, drank. you just planned on driving through the town and pointing out your childhood home, where family lives, the school you went to. you decide on popping by and showing them the clearing last minute because it’s on the way out of town. it’s chilly out and you carried the blanket from the truck to shield you from the evening breeze. lando takes it and lays it across the bed, wants to stargaze for a bit. within minutes of you and oscar joining him, he’s turned it into a makeout session, and then you’re being fucked in the woods in the middle of the night.

the ones hunting don’t even recognize you, they just hear moaning and go to the clearing, expecting to find one of their friends so they can give them shit. they record it, send it to someone who forwards it to others. it’s the way small towns work. “who’s fucking at the clearing?” with a video attached. makes its way around until someone recognizes you or the drivers. then it’s back down the chain, “ohh its the girl from my sisters class, the one dating those drivers. apparently they’re in town for the race this weekend.”

by the time you make it back to the hotel, it’s being shared across the internet. most of the people in your town disregard it, but there are some asshole guys who post it on snapchat, twitter. share it in the gross group chats men have with each other. the f1 fans find it by searching “lando and oscar” on twitter and looking at the recent tweets. then it’s spread amongst them, people trying to figure out if the grainy footage is real, if the audio is real.

the next morning, the mclaren team is sitting them down for a pr course and training them on the responses to give. you stay at the hotel to avoid any and all attention, but the lack of your presence at the track leads to them being asked why you aren’t there.

#ask #🪼 anon #ln4/op81

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franciswasteland · 1 month

Text

JASON GRACE X NAIAD!READER

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naiad!user (A freshwater Nymph) crushes on the son of Jupiter, jason grace, from afar. That is until he falls into the lake during the Camp activity of canoeing.

Warnings: Cursing. beware spelling issues, im lowkey dyslexic

Authors Notes: UGHHH I LOVE JASON. AND IVE NEVER SEEN A NAIAD!READER X ANYONE BEFORE Sooooo…!!!!!

You are a Nymph—a Naiad to be specific—who resides in the lake at Camp Half-blood along with some other Naiads. Unfortunately for you, the lake at Camp is also used for one of the Camp activities, canoeing. You don’t usually mind when the campers are canoeing, in fact, you somewhat enjoy it. But that’s just because of one reason.

Him.

Jason. fucking. Grace. The son of Jupiter.

You knew your crush on him wasn’t going to go anywhere. After all, water and electricity and/or lighting don’t mix very well. But you simply couldn’t help yourself.

The way he was just so kind to his friends, he’s responsible (—Which is hard to find in a teenage boy.,) His eyes, his blond hair, his smile… and, oh, you can't forget that little scar on his lips.

Well, going back to the Camp activity of canoeing, here you were at the bottom of the Camp Half-blood lake, talking to some other Naiads. Until the shadow of a canoe slowly moved around the lake before settling right above you and your friends. How annoying.

Except what you didn’t know was that your admiring-from-a-far-impossible-to-get crush was with two of his friends, sitting on the canoe that was casting the shadow above you and your fellow Naiads.

Then the canoe began to shake and tilt, causing ripples in the water, disrupting the usually calm lake. Oh boy. Then the canoe flipped completely over, sending three unsuspecting demigods— Leo Valdez, Piper Mclean, and Jason Grace—over the edge of it and into the lake.

Oh, gods, one of them was jason.

What bad timing! you didn’t even have your hair done or anything! Oh… and in the midst of him panicking he locked eyes with you. Something you’d never understand is how a boy, a boy like him, could be so perfect. You quickly looked away from his gaze.

Then you looked back at him, remembering that he could very well be drowning. And by how he looked, you assumed that he in fact was drowning—Or at least was coming close to drowning. You just had to save him, this could be your only chance to communicate with him! Oh, and the fact that he could die.

You tried your best to scoop him in your arms and swim him up to the surface, but considering he was a pretty big guy for being what, fifteen, sixteen years old? You whip your head around, causing the water to make little ripples, towards the other few Naiads in the lake, silently signaling for their help with bringing him to the surface.

Thankfully, the Naiads obliged and swam over to help you lift Jason to the grass, at least to the best of their abilities. As you all resurface, Jason gasping for air, he looks directly at you for a moment, then he snapped his gaze away.

“Uhh.. Thanks,” He said breathlessly.

You can feel your face reddening at his gratitude. You don’t think you have ever swam back to the bottom of the lake so fast before this very moment.

Later on in the day—Night, actually. You were at the top of the lake by yourself, elbows resting on the grass as the rest of your body other than your upper torso was submerged in the lake, your head in your hands. What were you thinking about? Well, the interaction with Jason, of course!

And then like magic, you heard the footsteps that matched his. Did he really sneak off from the campfire to come over to the lake?! Oh yes, yes he did.

“Hey, uh…” You almost immediately recognized his voice. “Thanks for saving me earlier.” Jason sounded slightly embarrassed. You nodded in reply. “I um, accidentally flipped the canoe.” Your eyes widened slightly in amusement, he even got a little laugh out of you.

“Really?” You reply back.

“Yeah, i’m not to sure how.”

And that’s how the night went on, the two of you talking until mr.d ran him back to his cabin and splashed water at you until you swam back under the water for the night. Apparently your admiring-from-a-far-impossible-to-get crush wasn’t so hard to get after all.

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #fanfic #heroes of olympus x reader #heros of olympus #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #jason grace #jason grace x reader #fanfiction #franciswasteland #hoo #the heros of olympus #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #percy jackson #heros of olympus x you #heros of olympus x y/n

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samgirl98 · 1 year

Text

Mending a Family 2/?

Prev | Next

TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE/ SUICIDAL IDEATION

Disclaimer: I don't know anything about Roy Harper except what I've learned through fandom and Wiki. Please excuse me if he is out of character. Roy accidentally finds Jason.

Roy couldn’t believe his eyes. Jason Todd stood a few feet in front of him. The same Jason Todd who died years ago. He had red hair instead of black, and his eyes were green instead of blue. He was taller and broader, and a kid was hanging to his leg.

Roy would recognize him anywhere, no matter how much he had changed.

(Jason’s death was the reason he fell to alcoholism and tried to commit suicide via Killer Crocodile.)

“Daddy, I want to get closer to the edge,” Lian said.

Lian had wanted to see Niagara Falls for her sixth birthday. He never imagined he would run into a dead boy.

Jason hadn’t noticed him yet. Roy had no idea what to do. It’s not as if he could Dick and say, “Hey, how have you been? Did you know your dead brother is walking around Niagara Falls with a kid in tow?”

Roy could imagine how that conversation would go.

“Sorry, sweetie, it’s too dangerous,” he answered his daughter a beat later. His little girl pouted. Roy couldn’t help but smile. He loved Lian so much it hurt sometimes.

Suddenly, the little boy holding on to Jason looked at Roy with eerie green eyes before tugging on Jason’s pants and pointing at Roy. Jason looked at them. Roy watched as Jason’s eyes grew in fear before he got the little boy and ran. Well, if that wasn’t confirmation, Roy didn’t know what was.

Roy didn’t want to leave Lian alone, so he let his old friend run from him. It seemed he had some favors to call.

____

Raven was the only person Roy could think would help him without wanting to spill the beans right away. Wally was Dick’s best friend and would tell him immediately that they found his little brother alive; Starfire was out of the picture for similar reasons. Garth wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. Cyborg could go either way. And Donna would want to go to Dick without even investigating first. So, Raven it was.

Once Roy explained who he saw and why he went to her, Raven agreed to help him.

She teleported them to Niagara Falls.

“There is a feeling of death here; it’s very strong.”

“Well, he did die. If he’s back…”

Raven shook her head, “It’s more than that. It feels like death magic but not malicious.”

Roy blinked. How was death magic not malicious?

Raven lifted him telekinetically, and they flew past the Canadian border.

Twenty minutes later, they landed in front of a little cottage in the middle of the forest. Jason was sipping a cup of tea on the porch on a rocking chair. He glared at Raven and Roy.

“If you wake my kid, I’m gonna kill you,” he threatened in a low voice. “What do you want, Harper? Did Dick send you?”

Roy blinked at Jason’s hard tone, and then what he said caught up to him.

“Dick, why would Dick send me? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Jason snorted.

“Of course, they didn’t tell the hero community about the failure of the Batfamily coming back,” he said bitterly.

Roy blinked and turned to Raven, who frowned. Then what Jason said hit him, “Wait, Dick knows you’re back?!”

An hour later, Roy knew everything, and he was fuming. Dick had no right to keep something like this from him. So Jason had come back angry and spiteful; who cared? He was better now. Roy could understand not telling the whole damned world, but he couldn’t have told Roy that Jason was back? Roy almost committed suicide because of Jason’s death!

“So, how does the kid factor into all of this?”

Jason drank the rest of his now cold tea.

“I found him when he got spat out through a portal. I couldn’t leave him. I know it sounds weird, but I have a connection with him. We’re similar.”

“Not similar,” Raven said, “the same. Whatever he is, you are, too.”

Jason smiled sadly, “We’ve been touched by death and came back different. He’s not fully human. He’s half ghost, half human. Please, don’t tell the Bats you found me. They’d take him away from me, and I don’t think I’d survive it.”

Raven put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and he felt a wash of calm come over him.

“Don’t worry; I know how you feel. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Me either, kid.”

Jason gave them a grateful smile. His eyes were suspiciously wet,

“Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“So, when can we meet the tyke,” Roy asked.

Jason frowned, “When he wakes up. He doesn’t sleep enough, so I try to let him catch his Zs.”

“But I’ve been awake this whole time, papa,” a small voice said; no one was around.

Roy looked a bit spooked, and Raven looked surprised. Jason sighed.

“Danny, show yourself.”

A little boy with black hair and blue eyes appeared before them.

“Chum, you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep; I felt a weird spirit’s presence. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Danny looked at Raven.

“You’re not like me and daddy, but you’re not fully human, either. What are you?”

“Danny, that’s rude,” Jason scolded him.

Danny pouted, and Raven laughed.

“It’s okay, Jason, he’s just curious. I’m half-human, half-demon.”

“That’s so cool! Me and daddy aren’t fully human, either. We’re halfas—half-human, half-ghost.”

“Danny, I’ve already told you I’m not a halfa. I don’t have any powers.”

“Okay, whatever you say, papa,” Danny said in a sing-song voice. Jason sighed.

Suddenly, Danny turned serious and pierced Raven and Roy with an intense look, “You’re not going to tell those bad people about us, right? They hurt daddy.”

Both Roy and Raven looked at each other. Raven flinched when she felt Jason’s overwhelming sadness and grief hit her. He was fingering a scar he had on his throat. How had he gotten it?

“Danny-lad, I already told you; I hurt them first. It’s okay; you don’t have to be mad at them.”

Danny’s eyes turned an eerie shade of neon green that had Raven shivering in her skin. Jason’s eyes turned into the same shade in response.

“It’s okay, Danny,” Raven tried to reassure the kid, “Nobody will find out about Jason from us.”

Danny looked at her for a while longer before nodding.

“Good, they don’t deserve him.”

Jason sighed.

“C’mon, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Raven got up and followed the boys into the little cottage. She frowned as she felt a disturbance in the air. She looked south; something big was coming.

Hundreds of miles away, a green portal opened. A young teenage girl with red hair and glowing, teal eyes stepped out with a toddler in her arms. She was armed to the teeth.

“C’mon, Ellie, let’s go find our brother.”

Jazz is here! Is it a bit early, maybe, but I couldn't help myself. I chose Raven as the Titan to help find Jason because of her empath powers. She'd be able to understand Jason, and she's half-human like Danny and Jason. Jason is in denial that he is a halfa, but his powers will come in the future. We might not see the Batfam for two or three chapters.

@justwannabecat @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @vythika96 @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo

#Mending a Family #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp fill #tw: mentions of suicide

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idkwhatimdoingbutslay · 8 months

Text

… I can’t imagine that we actually watched the same show. Like I REALLY AISNSOSNWKMEJDND

hold on I’m gonna need to calm down.

Let me just make a list of why I disagree and at least organize my anger. Long post incoming.

Vander was friends and had a deal with Grayson. The sheriff. Idk what else to even add to that

Caitlyn is more than a cop and Arcane isn’t copaganda. Genuinely don’t know what kind of progress some of these people are looking for. Real allies are a necessity for real progress.

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR. HE FUNNELLED DRUGS INTO THE UNDERCITY AND PUT POOR KIDS IN FACTORIES FOR THAT DRUG FOR PROFIT!!! HE PAID THE ENFORCERS TO LET HIM DO IT WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE

Vi is not as much as an activist as you would like to believe

WHY IS EKKO NEVER EVER BROUGHT UP IN THESE CONVERSATIONS????

Silco was not good for the Undercity

Silco was not a great guy. Ekko had to build an entire separate hidden community for the people he hurt and stepped on for his own benefit

Caitlyn is ignorant and naive. That’s ok. That’s what character development is for.

Loving imperfect characters like Silco and Jinx then hating characters like Vi and Caitlyn is peak media illiteracy to me

FOR THE LAST TIME: VI DIDNT ABANDON POWDER!!!!! Silco literally wanted Vi DEAD for trying to stop him from killing Vander??? How could you possibly say silco was there for jinx when Vi refused to be???? SHE WAS IN PRISON BECAUSE OF HIM???

Silco’s manipulation is working wonders on y’all

Embracing all the outrage without at all looking out for the people harmed by bigotry is not activism

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR x929282929394

Caitlyn was the first person in years to show Vi kindness and care. She listened and stuck by her and took care of her after Vi was locked up for years and beat up by cops (i wonder what led her to be thrown in there?). Cait being a cop stopped being a point of contention once Vi recognized her naivety and genuineness.

NUANCE NUANCE NUANCE. ITS NEVER EVER BLACK AND WHITE

The only way I can see Vi touching ‘class traitor’ in season one was the shimmer raid. Guess who the hell put those kids in there in the first place.

Just hanging out with Caitlyn isn’t being a class traitor if Vander’s allowed to be friends with Grayson.

Critical thinking is very necessary for watching shows like Arcane

What the hell did Silco really do for the Undercity???? What changed over the 7(ish) years he was basically in power of the place? All I’ve heard was he made the air cleaner, which would be great except for, you know, shimmer and the child factory workers

Jinx is unwell and feeding into it like this in a fully serious manor would not help Arcane as a show at all

What do you want Arcane’s message as a full show to be? ‘Screw cops’? That’s a little boring and unproductive isn’t it?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT EKKO AND HIS IMPACT PLEASE???? x9382728283

Caitlyn is trying to make Piltover and Zaun a better place. Is that not allowed? Am I missing something?

Caitlyn and Vi’s arcs have only just started. Season one is basically fully set up except for characters like silco and Jinx. This is far from the end.

Genuinely think Vander would appreciate Vi for being friends (using this term loosely because they are in love) with Caitlyn considering he was the one who was opposed to war and Vi wasn’t.

Silco should NOT be your idea of Undercity independence and respect. He oppressed the Undercity the same way the Council and the Enforcers did. He helped no one but himself, his team (barely) and Jinx.

You’re allowed to like and dislike any character you want but pretending like Silco is better for the Undercity than others is just so ridiculous to me. Everyone is of course completely allowed to like Silco, but we can’t pretend like he’s this stand up guy. If you have to pretend like he was, maybe you don’t like him as much as you think.

“Because Cait’s pretty” is also incredibly incorrect. Go check point #14.

Vi never stopped loving and caring for Powder. Powder’s mental health issues were amplified and utilized by Silco because he couldn’t even heal himself.

If all of your opinions of Caitlyn and Vi start and end with “cops suck” and “class traitor” then you genuinely don’t respect Arcane as a show enough to show you nuance.

The misinterpretation of characters is just so … it’s like you go out of your way to love and/or hate characters no matter how much they show you who you are.

Your closed mindedness is clouding your judgement and making you out to seem like you don’t actually want the Undercity’s triumph, you want Silco and Jinx’s, even if it means ruining the Undercity. And that would be fine because father/daughter evil duo but trying to say you’re all for this duo because you want what’s better for the Undercity when they continue to hurt it is simply not correct and very harmful (to fictional characters in a fictional universe 😭)

Only being able to understand how Silco and Jinx were oppressed and therefore should be able to not just destroy Piltover but also Zaun is not the eat you think it is

Why is Viktor never called a class traitor? I think he's great (I also think Silco and Jinx are wonderfully written) but we hardly saw him in the Undercity/ interact with people from the Undercity plus he killed someone (Sky) from there (accidentally)

EDIT TO ADD ANOTHER POINT: Caitlyn has shown little to NO malicious intent and has no real negative impacts other than Jinx’s attachment issues and insecurities being amplified by her mere existence. Again, this is her story and development. Throughout the season she is exposed to reality and recognizes her and her peers/ families wrongs. I have no idea what you want from this character. Should Piltover just be gotten rid of in the story? Then what? Should Caitlyn have just never gotten involved and continued to embrace her privilege? Should she have left Vi in prison and stay ignorant?

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #point number 32 sums it all up I think #i blocked most of the people who added and made the post so they wont see this lol #i might be overreacting or misinterpreting #maybe i didnt watch the show right #or maybe i did and some of these people are bad at this #some points are most definitely redundant #and im open to people disagreeing.... respectively lol maybe dont wish death on a character and ill hear you out #again i wouldnt dislike silco as much if he wasnt put on a pedestal by people who swear theyre all for the undercity #i wrote this kind of in anger so like sorry about that lol #anti silco #<- for tagging purposes if this is too silco critical for the people who like him #to slay or not to slay #caitvi #this is the second repost because the first two didn’t show up in the tags cuz I messed with my settings 😭😭😭

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seeingivy · 8 months

Text

the met gala

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: the end contains some possibly triggering content. toxic man moment/unsafe situation so dni and protect ur peace if you need to.

an: fan service to the highest t. you want laufey? i'l give you laufey. you want sukuna? ill give you sukuna. did you ask for catoru gojo? no but i'll give it to you anyways. and the end is a nice yummy lil eren little fdklsfjdksljfkdlsjfkdsjk. also I changed real life met gala lore idgaf if they don't do real perfomances there bc they do now

songs mentioned: death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, seven by taylor swift, promise by laufey, and dorothea by taylor swift

previous part linked here

Eren waits for it in nervous anticipation. Because despite everything Hyla and Lana say, he knows for a fact that you won’t be staying silent. That Danny and Sareen wouldn’t let this slide and neither would you.

And it eats at him while he waits for the real response, beyond that video Connie posted of you, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean dancing to Girlfriend and your tweets about how much you loved the song.

He’s positive that a forty second video can’t be all you’re doing. People loved it and thought it was funny. But surely that can’t be it.

“I can’t believe all your friends sided with her. I thought you were close with Connie.” Lana mentions.

“I was. Before you did that.” Eren responds, clenching his jaw. He can feel anger surging through his blood, every minuscule fraction of frustration building even more - like it had been for the past three days since the awards show.

It's irritating how quick things crumble down. He figures this is what Sukuna was talking about. Because the last time he talked to Connie was when Mikasa called him and it was nothing short of irritating.

Eren’s phone rings in the middle of the night and he’s nearly scrambling out of his bed because he thinks it’s you. Nine hours after the awards show and you’ve finally gotten the chance to respond.

Except he sees Mikasa’s name flashing across the screen, accompanied with her contact picture which is you and Mikasa sleeping.

“Mika? What’s wrong?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you Eren?”

“Mikasa. Okay, I can ex-”

“You can explain? You can explain why you just humiliated Y/N in public? Are you serious?”

“I-I know it’s bad and she hasn’t picked up my calls and-”

“Eren. Is there something wrong with you? Because I don’t even recognize you right now. You would never do something like this, let alone to her of all people.”

“Did you just call me to yell at me Mikasa? You don’t think I feel bad enough about it already? You don’t think I would have stopped it if I had any idea it was going to happen?”

He hears the line get quieter and Mikasa murmuring over the phone, only to be met with Connie talking to him now.

“Hi Eren. It’s Connie.”

Eren sighs, the fact that Mikasa’s so put off she won’t even talk to him sitting wrong with him all together.

“Hi Con.”

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, is she okay?”

“Mika? You know her, she gets mad so fast and-”

“Not her.” Eren whispers.

“Oh. No, no that’s why we called. She won’t talk to any of us. We called to see if you would know what to do because we’re coming short on ideas.”

The words die on Eren’s tongue. The first line of defense when you get like this is always him, because he can always get you to talk.

Could always get you to talk.

“You tried Levi?”

“Yes.”

“Her brothers. You need to fly Falco and Colt out now. I’ll pay for the tickets. Get the shin ramen from the store, it’s her comfort food - put half of the spice packet in because she can’t eat it too spicy, make sure you boil the egg for six minutes because she likes it when it’s still a little runny, and chop ONLY carrots and green onions for the vegetables. And put on Spy Family, it’s her favorite show. Her favorite episode is nine, I think. It’s called Show Off How In Love You Are. ”

“Okay, that’s all great man. Really. Thanks.”

“Connie?”

“Yeah?”

The thought crosses his mind so fast and suddenly he's asking it.

“Do you hate me?” Eren asks, the whisper in his voice sounding so pitiful that he’s almost embarrassed.

“No, Eren. I could never. Just, I have to be here because she needs us right now. You get that.”

“No, no I do. Take care of her, please. Tell me how it goes.”

“Yeah man. Sure.”

Connie hangs up and the guilt eats at Eren.

Eren hears the resounding pounding of footsteps - only to be met with Myka, Hyla, and two other people he’s literally never seen before - standing in his bedroom.

The first thing he learned quickly about filming with these people? They have no concept of personal space or time.

“What?”

“Ricky and Y/N. They made a music video. Put it on.” Myka states, the group of them crawling onto Eren’s bed as he starts pulling up the video.

The thumbnail already has him sick to his stomach. It’s you kissing Ricky’s cheek. The video starts with you and Ricky’s hands, playing the piano together, and it takes Eren all but three seconds to realize that this is the horrible, gut-wrenching response he was waiting for.

His first cue? Not only are the two of you playing the piano together, but you and Ricky are wearing matching, beaded bracelets with each other’s names on them. Like the ones you and Eren have, the one he keeps on him at all times.

The camera pans up to the two of you and Ricky starts singing, which earns him a nice list of profanities from Lana at his side.

Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face People have told me I don't look the same Maybe I lost weight I'm playing hooky with the best of the best Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?

His second cue? The dress you’re wearing in the video, the one with the lace, is one he knows all too well.

“Okay so, Eren. I have to find a dress to wear for the album premiere tomorrow. And it's my first album and it's special and I want it to be perfect. Something kind of soft and casual, since it’s just going to be just fans. Can you help me pick?”

Eren nods as he flops back onto the soft plush of your bed, eyes focused on all the little pictures and knick knacks littered over the walls of your childhood bedroom. Participation awards for sports, signed letters from your teachers, and pictures of you and Colt doing karaoke.

“Ew, Eren. Don’t look at those.”

“What do you mean? You were such a cute baby.”

Eren hopes your kids don’t inherit your messy hair genes as you walk up to his side and look at the picture - of you and Colt with little pink microphones in your hand and the little plastic crown on your head.

“You know, you still do that.”

“Do what?”

“Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture.”

You roll your eyes as you gesture to the dress, asking for his opinion. Eren stands up, grabbing you by the wrist, to spin you around in the air. And he loves the sound of your laugh and how you berate him immediately after.

“Eren. Be serious. What do you think?”

“Perfect. Wear this one.”

“But it’s black - it doesn’t really fit the vibe that I wanted to go with.”

“Good point. No one should see you in this but me. Try another one on.” Eren states, placing a kiss on your neck before walking over to your bookshelf.

"You're no help." you whine.

"I'm biased. You look good in everything, sweetheart."

He’s running his hands against the spines of your books, clearly bent and broken from reading them so much as you try on the next dress.

“Love?”

“Hm?” your voice comes out, all muffled from the sound of the closet door.

“How many times have you read the Goblet of Fire? This spine is demolished.”

He feels your limbs wrap around his neck and a kiss on his cheek as you lazily murmur into his skin.

“Lots. Cedric Diggory was my first love.”

“Oh? Really?”

Eren turns around and makes it a point to pointedly glare at you, which you return with the sweetest, cheesiest of smiles as you tease him on.

“Oh, of course. I’ve always had a thing for Hufflepuffs.”

“Would you look at that? I’m a Hufflepuff too.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a Ravenclaw, Eren.”

“I was expecting you to say Slytherin.”

“No, I feel like that’s a cop-out answer. You’re intelligent, creative, and clever. Ravenclaw.”

Eren smiles as he brings his hands down to your wrists again, spinning you in the air again. He brings his hands up to your hair to tuck your hair behind your ears before responding.

“Nope. Very pretty, but too formal for something small like this.”

“I appreciate the honesty this time, mon chéri. I only have one more, so it better be the one.”

Eren leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“What was that for?”

“I love it when you speak French to me.” he whispers.

Eren watches you roll your eyes as you disappear into your closet again. He settles into the seat at your desk, flipping through the song lyrics in your bound notebook.

And he doesn’t miss the polaroids you have taped into certain pages - the one of the two of you at the vow renewal on your invisible string page and one of him at the piano on the New Year’s Day page.

“Okay, Eren. Good?”

Eren turns around to find you shyly smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back. It’s a soft white dress, with a lace neckline. Eren thinks it makes you look like an angel. He makes it a point to stand up just so he can push you onto the bed behind you and lean right over you.

“Eren.”

He leans forward and starts peppering kisses all over your cheeks and your face, leaving longer lingering ones in your neck that leave you in a fit of nervous giggles and saying his name so softly it only sets him off more.

“It should be illegal-”

Kiss.

“To look like this.”

Kiss.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Kiss.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to drive me crazy, love.”

“Am not, Eren. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s never just a dress with you. Be serious, Y/N.”

He watches your eyes go wide, a soft pink dusting your cheeks. Your hands are resting on his face and he swears they’re shaking, your arms trembling along with them. Eren brings his hand to your cheek, softly brushing across the skin once.

“Hey. What is it?” he whispers.

“You said my name.”

“I say your name all the time.”

“No, no. You always call me love or sweetheart.”

“Do you like it when I say your name, Y/N?”

He watches the blush spread across your cheeks again as you nod, the sweetest smile on your face.

“I like how you say it. Y/N.”

“I love your name. Though, it’s missing something.”

He watches you frown, the confused look spreading across your face.

“What’s that?”

“My last name at the end.” he responds, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Ew, Eren. That was so corny.”

He brings his hands down to the side of your dress, where the zipper lies and starts pulling down. He watches the shock spread on your face, immediately pulling back.

“Are you crazy? Falco and Colt are still here even if my parents aren’t.”

“Falco is sleeping over across the street. And Colt is definitely at a party and pretending not to be. Who takes limes and salt to a study session? He definitely needs those for the drinks, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the dress off your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving lazy kisses all over your skin.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Chelseaiswatching.” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“Chelsea is watching.” you whisper.

“Who the fuck is Chelsea?” he asks, the panic laced in his voice.

You point over his shoulder and he immediately rolls his eyes when he sees her, bringing his hands up to pinch your cheeks.

“Are you being serious? You can’t kiss me back because your stuffed animal is watching?”

“Eren. It’s weird, I’ve had her since I was a kid. And my dad bought her for me.” you whine.

“And you think she’s going to narc on you?”

“No. It’s the principle, Eren! Don’t do inappropriate things when kids or kid-like things are present.”

Eren stands up, making it a point to pick up your stuffed animal and bury it in the back of your closet before he returns, hands on his hips.

“Okay. Anything else? Do I need to put tape over your posters of Loid Forger doesn’t watch us doing it?”

“Now that you say it, it’s actually-”

“Too bad.”

And well after being tangled in the sheets together, Eren pretends not to be offended when you pull on a hoodie and immediately get out of bed and reach for your notebook and your pen instead of cuddling with him after.

You crawl back in the bed next to him, where he immediately rests his head in your lap and starts groaning. You reach forward to push the messy hair out of his face and make a mental note to cover up the purple skin on his neck later so Colt doesn’t hang you at the cross whenever he comes back.

“Did I get you that inspired that you can’t hold me right now?”

“Basically. You’re my muse, Eren.”

“What’s the song called, Y/N?”

“Dress.”

“Clever. I wonder what it’s about.” he responds, pressing kisses along your thigh, consecutively going higher with each kiss.

“Eren. Are you serious? It’s only been like ten minutes.” you respond, the nervous jittery feeling growing in your stomach.

“It’s like vitamins. Can’t go without it.”

“Do not refer to it as vitamins. And you can technically go without vitamins, if you’re like really healthy.”

“Quit being a know-it-all. You know I meant like medicine.”

“Eren.” you respond, a warning tone in your voice as you keep scribbling your lyrics out.

“You get two minutes to finish what you’re writing and then I’m throwing that book out the window.” he responds, his breath on the inside of your legs tickling you.

Eren knows you’re trying to drive him crazy and not in the way he likes. And it’s working. And Ricky’s all too agitating singing voice doesn’t make it any better.

The death of a bachelor Oh oh Seems so fitting for Happily ever after (woo) How could I ask for more? A lifetime of laughter At the expense of the death of a bachelor

Eren watches you and Ricky dancing through the streets, while Ricky sings on and on about happily ever after, and he can’t help but slam the computer shut and all but push the group of them out of his room. And when he closes the door, all he can do is cry and hope they can’t hear him.

You peek out the window and count seven black cars and fourteen different people standing on the block, anxious faces craning up with shining black cameras in their hand. You feel a hand on your shoulder and know the ice cold hands can only be Ricky.

“Hey.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen.” you groan, giving him a frown as you yank your shoulder out from under his hand and walk past him.

You head to the vanity, where you’re going to place your last finishing touches on your outfit. Ricky’s quick to follow and lean into your space, with a smirk pressed on his face.

“Ricky.”

“Yes, babe?”

“Ew. Do you need something? Or are you all up in my space for fun?”

“For fun! You smell really good.”

You make it a point to lightly shove him back, which you both laugh at as you clip on the sparkly necklace, making it a point to not move suddenly at all from this moment forward.

It would be infinitely embarrassing if you ripped the first designer dress you wore. Especially when you have to return it later.

Ricky swings his hand around you from the back and holds a cupcake in front of your face, a glimmering blue candle lit in the middle. You give him a questioning look in the mirror.

“Baby’s first Met Gala!”

You snort as you blow out the candle, taking it from his hands and pulling the wax out.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Ricky says.

“For?”

“The cupcake! And getting you invited to the Met Gala.”

You smack his shoulder, giving him your angriest look, before you both laugh.

“You’re a prick. I got invited all on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” he responds, sarcastically.

“What flavor is the cupcake?”

“Chocolate.”

“Eh. I like vanilla.” you respond, swiping the frosting off the top with your finger. But before you can lick it, Ricky reaches for it first and swipes it right off your finger.

“I mean, I was going to eat that, Ricky.”

“I only like the frosting of the cupcake.”

“Well, I only like the frosting too. Especially when it’s not the flavor of cake I like.”

You hand Ricky the rest of the cupcake and grab your purse as you head out. You press the button on the elevator and both slide in when it opens, the anticipation of the fourteen people waiting outside for you and the hundred more who will be at the event sitting on you. You must be making some weird face because Ricky catches on to it super fast.

“Just relax. It’s just paparazzi, not flying to the moon.”

“I know that. I just feel like I’m not entirely here at the moment. And they’re all going to ask me about Girlfriend and you and Eren and I just-”

You still haven’t encountered the press after the entire thing, despite most of the tabloids writing things in your favor. Because rehashing the worst thing that’s ever happened for you in the two seconds the paparazzi talk to you and have it become a whole convoluted story is not something you’re ready for.

After the entire thing went down, you retreated to your room for one day. One day. With full intentions to mope for the rest of your life, because you would never live this down. And because the entire ordeal was so overstimulating, so stressful that you need to rest.

Until Danny and Sareen dragged you out by the legs and forced you to film a music video with Ricky. Then go to his debut of the song and the music video in Times Square. And then they granted you your beauty rest, but then that stupid voice in your head got the best of you and you couldn’t help but watch what everyone said about the entire thing after the event.

People thought the entire Girlfriend thing was really tasteless. Because it was. Ricky did a bunch of interviews, where he just talked you up and how the entire thing was ridiculous in his opinion. They thought it was sweet of Ricky to come to your defense with Death of a Bachelor and that your official debut as a couple was one for the books.

You’ll take a win where you can get one.

Everyone sided with you, which was nice. Fans wise but also from your real friends. Connie, Marco, Mikasa, and Jean were at your side the entire time, which you appreciated.

Connie was the one that convinced you that “you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever” and filmed a video of you, Jean, Mikasa, and him dancing to Girlfriend and posted it.

Which was your favorite part of the entire thing, not because of the song, but because they were there for you through the entire thing. That Connie could make something mortifying funny for you. A bad memory a good one. A true testament to his support.

Unlike some people. People’s inquisitive eyes leave no stone untouched and now rumors of a fallout between you and Historia are flying around, when she’s the only one to not publicly come to your defense. And you get it, she doesn’t have to. What you don’t understand is why she won’t return any of your calls.

Ricky reaches down and grabs your hand, locking his fingers in yours as he gives you a smile, bringing you back down from the thoughts.

“I won’t leave you, okay? Danny and Sareen said I should handle all those questions anyways.”

“And if Lana comes up to me?”

“Spit in her face. She’s really annoying.”

“And if Eren comes up to me?”

“I’ll give you a big kiss.”

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I love it when you act disgusted by me.”

You snicker as the elevator rings and the door swings open. You’re immediately flooded with a mound of flashing lights as Ricky grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd into the fresh air. And it only gets worse outside because not only are the cameras outside bigger, but the reporters are louder.

Are you and Ricky official?

Eren and Hyla are rumored to be dating. Do you have any comments on that, Y/N?

Can you tell us anything about your upcoming record, Ribbons?

Ricky ducks your head into the car first before sliding in himself, tapping on the seat ahead of him as the car speeds off. You let go of Ricky’s hand, wiping the sweat against your dress, immediately freezing when you remember you’re supposed to return it at the end of the night.

“Now was that so bad?” Ricky asks, giving you a winning smile.

“Literally, yes! I wasn’t expecting them to be in the lobby.”

“Cmon, you nailed it. I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Quit trying to flirt, Ricky. You suck at it.” you grumble, which he laughs at.

The car comes to a screeching halt and you give Ricky a weary smile as he walks out first, making it a point to open the door for you on the other side. You wrap your arm around his as you both walk the carpet, giving glimmering smiles every time you walk a few paces.

You make mental notes of those standing on the steps behind you and you catch sight of them. Eren and Hyla, in the center of the carpet. Eren’s lifting his hand to twirl her in the middle, with consecutive clicks from the cameras. And you can see Sukuna right behind them, pretending to gag with Maki and probably ruining all the picutres.

You smile, making it a point to sit with Sukuna later because he’s so wildly unserious that it’s probably the only thing you could tolerate on a day like this. And it would really piss off Eren.

Mikasa and Jean are smiling at you from behind the ropes, Mikasa giving you a sweet smile and mouthing that you look great. She points at a spot towards the left and you nod, signaling that you’ll meet her there after.

Out of the periphery of your eye, you catch sight of it. The giant cat in the middle of the runway. You tap Ricky on the shoulder, pointing it out to him.

“Oh god.”

“At the Met Gala? That’s so unserious.” you respond.

“Ten bucks it’s Gojo.”

“That’s such a lame bet. I know for a fact that’s Gojo. He’s the only type of dumbass to show up to the Met Gala dressed up as a big white cat with blue eyes.”

You both lean closer together, making a point to make sure the paparazzi are taking pictures of you two all close to each other. The head of the cat pops off and surely enough, a very excited Satoru Gojo is now running in circles around in the middle of the carpet. And blocking every girl standing on the side.

You don’t miss Geto standing ten paces behind with Shoko, the two of them very loudly declaring that they, in fact, do not know or associate with that man.

“You owe me ten bucks.”

“I never agreed to that, Ricky.”

Ricky leans forward and plants a warm kiss on your cheek, earning a nice symphony of cooing from the photographers on the other side.

“Oh?”

“We both got it right. So we both get a reward.” he responds, tapping his left cheek.

You roll your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and consequently wipe your glittery lip gloss off his face after. You give the cameras a smile and wrap your arm around his again as you walk farther down the carpet towards the interviewers.

“Y/N. You look gorgeous!”

“Thank you! So do you.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about your third upcoming album, Ribbons? What’s your favorite track on the album?”

“Thank you for asking! I think Ribbons is a mix of a lot of feelings I’ve had lately - specifically good, warm, and positive feelings. I-I think that being negative is something that’s really easy to do, especially when you’re in my position, but I try to keep my music feeling like sunshine on a nice day, because who likes to focus on the bad when you can just be the good. My favorite track on the album is seven, a song that I’ll be performing inside later today with one of my best, best friends who I wrote it with.”

“That’s sweet. Are any of these positive feelings a consequence of your new beau, Ricky James?”

And right on cue, Ricky’s on your side, tilted eyes glimmering in the camera.

“I know for a fact they are. She loves to write songs about me.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from you, Ricky.” you respond.

“I’m a bold guy.” Ricky responds, giving you a wink.

“Speaking of writing songs, Y/N. How do you feel about songs being written about you? Songs like Girlfriend?”

The reporter looks way too excited at this part now. You look at Ricky before answering, who gives you a subtle nod. The answer you practiced with Sareen and Danny.

“I think it’s flattering.”

“Really?”

Ricky slides his hand around your waist and smiles, finishing off the rest of the answer for you.

“Oh, it’s totally flattering. I mean, I’d be really intimidated if I was comparing myself to someone like Y/N here too. She’s quite literally at the top of her game, in every sense, and it’s easy to feel less than when you’re comparing yourself to a future triple threat. So we get the thought process behind it.”

“Ricky.”

“It’s true, Y/N. Personally, I think they should pick London Boy from her discography as the song selection. But that’s just me.”

You smile at each other as you give the interviewer a polite nod, giving each other a thumbs up as you walk around the floor. You finally get to stop near Jean and Mikasa, who are very obviously already wine drunk, from the way their cheeks are tinted pink.

“Wow, Jean. It hasn’t even been two hours yet.” you respond, placing your hand flat against his cheek to see how much his skin is burning.

“I hate this type of shit.” Jean responds, grumbling.

“Jean. How drunk are you? Don’t tell me you’re imagining cats walking around are you?” you ask, feigning concern.

“Huh? That cat isn’t real?”

“You’re actually seeing cats?!” Mikasa asks, catching on.

“THERE’S A REAL CAT HERE, MIKA. LOOK.” Jean says, pointing at Satoru who is now lying face down on the red carpet.

"Jean."

"Y/N. MIKASA. I'M SO SERIOUS I SWEAR THERE'S A REAL CAT. IT TALKED TO ME EARLIER. IT TOLD ME I SHOULD HAVE DRESSED UP AS A HORSE WITH IT."

“Oh, sweetheart. We should go inside, you’ve had too much. You always do this, Jean.” Mikasa says, shaking her head as she leads him in. Mikasa turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a wink, before she walks straight into the venue.

Geto and Shoko come up to your side after they catch you staring at Gojo - who's now doing the worm in his cat suit on the floor - as they both give you polite hugs. The three of you stand against the wall to watch him take the spotlight away from anyone who was hoping to have it.

“Can you believe you’re married to that guy?” you ask Geto.

“Please don’t remind me. It pains me everyday.”

“He wore the cathead to my house the first day he got it. I was hosting a vigil for one of my neighbors.” Shoko states, placing a cigarette between her teeth.

You snort at the thought of Gojo, in his fully exuberant energy, trotting into a room of people mourning with the cat head on.

Megumi and Yuuta join the group of you as you now watch Yuuji - whose actually dressed in a nicely styled suit - have a dance off with Cat Gojo on the red carpet.

You nudge Megumi in the side.

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?”

“We’re breaking up.” Megumi responds, earning a laugh from the group.

“I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that they’re dance battling at the Met Gala or that Yuuji is horrendously losing to Gojo wearing a twelve pound cat-suit.”

“Yuuji losing.” you all respond in unison.

“I think Cat Gojo is going to haunt me in my dreams.” you respond.

“Get this, Y/N. It’s not Cat Gojo. It’s Catoru.” Yuuta responds.

“Don’t tell me he trademarked it already.”

“He did.” they all respond in unison.

"Geto. Shoko. When you burn that thing in the flames of hell, I want a video." you state.

"That's a promise, kid." Geto responds, with Shoko giving an affirmative nod.

You turn to your left to find Ricky standing at your side, with his arm wrapped around John. Historia’s ex-boyfriend. You give the group of them a polite nod as you walk away and join Ricky at your side.

“Y/N. This is my friend, John. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Hi. Y/N.” you respond, making every effort to emphasize the flatness in your voice.

“John. Nice to meet you.” he responds, holding his hand out which you refuse to touch.

“Play any chess games lately?” you ask, making a pointed reference to Historia’s song.

He glares and you watch the smile on Ricky’s face drop. You give your best, sickly sweet smile as you wait for a response.

“That’s right. You acted in Attack on Titan so you must be friends with Historia.”

“Very good friends.” you respond.

“Okay John, we’re going to go in. I’ll see you in a sec, yeah?” Ricky responds, hands increasingly hard on your biceps as he drags you a few paces away.

“Ouch, Ricky. Get off.”

He’s leaning close to you, whispering in your ear earlier like you two were when Satoru came in, except this is nowhere near as fun as last time.

“What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours? He’s not a good guy, Ricky.”

“I’ve made every effort to be friends with your friends. You could and should be doing the same for me, Y/N.”

“And I will. For your friends who aren’t groomers, Ricky.”

Ricky glares at you before giving you a smile and pressing a kiss to your forehead with the paparazzi so close, before dragging you into the venue with him. You settle into your seat next to Ricky, craning your neck to see where the rest of your friends are sitting, all the way on the other side of the room.

You turn to the girl sitting next to you and whisper in her ear.

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“I-I know who you are. I’m a big fan.”

“I’m really sorry to ask you this then. But you see that guy right there, pink hair, those two little scars near his eyes. Could you go and switch seats with him? He’s sitting in between Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuta Okkotsu, so I can at least promise it’s a better seat than this one.”

She looks over and gives you an affirmative nod. You squeeze her shoulder as you watch her stomp over, Sukuna turn back to give you a questioning look, before letting the girl take his seat and striding over to sit next to you with two cups in his hands.

He sits on the chair to your left, making it a point to spread his legs as far as he can on his chair, and glare at Ricky as he sits down.

“What do you want, doll?”

“Nothing. I got bored.”

He shrugs as he places the second cup in front of you, which you pick up. And then immediately spit back up, because it’s just straight vodka.

“Shit. My bad, doll. That’s mine.”

“You’re drinking straight vodka? No chaser?” you ask.

“Imagine doing this shit sober. I’d drive myself half insane.” he murmurs.

You switch the cups and drink yours again, pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet latte.

“Sukuna. How’d you know?” you ask.

“Eren told me.”

You look over at him, giving him your best glare.

“As if you’d talk to Eren.” you snort, craning your neck to find him on his phone, next to Hyla’s who is fixing her hair.

“We talk. It’s just not pleasant.”

“Yeah. My preferred coffee order is just so horrible to talk about.”

“You wouldn’t believe it. Poor guy mopes about you so much it even makes me depressed.”

Ricky taps aggressively on your shoulder, leaning over into your space.

“I’m going to go sit with John.” Ricky states, angrily.

“Okay?” you respond.

“Okay? That’s it, Y/N?”

“Do you need a formal, written invitation? Or does she need to hold your hand and walk you there so you don’t get lost?” Sukuna responds, glaring at him.

Ricky gets irritated at Sukuna’s response and storms off, which just has Sukuna moving his chair so that you can both prop your legs up on it. You’re both switching off on sharing your drinks - mixing Sukuna’s alcohol with your latte and watching all the performances.

“Are you performing?” Sukuna asks.

“Yeah. With Marco, right before Eren.”

“Real cute. Is it that same fluff shit you always write?”

You smack him hard on the shoulder.

“Asshole. That fluff shit is Multi-Platinum, dumbass.”

“I get that. But I’m saying, you should write something more serious than that. Instead of penting up all that rage in your forehead, you should write it in a song. Quit letting real stupid girls call you stupid in songs.”

“I can’t. My record doesn’t really like the idea of that.” you respond.

“So? You’re the artist and it’s your music. Write whatever you want. Don’t be a chickenshit.”

“It’s not that simple, Sukuna.”

“No. It literally is. You’re just chicken.”

“It’s not about chicken, Sukuna. My record was the one who took a chance on me and to some extent, I have to follow that. And they’ve made me Multi-Platinum so far so who am I to not listen to them?”

“God. You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re an asshole, Sukuna.”

“Do you want to kiss now?”

You reach forward to smack his face, which elicits a laugh from him.

“You never change, do you Sukuna?”

“Best thing about me, doll. You should learn to piss people off like I do. It’ll actually relieve some of that tension. And flirting is good for your health.”

“We can’t all afford to be feather rustlers like you.”

“You could. I’m sure people would eat it up - the whole sweet girl saying her mind type thing. I’ll give you lessons on how to talk your shit sometime instead of letting idiots like that do it for you.”

He points over at Ricky, whose glaring bullets at the two of you. You give him a gesture, which he completely ignores as he turns over to whisper in John’s ear.

“Out of all guys, you had to pick that one? When you tweeted that you were charged with murder, I thought you were being serious and got really excited for a second.”

“Danny and Sareen picked him. That’s not my fault.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see the usher, signaling that it’s time for you to perform. You nod and turn to Sukuna, who's already getting up from the chair. He presses a kiss to your cheek before you walk off to the other side where Marco’s waiting.

Eren’s sitting towards the end of the bench, hands pressed under his legs, when he watches you take the stage with Marco, a glittering smile on your face.

And in your billowing, white dress, there’s only one thing Eren can focus on. The fish tattoo, right on display. He instinctively reaches for his own, hidden under the fabric of his clothes, and thinks about how your sweet, flowery smell was always overwhelming, even in a disgusting tattoo parlor.

And when Eren catches sight of Marco at the piano, Eren knows you’re a temptress to everyone and not just him. Exhibit A? You convinced Marco to sing in public with you.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N.”

Everyone breaks into a loud applause and Eren thinks that the wolf-whistling in the corner is Mikasa, who he’s convinced is shit-faced by the way her cheeks are glowing pink.

“Thank you. Um, can we just take a minute to give a second round of applause to my sunshine boy, Marco, here? He’s not a big singer and I’ve all but forced him to do this with me, so let’s all give him some love.”

The crowd claps again and Eren knows for a fact that the wolf-whistling this time is Jean, who is actually plastered.

“This song is off my new album, called Ribbons, and it’s called seven. The idea of this song kind of came up randomly. I told Marco that it was kind of sad that I don’t have any of the childhood friends I did when I was a kid anymore. And Marco just responded by saying, ‘what do you mean, we’ve been friends since we were seven?’ And long story short, I jumbled out a nice mess of lyrics with Marco and Armin produced it after that and the song was finished. We hope you like it!”

Marco starts playing a soft piano tune, accompanied by your light strumming on the guitar, and some part of it is so familiar, so you that it makes Eren’s heart ache. Not that Eren’s a big hater of your new, more pop songs like London Boy, but Eren’s always enjoyed your soulful, soft songs like this more.

They remind him of the soft parts of him that you only shared with him, when you used to be next him when he slept at night.

Y/N: Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Eren fights the urge to snort. Of course, there’s still beautiful things. You’re standing right there.

And Eren knows he’s way too sensitive for this because hearing your soft, echoing voice when he’s about to sing a song about the last time he kissed you has him pushing his face into the table. Because there are tears in his eyes.

Y/N: Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Marco: Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

When you both finish, Eren watches you give Marco a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as you both walk off together. And then Eren’s trailing up to the stage where Historia’s waiting, the orchestral suite setting up their instruments and he feels his hands shaking at his sides. Historia gives him a smile, which he appreciates as he takes the front stand.

He hates it up here. He knows that flowery scent in the air is you. He manifested it by thinking about it and now it's suffocating him.

You lean against the wall with Marco, hands linked together, as you watch Eren readjust the microphone to his height and Historia sit at the piano. You make a fleeting second of eye contact with her and give her a smile, which she halfheartedly returns.

Eren’s hair is shorter, he’s cut it from the last time you’ve seen him. And he looks kind of tired, though you’re sure you look no better.

“My name is Eren Jaeger. This is my new song, Promise, that I co-composed and wrote with my friend, Historia.”

You lean your head against Marco’s shoulder, who is giving you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, as you listen.

I made a promise To distance myself Took a flight, through aurora skies Honestly, I didn't think about How we didn't say goodbye Just see you very soon

You pinch your eyes shut as you feel the breath constrict in your throat and tears warm in your eyes.

“You okay?”

“It’s Eren. Of course, I’m not okay.” you whisper.

No matter how long I resist temptation I always lose It hurts to be something It’s worse to be nothing with you I’ve done the math There’s no solution We’ll never last Why can’t I let go of this?

As Eren goes on and on, that soft voice that’s lulled you to sleep hundreds of time is haunting you. And Marco’s reflexes to wipe your tears away fast are the only reason that people don’t catch on.

When Eren finishes, his green eyes meet yours and he gives you a painstakingly long look, before walking away.

You don’t see him again that night. Or for a while. You figure it's better that way. Being in the same room but not talking is like nails on a chalkboard.

You lean over the counter, scrolling through the set of pictures Ricky just took, as you wait for the timer on your computer to count down.

Ricky circles his arm around your shoulder, as you both watch the seconds on the timer run out and the little display of confetti go around the screen.

You refresh the tab on your Apple Music and you see it - your name and album cover displayed in bright colors right at the top banner.

“How does it feel?” Ricky asks, watching you refresh your Spotify on your phone and watch the songs turn from grey to white, meaning they're now able to be played.

“Good. I hope Historia calls me after she realizes that dorothea is about her.” you murmur, the notifications on your phone buzzing from Reiner, Levi, and Mikasa. You open Levi's first.

levi: We love the record, kid.

you: it's been out for five seconds.

levi: Just shut up and take the compliment, sometimes.

you: I love you, levi. give kisses to hange. i'll call you guys tomorrow.

“She will. Just relax.” Ricky states, as he watches you push up on the counter, legs dangling in the air after putting your phone down.

He reaches for the lowest drawer, pulling out a dark black box and placing it flat in the palm of your hand.

“What’s this?”

“A gift, before you go on tour. And I wanted to ask you something.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on, as you look at the bracelet - a chain-linked, chunky silver bracelet with a heart charm right in the middle.

“That’s custom made. From Tiffany, because it’s your favorite right?”

“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Well, I’m really proud of you. Ribbons is a great record and I’m sure you and I will be competing for Record of the Year in a few months.”

You smile as Ricky leans closer, hands on both of your sides of the counter.

“I think you’re really great. And-and I know we’ve been pretending but some part of this became really real for me and I think it did for you too. So I think we should quit playing around and do this for real.”

You feel your throat dry as Ricky smiles at you, so excited and earnest, that you almost feel bad. For how you’re going to shoot him down.

“Ricky. Oh. Um. Listen. You’re really great. I-I really like you. But I-I don’t know if I can do that right now.” you respond.

“That’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you and I’m willing to be patient and all that. We’ll figure it out.” he responds, yanking the chain out of the box and reaching forward to secure it around your hand.

“Listen. I-I don’t know if it’s all that. It’s just, I don’t. I like you Ricky but not like that. I just can’t do that right now.”

Ricky leans back in confusion, dragging the necklace off your hand as you give him your most sincere smile. And you can’t help but feel bad for not liking him back. When he’s helped you out more times than you can count, with red carpets and defending you when he didn’t have to.

But you can't help these sort of things.

“Listen. I-I can go home. I’ll take the trash and then leave so you can be alone, yeah?”

“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Of course. And thank you for taking it well, I still appreciate what you’ve done and have a lot of love for you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder as you walk past.

You take the half filled bag of trash and walk out to the garage to swing the door open. There’s a decent amount of rain pouring down and you quickly scamper out admist it. You throw the bag over your shoulder and quickly run over to the chute to throw it down before running down to the door.

Except when you reach for the handle, it doesn’t pull down. You jam it down, more aggressively this time as the heavy drops start matting your hair to your forehead. Giving up on the door, you run to the other side and rap your knuckles against the window, where Ricky’s back is still turned.

He turns around and gives you a look, half opening the window.

“Hey. Sorry, I accidentally locked the door on the way out.”

“That wasn’t an accident. That was me.” Ricky responds, glaring at you.

“Huh?”

“That was me.” he responds, again.

“Listen, I can’t really hear you and it’s really cold outside. Can you just let me in?” you ask.

“Sorry, Y/N. I really like you but I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”

"Ricky."

He closes off the window and walks away all together.

You can feel the panic setting in your chest - at the fact that you’re standing in the pouring rain in Seattle and you don’t know where to go. And that Ricky, nice and sweet Ricky, just locked you out.

You hunch over on your knees, yanking your phone out of your pocket to call Mikasa. She picks up on the first call and you can hear her and Jean screaming through the speaker.

“TOP TEN ON THE CHARTS I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT.” they both scream, the sentence going over you’re head.

“Mika. Mika, wait.” you whisper, the tears starting to fill your eyes.

You’re thrown off by the screeching of tires and doors closing and you march over to Ricky’s side door. You lightly crack it open and spot seven paparazzi cars, parked straight on Ricky’s porch.

Meaning. Not only did Ricky lock you out of his house in the pouring rain but he made sure to call the paparazzi so they can catch you the first chance he got. You quickly shut the door and run to the backside of the house, into the back streets by Ricky’s neighborhood. And the panic's starting to make your legs shake.

“Mika. You’re not still in Seattle, are you?” you ask, the panic laced in your voice.

“No, babe. We’re in Tampa right now for Armin and Annie’s thing. We left a few days ago.”

“Do you know anyone who is? This is urgent, Mika.”

You hear Mikasa murmuring over the phone and suddenly Jean’s on the line, his voice more firm and collected than Mikasa’s. You can suddenly hear her panicking in the background, talking to a third voice you can’t identify.

“Marco says your options are Eren or Historia. They’re both still in Seattle, though I think Eren’s closer to where you are. Call us when you’re safe. Immediately, Y/N.” Jean says.

“Okay.”

You can hear the sound of raised voices from the direction you came and you quickly hunch to the side. You try your best to wipe the wetness of your phone as you scroll for Eren’s contact and dial.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice raspy like he was sleeping.

And at the sound of his voice, months after the fact, when you’re soaked to the bone in the rain, you can’t help but cry.

“Eren?” you ask, voice breaking.

“Y/N. What is it?” he asks, voice suddenly louder.

“I need your help.”

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm not hurt, but I could be? I don't know, Eren I-"

“Say the word. What-what is it? I-I’m there. Just tell me what you need me to do, love."

“I need you to come get me, Eren.”

“I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are and on the line with me.”

next part linked here

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