Tumgik
#and i don’t need the story to hold my hand
Text
lighting the fuse might result in a bang
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.
author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3
When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 
“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 
“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 
Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.
The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.
There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 
Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 
Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 
“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 
“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”
She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 
You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 
“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”
“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”
“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 
“Whose?”
Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.
While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 
Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.
The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 
“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 
“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”
There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 
Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 
It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 
Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 
Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.
Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.
“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 
He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 
It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 
“Then expect to lose.”
The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 
*
Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 
Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 
“Why aren’t you ready?” 
“I’m not going anywhere.” 
She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 
“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 
In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.
It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 
When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 
Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 
You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 
“Fancy a rematch?” 
It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 
“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 
There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.
You stay put.
“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 
“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 
It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.
“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 
“How many beers have you had?” 
“Three, I think?” 
Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 
So you say it anyway. 
“I bet I could outdrink you.” 
“I’d like to see you try.”
He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 
The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 
By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.
“You guys doing okay?” 
“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 
“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 
“Are you going to?” 
He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 
The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.
“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 
Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 
*
It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 
You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 
By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.
Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.
It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.
“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.
With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 
Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 
There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 
But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.
So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 
There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 
Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 
“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”
Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 
You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 
You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.
“Mind if I join you?” 
Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.
No one told you Luke smokes. 
You tell him as much.
“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 
“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 
He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 
It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 
“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 
If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 
“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 
“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 
“We can share.” 
It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 
“You’re on, Castellan.” 
As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.
Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 
Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.
You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.
You aren’t as drunk anymore. 
You really wish you were.
It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 
“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 
“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.
What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 
You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 
“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 
He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.
His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.
*
Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.
“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 
“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 
“Seriously?” 
She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 
“You bet on it?”
“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 
“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 
“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”
When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 
The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 
It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 
You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.
Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 
If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 
And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.
“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”
“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 
“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 
“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”
It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 
“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 
Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.
415 notes · View notes
crystallinestars · 7 hours
Text
Kissing Headcanons
Since this won the poll, here are the promised kissing headcanons for Jing Yuan, Argenti, and Aventurine!
Disclaimer: I haven't finished the 2.1 main story, so my interpretation of Aventurine may be a bit off. I'm going off of my interpretation of him from 2.0, as well as a few screenshots I saw around the internet.
WARNING: Contains a spoiler for Aventurine's real name!
Jing Yuan:
🦁 Jing Yuan likes kisses a lot, but he’s careful to reserve them for when you’re in private. He doesn’t want anyone to intrude on your romantic time together and is aware that he must look professional while at the Seat of Divine Foresight. That is why the majority of affection he shows you is done at home.
🦁 Jing Yuan enjoys receiving good morning kisses when he wakes up beside you, as well as good luck and farewell kisses when he parts from you to go to the Seat of Divine Foresight. If you don’t give him at least one kiss before he leaves in the morning, he’ll pout and try to weasel one out of you. He won’t leave until he at the very least got to kiss your cheek.
🦁 When he doesn’t feel like doing his paperwork, Jing Yuan will come to see you instead. At your insistence that he should finish his stack of documents, he’ll demand you give him kisses to motivate him to work. As childish as his requests may seem, your kisses do seem to give him the energy he needs to finish his paperwork. Only after holding you captive in his arms and indulging in your lips for longer than he should, of course.
🦁 If you feel down and in need of comfort, the Luofu General wraps you up in a gentle hug and tenderly presses his lips to your forehead. His words may not be the most comforting, but with that kiss, he shows you that he cares about your well-being, and hopes to give you the comfort you crave.
🦁 Jing Yuan’s kisses are slow, yet firm. He likes to place a hand on the back of your head and pull your face closer, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It’s unhurried and firm, his soft lips melding against yours as his hand brushes through your hair, lightly combing through it. He only pulls away when you both run short of breath.
🦁 He gives you time to recover because he can tell that his kisses leave you a little dazed and awed at how loved they make you feel. During moments like these, he looks at you with fondness and amusement, as if he were looking at a small, cute animal. You are simply too adorable for him to resist, so don’t blame him when he pulls you into another long kiss before you’ve fully recovered from the first one.
Argenti:
🌹 Argenti’s kisses are full of his heartfelt feelings for you. He is a passionate man, and that passion transfers to romance, and subsequently kisses, as well. He feels touched when he receives kisses on the cheek as a thank you for saving someone, especially if they come from you, but he seldom gives kisses himself. The Knight of Beauty takes kissing very seriously, and will only kiss someone he truly loves.
🌹 His go-to places to kiss you are usually your hands. Like the gentleman he is, Argenti likes to take your hand and place his lips on the back of it in the lightest of kisses, his mouth just barely brushing against your skin. He tends to give you these types of kisses when you are going out for a romantic date or when he is courting you because they are a display of his reverence for you.
🌹 Argenti also adores kissing your palms. He takes your hand and places it on his cheek while looking at you with verdant eyes filled with adoration and devotion, as if he were so smitten with you, that you were the most important thing in the universe to him. With a heartfelt proclamation of his love for you, Argenti turns his head to place a tender kiss on your palm, much more firmly than how he kisses the back of your hand. With these types of kisses, Argenti wants you to know how much he cherishes your very existence, and how lucky he is to call you his lover.
🌹 Since Argenti is the epitome of a gentleman, he tries to avoid overwhelming you with his kisses. When kissing you on the mouth, he takes things slow. The way he cradles your face in his hands is gentle as if he were handling porcelain, and he makes sure to lean in slowly to give you time to pull away if you don’t want this. You never do, of course, but he won’t stop taking things slow and gentle until you make it clear to him that you are not only okay with but also want to receive more intense kisses from him. Only then does Argenti allow himself to kiss you with the passion that flows inside him, yet one he restrains for your comfort.
🌹 With your consent, Argenti will give you the most passionate and sensual kisses you’ve ever experienced. He leads the kiss with tenderness and fervor, supporting the back of your neck as he angles your head just right to deepen the kiss. He’s not afraid to use his tongue, skillfully slipping it into your mouth and caressing your own in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and weak in the knees. For all his gentlemanly behavior, Argenti isn’t shy about expressing how much he desires you.
🌹 Even so, he is still loving and tender towards you. Argenti likes to hold your hands or face when kissing you, and once he pulls away, he gazes at you affectionately while brushing the back of his hand along your cheek or tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Every action is filled with care. He may not be the best at expressing his true feelings with words, but his actions speak louder than words ever will about how much he loves you.
Aventurine:
🃏 Aventurine had some prior experiences making out with people, so he knows exactly what he’s doing when kissing you. The gambler likes to catch you by surprise with a heated and sensual kiss, one that leaves you flushed and breathless by the end. Biting on your lower lip and tugging at it, slipping his tongue in your mouth, and even sucking on the tip of your tongue are all things he does to get a reaction out of you. The more flustered and weak in the knees you get, the more smug he looks when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. Licking his lips while giving you a mischievous and pleased grin, he’ll look like a cat that got the cream as he observes your flushed state.
🃏 Aventurine is great at erotic and sensual kisses, he can give them as easily as he can receive them so you’ll never fluster him with one of those. However, he feels completely out of his element when you give him sweet and tender kisses. Aventurine is not used to receiving gentle affection, and at first, it scares him because it’s such an unfamiliar sensation that touches him deep in his heart.
🃏 He's used to heated make-outs that don’t mean anything other than lust in the end once the other person leaves, but your sweet kisses aren’t like that. The way you press your lips against his skin is soft and loving, the way a true lover would. Unlike those people he encountered in the past, you truly love him. Not the money he owns, not his powerful connections, not his material possessions—what you love is him. With time, Aventurine realizes that you’re not with him for a fun and exciting fling, but for something more long-term. You genuinely love him. Not his persona as Aventurine, but him as Kakavasha.
🃏 The way you cradle his face as you kiss the top of his head, your lips soft and warm against his cheeks, temples, and forehead all make his breath hitch and heart squeeze almost painfully. The gentle kisses make him want to cry, and he hugs you tightly for reassurance and comfort. When you sweetly kiss him on the mouth, Aventurine practically melts. He never knew how good such gentle affection could feel until you came into his life and gave him the affection he’d been subconsciously craving. As emotional as this makes him, Aventurine finds a sense of solace in your tender touches and he wants to feel more of your love even though he sometimes feels undeserving of it.
🃏 Aventurine also likes receiving kisses on other parts of his body, such as his neck and shoulders. He enjoys it when you hug him from behind and press your lips onto the skin of his shoulder or back. It’s such a small thing, but the gesture feels intimate and loving, proof that you love and want him. He tries to hide it, but such kisses make him shiver in a good way.
🃏 Despite enjoying having his neck kissed, Aventurine doesn’t like you touching his tattoo since it can bring up bad memories. However, if you kiss him there as an act of comfort when he feels depressed, it can give him a bit of solace. Though in times like these, he finds the most comfort being wrapped up in your arms and reassured with gentle words and soft kisses to his forehead. It might take a while for Aventurine to feel comfortable enough to be this open and vulnerable with you about his feelings, but please don’t give up on him. Don’t abandon him after you have shown him how amazing real love is.
227 notes · View notes
hauntedchoso · 2 days
Text
GROUPIE LOVE *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Tumblr media
It’s so sweet swingin’ to the beat when I know that you’re doin’ it all for me…  How the JJK men fuck you after a show ft. [gojo, geto, toji, choso, & nanami] x [fem reader] nsfw warning. minors do not interact. cw: breeding in gojo’s, daddy kink, semi-exhibitionism, choking, degradation, name calling. established relationships in all despite the title! a/n: idk if I’m happy with this lol. i am certainly no writer and have NO plans to write regularly or even keep posting but this fic was born from my mini head cannon that choso looks like vinny mauro from motionless in white….the way vinny does his makeup for shows specifically reminds me of Choso’s blood marks and baggy red eyelids lol. mann I’m upset bc the header I made is shit :(
Tumblr media
Gojo is the singer. His icy white hair and electric blue eyes are quick to capture the hearts of his screaming fans—but those eyes only search for one person in the crowd. Your heart skipped a beat the moment he stepped onto the stage, and when he finally sees you, he flashes you that award-winning smile, bringing the mic up to his perfect lips. “How are we doing tonight, everyone? We’re going to play a song we’ve never performed live before…”
His presence was magnetic, attracting the attention of hundreds of screaming girls as he sang romantic melodies into the mic. You watched his Adam’s apple bob with each word and the way the veins on his hand stuck out as he clutched the mic tightly. Every lyric he sang told a story, and you knew better than all the other girls in the room—he was telling your story. The story of your sweet nights together, the nights you spent gazing into a sea of cerulean blue behind white eyelashes while basking in Gojo’s presence and the beauty of his voice. It was absolutely beautiful, the sweet vibrato’s and clear pitches that escaped his lips as he serenaded his crowd—but it didn’t compare to the beauty of his voice when he was underneath you. 
“Fuck, baby—just like that…haah, god damn. You’re so damn tight,” he moaned, unable to keep up with the way your ass slammed down on his thighs. The harder you rode him, the more undone he became underneath you—such a stark contrast to the confidence he always held when he took the stage. His long, pretty cock stroked against your gummy walls, his mushroom head grazing your g-spot when you raised yourself high enough, driving you crazy. 
“Satoru,” you mewl, absolutely loving the way his hands grip your thighs for dear life. You guys didn’t have much time; it would only be a few minutes before the rest of the guys returned to the tour bus, where you were holding Gojo as your hostage on the bench-couch in the small kitchenette. You ignored the burning in your muscles as you urged yourself to go faster, not giving him a chance to run away as you brought yourself down repeatedly on his warm cock that was throbbing so deliciously inside your clenching cunt. “Cum in me, daddy, I need it—“
“You better fucking watch it,” he moaned through clenched teeth, frustration seeping into his tone, the grip on your left thigh becoming harder. He couldn’t control how his cock throbbed inside you when he heard the word daddy, and it didn’t help that your luscious tits were bouncing so beautifully in his face. If you weren’t moving so fast, he’d have a nipple in his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around it. Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the way your tight cunt clenched around his raw dick, he squeezed his eyes shut, silently willing himself to last longer than he knew he would. He knew you weren’t on birth control, and if you continued to call him daddy in such a slutty tone…well, you’d probably make him a daddy. 
His frustration only egged you on more. “I want your cum in me so bad…haah, please…I’m such a little slut for you, daddy. Don’t you wanna fill me with your seed—“
Before you could process what was happening, Gojo had your back flat against the couch, nudging your thighs back apart as he slid himself inside you again, a hand wrapped tightly around your throat. “You want my cum, you fucking slut? Want me to breed you like a bitch in heat? Fine, you better lay there and take everything I give you.”
Tumblr media
Geto is the guitarist. The way his gorgeous black hair falls around his face as he slings his guitar strap over his shoulder is mesmerizing. His gauged ears are sporting their usual shiny black plugs, which catch the stage lights with each turn of his head. You watch from the side of the stage, hidden from the view of his fans, as his fingers pluck his lucky guitar pick out from between his perfect teeth, bringing the pick down to play a warm-up riff. He gives you one last sly smile, and a sweet, sexy wink before he starts the opening riff to their first song. 
He played his guitar like it was an extension of himself. You watched as his palm slid up and down the instrument’s neck as he followed along to the score, making hundreds of screaming girls howl as he paused and swung it harshly to his right side, flipping it over his neck and catching it again. There was something different about hearing him play the same riffs on stage that he would practice with in the comforts of your shared bedroom, lounging lazily in your queen-sized bed as you close your eyes to the quiet strumming. No, hearing it on a stage was way more exhilarating—he might have thousands of fans in front of him, but you know he’s only playing for you. Watching his long, beautiful, skilled fingers tap away at the neck of the guitar, eliciting different melodic tones and notes when he strums gently. It almost reminds you of the noises his fingers elicit out of you. 
“You’re so fucking wet, baby. Is this all for me?” He purrs into your ear. The same hand that was gently choking you was also keeping your back pinned to the wall as his other hand, shoved deep past the waistband of your skinny jeans, toyed with your weeping folds and rubbed gently against your clit.  He smiles down at his lucky guitar pick resting comfortably in your cleavage, loving the way the lacy shirt he bought you accentuates your beautiful body. 
“You looked so fucking hot on stage tonight….” You manage to whine out. Your heart was racing out of your chest, eyes darting all around the room that today’s venue designated as the band’s dressing room. A music tech, security guard, or even one of Geto’s band mates could barge in at any given moment, but his fingers were relentless as they slipped into your core. 
Your eyes rolled back as you felt your pussy welcome in his digits and clench around them. The hand around your neck slid up to your jaw, gripping your face and turning you to face him again. “Yeah? If I’m so hot, why are you looking away from me, pretty girl? My eyes are right here.”
He emphasized his words by curling his fingers against your g-spot, cutting off your mewls of pleasure with his lips and immediately sliding his tongue inside. You were so drunk, so intoxicated by his lips that you felt your eyes rolling back again before shutting and moaning into the kiss; a kiss that was way too short-lived. “Just one, baby. Cum for me just once, and I’ll dick you down the way your little cunt desperately needs it.”
You complied, reverting all your focus to his fingers until you finally came all over them with a loud, slutty moan. 
He whipped you around almost immediately, pressing your chest to the wall, pulling your hips out, yanking your pants down and unzipping his own before slapping his hard cock on your ass. “Say please, baby,” he whispers in your ear, taking note of the way you press your ass eagerly against him. 
“Please, daddy. I want you to fuck me so bad—!”
And before you could even finish your sentence, Geto was pushing into your warm pussy, using small, gentle thrusts to ease himself in until he was bottomed out. You could feel your walls sucking his hard cock in when his thrusts became deeper; sharp, percussive moans leaving your mouth with each slap of his hips against your ass. His pace was fast and mean, and you were completely enamored with the feeling of his balls slapping your clit. 
“Suguru—!” You could feel your orgasm approaching, your walls contracting and clenching around his pulsing cock, but that only made him go faster. 
“Dirty little slut. You love when I use you like this, don’t you, angel? Taking my cock like the sweet little slut you are…haah. Letting me use my pussy the way I want, wherever I want…”
Tumblr media
Toji is the bassist. The long-necked guitar always looked so small and draped so beautifully across his large, muscular frame whenever he played—so different than the way it looked against your naked body on those nights he was in the mood to snap some photos of both of his beauties. His eyes met yours under the black fringe of his bangs, the scarred side of his mouth curling up into a smirk as his fingers found each string and plucked. 
You watched as his fingers danced across the four strings, mindlessly plucking at the four strings, amazed at the way the colorful stage lights were gracing his face and muscular arms. His bass lines were so effortless; he didn’t even need to look down at his hands while he played. His eyes would instead scan the crowd, casting uninterested glances at all the fans screaming his name, and occasionally coming back to meet your own, always accompanied by the sweetest, sexiest grin that reminded you that he was yours. The deep notes that harmonized with Geto’s guitar reverberated off the walls of the concert hall; they shook the speakers, the shook the barriers, they shook your core. But his deep bass lines were no match for how deep his cock always reached inside you. 
“Toji! Ah—fuck!” You choked out, tears streaming down your face as the tip of his cock repeatedly mashed against your cervix. “I’m gonna cum! Ah—please! Daddy! I’m really gonna cum!” You warned. 
“Yeah? Fucking cum then, slut. I’m not fucking this cunt for nothing.”
When Toji invited you to shower with him after the show, you weren’t expecting him to shove you against the shower wall and fuck you like a wild animal from behind as soon as the water hit your hair. While your showers together always ended in you two fucking, you never thought he’d choose a place so public, a place that puts you both at risk of being heard by your closest friends. This seemed to be the last thing on Toji’s mind as he continues to bully his mean cock into your aching pussy. His eyes remained on your ass, watching his cock pistoning in and out of you while your plump cheeks jiggled with each mean thrust. He knew you got loud when you came, and while it was something you were trying to suppress in order to save face from any of his band mates or techs that might be lingering around outside the bathrooms, it was his one and only goal. 
And you did. As soon as he reached his hand down to rub your sensitive clit, you clenched hard on his throbbing cock. Your back arched deeply against him as you squirted hard against the shower wall, a loud squeal leaving your lips. 
He grabs your wet hair, turning your head to the side so he can silence you with a bruising kiss. “Gonna do it again, mama? Gonna cum all over my cock again?” He whispers evilly against your ear once he pulls away, quickening his pace. His hips slap hard against the globes of your ass, the loud clap clap clap echoing off of the insulated shower walls. 
“Y-yes, daddy, I wanna cum again—“ your words were cut off when he slid two fingers into your mouth, groaning when you bite down on them. 
His thrusts were unforgiving, pulling out far enough so that his fat mushroom head pressed harshly against your g-spot when he thrusted forward and hit your cervix. You were so cockdrunk, Toji could sense your oncoming second orgasm before you could by the way your walls were clenching down so hard on him. Before you knew it, you were squirting again, this time pulling a louder, sluttier squeal from your lungs. 
“Good girl,” he praises, a wide smile spread across his face as he continued to pound you into overstimulation. “Music to my fucking ears.”
Tumblr media
Choso is the drummer. You loved the way those spiked pigtails bounced in the wind as he head banged along to the loud thumping of his drums. His chocolate brown eyes would occasionally meet yours through the band’s set, peaking brightly above the black stripe across his nose, the purple stage lights reflecting across his irises. During the bridge of a particularly romantic song, he cast his gaze towards where you stood side-stage. With a drumstick tipped in your direction, he made sure your eyes were on him as he shot you a wink before his drum solo, as if to say, “this one’s for you.”
Choso pounded on his drums as if he hated them, shaking the stage and speakers so intensely with his mean percussion that you could feel your throat vibrate. You didn’t care what anyone said, Choso controls the show; he counts everyone in, he sets the tempo, he decides how hard his band plays by how he wants to play—and boy, does he play hard. He was often breaking his sticks and putting dents in his drumheads, going through countless numbers of each with every tour he went on. Everything about Choso was hard—the way he plays, his toned muscles, his thick cock, the way he fucks you. 
“Ch-Choso! Haah…h-oh my god, you’re so-!” Your hands clutched at everything they could grab so that you could hold on for dear life—the cymbals, the casings on the side of the drums, the drum stands themselves—but to no avail. “Fuck, you’re so deep!”
Choso snickered at your pathetic attempts to stabilize yourself, the sight only driving his hips against your ass even harder. He had you bent over his drum set, the harsh slaps of your skin-on-skin contact echoing throughout the empty concert hall. He purposely made sure to leave his drums on stage as he helped tear down the rest of the set, waited until his band mates disappeared, and ushered every tech, security guard, and janitor out before he stalked and captured his prey, dragging you back to his den. “Don’t run from my cock now, princess. Isn’t this what you wanted? You were giving me slutty bedroom eyes throughout the whole show.”
He paused his violent thrusts for a moment, driving his hips backward to slowly brush the tip of his cock against your g-spot. He marveled at the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around him as he teased your sopping wet core. 
“Yes, baby…” you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the delicious stimulation. 
His hips jerked forward, meeting your ass with a singular mean thrust. “I’m sorry?”
You yelp at the sudden jolt of pain and pleasure, eyes snapping wide open as his fingers dig deeper into your hips. “Daddy! Yes, daddy! I want you! Please!” you babble desperately. 
Choso gave your ass one harsh smack before pounding into you again, settling on an unforgiving pace. He loved fucking you hard. Your walls always clenched him so tight, and he loved your cute little squeals you’d let out whenever his cock kissed your cervix. He loved how hard you always came from it, too—it only made him want to fuck you impossibly harder and deeper. His balls slapped against your clit with each thrust, and he admired the way your ass jiggled each time he slammed against it. The sound of him fucking you created its own erotic percussion that you both somehow loved more than the actual sound of his drums. 
“I’ma cum, ohmygod! Ch-Choso…daddy, fuck! I’m cumming!” You whine, unable to focus your gaze as fat tears blur your vision and spill down your face. 
“Good girl. Cum for me, pretty baby,” he moans, rubbing your clit in gentle praise as you spasm all over his throbbing length. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all fucked out and dumb on my cock.”
Tumblr media
Nanami is the manager. His blond hair was always combed into a perfect style, and his soft, brown eyes focused on his surroundings as he effortlessly orchestrated the commotion around him. There was a certain calmness that surrounded him as he guided the band through every moment of post-concert teardown. Every once in a while, his eyes would land on you, where you sat quietly on one of the speaker cases backstage, ignoring his gaze with a small pout across your lips. 
The guys in the band would sometimes get a little too crazy after shows or on days off, and they have proved time and time again that they needed someone to keep them in check. Whether it’s passing out drunk outside of local bars, damaging and losing their gear, showing up late to sound checks, or simply being divas with attitude, Nanami swore that he was in charge of a bunch of children, and that you—his perfect girl—were the only one who could do no wrong. Even on nights like tonight, when you were upset with him for reasons that were beyond him, he was happy to pull you aside and get you in check as well.
His lips were on yours, tongue swirling around your mouth as he drank in your moans with fervor. His fingers laced through your hair, resting against the back of your head and using that placement to press your lips more firmly against his as his other hand pressed you against his body. He breaks the kiss for a moment to suck small hickies into your neck. 
“What’s got you so worked up tonight, my angel?” He murmurs against your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down the length of your spine. “I let you ignore me all evening, but you can’t hide from me now.”
“Kento…what-what about the guys?” You ask innocently, a small gasp leaving your lips as his teeth nip the skin over your pulse point rather hard. 
“Let’s see; Suguru’s in the dressing room, Toji and his woman are putting on a second concert in the shower, pretty sure I saw Satoru sneak onto the bus…” Nanami uses a finger to tilt your chin up, your eyes meeting his, “and Choso’s slutting himself out on stage. Where does that leave me to take my girl, hmm?”
Before you could even answer, he’s kissing you again, whisking you through a side door that exits outside behind the concert venue. Your eyes snap open as you feel a sudden breeze hit your skin, causing you to break the kiss. 
“Out here? But-“
He silences you with a hand to your throat. “Yes, pretty girl. Out here. Now tell me what you need, okay?”
Your eyebrows pinched in frustration. His strong hand choking you only aroused your needy cunt. You were supposed to be upset with him for being too busy for you that day, but the sultry tone in his voice was making you horny. 
“I need you…please, daddy. I missed you so much today. I need you to fuck me so bad.”
And before you know it, he has your feet off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips and your back against the hard brick wall as he bullies his cock into your cunt relentlessly. Your moans echo into the night sky, surely being heard by anyone lingering outside the nearby bars and restaurants as Nanami’s balls make harsh contact with your ass with each unforgiving thrust. “You like being a brat? Hm? Knowing daddy will fuck you nice and hard? I didn’t know my perfect girl was such a needy little slut.”
“Yes—yes! Right there, daddy!” You cry, pure ecstasy making your legs shake as his fat, veiny cock brushes the inside of your walls. “Haah—nnggh fuck, I’ma cum…” you slur, drool escaping from the corner of your lips as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 
“That’s right, princess—give it to me. Give me everything. You like when I fuck you dumb, don’t you, baby? You’re so cute when you’re being a brat. Next time, though, I won’t be as gentle.”
Tumblr media
BONUS FOR MY METALCORE GIRLIES
gojo's vocals / geto's riffs / toji's basslines / choso's drumming
Tumblr media
a/n: i probably won’t post again lol. 
176 notes · View notes
undercoverpena · 2 days
Text
7. honey cream
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself
Tumblr media
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.
prev chapter | series masterlist
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics
Tumblr media
Nice forearm in your story.
Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.
Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.
I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.
You’re hilarious.
I try to be.
You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?
That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.
Tumblr media
Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.
Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?
I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.
They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.
I bet they look great on your ass.
Everything looks great on my ass.
Including my hand.
Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.
I can’t wait to see you.
Drive safely, Butterscotch.
Tumblr media
“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”
Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.
When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.
He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.
It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.
“Don’t—I want to be here.”
“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”
Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.
Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.
“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”
“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”
Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"
You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”
He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.
The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.
You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —
“Race you to the end of the wall?”
Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.
Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.
In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.
Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.
“We did good, didn't we?”
You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”
Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.
“Thank you. For helping me.”
“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”
Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.
But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.
“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”
“You don’t have to…”
Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.
“You cooking for me?”
“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”
He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.
“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.
Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.
Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.
A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.
“Can I do anything?”
Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”
And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.
“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.
“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”
His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.
When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”
You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”
He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.
As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.
But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.
Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.
“So, how often do you have Luca?”
Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”
Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.
“Does that… bother you?”
“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”
Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”
Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”
“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”
Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”
Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.
“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.
“Yeah?”
Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”
Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”
“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.
You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.
His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.
You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.
“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”
His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."
And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”
Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.
“My friends… they want to meet you.”
His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.
Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—
“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”
Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—
Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—
Until he says your name.
Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.
“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.
Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.
Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.
Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.
“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”
Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”
Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”
“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”
“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”
“When?”
He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”
“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.
Tumblr media
I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?
It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.
Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.
Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.
A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.
The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?
Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.
It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.
A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.
As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.
Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.
Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:
Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.
With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.
Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.
Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.
Tumblr media
As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.
The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.
It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.
You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.
Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.
“You look nice.”
Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”
“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”
Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”
“Smooth talker.”
The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.
As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.
No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.
Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.
As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.
By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.
“So, where will your friends be?”
Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”
Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.
“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”
“His other non-official, less present trainer.”
“You slacker.”
Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”
Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Because you missed me?”
His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.
“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”
Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”
Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”
“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.
Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.
Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”
The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.
It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.
“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”
“Does Harold like them?”
Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”
“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”
Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”
“Okay.”
Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.
Tumblr media
I think they like me.
Are you texting me from the bathroom?
Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.
Baby, are you peeing and texting me?
No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.
So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.
Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?
Don’t answer I can see it.
Shut up.
If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.
Basta!
You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.
Come back and keep me company.
Grin a bit more and I might.
Rainy.
Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.
Tumblr media
NEXT CHAPTER ->
an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)
188 notes · View notes
shellyshellshell · 1 day
Text
The Offering: Part Five
Tumblr media
Attn: I know this is random but I’ve been wanting to do like a little epilogue I guess to Geralt and Flower’s story sooo I hope y’all enjoy!!!
Word Count: 943
Pairing: Ancient Deity Geralt (The White Wolf) x Reader
Summary: You and Geralt make your family complete
Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), face sitting/riding, creampie, smidge of breeding kink?
Previous Part:
Part Four
Three Years Later
After the day you and Geralt first made love and the threat of anyone coming after you was gone, you two settled into life together. Sometimes Geralt still went for offerings, others he would hunt and grow crops of your own. You two were truly in love and often spent days lying about making love.
This was one of those days. The two of you had made a proper room for yourselves in the little cottage and in the morning he took you there, before taking you out in the river. Now the two of you were laid on the pile of furs in front of the fire. Geralt was settled between your legs, rubbing his length between your folds slowly. “Please Geralt,” you begged. “Just like this first Flower. It feels good, does it not?,” he questioned. “Y- yes, but I need more,” you gasped. “You are insatiable today Little Flower,” he smirked. He didn’t have to guess why, he knew you were ovulating, his senses telling him so. “I just want you,” you say as you cling to him. “You have me,” he whispers before watching you fall apart for him.
Once you’ve relaxed he leans down and kisses you languidly before flipping you. “I want to taste you,” he says as he pulls you up to sit on his face. He groans as he takes your puffy clit into his mouth. His hands knead at your thighs as you moan above him. Your hips roll against him and he flattens his tongue out so you can ride his face. “Oooh,” you cry out, as your hips still. You haven’t orgasmed, but you’re not sure if you can take much more. You hear Geralt tsk beneath you before grabbing your ass and taking over. “Mmm,” you whimper as his tongue glides over you. You look down, meeting his eye right before you shatter.
He quickly maneuvers you so that he’s on top, and slides into you with one fluid movement. He begins a gentle pace and you cum within moments, squeezing him tight. After you’ve orgasmed twice more he’s unable to hold back anymore. He’s got your legs over his shoulders as he thrusts into you recklessly. “G-Geralt… I- Oh…,” you stammer, trying to tell him something. “You make me ache Flower. I cannot stop,” he groans. “D- don’t stop. Don’t stop until you’ve filled me up with your child,” you beg him. You feel his cock twitch with your words. “You’re sure,” he questions. “O- only of you want,” you say nervously. “It’s everything I want… Been thinking of you round with my child for months now. You’re going to be so beautiful, the perfect mother,” he chokes out.
He’s so close to the edge he can hardly stand it, but he wants to feel you one last time. He leans back and thumbs at your clit, making you clench around him. “That’s it, my love. Once more,” he husks. When you orgasm he lets loose, flooding you with his fertile seed. There’s so much you can feel it sloshing onto your clit, and down the seam of your bottom, and that very moment you know it’s taken. You can feel it within your very bones that he’s just given you a child.
He smiles above you before leaning down and placing a tender kiss upon your lips. “I cannot wait to meet our children,” he says against your lips. “Children?,” you question. “I may have gotten a little excited,” he chuckles. “How many?,” you ask him. “Two,” he replies sheepishly. “Double the work for me then?,” you chide playfully. “I assure you, my love, I will take care of you,” he says, and that he does. Over the next several months Geralt tends to you as he always had, but with so much more intent. Any sign of an ache or pain, he’s placing his hands on you and taking it away. He makes sure you’re taking in all the nutrients you need as well, just taking perfect care of you.
One night when the two of you are lying in bed, he gently caresses your swollen belly, feeling your two children move beneath your skin. “They like your touch,” you tell him as you look up at him. “Yes, it seems they do,” he smiles softly. “You’re going to be such a good father,” you say softly as you touch his face. He places his hand atop yours before turning his head and kissing your palm. “It’s nearing time for them to arrive” he then says. “Do we need a midwife?,” you asked him. “I know what to do Flower,” he assured you.
By the end of the week you had a healthy son and daughter, Flynn and Adara. Watching them grow and learn was both your and Geralt’s greatest pleasure in life. Once they started running about you two quickly realized they both possessed power like their father, though thankfully not as strong. Adara had the ability to create, and Flynn the ability to manipulate water, which was a skill their father did not possess.
It was nearly their fourth birthday. You and Geralt sat in the yard in front of your cottage, you nestled between his legs, your back pressed tight to his chest as he leaned against a tree while they played. You couldn’t help the smile that seemed to stay on your face these days. Geralt cupped your jaw, turning your head so you’d face him. “I never could have imagined a life so complete,” he said before kissing your lips. “Nor could I,” you replied before kissing him once more.
97 notes · View notes
wandasfifthwife · 3 days
Text
(5) my hands are cold, warm them? | competing series
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
hockey coach!wanda x fem!ex ice skater reader
tw: fluffy cheesy skating fun, suggestive content throughout chapter but NO smut (it’s suggested though), slight make out at the end, oral (giving head) mentioned, reference to r’s past injury
a/n: LAST CHAPTER ON MAIN STORY!! not edited/proofread. I finished this half asleep so I’m sorry if the end is shitty af
You tell her that you’re fine again to try and ease the tension on Wanda’s face. She’s standing over you, miserably failing at taming her overprotective tendencies.
A week ago you asked her to skate with you. She looked just as concerned then as she does now.
You finish the last ties on your skates. She helps you stand, her hands hovering near you while you test out the tightness of your skates.
“How long has it been since you’ve last worn them?”
“Since Christmas a year ago,” you lean down to pull the left strings tighter, “I went skating with my brother’s family.”
“Might be why they look like they’re cutting off circulation.”
You shoot her a look, facing her as you step onto the ice. She crosses the ice with ease, reaching a hand out to pull you into her. Her body eases at the sound of your laugh echoing through the rink.
“Please be careful,” she says when you pull away from her warmth.
“I’m not going to do anything my pt’s advised me not to.”
You simply skate around. No thoughts running through your mind as you circle the rink. Wanda gives you time to decompress, finding herself at the opposite end until she finds you looking towards her.
“I want to race you,” you stop and she almost runs into your back.
“Baby,” she wraps her arms around your waist and lifts you with ease, “why? It wouldn’t even be a race.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d loose.”
You push at her arms, begging her to put you down, “I want to try.”
She sets you down once you’ve reached the edge of the rink. You pull a dramatic pout at her serious expression. Your hand brushes her cheek, bringing her face close to press a quick kiss to her chapped lips.
“Don’t worry, I know my limits. This is just for fun.”
“Who said it’ll only be for fun?”
You smile against her cheek, “trying to place a bet?”
“What should the winner get?”
“Oral.”
She laughs, wiggling out of your tighter hold. You grow shy after your claim, but it’s the first thing that came to mind. She counts down, each callout feeding into your nerves. She barely reaches one and you both have the same idea to push off early.
It wasn’t close. Wanda touching the other side while you were making your way past the halfway mark. She’s barely out of breath waiting at the end for you.
“I’m sure you would’ve won if you didn’t have to listen to your pt.”
“Definitely,” you hold her hand, changing the conversation quickly, “show me how hockey players pass a puck.”
It was to avoid bringing up the embarrassment earlier. She falls easily, getting off the ice to grab what’s needed to show you. The time passes by quickly, she kicks the puck onto the ice. It skids, sliding until it stops near you.
“See the tape wrapped around the bottom,” she asks, continuing when you hum, “that’s where you want to aim the puck into.”
She taps it, giving an example of what she means. The stick is then handed over to you. The wood felt awkward in your hands as you angled it. She presses chest into your back, setting her hands onto yours.
“You’re angling it out too far,” her breath hits your neck as she speaks, “jut the blade out flat with the ice.”
When she’s satisfied with your posture she’s stepping back to let you hit. You knock it to the left, it spinning and hitting against the wall. You turn, finding her on her knees with tears in her eyes.
“I tried.”
“What did you just do,” she wheezes out.
“I tried to hit it,” you grow mildly frustrated, “fine, let’s see you try a basic spin.”
She sobers up during your explanation, making a few comments on how the sport doesn’t make sense to her. It was your turn to laugh at her stiff attempts, one even landing her on the ground.
The small competitions turned into genuine interest in each other’s sport. She had more success than you, eventually landing a solid turn after many, many tries.
You weren’t able to complete half of her skills, limited by the movement your ankle can handle. She still showed you, patience lined in her words and action with each question you had, and vise versa.
It was when your ankle got tired—the ache growing—when you spoke your concern to her. She had no need to, but she carried you off the rink, proceeding to take your skates off herself.
“I’m impressed by that last turn of yours,” you giggle at her finger touching the underside of your foot, “could become a pro with that move.”
“Hey, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what, that you’re not a scary hockey player?”
“You think hockey players are intimidating?”
“All of them excluding you.”
Her fingers are grabbing at your thighs and pulling you to hang off of the end of the bleacher, “that’s not what your actions said last night.”
The second you feel her leg press against you, you’re rolling your eyes and pushing her off. Taking the strings from her hands you finish undoing the knots yourself.
“I’m glad we did this,” you start, watching her undo her own knots, “thank you for asking them if we could use the space by ourselves.”
Her response is placing a sweet kiss to your forehead.
─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ───
“That’s so stupid,” you throw your hand at the screen, “why’s that a foul?”
“Малы́шка, that wasn’t a foul.”
“Oh,” you snuggled back into her chest more. She had a hand running down your back, eyes glued on the screen. You learned more about her each day, one of those being that she took games seriously.
She was rushing when you got back, her nerves obvious in how she flung in and out of the shower. You on the other hand took your time not wishing to upset your ankle any further.
She held her arms out when she noticed you walk into the living room, inviting you to practically lay on top of her.
Her nails brushed past a particularly sensitive spot on your back, goosebumps littering your body from the action.
“Why’d they put him in the box?”
“Because he tried to punch our players.”
Correction. You’ve learned a lot about Wanda since you’ve started dating her. Something that she took seriously was you.
It was growing increasingly difficult keeping her focus on the tv. Your fresh smell from your shampoo had her breathing begin to grow heavier.
You were unsuspecting to how she had begun to slide her hand under your shirt, her mouth bitting at the skin on your neck. The tv was her focus still, the announcer being what she focused on and definitely not how she caught onto each gasp you let out.
The game had five minutes left. Wanda’s attention would snap into focus whenever the scores began to come close, but a majority of those five minutes were spent with her hands running along your thighs. A majority of those five minutes were spent with her creating dark marks on your neck to hear your pretty responses.
You moaned her name and the last thirty seconds of the game were forgotten. She pulled you under her, hands bringing yours to intertwine together behind her head. She kissed you dizzy. Each time you pulled back for air she was tilting her head and pulling you back into her.
“Remember our little bet?”
You pull at her hair, your confirmation coming out as a whine after she pulls your hips down onto her thigh. The tv sounds in the background, going over the top plays from the game while she works you up to release on her tongue.
─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ───
The tv lights up the room. A flurry of colors from random ads is the only source of light you have when you wake up. Wanda was asleep beside you, facing the wall. You had to remind yourself at times that her apartment wasn’t yours because of how at home you felt.
A rush of emotions filled you, catching you off guard, and yet they were welcomed. You turned to cuddle Wanda, pushing your face into her neck. It was incredibly early, your clock’s flashing blue light showing it was 4:03AM. Wanda stirs, a sleepy hand finding the hand you had on her hip.
“You okay?”
You peruse your lips to just brush on the spot under the ear, “‘m good.”
“Okay, love you.”
She should and shouldn’t have said those two little words. She meant it, which is why she said it, but the reaction you had was expected.
“I love you,” you tear up, pressing closer to her, “don’t leave.”
She turns to face you, eyes half shut, showing how tired she was but she still made an effort. Her fingers brush under your blanket to hold your hands, “I’m not leaving.”
You had nights spent similarly to this. Four AM conversations about her struggles, your relationship with your mother, and the occasional light hearted conversations that had you both giggling like maniacs. The night tonight felt special, intimate. Your nightmares fell far away whenever you woke up to her body laid beside you, soft voice talking through any fear you had.
She presses a kiss onto your head, “not leaving now or tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
She mumbles into your hair, her words growing unintelligible as she drifts back off again, but the one thing you heard over and over again was the word love.
You reach up to kiss the top of her head this time, whispering, “I love you too, so much.”
masterlist | prev chapter
taglist
@dorabledewdroop @aru-son @thelittleliars @sokovianbaby @natsbiggestfan1 @r0manxff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @emiliaisdead @esposadejoyhuerta @casquinhaa @scarlettbitchx @shinysuitcloud @xxsekhmet
120 notes · View notes
raayllum · 3 days
Text
Key to His Heart Theory: Shot Through the Heart, and You're (S5) to Blame
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Intro
So a little over a year ago (since usually I think about things meta wise for at least a good month before writing them down), I wrote a meta about why I thought the Key of Aaravos might hold a quasar diamond, specifically Aaravos' missing chest piece. His heart, if you will.
At the time, I thought it was a very strong contender for what the cube might be, even if it didn't necessarily give us a clear depiction on what it might be used for, and was again operating under the assumption the cube itself is something Aaravos even wants back or needs (which is assumption still, at this point).
It made sense loosely with some of the new information we'd gleaned about the cube from S4 (mostly the Callum pawn intro with its bright flashing light, the emphasis on hearts in the narrative with Ezran's speech, the 4x04 flashbacks) and was likewise built upon a previous meta regarding the series' use of Egyptian mythology (Thoth and Ibis being present somewhat in Callum's arc, the main trio's parallels to another Egyptian myth trio, Aaravos' mirror and mirrors as objects of divination, and potential matching symbolism with the ankh).
The Key to His Heart theory was also built on previous seasons — largely the Magma Titan plot line, and Avizandum being stabbed in the heart — in addition to Aaravos' chest piece, seemingly, being notably absent, which seemed indicative of certain lines from the short stories, particularly Rayla (S4's Dear Callum), but we'll talk more about these later:
Please don’t let this hurt too much. But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always.
If you're interested in this theory and want to know about it, I recommend reading the two metas I've linked above, as the rest of this won't really be delving too much into what I've already written about, and talking about how season five has given more potential evidence.
With that out of the way, let's get into it in rough order of "most to least" likely:
Season Five
TDP Reflections
Whereas hearts weren't mentioned too much in the short stories leading up to S4, they became a reoccurring motif every TDP reflection story going into S5.
Fools. They might as well have held their own hearts, beating and bloody, in the palms of their hands. Kim’dael knew that if she showed them her heart—or something convincingly like it—the Sunfire elves would do exactly what she wanted them to do.
“Rayla,” she said, meeting Redfeather’s gaze. “My name is Rayla. And I’m going home.” Redfeather sighed. “Oh, you bleeding heart.”
“They balk at shadows, then.” Aditi pulled a slip of white-hot metal from the forge and turned to place it upon a gilded anvil. “I see your heart—and I am not afraid.”
It stared up at him. Ezran felt a coldness twist its way around his heart. It took his lungs, too, and for a long moment he could not breathe, could not feel anything but an unfamiliar anger so potent it seized the whole of him, inside and out.
Viren staggers backwards, his last breath shuddering through the blade. His white robes turn red at his heart. Something in Soren’s own chest shatters along old cracks, but he cannot look away. 
“You are stronger than this. All storms end!” Rex rumbled a snort through flared nostrils. “What lies at its heart?” 
 He wept for his city, his people, and the darkness struck deep into their hearts.
While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall. Yet at the heart of the story is a single, simple truth…A star fell from the sky.
From where Kim’dael stood, she could only see the brilliant aura of its magic. For a moment, it was as though the queen’s heart overflowed with light.
Now, some of this is undeniably because a heart is a short hand for emotion and one of our most useful metaphors for communicating a variety of emotion. However, I did think it was particularly interesting / eye catching that these lines tended to overlap with the series' growing light and darkness motif and emphasis on wounds/scars (to the point we have a 5x02 episode titled "Old Wounds" that refers to both Viren's past and Callum and Rayla's healing relationship).
But by far the one that struck me the most, and seemed the most reminiscent of how Aaravos's (literal?) wound manifests is this paragraph from Claudia's short story:
Lissa had left her years ago, but the space she had owned in Claudia’s heart remained. It was a dark place now, hard and hateful, its edges raw as a wound that had forgotten to heal.
Tumblr media
Mountains had crumbled and left in their wake a vast new sea. It was as though the land had been dealt a great wound and bled a hundred years. Terror washed across the remnants of humanity like a wave: What power could fell mountains? Turn all the world dark, and bleed a sea from stones?
—Ripples (pre-S5)
As well as Aaravos' clear desire to have revenge over the Startouch elves for something that seems to go beyond the resentment over just being banished:
I have not seen the stars in centuries. But when I see them again—when the stars are forced to look upon me, their dark brother—they will know how I have waited. And when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky. For I have been patient.
—Patience (pre-S4)
We don't know yet if we are going to get more TDP reflections going into S6 or S7, but given the way the previous stories emphasize the heart as both a symbolic idea (a darkened, hollowed out heart) and a literal entity you can hold in your hands... It's clear there's something going on symbolism else, otherwise why be so consistent? But enough of the reflections, for now.
Time to talk about S5 itself.
Laurelion
Previously, I thought the cube in the intro (a literal glow toy, as Rayla identified back in 1x05) already had similar properties to the star-glow effect in the title intro back at S4.
Tumblr media
At the time, this was more of a guess. Most of the Star magic we'd seen at that point we weren't able to fully identify as such, it seemed a bit more magenta in colour, and while there was a parallel in the bright flash of light upon releasing Sir Sparklepuff, there's also a bright flash when the prison is actually made. It's just a good short hand for a crescendo of magical power, you know? We didn't know if quasar diamonds were even going to be white, besides the one presumably in Aaravos' chest concept art wise.
And yet — it still felt like something to me. Then S5 with Laurelion came along.
Tumblr media
The Death of the Immortal
K: "And though undying, took last breath, immortal Laurelion was no more." C: That's good, right? I mean when someone "was no more," that's — that's dead, yeah? K: It's a bit confusing, but that is the clearest implication. Though it is somewhat odd they call them undying and immortal. C: Well, that doesn't sound so immortal? Laurelion "was no more". K: Right. C: But how? How did they...? K: Right here. "White as the star's heart it pierced, ivory draconic brought death's bite known ever forth as Novablade." C: It's a sword.
There's a few noteworthy things about this whole exchange:
The poem has to be relevant eventually, otherwise why include it at all when you easily could've just had Kazi and Callum stumble across the sword period?
It confirms that the heart of a star is something that can be pierced, presumably removed, and white, which I think is the biggest "hell yeah" to the 4x04 intro
There is no reason to point out the contradictions in the poem itself unless A) the sword doesn't work the way we think it does and/or B) we are going to find out why the "undying and immortal" thing matters — and they make sure to emphasize the contradictions quite a bit as well, so they definitely want us to notice
If Laurelion died, and Aaravos took his place, that would explain how Laurelion — identity wise — could die while the same person under a new name could also remain alive / immortal
We learn in Rayla's pre-S5 short story that Ghosts don't often keep their real names, and take a new one as the final severance of their bond with their old community. For all extents and purposes, Aaravos was Ghosted (banished) from his community as well. Taking a new name would make sense
"That must've been when [Harrow] fell." "Fell? Fell! He didn't fall, Rayla, he didn't trip and fall on the ground — he got killed!" (2x08)
There's more speculation here regarding the actual sword and draconic ivory, but that is another post for another day that other smart people have made if you are interested. For now let's just focus on the heart.
We know Laurelion had a heart; we know it got stabbed with the Novablade, leaving Laurelion both no more (i.e. dead) and yet immortal / undying. We know that Arc 2 in particular has had an emphasis on losing your sense of self and identity ("I was his puppet" / "We can't save everyone, Soren" / "But I'm not evil. It's me" / all of Viren's dream visions). We know that a Star's heart is white. We know that Aaravos seemingly used to have one, and now it's either missing or impermanent, only visible sometimes.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
(Putting a pin in the second image cause we'll roll back around to it in the counter evidence section.)
We know his chest centrepiece glowed when he was imprisoned, and we know it was seemingly gone when he got banished. We know something about the Key of Aaravos was able to reveal his treachery.
Tumblr media
I'm not saying any of this is for sure connected, but it does make you think, at least a little?
That, and it'd play into another bit of potential interesting foreshadowing / symbolism we got in s5 with
Viren Heart Theory
This is another theory I've discussed in more detail elsewhere, so I'm going to link to it here, but it wouldn't feel right to not talk about it at least a little here. Basically the theory is that Viren used his own blood / a piece of his heart, or possibly the whole thing, and the relic staff in order to save Soren when he was a young child.
This is largely due to Viren's spotlight turning red after he begs to be able to save Soren, and cinched by Kpp'Ar pointing specifically at Viren's heart only for Viren to deflect and start talking about Soren's case specifically. Whatever he did seemed to make him more 'powerful,' but at a great personal cost ("In the name of love you may perform acts that are so unforgivable, you will never forgive yourself") and something he finds the need to justify ("I had to do something! I had to save him! I had no choice!").
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
If Viren did this, it also adds another layer to Viren's sentiment of "Harrow's death breaks my heart" being well, half-hearted, in addition to Soren literally stabbing illusion Viren in the heart in 3x09. Viren mutilated his heart for his son's life, stopped being able to properly express love to said son, and then Soren stabbed his father right in the place that presumably saved him as a child. Ouch.
It seems likely that one of the reasons Aaravos was able to prey so aptly on Viren's desire for importance and attention — to Matter — was because Aaravos might've tried and failed earlier on to get the Startouch elves to listen to him pre-banishment. Being ignored, exiled, and disempowered is something he can relate to, and something he doesn't mind taking advantage of when it suits him.
However, if this combination could save someone Viren loved, it makes me wonder if Aaravos did something similar to likewise try (and fail?) to save someone he loved, too. It's either that or the Startouch elves just completely ripped it out, so... I guess we'll have to see?
But yeah — if Viren did it, then I'm expecting it's more likely that Aaravos did it, too. That is all.
The Pawn Intros
But Dragons, you say, didn't we already talk about the Callum pawn intro?
And to that I say yes, but — thanks to a promo S6 picture of Aaravos crying, we know something else very important about said intros that we didn't know before: they take place at the Sea of the Cast Out.
Tumblr media
The sky, the mountains... the fact we know, thanks to the statues in 5x09, that this is likely where Aaravos' grief — his wound, if you will — began to bleed and take root, leading to his thousands of years of seeking vengeance and using just about anything or anyone he could. This is, presumably, where his chess game started... and where it is, symbolically at least, going to end.
Okay, so it's the Sea of the Cast Out — why does that matter?
Well, we know the Sea of the Cast Out is a site of literal trauma for Aaravos. We know, thanks to the statues of Aaravos and the Merciful One, that it plays into the same reaching motif we see Viren participate in quite a few times, both in his intro and in other places/relationships (most notably Sarai, Harrow, and Terry).
Tumblr media
The Sea of the Cast Out is also, perhaps more importantly for this theory's purposes, near Elarion. What little we do know about the city beyond it being an important place for humans and dark magic ties it repeatedly to nature through The Midnight Star poem:
Elarion, trembling seed, lay down to earth in icy night, and in the cold her roots took hold defying winter’s deathly bite. Elarion, fading bloom, afraid to wilt and dim and die, [...] Elarion, dying husk, did wilt and whimper in the dark [...] Elarion, black-eyed child, her twisted roots spread deep and far,
as well as a tale about the Flowers of Elarion, precious blooms that could soothe the senses and turned to dust come morning—flowers that were left as "a fair exchange of beloved for beloved" (Tales of Xadia). Put a pin that Exchange idea because I swear we're gonna come back to it but not in the usual way you might be expecting, or at least not entirely.
And we have good reason to believe this nature motif is tied to Aaravos' current imprisonment as well, given how present flower imagery is for his mirror.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
So the Sea of the Cast Out and Elarion seem to be the two places we know of thus far that are not only the most important to Aaravos, but the most instrumental to his banishment. It would not surprise me if either Aaravos got involved in what would become Elarion either because he was banished, or it was what he was banished over, or if discovering the truth of what happened there is likewise why the Archdragons were partially like "Yeah, we gotta lock this guy up" (now that they knew he posed a serious threat). The fact that Elarion is referred to as a child (everything with "blood of a child,"), black-eyed (which denotes dark magic), and winter's "deathly bite" ("White as the star's heart it pierced, / ivory draconic brought death's bite") just all ties together nicely in being related even if we're not totally sure how.
But Aaravos having his chest piece removed by force / as punishment in addition to being cast out by the Startouch elves, or him taking it out himself and giving it to someone who was lost... There's a lot of roads to get here as to why this stuff all seems connected if the Key is indeed his chest piece, which offers up both a power up, a sad tragic backstory, some baller symbolism, and some nice double meanings as to what it is key wise.
As the Key works in the moment, it doesn't seem like it's something that would be very useful to a primal mage, as other than pretty easily identifiable gemstones they wouldn't be using much the key identifies. However, the function of the Key being able to categorize and sort magical creatures and plants from each other is something that is very useful if you're a dark mage and need to shore up your ingredients list.
If the Key has Aaravos' chest piece in it, there are two main prongs this offers:
It may have been instrumental in helping humans discover dark magic, hence the "Elarion, searing white" and could also be the Gift the poem speaks of. Aaravos removed it himself (love makes you weak?), gave it to his chosen human, chosen human died, and he was locked out of Startouch realm as a combined result. This offers the clearest connection between why Aaravos' mirror has the nature motif and why Aaravos is crying in the beginning of 6x01.
It was removed by the Startouch elves and lost/hidden, forcing Aaravos to be away from his old home until he could find it again. This is the clearest explanation as to why the Key might be relevant on a plot level. It could give him the power up he needs to get out of his prison and barring that, it's what he needs to wreck havoc and gain access to the Startouch elves to get revenge on them
It also allows what we learn of the cube in 2x06 to have multiple meanings:
The Key is revealed in an episode called The Heart of a Titan. We're led to assume that this is just the Magma Titan, and you could perhaps make an argument the dual meaning (just like how Breaking the Seal refers to the letter and the titan's chest) refers to Harrow or Callum's capacity to love. But, given that one of Aaravos' most prominent mythic comparisons is to Prometheus, a literal Titan, well...
"It unlocks something of great power in Xadia" would work equally well if it's a Key literally made from Aaravos, not just to Aaravos. And the past 2 seasons in particular have emphasized over and over again just how powerful and dangerous he is
The salvation and destruction motif that is inherent in the key, ("I just have a feeling this key thing can help me" / "It's the key of Aaravos, no good will come of it") as keys are linked to chains and freedom with the ability to lock and unlock, is rampant in 2x06, as Viren states that Xadia and the Magma Titan "held both the promise of our salvation and threat of our destruction." This goes double for Sarai sacrificing her life to save Viren
And to round back to Viren and his intro, I don't think it's a coincidence that
Tumblr media
is one of the first things Aaravos ever says to Viren, particularly when trying to earn Viren's trust. (Nor that Aaravos considers that Zubeia and co. "betrayed" him when "he would lower his guard," just before the imprisonment.) And while Aaravos gains Viren's trust as a political ally here first, it's also clear that he's actually primarily preying upon Viren's deepest emotional desires here as well: to be listened to. To matter.
Viren wasn't listened to by the monarchs around him (Harrow). He wanted to be important (to them). He wanted to matter.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"It is everything to me, to know that I matter. It's all I ever wanted."
Aaravos: Search your heart. There is something you want very badly. (2x09) Zubeia: He was able to give them something they wanted very badly. (4x04)
And that's what Aaravos offered him, with power and knowledge just being the bait. (If you're interested in more detailed thoughts on this aspect of Viren / their dynamic, check out this meta here.)
More to the point, I do lean towards the Key's plot purposes being 1) a power-up that may be needed for him to get out of his mirror and 2) something that likewise allows him to see the other Startouch elves again. After all, the Silvergrove gave each elf a similar kind of key:
Tumblr media
But y'know what, let's talk about Rayla now, because
The Missing Piece of Your Heart
As stated earlier, Rayla's letter has a consistent metaphor when it comes to family and loss:
I remember how I felt when my parents left me to join the Dragonguard, like PART OF MY HEART WAS MISSING and I would never feel right again. I thought I hated them when they did that to me. In the beginning, it felt so big and terrible—like raging despair—but, overtime, it became a soft, sweet ache—a reminder of that missing part of my heart. [...] Please don’t let this hurt too much. But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always.
This struck me as interesting when the letter first came out, as it was a departure from most of Rayla's previous heart motif ("My heart for Xadia") and even the one attributed to her one half of her parents ("My heart goes out with this one"). Why have the motif suddenly switch up when it would've worked just as well, or been doubly romantic + a Ruthari parallel, to just have it be the whole heart?
Then season four came out, and I understood, because, well...
Tumblr media
Upon her return, Rayla brings back that "missing piece" of "Callum's heart". It's a painful restoration and doesn't run entirely smooth, but in season five in particular we see him be much more like his older, happier self once he's let himself love her again, and how steadfast he is in said love ("To love is simply know this...").
But, in a moment that could've been exclusively about Rayla, nor did it need for Stella's connection to the Star arcanum to be this prominent in the same moment, they choose to likewise highlight Rayla 'bringing home' the missing piece of Aaravos' heart, too.
This symbolism is also consistent with how the key is introduced in the first place, i.e. first thought of because Rayla's drawing in Callum's sketchbook (another gift from Harrow) reminds Callum of it, and her ultimately being the one to retrieve it even once things at the Banther Lodge take a turn towards the south.
Furthermore, we do have reason to believe that Rayla is indeed the 'Key to Callum' in a sense, particularly after 5x08. Just like how a key can both lock and unlock — give freedom or entrapment — Rayla symbolizes a great deal of duality in Callum's life, including but not limited to:
Leading him to primal magic (1x03, 5x08) and dark magic (2x07, 5x08)
Light ("No one can control you or make your choices for you" / Ray of light) and dark ("But the second you see that elf girl in pain, you completely lost yourself" / "Stay safe, and stay in the light. Don't look for me")
Being routinely emphasized in Callum's arc with Aaravos, especially in S4
"Now you're back. That's kind of good, and it's kind of bad" / "You have to hold pain and love in your heart at the same time" / "And when she came back, I was so happy, and so mad at the same time"
Salvation ("Rayla saves people [...] that's what makes her a hero") and destruction (being willing to die / do dark magic for her)
The Ocean arcanum realization being both positive and negative, just as the poem itself takes on a different shape across the season in regards to how Callum views her and how he views himself while being motivated by his love for her / Ezran
“Wow. So [the berries] look identical, but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said. “Exactly. Just like me…” Rayla smiled.
—Book One: Sky novelization
If you're interested in a more specific meta on this dichotomy, I recommend this meta written pre-s4 and this more recent one about 5x08 specifically.
I've written before about Rayla have a weird consistency with the cube as well, particularly in her being the primary carrier of its foreshadowing for most of arc 1, with Callum only really doing so in 1x04 and having Rayla pick up the slack the rest of the time:
"It's a toy, a piece from a children's game" (1x04) as well as "It's a glow toy" (1x05) are now literally true as the cube is 1) involved in Aaravos' game and 2) literally glows a bright flashing light circa the 4x04 intro.
"Are you practicing magic or are you losing to Bait at a game of rolly-cubes?" (2x07 right after Callum calls it a key) came to pass, somewhat if not outright, it seems, in 5x08. Callum practices two different magics, Rayla is literal bait in exchange for the glow-toad, and the episode ends with Callum being worried he's potentially losing Aaravos' 'game' so to speak — that he's made himself more vulnerable to the Startouch elf's control.
Two lines of hers regarding the cube that have not yet come to pass are "This doesn't end well for you" (1x05) and "I hope it was worth it to you, putting everyone's lives in danger" (1x04) but I expect that we'll get them soon enough.
Rayla's 'tether' to a the cube does, of course, loop back into the Flowers of Elarion tale, in which there was a fair exchange of beloved for beloved. If the Key does indeed hold Aaravos' heart (and that is still a very big If), whether it would include an actual exchange is still debatable, but it seems inevitable that she would at least play a part. (If you're interested in more thoughts on Rayla + the cube, check out this meta pre-s4.)
Where the game motif gets the most interesting, I think, is where it intersects with the idea Aaravos mentions in 2x09 regarding, "Those who fail tests of love are simple animals," and one of the TDP short stories in particular having one very interesting tidbit:
“My behavior is—?” “—unusual,” Corvus repeated, nodding. “Very unusual. Ever since you started challenging me to all these little games.” Soren squirmed. His pauldrons clanked as his shoulders slumped. “They aren’t games. They’re tests. Ugh…I’m really messing this up.”
Since Rayla is going to have her "My heart for Xadia" undeniably tested, it would make sense if Callum and Aaravos' hearts came into play too, don't you think?
Other Misc Symbolism / Oddities
Last but not least, we have our odds and ends that didn't fit in the other sections, but I thought may be worthwhile to mention anyway.
For starters, we have screencaps (most notably in 3x06) where you can see a visible dip in Aaravos' tiddies chest that indicates something was removed, and it's not just an artificial darkness.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
We have Aaravos touching a fist to his heart twice before he bows and indicates that Callum is going to "play" into his hands (remember that game motif?).
Tumblr media
We have this shot, which is the exact kind of thing that "crew makes sure the Ocean and Moon runes are most prominently on display in Callum's dark magic dreams to foreshadow him doing dark magic in S5 Ocean for his Moonshadow gf 3 seasons later" would absolutely do and think they're So Funny about. "No gem for star magic" except the one you're unknowingly holding in your hand, am I right?
Tumblr media
Finally, we have precedent that dark magic can 'darken' your heart both in show when Amaya passes the light trial ("A human that is pure of heart") and in the graphic novels with Claudia ("Your heart is not yet darkened") which allows her to see the map to a unicorn (The Puzzle House).
@self-spaghettification also noted that the bright white flash of the star in the 'o' of Aaravos' name in the Arc 2 intro momentarily looks like and makes the shape of the Nova Blade, which is also very cool.
Honourable mention to Rayla going "it's a piece from a children's game" and Ezran going "you said each of the archdragons had a piece of the puzzle" and the Orphan Queen and Jailer presumably working together to trap Aaravos. I think about that shit every day.
Evidence to the Contrary / Alternatives
But like I said at the start, there are plenty of alternatives or feasible pitfalls to consider. This theory resides on a few assumptions after all, that may not be true, such as Aaravos not actually needing the key for anything other than as a lure for Callum, it could purely have something to do with the Nova Blade and nothing to do with the prison, or even have something to do with the nature of magic itself, capable of great good as well as great evil.
His chest piece could've always been more immaterial and dark magic has just darkened it rather than it being removed. Aaravos may have stabbed Laurelion in order to use that heart diamond to partially make the Relic Staff he passed onto Ziard, or Aaravos' chest piece could be in the staff itself, and the cube is something else entirely.
Conclusion
In the end, as we go forward into S6 all the above is more less my personal bet as to where I think we really could go in terms of answering a lot of these questions we've had for a few seasons now. I hope you enjoyed reading the theory and considering (and possibly subscribing to) it, as well as getting your own thoughts stimulated. If any of the above happens I will cry for days and no matter what, I am deeply intrigued to see where S6 takes Aaravos' backstory and, of course, his cube. Luckily:
Tumblr media
80 notes · View notes
ryanmarshallryan · 2 days
Text
I've been having a lot more people reach out about the vore stories I write, so thought I'd throw it out there if anyone wants to donate to help me have more time to write stories, or likes my style and wants to commission something let me know over dm!
I usually write thinking from a prey perspective, but was feeling hungry after eating salads for a month and switched to pred for this story.
DIET BACKFIRED
I love my weight. I think my belly looks great on me. When I see those old statues of historical figures with dad bods I see myself and love it. But after gaining 25 pounds in a few months from stress, I decided to try out a diet for a bit, just to be cautious of my health. Man, it was hard. And this morning my hunger took control.
I was preparing a salad, heated up some chicken to mix in, sprinkled in some shredded cheese, spinach, lettuce, cucumber, tomato and such. All I could think about was how wonderful it would feel to have a full belly again. Not just feeling satisfied, but pigging out and shoving as much down my maw as possible. Feeling the gainer bug while also trying to diet was not going to work for me. I tore through my cabinet to find an old box of cookies. I opened the box, came to my senses and closed it, then decided I didn’t care and ate the remainder in one sitting. To try to slow myself down and tire out my palette, I tried to eat a bunch of lettuce, but then added a bunch of croutons and snacks without thinking. I still felt hungry, but just left the kitchen to stop myself.
Later, I hung out with my work-out buddy, Max, and vented about my hunger, “I’m still eating a lot! Just replacing chips with a lot of low fat snacks. So if the quantity of food I’m eating is the same, why am I always feeling sooooo hungry? Ugh.”
“Bro, sounds like you need a cheat day. But, hey, if you’re stressed about having too much high fat food, I can help you eat big while still holding back on the chips.”
“Well it can be helpful to sit with the feeling for a while. So if you start feeling hungry, write down exactly what you are craving and what that feels like. By the time you are done writing it out, if you’re still hungry for it… go for it. If the feeling passes, then move on,” Max continued.
“I’m sure we could try it, but I don’t see how much of a difference it’ll make.” I replied. I knew Max worked as some sort of private personal trainer or something on the side, so I felt inclined to believe him, but my stomach was doubtful.
After our workout, we visited a smoothie place and got large chocolate banana protein smoothies (after writing out what I was craving and waiting a moment before deciding to go through with it). I sucked mine down so fast I got a mild brain freeze.
“So how are you feeling? Hungry for another one?” Max asked, playfully placing a hand on my gut and giving it a quick rub.
“Ugh, I would totally go for a burger and fries right now… no, onion rings… actually both,” I replied, as Max handed me a notepad and pen. I wrote down the menu in my mind and thought about how it can be nice to feel so full without another care in the world.
“It’s been a few minutes… still hungry?” Max said with a sly smile.
“What do you think?” I asked him, lifting my gym shirt up to reveal my hairy belly, which gave a perfectly timed gurgle.
Max drove to my favorite burger joint and ordered a few meals and insisted on paying “This is my idea, don’t worry about it… for science!”
After downing two large burgers, a full bag of onion rings and a couple sides of fries, plus an apple that came with Max’s meal that he was too full to finish, I sat with my gut extended out in front of me.
Max leaned over to me, pulled my shirt up over my belly and patted it with his closed fist as if knocking at a door, “So how are you doing, hungry guy?” He put his ear to my side and listened intently to the stomach gurgles, occasionally making sounds of “Mmm,” “Yes, I see,” “Interesting.” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of Max speaking to my belly.
“What’s so funny about listening to your gut? Intuitive eating is no joke,” Max said with a joking smile, “What is your stomach telling you?”
I thought for a moment, grabbed the notepad and wrote down ‘Though I should be full and done eating… Ice cream would hit the spot right now… Surely that would fill me up, and fill the void the low fat snacks have opened.’ I handed Max the written note.
Max looked from my belly to my eyes with a poker face, “I know just the place.”
In a few minutes we rolled up to Max’s apartment. Inside he pulled out some pints of cookies and cream ice cream and some mint chocolate chip. He handed me a spoon and opened the containers and sat across from me.
“Do you want me to get a bowl?” I asked.
“Nah. Try to intuitively eat. Just eat until your body feels done.”
“So… eat until there’s a nationwide ice cream shortage?”
Max threw his head back laughing, “If we get to that point, maybe we’ll pivot to a new tactic, but for now, feel free to eat as much as you want.” He looked endearingly into my eyes, and I felt my gut rumble, whether by digestion or hunger, or both, I couldn’t discern.
As I scooped down ice cream, we chatted about hunger, about scarcity mindset when it comes to food, and he told me some interesting facts about digestion and how to make room in one's stomach faster than normal by laying on the left side.
“Is this the stuff people need to know for your personal training work and such?” I asked.
“Personal training stuff?” Max gave a look of puzzlement then laughed, “I think I said that sarcastically a while back. A few guys pay me to help them gain weight and eat big. So sort of a personal trainer, but kind of the opposite effect that most would expect.”
“Ohhh, this tactic makes a bit more sense now,” I replied, continuing to eat the ice cream.
“Well, I thought if I encouraged you to experience the ability to eat as much as you want without restriction, you’ll realize that you don’t have to eat everything. It sounds like you are always hungry, because you are always denying that you want food.”
“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” I went to scoop up more ice cream then realized I’d eaten all of it.
“How are you feeling?” Max asked, rubbing the top of my belly.
I felt a grumble deep in my stomach.”I can definitely feel my belly full of food, but I also could definitely do the whole thing all over again.”
Max considered me for a moment, then started listing off some random digestion facts again. He put his head on my stomach again, lifted my shirt off my body, listened again, took his hands and gently opened my mouth wide and peered down my throat, until I started laughing and he couldn't hold my mouth open.
“What are you doing? You think my stomach is gonna speak back to you in English?” I joked.
“No… but I wonder if I could better understand your hunger if I could better see inside your gut. Hmmm, maybe even just peering down your esophagus…”
“Don’t you need a fancy scope for that or something?”
“Not if you’re willing to relax your throat for a moment…” Max said. I shrugged, and he straddled my lap and shoved his head into my mouth. I could feel his energetic breathing against my tongue and wondered how on earth he could see anything down my throat with his head blocking light from the outside.
I heard a muffled “I’d like to see a bit further…” and felt him push his whole body forward into me. His shoulders shoved their way into my maw and stretched my jaw wide like an opera singer. I choked a little bit feeling his scratchy hair make contact with my uvula and the bottom of my tongue. I reflexively closed my lips over his skin and swallowed as the hair and breath tickled my maw. I realized that my peristalsis must have taken a bit of control, because I was surprised to see that I was looking down at his lower back with his arms pinned to his sides. I felt his nipples and pectoral muscles sliding against my tongue and felt his head squeezed tightly through my lower esophagus. What was going on? Though the sensation was filling me with dopamine and adrenaline, I realized that somehow my body was getting ready to eat a whole human, so I mentally prepared myself to try and regurgitate him. But instead I felt him force himself deeper into my throat, as his feet pushed off against the floor, and his upper torso wriggled and squirmed to slide deeper into me. I felt a sloshing in my gut, and heard a muffled intake of air and the continuation of more digestion facts being spewed out of Max’s ever curious mind obsessed with digestion.
Since Max seemed so intent on getting inside my stomach, and I knew I would need to breathe soon, I decided to help him out. I lifted his legs up over my head and felt gravity pulling him down my throat. I pulled his gym shorts and such off him and felt the interesting texture of his little belly over his abs, mixed with gym sweat and belly hair, felt past his hard on and groin, and his thick thighs as they all passed over my tongue and against my soft palate. My stomach finally began to feel full, as it sloshed with its soupy contents of dinner encasing Max’s squirming upper body. I knew Max’s hands had been freed from the tight grip of my esophagus as my inner stomach felt a peculiar tickling sensation with Max rubbing it from the inside. I felt him poke around and heard his muffled casual observations about my stomach.
I felt Max’s muscles seize up as he put his legs together tightly and let them slide easily down my throat. I felt his cold feet tickle my tongue, uvula and esophagus until they finally plopped into my stomach and I felt my throat open enough for me to exhale and breathe in more oxygen finally.
I took a few moments to gather my thoughts and catch my breath, feeling Max move around and curl up into a ball inside my tight stomach. I looked down to see the bulge his head made toward the top of my belly, with other odd bumps sticking out that I assumed were his knees and feet pressing up against my stomach walls. I felt his clammy hands push up against my stomach as he surveyed his new situation.
“Max, I forgot to write this craving down first.” I said, jokingly.
“Don’t worry I already did!” I heard him shout back, hearing it almost come up through my own throat. I stared in confusion at the opened notepad next to me and flipped to the last written note that read ‘Ice cream and everything else isn’t satisfying enough. Maybe eating me will do the trick. - Max’
My belly gurgled in surprise, “You planned for me to eat you?”
“I did shove myself down your throat, didn’t I?”
“But why would you -”
“Hey you didn’t try and stop me, bud,” he replied. I felt a pat against my belly, and shivered a little bit.
“Yeah, but I thought you just wanted to glance inside, but you wriggled in deeper!”
“Are you mad that I did?” Max asked. I felt him shifting his weight inside my gut and resting into me.
I considered the events of the night. I had really craved a day to just eat all I wanted, and Max gave all that to me and more. Even though I definitely didn’t expect him to force his way onto the menu, my belly felt much more satiated than it had been. “... I’m not mad at you… just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into… but I do have a confession.”
“What is it?” Max asked, shifting around and pressing his head up against the place where my hand was resting on my belly.
“I could go for some orange sherbert right now… I think your diet tactic failed.” My stomach added a large grumble and groan in agreement.
“Failed for you, maybe. But I’m cozy!” Max tried to stretch out a bit and I watched my stomach bulges shift in a funny manner, and felt my belly tighten and knead Max in response. “Plus, I think I figured out why you’ve been so hungry lately.”
“And what have you discovered?”
“That you should have eaten me ages ago! Once I’m digested into belly fat you’ll have more energy stored in your cells for longer, so you won’t be as hungry all the time! It’s simple science,” Max replied matter of factly.
“I’m not sure that science is sound, but as long as you’re happy, I’m fat and happy.”
“If you don’t think the science is sound, maybe you ought to repeat the experiment. Have a cheat day every once in a while,” Max replied, as he curled into a tight ball again and let my stomach relax and get to work over him. “I know I’ve been seeing that cute guy at the gym drooling over your gut, you know, the one who always wears that green hat? I’m sure he’d love to be a part of your next cheat day once you’ve had enough of your salads and diet again.”
I enjoyed the peace of feeling Max getting comfortable deep in my gut. I took deep breaths and felt my diaphragm move Max around slightly as my chest expanded and contracted. “Maybe I’ll ask him. But I’ll leave it up to him whether he wants to take it as far as you did tonight.” I rubbed my belly and stared, mesmerized at the lumpy spots on my belly indicating Max’s body relaxing against my stomach walls. I felt his heartbeat in polyrhythm against mine, with his breathing patterns tickling my stomach walls. I tasted the lasting flavors of his skin on my tongue, mixed with ice cream and other sustenance I had downed throughout the evening. Good thing we worked out first, to balance out this sharp intake in calories. So I suppose even if I had a cheat day from my diet, eating a whole human balances out to be healthy, right?
Tumblr media
69 notes · View notes
goodbuckcharlie · 3 days
Note
https://www.tumblr.com/goodbuckcharlie/744970952822095872/forbidden-things-jeremy-swayman-summary-its
ahhh love it!! part two would so goood!!!!! especially with steph, austin and mitch seeing how in love the two are
Warming up | Jeremy Swayman
Tumblr media
Summary: Part two to Forbidden Things. Following up on their secret relationship no longer being secret, Steph, Auston, and Mitch start noticing how truly in love the two are
Warning: swearing, a little slut shaming (for like a second) and mention of blood/injury
Notes: I am glad people liked the last post :) I currently have a Cole Caufield x pro golfer story and a Luke Hughes social media Au both in the works but when I saw this comment I jumped back to this story. Let me know if you guys are interested in either one of those or idk maybe even a part two for my Nico story.
Tumblr media
Steph definitely was the first to see how much Jeremy loved Mackie. She realized it at the family dinner that Mitch invited Jer to. It wasn’t even anything special, just watching how Jeremy interacted with the family, she knew he was the one for Mackie.
“So when Maddie set us up on a blind date, she forgot to mention that Mackie was the Executive chef at the restaurant we were going to.” Jeremy was telling the family how his neighbor who just so happened to be Mackie’s best friend, set the two together, “So we were served cold food ,like it wasn’t super cold, but Mackie definitely wasn’t happy. She excused herself and then went to the back. I could hear her scream ‘I’m on a date with a hot ass guy and you guys can’t do your fucking jobs? What the fuck do I pay you guys for!’ She then came back and acted like the whole restaurant didn’t hear her screaming. Let’s just say, I was ready to propose in that second.”
“Okay you are being a bit dramatic,” Mackie corrects, “You only heard what I said cause we were sat by the kitchen. The whole restaurant didn’t hear me scream.”
“Babe, the hostess looked terrified and the poor girl was on the other side of the restaurant.” Everyone laughs as Mackie gives a little pout, “Aw no need to get all pouty, I thought it was extremely hot. Still do.”
Jeremy pokes Mackie’s neck until she starts laughing.
“You know Jeremy, Mackie had a few boyfriends in high school, and none of them were ever able to hand our girl’s temper.” Mrs. Marner says while holding her husband’s hand and smiling in endearment, “They often called her too bossy and one even told her that her ego was unlady like.”
“Yeah Mitch was not happy when he heard that.” Mackie looks across the table at Mitch, who has been eyeing Jeremy, observing him like a Hawk, “When I came home crying, Mitch drove to the guy’s house and fought him.”
“This guy in a fight? I couldn’t imagine that.” Jeremy laughs and Mackie is surprised to see Mitch also laughing.
“Don’t get to excited bud, I lost that fight.” Mackie and Steph can tell Mitch is still hesitant about Jeremy, but it was a good sign to see the boys laughing together. Well until Mitch notices something.
“What the hell is on your neck?” Through the long day, Mackie never reapplied her makeup on her neck, so the darkest hickey is now visible.
“Would you believe me if I told you it’s a burn mark from my curling iron?” Mitch gives Mackie the angry brother look and she automatically know that mean he doesn’t believe her. Luckily Steph came to the rescue.
“Oh Mitch calm down, you know we were doing that same thing when we were her age.” Steph manages to keep Mitch calm and civil for the rest of the dinner.
At the end of the night as everyone was leaving, the restaurant started to play one of Mackie’s favorite songs. She hides her excitement, but Jeremy notices.
“Dance with me pretty girl.” He holds his hand out.
“Jer we are at a restaurant, we shouldn’t.” Steph is the only who is noticing the interaction, but she can’t help but smile.
“Nobody is going to kick us out for dancing, plus who cares if they do, your restaurant is 10x better anyway.” Mackie takes his hand and they start swaying along to the music. Mackie giggles as Jeremy spins her around and they almost knock over a table. But they don’t care they are in their own world.
In this moment, Steph knew Mackie was right and that Jeremy was her one.
Tumblr media
Surprisingly Auston was the next to approve the relationship. And it was a total accident.
It was March, a whole month since All stars, and the Bruins were playing the maple leafs in Toronto.
Mackie had stayed at home in Boston. Jeremy was missing her during the roadie, but he knew after this game they would be at home for a while.
Auston was just walking around the backstage of the arena when he walked past Jeremy on the phone.
“Babe you know you don’t have to call me to get permission to go out with Maddie.” Jeremy says while smiling at his phone.
“Oh I know I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
“You are going to be the death of me.” Auston can’t help but eavesdrop. “While I have you here, show me what you are wearing out.”
Auston at first thinks the worst and thought that Jeremy was trying to be controlling, but his worry soon went away.
“Damn baby, you look so good makes me want to bail on the game and fly back home to see you.” Auston fake gags at Jeremy making comments like that to the girl he considers as little sister. “Is that my jacket?”
“Yeah Maddie wouldn’t let me borrow one of hers so I went over to your place and grabbed a jacket.”Austin wasn’t surprised to hear that Mackie had a key to Jeremy’s place.
“I would have let her borrow a jacket if she actually wanted to wear a jacket, not because our old ass neighbor was being a bitch.” An unfamiliar voice that Austin assumes is Maddie comes out of the phone.
“Maddie you said you wouldn’t say anything.” Mackie whines.
“Wait you guys are talking about that cougar that’s been trying to get in my pants since I moved in?” Austin can feel Jeremy get upset even as he hides in the corner, “What did she say?”
“She said, and I quote, you shouldn’t be going out like that when you have a man at home. It makes you look desperate.” Maddie said cause she knew Mackie wouldn’t.
“Fuck her. Mackie you look amazing in anything. If you like how an outfit looks, nobody and I mean nobody shall tell you different. Now take off my jacket and go have fun with Maddie, I’ll be there in the morning to nurse that hang over. And after that I’ll go talk to our neighbor, I’m not letting her get away with disrespecting you.”
That was all Auston needed to hear. He walked away satisfied with the conversation. Before this conversation, Auston didn’t think Jeremy and Mackie’s relationship was serious. Now he knows not only are they serious, but he now had a newfound respect for Jeremy.
At the end of the game, the bruins won 4 to 1. After his shower, Auston set out on a mission to talk to Jeremy. Luckily he finds him as he is heading out of the visitors locker room.
“Hey Swayman.” Jeremy looks up from his phone is surprised to see Auston.
“Oh hey.” Jeremy is a little skeptical, but knowing how important Auston is you Mackie he doesn’t question it.
“So I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but earlier I heard your phone call with Mackie.” He totally meant to eavesdrop but he wouldn’t admit it. “You’re a good man Swayman. And it might take a little more for Mitch to see it, but you really do love Mackie. And I’m glad she has someone like you.”
“Thanks Auston. You mean a lot to Mackie, so your approval is very important to her. And what’s important to Mackie is important to me.” Auston extends his hand out for a hand shake but Jeremy being Jeremy pulls him into a quick hug. “Now I got a plane to catch so I can see my girl.”
“We just finished the game and your already talking about that girl?” Brad Marchand hit Sways back and teases him, “You’re such a simp.”
“I’m a proud simp for Mackie Marner .” Both Auston and Brad laughs as Jeremy rushes out so he can hurry back to his girl.
Tumblr media
Mitch by no means hated Jeremy and Mackie’s relationship, but the idea of his little sister dating anyone especially someone on the rival hockey team to his, didn’t sit right with him. But that was until, Jeremy did something that completely changed his perspective.
The maple leafs had just played the Bruins again this time in Boston. The leafs had decided to stay in Boston for a few days before leaving back to Toronto. So Mackie closed her restaurant for the day and decided to host both the leafs and the bruins for dinner. But a few things had gone wrong causing the girl stress.
It was the middle of the day so the staff had plenty of time to prepare everything. During this time, little things happened that all piled up causing Mackie to be on edge. Things such as some dropping knives or someone not following her instructions. She keeps her composure to the best of her abilities, since she doesn’t want to ruin the dinner.
Everyone started to arrive at 6:30 which was 30 minutes before the dinner started. Mackie doesn’t know because she is concentrating on the food. She is so concentrated that her staff even starts to worry about her.
“If you can’t chop it properly I’ll do it myself.” Mackie doesn’t mean to sound rude, but she doesn’t have time to apologize since her brain is currently running 100 miles per hours. She starts to cut veggies as fast as she can but because she is being careless, she cuts her finger. “Fuck, Eric please take over.”
She runs her hand under the sink hoping to stop the bleeding, but the cut was much deeper then she thought.
“Chef are you okay? you should probably get that checked out. It looks pretty deep.” Eric, one of the first chefs Mackie hired, finished chopping and check on Mackie. But as any girl can tell you, when you are trying not to cry and someone asks if you are okay or are you crying, you feel like you need to cry even more.
“it’s just a cut I’ll be fine.” She didn’t mean to raise her voice but her frustration caused her to do so. Jeremy who is talking to Mitch and Auston, hears Mackie and heads to the kitchen in concern not knowing that Mitch was right behind him.
When he entered the kitchen, everyone was working hard, but Mackie was no where in sight.
“After she yelled, she said sorry to me before she grabbed a cloth and ran off to her office.” Eric said standing next to the sink. “I can finish the dinner,but that cut of hers needs attention so could you try and get her out of the office.”
Jeremy quickly thanks Eric before heading to the office.
“Hey pretty girl, you wanna talk?” No response.
“Baby, we’ve talked about this you have to talk to me when you’re upset, we are a team.”
The door to the office opens and reveals a crying Mackie who is holding a bloody towel to her cut.
“I just wanted tonight to be perfect.” Jeremy pulls Mackie into a hug. “But before I got here Maddie and I got into a fight and I tried to ignore it to keep the night perfect, and then little things kept happening and now my stupid finger won’t stop bleeding.”
“Whatever you and Maddie are mad about I’m sure it’s nothing, you two are like sisters.” Jeremy sits Mackie down while looking at her cut. “And everyone out there loves you too, so no matter what you served us we would thinks it’s perfect.”
Mitch (just like Auston) listened in from outside the office to make sure his sister was okay but not to interfere in their moment. (Steph would be so proud)
“I know you are going to try and fight me on this but this cut is really deep. We should get you to a hospital.” Mackie shoots Jer a look of disapproval but before she can voice that disapproval, Jeremy stops her. “I will go get your brother and Auston, then we will carry you to the hospital.”
“Off the ice, I’m faster than all three of you.” Her confidence makes Jeremy smile in adoration.
“Seriously thought I’m no professional but how deep this looks I wouldn’t be surprised if you had nerve damage as well.” Jeremy has seen his fair share of hockey injuries as well has had to deal with his own so that is why this cut was so concerning.
“Could we go out the back door?” Mackie says through tears, “I don’t want Mitchy to see me cry.”
“Anything you want if that means you’ll go to the hospital.” Jeremy goes into Mackie’s purse and grabs a makeup wipe and hands it to her. “I know you’ll be upset if I let you go out with your mascara running so go ahead and wipe off your makeup as I go and tell everyone that you’re okay and where we are going.”
Mackie nods and Jer kisses her forehead before he leaves her office shutting the door behind him. He then sees Mitch.
“She’s alright.” Jeremy says not to relieve Mitch but almost as to relieve himself from his worry.
“I know she is, because she’s in good hands.”Jeremy is surprised when Mitch hugs him. It’s quick but still shocking, “She’s the most stubborn person I know, and that’s saying a lot because we are hockey players, but you are careful and collected with her. You are the one for her.”
Mitch tells Jer that he would handle telling everyone and to call him when the doctors know what’s wrong.
Despite the high stress of the situation, Jeremy couldn’t help but smile the whole time.
Tumblr media
55 notes · View notes
mayajadewrites · 2 days
Text
Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)
Tumblr media
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Five: Arrangement
The work day is finally over and you could not be more relieved to go home. Levi piled on work for you already - you’ve been scheduling meetings for him all day while also making sure the office is clean. 
Not to mention he’s been avoiding you like the plague.
You packed up your tote, gently sliding your laptop in the bag. When you look up you see Levi exiting his office, locking the door behind him. 
For the first time in hours, he looked at you. He looks… exhausted. You notice the dark circles under his eyes as he starts walking toward you.
Your eyes locked with his and time felt like it stopped. You were almost consumed by the way he looked at you. 
You cleared your throat to break the tension - although you wanted to throw yourself on him and let him devour your body. 
“Let’s go.” He said lowly as he gripped his briefcase. You nod and follow him, careful not to walk next to him.
Silence.
That was all you heard the entire night.
Silence.
You can’t help but wonder if you did something wrong. Maybe Levi regrets giving you a chance at a job. After all, you’re just a broke woman who was desperate for a job.
You let out a deep sigh that you felt like you were holding in for hours. Just then, your phone pings with a message from your sister.
> How was your first day?!
It was regular. A lot of work but my coworkers seem nice. <
> I’m so happy for you! I’m going out tonight, just watch my location for me please!
Lex… please be careful. <
Your sister always worried you when she went out. She has a tendency to drink until she can’t see anymore. She’s 18, so you don’t blame her, but she’s already mixing herself in the wrong crowd.
She’s legally an adult now. Nothing more you can do.
You turn your phone’s volume up in case Alexis calls you, but you fall asleep praying that that call never comes.
______________________________
The next week you feel like you’re walking on eggshells around Levi, but you’re getting work done and you haven’t seemed to upset him just yet. Even Erwin is impressed with what you’ve done so far.
“We’re gonna have to get you to master Levi’s cup of tea.” Erwin joked as he took a sip of his coffee. “He’s quite particular.” 
“Don’t I know it.” You laugh as you finish replenishing the break room with supplies. “I don’t even dare try to make it for him. He would probably spit it right out.”
You can’t help but feel like you’re missing Levi. The conversations you’re having with him are very one sided, and always about work. It’s not the same Levi you spent time with. It’s the Levi that everyone else sees.
You haven’t cooked together all week. He hasn’t brought you tea since the first day. Once you arrive home, it’s almost like you don’t exist. He sometimes needs you to call someone at home, but he’ll text you the instructions.
__________________________
You’re doing you’re daily cleaning at the house when you hear Levi’s footsteps.
“Oi, come here.” Levi called for you in the kitchen.
“Yes Levi?” You stand next to him, not sure what he’s going to say next. 
“I have something I want to run by you, and you can say no.” 
“Okay…” You raise an eyebrow, placing your hands on the counter. 
“How would you feel about… an arrangement between you and I?”
“Excuse me?” 
“An… arrangement.” 
“I heard what you said.” Your eyes wander to his. “You have to be more specific. What kind of arrangement?”
“One where I give you money and you do things with me.”
“I already work for you.” 
“No.” Levi shakes his head. “I don’t mean that. I mean, you come with me to events, vacations, and I give you money. Or an… allowance.”
“I’m confused. You already pay me-“
“To be my assistant, yes.” Levi plants his hands on the counter, looking down at his fingertips. “You and I get along quite well I think.” 
“I would say so.” 
“I don’t usually like anyone. And I like you.” Levi peers through his jet black locks to look at you. “I’m offering money for you spending time with me.”
You’re stunned. This man really thinks you’re a charity case. The last thing you want from Levi is his money just because you’re broke.
“I don’t want your money, Levi.” 
“I know you send your sister money.” Levi crossed his arms over his chest. “And I know you want to experience all that life has to offer. I can give that to you, no emotions attached.” 
“I’m not a tax write off, Levi. You can’t help me to make yourself feel better.”
“I’m not doing this for me. Well, I kind of am. I’ve done this arrangement before with women but they were only interested in the money. We could never talk - I don’t think they ever even stepped foot in my house.”
You look at Levi who looks… vulnerable. You want to hug him so tightly it feels like you’re glued to him. 
“You’ve… done this before?” 
“Yeah. I’m not good at connecting with people.” 
“So you’ve paid for se-“
“If we had sex, it was consensual and I did not pay for it.” Levi tilted his head to the side. “It was a bonus.” 
You nod your head, thinking about what this ‘arrangement’ entails. You’re already his assistant, and already living in his house. 
It would be nice to go on vacation once in a while. You’ve never actually been on vacation before. The farthest you’ve gone was a dirty beach 30 minutes from your house that your parents dragged you to just so they could get their fix.
“If I agree to this, we need to make rules.” You finally speak.
“Fire away.” Levi’s voice sounds like velvet. 
This man knows exactly what he’s doing.
“No markings. Where anyone can see, at least.” 
You peaked Levi’s interest at the words ‘where anyone can see’. His eyebrows raised as he took a mental note of your rule.
“Go on.” Levi tapped the counter with his fingertips. 
“I do not want special treatment at work. I would rather it be… our little secret.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“I want to sleep in my own bed. So no sharing beds even after we…”
“Fuck?” 
“Levi.” You roll your eyes. “IF we do.” 
You know damn well that if is more like a when.
“Do you have any rules you would like to present to the court today?” You press your chin to the palm of your hand, leaning over the counter.
“No affection outside of bedroom activities. This is a transaction almost - no emotions. Don’t expect me to kiss you good morning or any of that shit.” 
“Okay. Can I date other people or would you rather me not?”
Your question seemed to have stumped Levi. He searched your face for an answer because he couldn’t come up with one himself.
“For now, if you find someone you want to pursue, tell me. If you’re sleeping with someone else I would rather you not sleep with me also.”
You nod as you hold your hand out. “So we have a deal?”
Levi chuckles only for a second before shaking your hand. “Deal.” 
As Levi turns around, you think about what you just agreed to. Levi Ackerman is not only your boss, but he’s also your sugar daddy. Ymir would be so proud of you right now, while Historia would be silently judging. 
You can’t lie, you’ve thought about pressing your lips to Levi’s pillow soft ones – exploring every inch of his body. His callused hands massaging your thighs while sneaking in squeezes to your ass.
Your eyes linger to Levi’s back once again, observing the way his muscles are moving under his black t-shirt. Your eyes then went to his neck, then his undercut that’s begging to be touched.
To distract yourself from the heat that’s pooling in your core, you text Ymir.
> Ymir.
Don’t start off a conversation like that. What’s up? <
> My boss is now also my sugar daddy.
INCOMING CALL FROM YMIR
You almost run to your room and close the door behind you. 
“Bitch I text you for a reason!!” You half whisper.
“You cannot just text me that Levi Ackerman is now your sugar daddy and not expect me to call you! I didn’t think you had it in you kid!”
“We just discussed it. He brought it up.”
“That’s probably why he was so quiet with you this week.” Ymir says as she pulls the phone between her ear and shoulder. “He wanted to make sure that he knew what he wanted and what he wanted to say to you.” 
“I’m nervous, Ymir.” 
“Girl you are living the DREAM! I know I like women but Levi is a handsome ass man. And you don’t have to worry about him feeling some type of way about anything because there are no emotions!”
You don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. 
You hear Levi’s footsteps going up the stairs, making your heart race.
“I gotta go.” 
“Tell me how big his di-“ You hang up, throwing your phone on your bed. You pretend to be folding your laundry when you hear a knock.
“Come in.”
“Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re okay with everything.” Levi leaned against the doorframe. “I know it was out of the blue. Well, for you at least.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay with it. I’m okay with this.” You nod, finally looking at Levi. His eyes are already on you when your gazes meet. Your heart starts to beat a bit faster. 
In the back of your mind you still wonder if this is just to fuel Levi’s ego. You don’t know this man. You don’t know his motives.
Levi silently walks to you, analyzing your face. You watch his grey eyes linger on your skin, as if he’s exploring new territory. His hand reaches to your hair and pushes it behind your ear softly, sending chills down your spine.
You peer through your lashes, getting lost in Levi’s eyes. You could stare at him for hours without getting bored.
This no affection thing might be your downfall.
45 notes · View notes
vcgardenia · 3 days
Text
Luke Castellan x Chrysanthis Green (OC) - One Last Time
wc: 2358
cw: angst, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it unless it's for story purposes), kissing
a/n: writing this made me rly sad so I'm gonna go eat some chocolate now
Chrysanthis wanted to kill him. She wanted to punch him in the face, then kick him, then drown him, then stab him. Then she would watch as he withered away into oblivion. Instead she just walked away. 
“Chrys, wait!” Luke ran after Chrysanthis, “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t need you.” That made Chrys stop. Need her? He had seemed to be able to function just fine without her for the past two years, why on earth did he need her now?
“Why. Are. You. Here? ” Chrysanthis said her sentence slowly, enunciating each word so he perfectly understood her question. 
“Percy’s a damn good swordsman.” Luke chuckled as he opened his jacket and lifted his shirt, showing off a wide gash across his abdomen. 
“Oh gods.” Chrys instinctively went to touch the wound, seeing the level of damage it had caused to his organs. She caught herself and stepped back; returning to a cold face of indifference,
“Why should I help you?” This took Luke a bit by surprise, which only infuriated Chrysanthis further. Did he think he could just waltz back into her life, did he think she would of her own will help the enemy? 
“I-i, I don’t have anywhere else to go. My best healers are gone and, you're the best healer I know.” Chrysanthis rolled her eyes, trying to hold back a smile, 
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She started walking again and Luke followed behind her silently.
They continued walking until they got to her apartment, where Chrysanthis turned around to Luke,
“You aren’t going to make a sound. I’ll step in and make sure the coast is clear, then you’re going to run to my room.”
“Trying to hide me Chrys?” She glared at him.
“You’re lucky I’m helping you at all. Now wait here.” Chrys went into the apartment, leaving the smallest crack in the door. After a few seconds of waiting, Chrysanthis stuck out her hand, and waved him in. 
As he stepped in he couldn’t help but have his mouth agape,
“You have an apartment this nice in New York?” Chrys hushed him, trying to get him to her bedroom door. All of a sudden, she heard voices from the other room, shit. Scarlett walked out of the room, and stopped in her tracks when she saw Luke. 
“You’re back early…” she went to the kitchen to get some food, “Who might you be?” 
“I’m uh, just a friend.” Chrysanthis scoffed. He was not a friend.
“Okay ‘just a friend’, would you like some water?” She handed him a cup and then grabbed Chrysanthis by the arm, dragging her out of Luke’s earshot to yell at her in a hush, “Christi, you have not brought a man home in years. What is going on right now?” Chrysanthis sighed,
“It’s complicated. I just have to help him out right now okay?” 
“Okay…” Scarlett eyed Luke up and down, “He’s really hot Chris.”
Luke put his cup in the sink and gave Scarlett his signature Hermes grin. Scarlett had to restrain herself from giggling, not her fault of course, it was one of Luke’s gifts. That and his shit-eating grin.
“Thank you so much for the water, I was very thirsty.” Gods, Chrys wanted to get out of this situation.
“Luke, let’s go.” Luke gave her a sarcastic look, aw man, I was having so much fun! She returned it with another one of her glares. He quickly obeyed.
They went into Chrys’ room and she quickly shut the door behind them. Chrys turned her head when she heard a snickering sound, it was coming from Luke.
“I haven’t done one of those smiles in years,” he paused to chuckle more, “her face was absolutely priceless.” He couldn’t hold it back any longer, he started laughing.
Chrysanthis couldn’t help but laugh too, thinking back it was a pretty funny face. They both were laughing so hard she started to fall down to the ground, and Luke had to hold onto her shoulder to keep her steady. After a few minutes of them just laughing in each other's presence, they died down. 
Chrysanthis quickly took Luke’s arm away from her shoulder, standing up straight so as not to make any more movements towards him. 
“I’ll get the disinfectant.” She opened her cabinet, pulling it out, along with some ambrosia she kept in case of emergency. “Sit on the bed.” 
Chrysanthis gave him the ambrosia to drink while she got some gauze and cotton for his wound. 
“Okay, let me see it.” Luke took off his shirt, wincing at the contact between fabric and wound. Chrys carefully inspected it, placing her hand on the open wound.
She sealed it shut by using the ambrosia within his system and directing it towards his wound. Then she got out the stitches. As she was stitching his abdomen back into one piece, Luke piped up.
“How have you been?” Chrysanthis tilted her head, her eyes still focused on the stitching,
“Well after you up and left, I thought a change of setting would be good for me.” 
“I-i never meant to up and leave you. I was going to tell you I swear it’s just-”
“If you had asked me I would have gone, Luke.” Chrysanthis blurted out. “If you had talked to me about it, if you had-, if you had just told me what was going on in that head of yours, I would have.” Luke was silent, tears threatening to leave his eyes and spill. But he couldn’t let them. If they did they would be spilling out of him for ages. 
“Chrysanthis I-” he choked out.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no use now is it? I have my life and you have yours.” 
She went back to her stitching, already halfway done. Luke marveled at how efficiently her hands worked. The speed, the precision… the softness. Her hands were still just as soft as they were years ago when they belonged only to him.
Chrysanthis on the other hand, marveled at how much Luke had changed. His entire figure was more rugged and built from the battles. She grieved the loss of his once soft and beautiful skin. What had the world done to him? To her love? No. It was no use thinking about the past, Chrysanthis knew that. So she focused back on work.
“What’s your job? We used to talk about it all the time, what job we would have if we made it past the age of 18.” He chuckled, reflecting back to when they were so young, so naive.
“I’m a biochemical engineer. I work in a research lab at a university and make enough to afford this place.” She gestured to the apartment around her, the smallest smile cracking on her face. “Oh my gods.” Chrysanthis stopped her stitchwork.
“What is it what’s wrong?” Luke stiffened his body, more attentive of everything around him.
“Remember when you said you wanted to be a firefighter.” Chrysanthis broke down laughing, “And then you- for Halloween you dressed up as one, and it was the most dollar store looking outfit ever made but you were so happy so no one said anything-” 
Chrys took a few more seconds to compose herself, as Luke relaxed his body and put his hands over his face, trying to get the image out of his head. “Why would you remind me of that?”
“I still have pictures from that stupid polaroid camera I bought at the dollar store.” She giggled guiltily.
“Well hey one of us is like, helping find the cure to cancer and the other is holding onto big aspirations of being a firefighter so I think we both know who won.” Luke chuckled. 
“Hey, that is a very noble aspiration, don't be so hard on yourself.” Chrysanthis joked. Luke looked into her eyes with sincerity,
“Seriously Chrys, I’m really proud of you.” Chrys smiled up at him before continuing with her stitching. “Hey, random question, why did your friend call you Christi?” Chrysanthis half smiled as she moved her head down to focus on Luke's stitching.
“Well Chrysanthis doesn’t really roll right off the tongue and it kinda puts a big ol’ target on my back, so I changed it.” Luke furrowed his brow, bringing up her head with his hand,
“Well, I like Chrysanthis a lot better than any other stupid name people call you.”
She gave an unfeigned smile, forgetting the last time someone had called her that. Chrysanthis leaned in, allowing their lips to be mear atoms apart. They just stared at each other, neither one looking away from the other's gaze. Chrys sighed, blowing air into his face.
“We can’t do this Luke…” She tilted her head, not changing their distance. 
“I know.” Luke cupped her face in his hand, shutting his eyes and sighing deeply. His eyes glistening once more with tears he refused to shed.
“Gods. I miss you so much Luke.” Chrys’ eyes were now also filling up with water, tears that had been stored inside of her for 2 years, 5 months, and 16 days. 
Luke lifted up Chrysanthis from her kneeling position, placing her on top of him on the bed. She laid down on his chest, earning a short groan with a mix of pain and lust from Luke. She could feel his heartbeat flutter at her touch. Chrys looked up at Luke’s face, slowly making her way to it so that they were once again only atoms apart. 
“You-” Luke whispered into her mouth, “You would have left your entire life behind for me?” 
“Oh Luke,” she sadly chuckled out the words, “I would have done anything for you.” Chrysanthis finally planted a bittersweet kiss on his cheek, refusing to feel his mouth on her own. 
Luke carefully unzipped the dress that Chrysanthis was still wearing from the night's festivities. Being sure not to damage it in its beauty. He quickly took off his pants and boxers, allowing himself to be completely vulnerable and naked in her presence.
She took off her panties, caressing his face as she entered him. They both whimpered at first contact, it had been so long since they had taken each other. There was no doubt they had taken others in between, but this was special, this was different.
Chrysanthis could feel the veins in his member as they perfectly brushed her clit, allowing a feeling of absolute pleasure to move through her body. Now that they had settled in, Chrysanthis set a pace. She rode on his dick, remembering every sensation, every part of the interaction, knowing it could very well be their last.
Luke kept hold of her hips, ensuring that she was stable and steady. His eyes were already rolling to the back of his head, trying to keep control of himself for her. Chrysanthis took hold of Luke's curls, feeling out the texture she had so long been deprived of. 
The feeling of their bodies moving together was addictive. She never wanted to stop feeling him inside of her, he was a piece of her that had been missing for over two years, and she wasn’t quite ready to take it out yet.
The feeling of taking him raw was heavenly, and as Luke reached his peak inside Chrysanthis' vulva, an all too familiar warm liquid filled her hole with joyous contentment. Chrys reached her peak soon after, however she did not allow it to stop the rhythm. 
And so they continued for as long as their bodies would allow them too. Until they were passed out in each other's arms from pure exhaustion. Until the hearts inside of their bodies halted in resignation. 
♥♥♥
It was late, late night when they had finally finished being inside one another. They collapsed, side by side, just as they had all those years before. 
“I love you.” Luke whispered out. Chrysanthis just laid there refusing to acknowledge that he had actually said that to her, “I love you” he repeated. As if saying it again would create less of a pit in her stomach.
“No, you-”
“I know. Just let me say it.”
“No. You can’t just say you love me and then up and leave again!”
“For fucks sake Chrysanthis I had no choice! That was two years ago!” Chrysanthis was now sat up, the tears rolling down her cheeks coming straight from her arsenal.
“Let’s make sure we make one thing very clear. You… are a selfish, self-serving piece of shit.” She took a deep breath, “You abandoned me 2 years ago. Because you couldn’t even be enough of a man to ask me if I would go with you. Tell me why that is Luke.”
“Chrysanthis I-”
“Leave my room, and my apartment. I never want to see your fucking face ever again.” 
Luke thought of saying something, but he went against it. He rushed putting back on his clothes, forcefully opened the door to Chrysanthis’ room, and walked out. Chrys sauntered over to the front door, only doing so out of courtesy.
As Luke put on his coat to leave, he turned around to face Chrysanthis once more,
“You’re going to end up sad and alone, you know that right? All the defensive shit is just one of your fucked up coping mechanisms.”
“Yeah and why do you think I have coping mechanisms in the first place? Whose fault is that daddy's broken toy?” Luke shook his head.
“You know for the record, I didn’t not ask you to come with me because I was scared, or because I thought you would side with that shithead Percy.” He opened the door out of the apartment,  “I didn't ask because I didn’t want you seeing what I would turn into.”
“Well then, I guess we both dodged a bullet then huh?”
“Yeah, guess we did.” Luke slammed the door behind him, leaving both of them in buckets of tears that would never be able to fully empty the loaded tanks of tears they had inside of them.
That was the last time Chrysanthis Green ever saw Luke Castellan.
45 notes · View notes
wineauntie · 4 hours
Text
🥝 ABOUT KIWI 🥝
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
below the cut you’ll find everything you need to know about my au series “Kiwi”!
contains; summary, warnings + tropes!
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
plot summary:
In which, a one night stand leads to a long road of chaos.
or
Quinn Hughes finally feels settled in his role as Captain of the Canucks, his skills shining on the ice. However, when his teammates invite him out for drinks post-game, he eagerly embraces the chance to unwind and enjoy himself.
Meanwhile, you're no stranger to the bar you find yourself sitting with a friend, who’s determined to get you laid. So, when a charming stranger buys the group a round of drinks, you can’t help but let your thoughts linger on him.
To Quinn, you're nothing short of an angelic presence, captivating him from the moment he lays eyes on you. Instantly infatuated, he knows he wants you in a way he's never desired anyone else.
But just weeks later, you show up at Quinn's door with pregnancy tests in hand, throwing his world into disarray. The once-familiar landscape of his life now feels alien as he grapples with the unexpected consequences of one fleeting night together.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
tropes:
accidental pregnancy
he falls first and harder
mutual obsession
“I don’t need your help” x “I know, but I want to help anyways.”
adores reading x will read anything you recommend
scared to love gf x loves so openly bf
words of affirmation gf x acts of service bf
“I don’t want to get hurt again” x “I will personally destroy anything that tries”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
warnings:
this story will contain mature content and holds an 18+ warning. Chapters marked with an asterisk (*) will denote smut!
There are various topics which will be discussed such as;
accidental pregnancy + it’s ups and downs
mental health
poor family relationships (on the readers side)
drinking alcohol excessively
and as stated already, mature content.
— if any other warnings arise, I’ll add them to here!
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
49 notes · View notes
voxofthevoid · 2 days
Text
This is less WIP Wednesday and more Teaser Wednesday. I've gathered tiny snippets (150-200 words) from the 15 stories written for the April anniversary projects for this post.
Shibuya swap remains on hold until I finish #15, which may take longer than anticipated—still in time for the project, given that it's going to stretch across April and May owing to the total length.
Of the fifteen fics, eleven are solely Gojou/Yuuji; one is Higuruma/Yuuji; one is Sukuna/Yuuji; one is Kenjaku/Yuuji, and one is Gojou/Megumi/Yuuji (the excerpt is just Gojou/Megumi).
The list of the fics and premises can be found here, though I've given one-line summaries above the excerpts:
Tumblr media
01. Gojou/Yuuji: An offhand comment leads to Yuuji discovering the dubious joys of pet ownership.
Yuuji’s sure by now that Gojou’s managing to breathe somehow, though he really can’t figure out how when he’s in the exact same position he settled into when he collapsed on Yuuji and burrowed into his chest like—
“Oh,” Yuuji says, realization dawning, “you’re like a puppy.”
Gojou stills. Slowly, with a strangely severe air, he raises his head. Heavy-lidded blue eyes blink up at Yuuji. “Does that mean I get treats?”
Yuuji blinks right back. “Treats?”
“Puppies need to be trained,” Gojou says sagely, lifting himself up on both arms to hover over Yuuji. “Positive reinforcement. Don’t you know that?”
“No?” Yuuji’s thought of raising puppies, who hasn’t, but it wasn’t ever really a serious thought. It was never an achievable dream anyway. Plus, Gojou’s not actually a puppy. He’s not even any good at making puppy dog eyes. They glow too much.
They’re glowing right now, twin pools of starfire made severe by the way he’s frowning. “You’re not a very responsible dog owner then. Puppies are a lot of work, you know.”
02. Gojou/Yuuji (fem!goyuu): Yuuji finds religion in her teacher’s tits, violently.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Yuuji. Some girls are just late bloomers.”
Gojou’s voice startles Yuuji, making her jump, but the doll in her hand remains peacefully asleep. She sighs, relieved, though not as surprised as she’d have been a week back. It’s not like she was actively focusing on her cursed energy anyway, the pulse and flow of it through her arms an afterthought while she focused on—
What Gojou actually said sinks in then, and Yuuji hurriedly drags her eyes away from Gojou’s chest area.
Her tits, says an unimpressed voice from some rotten corner of her soul. You were staring at her tits, you degenerate worm.
Shut, she tells Sukuna, the fuck up.
Yuuji shoves her down before she can retort, and Sukuna never goes quietly or calmly, but she does go, and Yuuji’s left staring into the too-amused eyes of her very adult, very well-developed teacher.
“Um,” Yuuji says intelligently.
03. Gojou/Yuuji: Yuuji acquires a doll that’s sympathetically connected to Satoru. It’s innocent until it isn’t.
“I’ll leave you to your quality time with this guy,” Satoru says, stepping away from Shouko and the examination table. “Don’t have too much—”
Satoru collapses with a strangled sound, his knees hitting the tile hard enough to send a bolt of pain all the way to his pelvis, except it’s nothing compared to the storm of sensation there, eating through him like someone’s shoved a fist into his asshole, without lube or ceremony.
“—toru! Talk to me, what’s wrong?”
Satoru raises his head and finds Shouko kneeling in front of him, her palms pressed to a wall of solid air—Limitless, expanded on blind instinct.
“Nothing,” he gasps, not needing her incredulous expression to know every inch of him is showing that it’s something. “I…”
…have a cock in my ass that I didn’t put there, Satoru completes inside his head, half a revelation even to himself. He knows this sensation, the stretch and burn of his body around another body, but he also knows why and how this is happening, and that’s where his brain sparks and stutters to a stop.
04. Gojou/Yuuji: Megumi finds out that Gojou’s been giving Yuuji some hands-on sex education.
“An hour? Both of you? Huh.” Itadori shakes his head. “What did he…do?”
“What do you think? It’s Gojou-sensei. He projected a bunch of way-too-explicit pictures, talked about STDs in gruesome detail, and asked if we were into BDSM.”
Itadori blinks slowly. “That’s it?”
“He also called us boring virgins,” Megumi says drily. “Then he ran off with Kugisaki chasing him.”
“Did she catch him?”
“Obviously not.”
“Huh,” Itadori says again. “He skipped all that for me. Got right into it.”
Megumi takes a moment to process that. At least he tries. It doesn’t make sense. Itadori said Gojou’s taking that class for him on Friday, so why’s he talking like it’s already happened? And what does he mean by—
“Right into what?” Megumi asks warily, straightening up from his huddle on the chair. There’s a weird feeling in his spine that’s got nothing to do with the position.
Itadori cocks his head, like he’s confused by Megumi’s confusion. “The sex part.”
05. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru has a late-night philosophical discussion with the King of Curses.
“I am a pretty interesting guy. And it’s not that I’m complaining about my exalted company, but you know, don’t you, that you shouldn’t be here?”
“Shouldn’t I?” Yuuji asks mildly, now at the foot of Satoru’s bed.
“Sukuna’s been allowed to live because he’s the ideal vessel, capable of fully suppressing you.” Satoru eyes the hand now braced on his mattress, barely an inch away from his left foot. “You don’t look very suppressed to me.”
“Blood,” says Yuuji.
Satoru blinks at the non-sequitur. “Are you a vampire now?”
“What’s that?”
“Mythical creature that drinks the blood of humans.” Satoru bats his eyelashes at Yuuji. “I hear they prefer virgins.”
“Then you’re safe.”
“That’s a hell of an assumption to make about a guy you don’t even know.”
“I know your type.”
“Calling me a slut while climbing into my bed isn’t a good look, Yuuji.”
“I called you nothing,” Yuuji says, now looming over Satoru like a lover. “Only made an observation. And I do not want to drink your blood.”
06. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru’s ward is in that peculiar purgatory between puberty and presentation. He tries to help.
Satoru rubs his palm in a slow circle against Yuuji’s stomach, trying for soothing but landing on something that makes Yuuji still and shudder against him. The reaction’s further incentive to slide his hands down, over the hairless skin under his navel and the sparse thatch at his groin, till his fingers find exactly what they expect to find.
Yuuji arches against him with a strangled shout as Satoru’s hand curls around his hard cock.
“Is this,” Satoru asks softly, “what Megumi’s been making you feel?”
“Satoru-san,” Yuuji whines. “That feels—”
“Weird?”
“Yes!”
“Good or bad weird?”
Yuuji’s quiet for a long few seconds. Then— “Not bad.”
“Was it ‘not bad’ with Megumi too?”
“…Kind of. It didn’t feel like this.”
“I’d hope not,” Satoru says, with a laugh that feels like something else in his throat. “If you make cute little Megumi touch you like this, his very scary dad will come for your head. Well, my head. And then I’d have to put him in his place, again, and the Zen'in will get involved, and it’ll be a whole mess. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Yuuji?”
07. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru learns why most alphas don’t fuck other alphas.
Satoru exhales, shoving his forehead into the pillow to get himself some breathing room. He inhales, slow and deep, and unclenches his muscles in a rippling, gut-swooping wave, right in time for Yuuji to tear into him with the mindless fury of a beast.
His rim burns, a howling hot hurt—
Satoru gasps into the pillow, everything except the corner of his mind devoted to smothering every instinctive attempt at Limitless turning to white static for a brief, burning eternity.
—and gives, screaming the whole time.
Yuuji cleaves him in two, carving a red-hot path through clenching walls and steaming viscera to lodge himself in Satoru’s throat.
He hasn’t. Satoru knows this. It feels like it.
He can’t breathe with it.
Distantly, he’s aware of Yuuji coming inside him, the cock and knot not softening an iota in the process. It’s the size that’s eating him. Yuuji’s cock was big to start with, but his knot is monstrous—an obscene stretch that has set fire to Satoru’s muscles. They clench around it, helpless attempts at pushing it out of him, but his hole has closed up tight behind it, and if Yuuji tries to pull it out again, Satoru will kill him.
08. Higuruma/Yuuji: A wardrobe malfunction drastically alters the aftermath of Yuuji’s fight with Higuruma.
“Itadori,” Higuruma rasps, “put the shirt on.”
“I could.” Yuuji shrugs with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, dropping the messy hood. “Do you really want me to though?”
Higuruma looks briefly pained. But he’s still looking. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Direct approach then. Not that Yuuji knows anything else, but he usually doesn’t have to use his words, just his body. “Do you want to have sex, Higuruma-san?”
Higuruma gets a little bug-eyed, almost as expressive as he was when yelling at Yuuji about darkness and light and people. “Itadori.”
“I don’t mind,” Yuuji assures him.
“That’s not the—” Higuruma briefly closes his eyes, raising a hand to grind two knuckles into the space between his eyes. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
There’s a low, strangled noise. “Do you usually go around propositioning men over twice your age?”
“Not really,” Yuuji says. It’s mostly true. Half true. “I don’t get it though.”
For a moment, Higuruma almost looks him in the eye. “You don’t get why I wouldn’t want to fuck a child?”
“When you put it like that…” Yuuji takes a testing step forward, and Higuruma tenses but doesn’t move. “You were ready to kill me earlier, right? This can’t be worse.”
09. Gojou/Yuuji: When Yuuji’s fifteen, Gojou Satoru dies; when Yuuji’s seventeen, Gojou Satoru is born.
“Satoru-kun, wake up.”
The tiny lump on the bed doesn’t stir. Yuuji huffs, more amused than anything. Satoru’s antics haven’t really changed over the last four years. He’s gotten less subtle, really. Yuuji knows what he’s like when he’s really asleep—a messy splay of limbs, the thick covers somehow dominated by a body that should be drowning under them instead. Satoru only vanishes under them when he’s trying to lure Yuuji in.
And Yuuji keeps getting lured, so it’s technically his own fault.
“It’s ten in the morning,” he tells the approximate shape of a head. “Last time you messed up your sleep cycle, you were grouchy for a week. C’mon, Satoru-kun.”
Still nothing.
Yuuji sighs and grabs the top of the covers, yanking them down.
Radiant blue glowers at him. “You’re late.”
“Good morning to you too,” Yuuji greets. “And I’m not late. I’m early. I wasn’t due back for another week, remember?”
Satoru’s scowl deepens. On the sharp-faced, painfully pretty adult he’ll undoubtedly grow into, it’ll be a terrifying expression. On this tiny nine-year-old whose face is half white fluff and half curse blue, it’s just adorable. Yuuji wants to pinch his cheeks and coo at him.
10. Sukuna/Yuuji: A bad breakup isn’t a good excuse to fuck the monster rotting your soul, but Yuuji’s made worse decisions—probably.
There’s no change in Sukuna’s expression or posture while Yuuji climbs to him, but his gaze is unwavering, four eyes redder than the blood soaking this realm zeroed in on Yuuji with animal intensity. There’s an answering animal urge inside him—two of them.
Look down, show your belly.
Look back, bare your teeth.
Yuuji chooses the only one he ever could.
A foot stops him, slamming into his midsection before he can touch Sukuna.
“You’re an impertinent fool,” Sukuna drawls. “I should pluck out your eyes.”
“Try me, asshole.”
“And your tongue.” Sukuna’s still smiling, wide and lazy. There’s a terrible tenderness in his tone—hunger made sacred in the worse way Yuuji’s ever witnessed. “Might as well make it a whole feast—split you open from throat to gullet and slurp up your innards, break your bones with my teeth to suck out the marrow of your ribs. You’d make a half-decent meal now. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”
“Like hell,” Yuuji snarls, grabbing Sukuna’s ankle.
It responds by sliding down, from his stomach to his groin.
Yuuji freezes.
“The infection just wouldn’t be worth it,” Sukuna says, the lower set of eyes resting on what his foot is touching. “After all, you’re so disgustingly human.”
11. Gojou/Yuuji: When a blip in time lands sixteen-year-old Satoru in the future, he finds himself in possession of a cursed object sporting his own eyes and a grieving boy who can’t look away from those eyes.
“I meant it by the way—you should just eat that box.”
Realization widens Itadori’s eyes, bleeding gracelessly across his scarred face. “What the hell, senpai!”
“What? It’s logical.” Satoru approaches the bed. Itadori’s eyes are fixed on him now, nothing hollow about them anymore. “That Angel person is dead, Tengen-sama’s gone, and none of you have found a way to bust this prison open. You might as well eat it.”
“It’s not a snack box!” Itadori says hotly. “It’s Gojou-sensei! It’s you.”
“Don’t compare me to that fossil. Besides, that’s more reason to do it. You already have one Gojou Satoru, here in the flesh. We might as well get some use out of the box, and it’d be interesting, don’t you think, to see what would become of you if you ate me?”
For a moment, Itadori just stares at him, nearly vibrating with…something. Not anger, not any kind of straightforward upset. But he’s pure emotion from the fire in his eyes to the strength in his fingers.
Then he sucks in a deep breath, slumping in place. “That was a terrible joke, Satoru-senpai.”
“Was it?” Satoru asks mildly. “You could’ve at least laughed. Spare my feelings.”
12. Kenjaku/Yuuji: Yuuji makes reasonable assumptions about the handsome man stalking him. Kenjaku gets to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Getou’s changed into a thin, loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s still toweling his hair, the ends of it dripping wet. That looks like a lot of work.
Yuuji can’t help staring. Getou has such an interesting face. He tries not to focus on the scar stretching across his forehead because he doesn’t want to be rude, but the rest of his features are fair game, right? Especially the hair. It looks different all loose like this, framing Getou’s face in new and striking ways. There are more loose strands, probably the bits usually pulled into the top knot. And it’s still damp, plus mussed from the towel, leaving bits of it clinging to the sides of Getou’s face.
“Do you like the view?” Getou asks.
Yuuji jumps a little, looking back at the city and then at Getou again. “Y-yeah. It’s great.”
A faint smile, very sharp for something that looks so soft. “Come inside and close the door. You’re letting the AC out.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“I was thinking about what to do with you,” Getou says while Yuuji closes the balcony doors, and when he turns around, Getou’s seated on the bed, one leg folded under him so that he’s half turned toward Yuuji. “And then I realized I should just ask you. What do you want, Yuuji?”
13. Gojou/Yuuji: In a faraway forest enclosed in Brahmic barriers, there’s a boy who loves and hates the world in equal measure.
“You’ve grown so demanding,” Satoru says, keeping his hands firmly tucked in his pockets despite the siren call of Yuuji’s wet skin. The eyes are a better deterrent than his own self-restraint. Mismatched from all angles—the primary pair red on the left and brown on the right, the secondary pair brown on the left and red on the right. It’s as if they decided during their unholy apotheosis that no one would have the luxury of pretense.
“Satoru,” says the mouth that once called him Gojou-sensei, called him Six Eyes, “I missed you.”
Something inside Satoru shudders, a prickling disruption like ice melting. His hands twitch free of the pockets, and his body sways forward, melting into an embrace that’s returned with possessive fervor, four palms sliding over him with enough fervid force to brand him through the thick layers of his uniform before settling on his back, clasping him close to a body that seems to burn with its own inner fire.
“Yuuji,” Satoru murmurs, a question and an invitation.
Yuuji leans in with heavy-lidded eyes and sinks his teeth into Satoru’s throat.
14. Gojou/Yuuji: Yuuji’s hormones battle his morals while his half-naked teacher sleeps on his lap.
All Gojou’s got on is a pair of boxers, and they’re loose enough that they’ve slid down to bunch up at the crease of his thighs.
You’d think it’s getting hotter, not colder, but Yuuji can’t exactly complain. He’s the one trespassing on Gojou’s time and home, and it’s none of his business how Gojou dresses in his downtime. It’s not like he isn’t enjoying the view either. It’s just very hard not to touch sometimes. Yuuji keeps catching himself staring at pink nipples and shapely pecs and chiseled abs and even at places further down, like the telltale bulge between his legs and the obscene thickness of his thighs.
He won’t do anything though. He wouldn’t betray Gojou’s trust like that. It’s flattering, really, that Gojou’s so comfortable with him. Yuuji wouldn’t ever—
Gojou makes a soft, huffing noise and rolls over, curling his very long body into a fetal position—
“Shit,” Yuuji rasps.
—and pushing his face into Yuuji’s dick.
It throbs, ten times more vicious than the dull ache till now.
This can’t be happening.
Gojou breathes out, hot air skewering Yuuji’s cock through his sweats.
It’s absolutely happening.
15. Gojou/Megumi/Yuuji: Satoru crashes his student’s private time, and then the number of students in the equation doubles.
“Are you going to fight?”
“Stop it.” This can’t be happening. “You can’t do this, stop it—”
“Or scream,” Gojou suggests, brightening perversely. “Yuuji would run to your rescue. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Megumi opens his mouth, and then those words slam into him.
Itadori would come running. He’d break through that door like it’s made of straw and see this grotesque tableau. And Itadori’s a noble fool; he wouldn’t run from Gojou, only to him, and nothing about Gojou’s serrated smile says that will end well for Itadori.
Gojou likes Itadori. Megumi knows that. Everyone in the school, even the higher-ups, knows that. But that doesn’t mean Itadori’s safe. Gojou caring hasn’t made anyone safe, ever. Megumi would know.
“Don’t,” he says; it comes out soft, barely a breath. “Don’t you dare touch him.”
“That’s a hefty demand,” Gojou says, cocking his head to the side. “What should I touch instead? You?”
Megumi screws his eyes shut. “Don’t.”
The hand on his wrist loosens, a thumb stroking over his pulse. “Don’t be so scared. It’s not like I’ll do anything you don’t want. I did interrupt, didn’t I? I’ll make it up to you.”
20 notes · View notes
huntingingoodwill · 9 hours
Text
taste (d.b.)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
masterlist
pairing: dieter bravo x personal shopper! reader
desc: you give dieter some much needed cooking lessons. he’s a terrible student.
a/n: written as a stand-alone but! if u wanna read the first personal shopper! reader story it’s right here
Tumblr media
“Tell me again,” you sighed, whipping your tinted shades off your face as you hugged the bag of groceries closer to your chest, “how did you manage to convince me to do this?” 
Dieter sauntered over, a triumphant glint in his eye as he peered at you over the edge of his sunglasses. 
“My irresistible charm,” he grinned, taking the bag from your hands. “Or… maybe the fact that you’re on my payroll? But I like to think it’s the former. You’re even starting to dress like me.” He smirked, gesturing at the sunglasses you had cinched between your fingers. 
Ever since admitting he didn’t know how to cook, Dieter had been trying to convince you to come over and give him a cooking lesson whenever his personal chef had a day off:  a thinly veiled attempt to relentlessly flirt with you over dinner. Yes, it was out of your job scope as his personal shopper, but you gave in rather easily - there was something amusing about him, something almost…cute. Not that you’d admit that to him, of course.
“I don’t wear sunglasses indoors,” you pulled the shades off his face and tossed them aside, where they clattered onto his dining table.
His eyes narrowed, squinting into the soft lighting of his house. 
“When did it get so bright in here?” 
You rolled your eyes, sauntering past him into the kitchen.
“How does someone who doesn’t know how to cook have an amazing kitchen like this?” you sighed.
You marvelled at his kitchen, all high ceilings and marble counters, with countless appliances populating the shelves. 
“A couple of shitty Netflix originals and the cost is covered," he sighed, reliving the cringey scenes in his mind. The tortured look in his eye flickered away, replaced with a smile. “So, you ready for our second date?” 
“It’s not really a date. I’m just teaching you how to cook. Out of pity.” 
“So, you pity me.” he smirked, as if that was a win, “That means you care.” 
“It means I knew you’d starve without your chef.” 
“Which means,” he smiled, pointing a finger at you, “you care.” 
You ignored him, pointedly dumping out the contents of the grocery bag onto the counter, holding up a large yellow onion. 
“This,” you said, brandishing it, “is an onion.” 
You sounded the syllables out, voice sarcastically cresting through each letter.
Dieter put on an expression of mock shock. “No. Way.” 
“Way. And you’re gonna cut it,” you said, tossing him the onion, which he narrowly managed to avoid dropping. “Think you can handle that?” 
“I can try,” he said, with an air of confidence you were not fully convinced of. 
You had decided to do something simple, as you knew Dieter’s cooking skills were lacking. Your fingers skimmed the countertop, taking inventory of what you had brought. Pasta, jarred sauce, tomatoes, garlic, onion, basil-
“I can’t try.” Dieter’s voice warbled unsteadily. 
You turned to be met by the sight of a tearful Dieter, his eyes red (well, redder than usual, and for different reasons), and glazed with tears. He held the knife in his hand, the bite of the onion’s stench wafting up from where it lay, half chopped, on the counter.
“Feeling a bit emotional?” you laughed, tossing the onions into a pan with oil and placing it over the stove.
“I’m an actor. I’m in touch with my feelings,” his voice cracked. 
You stifled a laugh, tearing off a square of paper towel from the roll. You closed the space between you two, dabbing the tears off his cheeks. Catching his eye, you suddenly became aware of your closeness, your heart thrumming. Swallowing thickly, you broke eye contact and focused on wicking away his tears, trying to calm your heartbeat. You did not date clients.
“Is this getting kinda… romantic, right now?” Dieter said, unable to hide his grin. 
Of course, even as you tried to push away the tension, he’d pick up on it instantly. 
You rolled your eyes. “You’re crying while holding a knife. And you smell like onions.” 
The corner of his lips pulled up in a lopsided smile. “Better than how most of my dates go.” 
You snorted, tossing the paper towel aside. “You really meant it when you said you couldn’t cook, huh?” 
“I can’t even boil water.” 
You threw your head back in a laugh. “Well, that’s certainly a good place to start.”
You grabbed a pot, filling it with water and placing it atop the burner. 
“Here’s how you boil water. You ready?” 
“Yes,” he said, determination lighting up his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves.
“I don’t think you are, it’s a huge undertaking,” you said, feigning complete earnestness as you pressed your lips into a solemn line. 
“I’ve been training my whole life for this. I’m ready,” he played along, eyebrows knitting together as he focused his eyes on the pot. 
“Give me your hand.” 
“I’ll warn you. It’s shaking,” he said, making his hand tremble dramatically. 
“I’m nervous too,” you said, barely able to conceal your smile. “You ready?” 
You put your hand over his, the skin of the back of his palm warm against the cold metal of his rings. You led it toward the stove knob. Holding your hand over his, you guided him to turn the knob, fire sprouting from the stove beneath the pot. 
“Wait a little while, and you’ve boiled water,” you smiled. 
“Does that mean you’ll take your hand off mine? I hope not,” he sighed, watching bubbles ping against the pot as the water began to simmer. 
“I’ll have to do it eventually.” 
“Then do it,” he challenged.
“No,” you said, keeping your hand firm over his, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t actually like the feeling of his skin against your palm. 
“Why not?” 
“Because you told me to,” you smiled, your thumb ghosting his knuckles, fingers nearly slotting into the spaces in between his. 
“I’m your boss. I’m supposed to tell you to do things,” he chuckled. 
“This is after hours. You don’t know how to cook, I’m teaching you how. If anything, I’m your boss now.” 
“Hot,” he smirked. 
“Ew,” you laughed, not feeling an iota of disgust. 
“It is getting kinda hot in here.”
“Because of me?” You smirked, taking a note from his cheesy lines. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. 
“Yes. But also physically. Maybe because the onions are burning.” 
“Fuck.” 
You turned toward the stove, the charred remains of the onions sticking to the bottom of the pan in a sticky, black blob.
“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” Dieter sighed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You allowed yourself to lean into his side, relishing the warmth that emanated from him as you both looked despairingly upon the blackened pan. “You don’t even know how to cook now.”
“Who needs to know how to cook?” You sighed in defeat. “There's always delivery."
Thirty minutes later, the two of you were sitting at his dining table, a greasy pizza box sitting before you. 
“Are you sure this pizza is organic?” He said, shovelling a slice into his mouth. 
“‘Course not,” you sighed, picking up a slice, “But do you really care?”
“Ugh,” he said, taking another bite, “No.” 
You laughed, gazing at that little crinkle at the edge of his eye as his brown irises glowed in the flickering candlelight. 
“The candle is a nice touch,” your voice was dreamy as you gestured at the candle he lit on the dining table, the room bathed in its warm light. Maybe you did date clients. “It’s almost-” 
“-Romantic?” He grinned.  
“Hazardous,” you smirked, trying not to make any rash decisions, no matter how much you wanted to kiss him, “Try not to set anything on fire.”
“No promises,” he said, that glint in his eyes bright, even in the low light of the candlelit room. “It’s kinda bright in here, huh?” He chuckled, reaching for his sunglasses and sliding them on. 
You chuckled as he looked at you expectantly. Alright, you’d give in. 
“A little,” you smiled, putting your own sunglasses on, matching him. 
His lips formed a huge smile as he put his arm around you, the weight around your shoulders pleasant. He opened his mouth, about to make another cheesy remark when you cut him off.
“Let’s be clear,” you said, wagging a finger in his face, “I am not starting to dress like you. I haven’t fully given up yet,” you teased, gesturing at his outfit, a sweatpants and ratty hoodie combination. “I’m taking you clothes shopping next. That’s within my job scope, at least.” 
“It’ll be our third date,” he smiled, pulling you closer. 
“Shut up,” you smiled. 
16 notes · View notes
yea-baiyi · 4 months
Text
YALL. everyone go watch story of kunning palace i swear it’s worth it im still riding an insane high after i finished it last night.
it’s a very good solid drama for 30 episodes kinda slow burn but well written with good characters and decent plots.
and then in the last 8 episodes, the guy’s sidekick tells him “maybe you should show her how you really feel. show her the real you” and he proceeds to go batshit feral insane. which after watching her pine after and then reject the most morally upright guy ever it fucking WORKS ON HER because she is ALSO insane!!
after that it’s just 8 episodes of him being sloppy desperate for her and begging her to give him an answer while she’s just there buffering because she has to readjust her whole worldview with this news that he’s liked her all along?? she went out to meet her former crush and when she got home he sat her down and made her eat a dinner he made. that was drowning in vinegar. because if he had to drink vinegar then SO SHOULD SHE. and after she doesn’t eat much at dinner he plops down a tray of her favourite cake. that he had given her before earlier in the drama. announces that he made it with his own hands. and she’s like :0 “you made it for me even back then?? but back then we were only….” and he’s immediately like “only? only what? what were we back then? what about now? is it different now? what are we?” and she’s just like .
108 notes · View notes
foolishlovers · 3 months
Text
going back home today!! which means!! finally starting my next good omens wip!!
32 notes · View notes