#based on a conversation I had with my friends where I described the way I played this game as

[pastebunny]

your tamagotchi is hungry. and sick. and sad. and has to go to school. all at the same time

#based on a conversation I had with my friends where I described the way I played this game as #treating siffrin like my little tamagotchi I was desperately trying to keep happy #also I changed some of the tamagotchi icons because I thought it was funny :) #in stars and time #isat #isat siffrin #isat fanart #tamagotchi #y2k #pastedraw.png

[gracieheartspedro]

No One Fucks With My Baby

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller (based on established back story from my oneshot Who We Are)

description: everyone now knows that you are joel's girl. when you're working a busy night at the bison, a newbie stirs up a bit of trouble. joel handles it the only way he knows how and you thank him the only way you know how.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, drunk old men who harass reader, joel fucks them up, mentions of blood, glass breaking (?), voyeurism, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the birthday girl @ilovepedro !!! happy birthday sweet nini, I love you so much! thank you for helping me edit this, but more importantly, thank you for being a wonderful friend. you make the world a better place. love you always <3

after the amazing love I got on "Who We Are", I decided to add to the universe. let me know if y'all want more! xoxo, gracie

“Didn’t know they made jeans that low cut!”

You were used to stupid comments made towards you by drunk men. But now that Joel has made it known, you are his, a lot of the men in Jackson kept their advances to themselves. The gentleman at the end of the bar must not know that your big ole’ scary boyfriend was positioned in a booth with Tommy and your father across the room. His eyes had been locked on you for most of the night, and every time he and the guys needed more drinks, he’d be the one to grab more. 

You turn to the drunk man, who had to be your father’s age. He’s practically drooling at the sight of your ass in your favorite jeans. The summer air was not a good combination to a normally humid bar, so you had been wearing less and less clothes behind the bar. You were sporting the jeans and a tighter tank top than usual, mainly because you knew Joel would be around and you loved driving him wild when the shirt rode up on you. 

“You’re gonna catch flies if you don’t close your mouth,” You joke, pouring whiskey for another patron, “Don’t think you’d like the way that would taste.”

The man slams down his glass which causes a couple people to look down at him. You don’t even glance in his direction, knowing if he’s mad, he can take it up with every man in the Tipsy Bison. 

“I don’t take too kindly to sarcastic little sluts.”

Your heart stops. You calmly place the whiskey bottle down beside the shot glass you were pouring into and glance towards the red faced prick. You hear the conversations subside around the room while you lock eyes with the guy who’s bold enough to talk shit to you. 

You know Joel’s already standing up from his spot at his booth, but you move quicker. You position yourself in front of him, leaning over the bar, your eyes raking down the pathetic boy in front of you. 

“Pardon?”

He swallows, realizing how quiet his surroundings got. “I s-said I don’t take kindly to sarcasm.”

You click your tongue, a newfound confidence surging through your body, “I don’t think that’s all you said. Somethin’ about me being a slut?”

“Listen, girl-”

His boots are loud against the hardwood as he approaches you and the man. He stands scarily close to the barstool where the man sits. You don’t break eye contact though, wanting to handle this situation yourself. 

“It’s ma’am, to you,” You cut him off, “I think it’s best if you leave.”

“I haven’t finished my drin-”

Joel reaches around the guy and grabs the whiskey glass from in front of him and slams it on the floor. The guy immediately starts to tremble, shaking like a little leaf. You crack a smile before whispering one final thing to him. 

“Think you’re finished, buddy,” You flick your eyes up at Joel, who’s fury is written all over his face, “Mind walkin’ him out, baby?”

Joel grabs onto the guys shoulder with a bruising grip, “Would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

He rips the guy from the stool, not even making sure the guy finds his footing. You ignore the shuffle outside and return to your pouring. You feel like your heart may beat out of your chest, but you’re relieved it was handled before Joel got even more handsy with him. You grab the shot glass and hand it to the fellow that was sat by the drunken fool. 

“You got Miller wrapped around your finger,” The guy, who’s name you think is Aaron, says. He was a regular and frequently stopped Joel to talk about morning patrols. You smirk before snatching a rag off your shoulder. 

“Yeah, he’s so wrapped around my finger that he’s gonna clean up all that broken glass.” You joke, wiping down the condensation ring the glasses left on the wooden table top. 

You hear some footsteps approaching and when you look up it’s Tommy. He’s shaking his head, a grin playing on his lips. 

“Where’s the broom? Joel seems busy putting that guy in his place.”

You furrow your brows as you reach for the broom, “What do you mean?”

“I just sent your Dad out there because it sounded like some rustlin’,” Tommy explains, grabbing the stick from you to begin sweeping up the shards, “I’m sure they are handlin’ it.”

Before you can get nervous, you hear the front door swing open quickly. Your Dad and Joel walk in and you can tell Joel is pissed and a bit rattled. You navigate your way around the bar and glass, reaching their booth as soon as Joel sits down. He’s cradling his right hand in his left, hissing in discomfort. 

“What did you do?” You say, reaching out for his hands. There’s two gashes that litter his knuckles, only bleeding slightly. You shake your head when he pulls away from you. 

“Nothin’ baby,” he mumbles, “Just taught the guy it’s not nice to talk to ladies like he did. He walked off with a bloody nose and busted lip when he started talkin’ shit back.”

You roll your eyes, catching your Dad’s glare. 

“Did you break it up?” You press, wanting more of an explanation. 

He shakes his head, “Nope. Joel can handle himself. I did tell the guy when he was walking away that if he talked about my daughter like that again, he’d wouldn’t be able to walk away cause he would have a bullet between his eyes.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms under your chest. “I swear to God…”

Tommy approaches the table, his task of cleaning glass finished. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“I’d be better if the men in my life weren’t insane,” You joke, nudging Joel’s arm as he inspects his knuckles.

Tommy laughs and sits back down across from your Dad and Joel. While he makes jokes with your Dad, Joel is silent and stirred. You can tell he’s bothered by something more than handling some asshole who called you a name. You decide against pestering him more, allowing him to settle back into conversation with Tommy and your Dad. 

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and return to slinging drinks. 

-

“Thanks for staying while I lock up,” You say to Joel as pushing in the last barstool, “And thanks for earlier.” 

He is propped up on one of the middle pillars, his shoulder resting on the wood while his arms and legs are crossed. He was still being quiet, not giving into conversation. You approach him, your eyes trained on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt for the first time all summer, which made you feel some type of way. His arms were tanned beautifully and toned. His biceps were perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of the gray t-shirt. 

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

You glance up at him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Tell me what’s got you all bothered.”

“It’s nothin’,” He uncrosses his arms and reaches out for you. You know it’s not nothing, so you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him forward. He looks a bit surprised. 

“It’s somethin’, so you better tell me what happened.”

He huffs, fanning your face with his breath, “That asshole said some shit about us and it set me off.”

You squeeze him a bit, “What did he say?”

You can tell he does not want to repeat it, but you were not going to let it go. 

“How I’m an old man with a young girl. How I’m old enough to be your dad.”

You feel sick to your stomach at the idea he had to hear some asshole say that. You look down between you, shifting your weight onto your other foot. You started to feel clammy, unsure of a good response that would reassure Joel. 

“He’s just some asshole. What does he know?” You manage to sputter. 

Joel’s shoulder’s sag, “He’s not wrong, though, baby girl. I’m an old man with a younger girl.”

You push away from him, scanning him up and down. You are pissed that he’s even bringing this up again, after all this time. 

“I’m a grown ass woman, Joel. A grown ass woman with a grown ass man. Just because there’s time in between us doesn’t mean we aren’t old enough to make decisions for ourselves.”

His lip curls, “I know baby, I am just saying that sometimes we get odd looks cause of the age difference. I really don’t care anymore… Just caught me off guard, is all.”

You fold your arms, “You put him in his place, right? He’s not gonna come around here sayin’ shit again?”

“He’d be stupid to come near you again. Think I got my point across.”

You feel like you owe him something. You had a couple ways you could repay him, ensuring that he never thinks about those stupid comments again. 

You use your arms to press up your bra a bit, your cleavage more highlighted with the gesture. Joel’s eyes trail down, the scoop neck giving away your suggestive movement. You step closer again, wanting to be in his space. 

“My man…” You trail, your eyes falling to his agape mouth, “Makin’ sure everyone knows I’m his.”

He nods slowly before his hand creeps around your waist, “What are you tryin’ to do, girl?”

“Nothin’,” you click your tongue. “Just thinkin’ of how I could repay you for handlin’ that for me. You hurt yourself defending my honor. I owe you.”

“Don’t think of it that way. You don’t owe me anything,” His fingers start to creep down to the curve of your ass. “But, I would love to see what you had in mind.”

“Oh, you would,” You hum, your arms unfolding to wrap around his neck. “Let’s start by walking back to your house.”

Instead of responding, he dips his head and peppers kisses down your neck, taking his time letting his fingers wander around the skin on your lower back and hips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every press of his lips. 

“Fuck,” You sigh as you try to bring him closer to you, but he’s not letting up on your neck. He’s suckling spots near your collarbone, groaning as you react to his every move. You knew at this point, this whole situation was in his hands and not yours. 

He lifts his head slowly, letting his bottom lip drag across your skin, “How ‘bout this… How ‘bout I take you right here over this bar? Maybe that asshole is nearby and he can hear how well I give it to ya.”

His proposition sends you into a spiral. You and Joel have had plenty of sex in different places, but the bar? And he wants others to hear? Usually he’s telling you that your moans are for his ears only, and while he wants you to be loud for him, you’re usually too timid to actually vocalize your pleasure. 

You place your hands on his expansive chest, “You want to fuck me here?”

He beams down at your question before he whispers, “I want to fuck you everywhere. Here, your bed, my couch, the shower. Hell, I’ll take you at this bar while people watch.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You huff, almost dizzy from the statement. 

He brings his hand up to tilt your head back so you look at him. When your eyes meet, he brings the hand up around your neck and to the nape, right where your spine starts. 

“God, I need you, sweet girl.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, Joel brings you in for a passionate and eager kiss. He’s feverish, his hands now wandering down to your ass. He starts to walk you backwards towards the now abandoned bar top. You knock into a couple chairs, but his arms keep you from tripping. His hands are propped on your ass, navigating you to the edge of the bar top. When your back is pressed against it, he starts to shove his thumbs under your waist band. He pulls away from your lips to push down your jeans, letting them pool on the floor.

“Spread your legs,” he grumbles, “I want to taste you.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your jeans off your ankles and spreading your legs. Joel falls to his knees like a man starved. You note his devilish smile when you do as you’re told. 

“I thought I was repaying you,” You choke out as his hands roam over your flesh. He chuckles darkly before pressing a kiss to your right inner thigh. 

“Lettin’ me get between these legs with my tongue is repaying me,” He clicks as pulls at your panties. He slides them to the side, getting a great look at how wet you are already. Your knees feel like they may give out any second just from the anticipation, so when his mouth finds your entrance, you rest your elbows on the freshly wiped down bar. 

Joel exploring you in this way was nothing new, but every time he went down on you, it was thrilling. He was simply so fuckin’ good at it. You never had a man take his time eating you out, desperately wanting you to cum straight on his tongue. 

The vibrations from his groaning sends shockwaves down your legs, causing them to shake. Joel’s hands are the only thing keeping you stable because even your elbows are slipping from the bar top. The suckling noises coming from him are obscene, especially because you’re standing over the bar at your work. You cannot help but try to balance yourself so you can grind yourself down onto his eager tongue. Before you can really get started doing that, he pulls away, his wet lips glistening under the overhead lights. 

He sticks his pointer, middle, and ring finger into his mouth, slathering them in his own saliva. You watch him carefully as he brings them up to your slit, adding to the slick that’s already there. 

“I want you to cum all over my fingers before I bend you over this bar,” He practically moans. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can barely speak as his fingers slowly slip in and out of you, “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?” He adds another finger, curling them as he pumps in and out. Your head is spinning, watching his other hand spread over your lower stomach to hold you against the bar. You know what he wants, but you can hardly get the word ‘yes’ out, let alone the name he loves you calling him. You try to breathe in and center yourself, but the fire in your tummy burns bright. 

“Y-yes, Sir. Please m-make me cum.”

He latches his lips around your clit as he speeds the strokes of his three digits. You grab onto his dark curls to hold him there to ensure that he doesn’t stop putting all the pressure right there. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you cannot help but scream out in pleasure. 

He grabs your hips, not caring about your recovery. His dick is rock hard in his blue jeans and it makes you giggle in satisfaction. Joel has fucked you in so many different ways, but you do not remember a time he fucked you over counter.

Your upper body is laying flat against the wooden bar, your hands gripping onto the other side to steady yourself. You hear his zipper go down and then his hands are back on you. Your panties are stretched to hell already, so he practically tears the fabric off your lower body without any resistance. You chuckle at how vehement he is. He spreads your ass cheeks as he slips his cock between your closed thighs. 

“Gonna need you to spread some more for me, sweet girl,” He mutters, smacking one of your cheeks lightly, “God, you’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn, “Yes, Sir.”

You do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. When you do that, his dick prods at your clit, before easing into your entrance. You and Joel fuck raw, so when he opens you up, you feel every vein and ridge against your walls. He’s thick and it always takes you a minute to adjust to the feeling. 

“So fuckin’ tight.”

He retracts back and inches forward again, letting you take in every inch of him. You grab onto the edge of the bar harder, your grip growing tighter with the action. He rests his grip on your hips, using them as leverage as he sets a steady pace. The moment his pace picks up, it’s like the motion pushes all the air from your lungs and you huff out louder. It only encourages him, but instead of keeping you in that position, he grabs onto your shoulders and lifts you up. You are lifted up to his chest, flush with his clothed upper body. He reaches around your arms and grabs onto your breasts through your thin v-neck. 

“J-Joel,” you nudge him with your free hands, “Let me take it o-off.”

He slows his thrusts and lets you pull your shirt over your head. Instead of unhooking your bra, Joel takes the liberty to do it himself. The straps drop off your shoulders and you peel the padding off your chest. His hands instantly cradle your breasts, kneading them as he jolts forward to continue fucking you. His thumb and pointer pinch and tug at your pert nipples. 

“Mmm,” He hums, “Only I can fuck you this good, huh?”

You whimper at his actions, “Only you, Joel.”

“That’s right.”

With that, he slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the empty feeling. He moves you around like a rag doll, turning you around to face him. 

Joel’s eyes are dilated and his hands are moving quickly to lift you off the ground and press your lower back into the bar. You place your hands on his shoulders, knowing exactly what position he wants you in. 

He picks you up so seamlessly. It’s like when he’s horny or angry, he’s super strong and practically indestructible. He will probably complain how his back hurts later. 

Your knees fold over his forearms, perfectly spread open for his taking. 

You are so wet that he slips right into you. He uses the bar a bit for leverage as he fucks up into you, the angle completely sending you into a spiral. His eyes are perfectly trained on your chest, watching your tits jiggle as he drills into you. 

“Most perfect thing I ever did see,” He remarks between strokes. Your nails are digging into his shoulder, right above a scar he got a couple years ago when he was out on patrol with your dad. You remember it was the first time you saw Joel shirtless. He was sitting next to your Dad in the infirmary, getting stitched up from getting caught on a sharp tree limb. You remember thinking how tan and beautiful he was back then. 

Now you’re gripping onto his shoulders years later, his dick ramming into you and hitting you in all the right places. 

Life is so mysterious and wonderful. 

He bites his lip, putting all his focus into making you cum before he does himself. He’s a giver and for that, you’re extremely grateful. No man has ever put in as much effort. Before Joel, you did not know you could cum more than once in a single session. A couple months ago, he could not help his insatiable taste for you and made you cum 6 times. 

His thrusts begin to falter when he feels you clenching around him, the fiery thrill building in your stomach. Your legs feel like jello, but as soon as the orgasm hits you, they stiffen in his grip. 

“F-fuck Joel,” You whimper, stuttering at how good your body feels as your come down unravels. This orgasm is way more powerful, making you practically vibrate in Joel’s arms. 

He fucks you through the feeling, his finish quickly approaching. When he’s finally finding his own release, he slips out of you before he can cum inside you. You two had an agreement that he could only cum inside you if you explicitly say he can. Since you didn't even think about it, you watch as his seed spills all over your pelvic bone.

When you two catch your breaths, he gently places you down on the ground. He steadies your wobbly legs by holding onto your naked waist. 

You realize you are smiling like an idiot, completely blissed out on how good Joel made you feel. You find your footing, picking up your pants nearby. You don’t even bother with the material that used to be your underwear. 

You hear Joel behind you fixing himself up, zipping his dick back into his jeans. You pull on your pants, leaving them unbuttoned. You grab the material on the ground and ball them up. You prance over to Joel, his eyes raking you up and down. 

“You can keep this,” You joke, pulling at one of his front pockets. You tuck the panties into his pants, smiling widely. 

“‘M just gonna add them to the collection,” He replies, gripping onto the point of your chin. 

When he tilts your eyes up to meet his, your heart flutters at the action. He’s so beautiful with his fine lines and wildly untamed peppered curls. His eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates your expression. 

You finally say it. Those three words that you had been meaning to say for months. The words that you had never said to another man ever. There was a distinct moment about 2 months ago, after you had dinner with him and Ellie, where you almost said it while helping him with the dishes. It was that steadying of your heart, a moment you felt most at peace with someone. He made you comfortable. He made you feel safe. 

“I love you, Joel.”

He drops your chin, his eyes soften at the statement. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Your anxiety starts to creep up your throat. Maybe you should not have said that. Fuck. 

“I-I…”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He says in almost a whisper before he takes your right hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “‘M sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

Your body relaxes, reassured by his answer. You did not have any doubts about your feelings for Joel, but your mind could not help but over analyze every little thing he ever said to you, forcing you to assume he may not feel the same way. 

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a long kiss onto your knuckles. 

“Let’s get you home, sweet girl. I gotta get up for patrol tomorrow.”

#joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel last of us smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #gracieheartspedro

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[wlntrsldler]

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat | luke castellan

based on this post in luke's pov.

warnings: loser!luke a little bit, percabeth crumbs and teasing from them, swear words, luke being jealous

i. i used to call you my best friend, way back before you were my everything.

"beth, you need to drop it," luke groaned, toying with the armor on his body. the young girl had been stuck on this conversation for hours now. ever since luke showed up to the athena cabin to talk strategy (there was no strategy talk, it was a ploy to get luke alone so she could knock some sense into him), annabeth had been going on and on about you and luke and your relationship.

"i'm just saying, you need to make a move."

"you have been saying that," luke checked the watch around his wrist. he tapped on the glass, "for about an hour and seventeen minutes."

"i'm sorry, but we're tired of watching you guys give googly eyes to each other and not do a thing about it," she replied, trying to keep up with luke as he walked towards the woods. luke was using his height and long legs to his advantage, hoping that she'd finally give up. (he should've known better; annabeth never actually gave up on anything.) "even percy asked me what was going on between you guys and he just got here like ten minutes ago."

"we do not give each other the googly eyes," annabeth shot him a pointed look. luke paused, pursing his lips, "fine, i give her googly eyes but she doesn't reciprocate."

"i knew you were dumb, but i didn't think you were a fucking idiot."

"hey, language," he tutted, crossing his arms over his chest. he can see the crowds of campers gearing up for capture the flag. "who taught you that word?"

she rolled her eyes, "sorry, but 'freaking' didn't have the same oomph."

"we're done with this conversation, 'kay?" luke walked away, shaking his head. under his breath, he mumbled, "fucking kids, man."

from behind him, he heard annabeth call out to him, "and you wonder where i learned the word!"

luke chuckled, twirling his sword expertly as he approached the group. he spotted you a few feet back talking to percy. the kid looked scared out of his mind, but after you reassured him that he probably wouldn't sustain any life-altering injuries, his demeanor relaxed.

luke walked over to you, immediately placing an arm around your waist. you knew that it was luke before you even got a look at him. you nudged yourself closer to him as you ended your conversation with percy.

"you'll be alright kid," you said, offering him a genuine smile. "i know clar has been giving you a hard time, but she's just like that. she'll warm up to you."

luke could tell that percy didn't really believe you based on the look on his face, but he also saw percy's eyes flicker to the lack of space between you and luke and knew that it was his time to go.

percy rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, "alright, thanks, y/n. i appreciate it."

"no problem, percy. i'm sure beth wouldn't let anything happen to you anyway."

as percy walked away to find annabeth, you twisted your body to face luke. you beamed at him in a way that luke could only describe as cute. whenever you talked to him, the crinkles by your eyes appeared and your cheeks pushed up on your face, a slight tint of pink dusted over them.

"hi, luke," you greeted, "ready to win?"

"yes, ma'am," he mirrored your smile. he adjusted the strap on your armor, lightly grazing his fingers over your exposed collarbone. "you gonna show off the skills i taught you?"

"of course," you paused, "i might even be better than you now. maybe i can teach you some things."

he softly pinched your hip, making you squeal. he laughed at your reaction. "don't get cocky, dove."

"i'm just saying," you slowly peeled yourself away from him, but held his hands in yours as you moved backward. "one day the student becomes the teacher, castellan."

"that day is not today, but i'm loving this confidence."

you sent him a wink before joining your siblings. luke felt his knees buckle at the simple gesture. his heart was hammering in his chest and he was half-sure that the people around him could hear his heart thumping against the armor, like a drumbeat. he was glad that his helmet was hiding his face because annabeth and percy were now looking at him, both of their hands in a "thumbs up" gesture in the air.

ii. and it may not mean much but your plates are in his sink and your sweater's on his bed.

your team won (of course you did), but the victory came second to the claiming of percy. percy didn't make it to dinner, no doubt stuck talking to chiron and mr. d about what it all meant, but he was back in time for the celebratory bonfire.

percy found annabeth and luke grabbing some cookies on the snack table when he finally gave up trying to understand the prophecy for the night. luke threw an arm over his shoulder, "forbidden child, how you holding up?"

"i don't really want to talk about it. i honestly don't even know how i feel right now."

"that's fair," annabeth said, outstretching her hand to reveal a handful of oreo cookies. "want some?"

"thanks," percy took a cookie, his eyes scanning the bonfire for any other familiar (and kind) faces. his eyes landed on you. "i do want to talk about that, though."

luke and annabeth's eyes followed percy's to find you talking to an ares kid. you were sitting far from the fire (luke knew you hated how the smell of smoke lingered on your clothes.) luke's eyes narrowed, head tilting in question because he'd never really paid attention to the kid before. james? jackson? j-something? he was racking his brain trying to remember the kid's name.

"they look cozy," annabeth stated through a mouthful of oreos. "he's cute."

"no he's not," luke argued, looking at his sister in disbelief. "he's like okay looking, i guess, but he's nothing like special. i don't know. do you think he's cute percy?"

"dude, you have issues."

whether luke chose to ignore percy's comment or genuinely didn't hear him, didn't matter, because luke was already riled up. he shouldn't go over there, right? you were just talking to the kid. gods, he really should know his name. "plus, he's an ares kid. he's like the enemy. y/n wouldn't do that."

the two kids shared a look, trying to hold in their laughter. luke was too preoccupied with looking at you to notice them anyway. his eyes were on you like a hawk. he watched as you moved over on the log you were sitting on to make room for him. luke's eyes widened when you locked eyes with him. you smiled at him, offering a little wave, before returning to your conversation.

"did she really just do that?"

"let someone sit next to her...?" annabeth asked, dusting her hands on her pants to rid of the crumbs. "yeah, it is allowed."

luke chewed on his bottom lip, "i don't like the look of this."

percy rolled his eyes, voiced laced with sarcasm. "really? what a surprise."

iii. my baby, spare me all the rest. please just tell me that nobody else touches you like i do.

luke was going crazy. he could count on one hand the amount of interactions he's had with you over the last two weeks. at first, he tried to tell himself that you were just busy. you had a lot of things to do, but then he started noticing that you didn't seem busy when jake asked to hang out. (luke scoffed when he found out the boy's name. of course, his name was jake. typical.)

it felt like luke was getting stabbed in the heart every time he saw you walking around with jake, his arm thrown over your shoulder while you laughed at his (probably unfunny) jokes. you called off your training sessions with him to go practice your archery with jake (he wasn't even that good) his usual seat next to you during meals were suddenly occupied by the ares boy. he even saw him walk you back to your cabin one night and he wrapped his arms around you in a hug like he wasn't going to see you the next day.

luke had grown grumpy and everyone noticed it, but nobody was willing to ask him why you and him stopped being attached to the hip all of a sudden. nobody was brave enough to.

the final nail to the coffin was when he wandered into the dining hall, making his way over to chris (because that's where he sat now) and he saw you in an unfamiliar hoodie. plastered over your chest was the insignia for the ares cabin.

enough was enough.

luke stood outside your cabin while everyone else was giving their offerings to the gods. he was trying to figure out what to say to you but his brain was going a million miles an hour. all the words blurred together into a gigantic mess. he was never good with words or explaining himself when it came to you. he never really had to tell you anything before, you always just knew.

sighing, luke mustered up the courage to knock on your door with his head hanging low. when you opened the door, luke could've died in embarrassment because he just started talking, like all of the lines he prepared just spilled out of his mouth.

"please dump him," luke pushed past you to pace around the floor of your cabin. "i don't know how serious your relationship is with him but i am begging you to dump him. you belong with me. i miss you and i haven't seen you really in weeks and it's killing me, dove. i don't know what to do because you keep canceling our plans to hang out with him and i feel like i'm losing you. and-and you're wearing his clothes now? if you were cold or something, you know you could always wear mine! i literally have a drawer under my bed of things that are reserved for you. i sprayed my cologne on them and everything because i know you like it, but you went to him? i just-"

luke stopped pacing and finally looked at you. you were hiding your giggles behind your fist. luke furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before his eyes trailed down your body. oh.

you were wearing his shirt. you walked over to him, reaching up to grab his face, "are you done?"

he was calmer now, "please dump him."

"i can't do that, luke."

"why not?"

you laughed at his whiny voice, "i can't dump him because i'm not dating him."

luke blinked, "you're not?"

"no," your rubbed his face with the pad of your thumb, "we're just friends. he's actually been helping me get over my crush on you."

luke's head was spinning. he definitely read the situation so wrong. "your what?"

"oh, castellan, please," you were blushing now. "it started out with jake wanting to ask me out but i told him about my crush on you and how i felt like nothing would ever happen between me and you. he suggested that maybe i should distance myself from you, at least until my crush went away, but the longer i was away from you, the clearer it became. i'm not getting over you any time soon."

"please don't ever get over me."

"you're a dork," you teased, but you smiled at him again. that special smile you reserved for him. "i can't believe you never noticed i liked you."

"i can't believe you didn't notice i liked you."

"will you shut up and kiss me, please?"

you didn't need to tell him twice. "yes, ma'am."

#luke castellan #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x yn #luke catellan x y/n #pjo #pjo fanfic #pjo series #frances writes #frances song fics

[beelmons]

A/N: There's a trend on tiktok where men are saying how after they started... uh... doing hardcore cunnilingus... their beards started to turn orange. so.... bearded spencer with a girlfriend he likes to treat right?

cw: slightly NSFW, not recommended for minors!

Spencer is a man you could describe as "raggedy". Hair always dishelved, tie slightly crooked, pants that don't ever quite fit him as they should. You never cared, and neither did he, because everything else made up for it. Your boyfriend was hot, and after he decided to let his beard grow a bit, he was hotter, if possible.

Of course, using your girlfriend privileges, meant you got to use his new attractiveness to your convenience, and boy, was it going great. People at the office began to notice him being more relaxed and even focused. They had started to pay closer attention to Spencer and how his demeanor changed. Sure, they didn't exactly know what you did to him, and no one dared to ask, but they were sure it had to be sexual in nature. No one could be that happy out of the blue.

It wasn't until one day where Luke noticed something a little off about his friend that the conversation finally arose. "Whoa, whoa, slow down Reid." he said, his hand pressing against the doctor's chest to stop him from walking any futher. JJ, Tara, and Penelope, who was visiting the bullpen, gathered around them with curiosity.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

"What's that on your beard?" Luke teased with a bright and playful smile.

"What's what on my beard?" Spencer continued to be unable to understand the situation around him. However, he noticed how his female coworkers seemed to lean closer, trying to get a detailed look of his face.

Without much space for them to move, due to Spencer having a file on his hands, Luke decided to open a wide path and removed the document from him.

"You're right, Luke," JJ started to observe "it kind of looks like orange hairs on his beard?"

"You gotta have that looked at, boy genius, could be a bad sign." Penelope made a concerned remak.

"Could be because of the stress" Tara added.

"Nah!" Luke blurted out with a loud laugh "If anything, it's just proof that he's less stressed, or rather, that that girlfriend of his is way less stressed." he continued to chuckle as he spoke.

"How do you mean?" Reid asked, still unsure of the insinuation his friend was making.

"Did you know, ladies, that vaginal PH can bleach almost anything? from underwear to facial hair if the exposure is constant enough." he made sure to stare right into Spencer's eyes as he spoke, the smug, cheeky smile never leaving his face.

There was a collective and teasing 'ooooooooh' coming out from every girl around him, and Spencer could feel how the red tint began to spread from the base of his neck towards his face.

"That's my girl, always putting herself first!" Tara exclaimed with a laugh of her own.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Spence, good for you." JJ added as she squeezed her friend's arm.

"She's so lucky." Penelope grunted.

Luke's shitty grin disappeared from his face the moment Reid laid sharp daggers on him coming directly from his eyes. His hands darted to aggressively snatch the file back from his partner's "Decoloration of the facial hair can be due to genetic mutations or overexposure to the sun, so get your facts straight before you start talking nonsense." he said with a clearly pissed-off tone before he bolted off somewhere else.

Behind him he could still hear laughs and giggles, and they didn't help the still present crimson color of his face. His anger hadn't been because they were disrespecting you, you were well aware they could tease you like that, but rather because he felt seen through. Regardless of the wrong hypotesis, Luke had been correct. Ever since he grew out his beard, he was kept on a fluid-based diet. Your fluids, mostly.

#blurb: mine #blurb: spencer #blurb: criminal minds #PLEASE I GOT THIS IDEA OUT OF A SUDDEN FROM A TIKTOK AND I JUST HAD TO WRITE IT #love you spence <3 #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

Request for Jude: (based on his team trip to UCLA lmao)

But could you do a fanfic where Jude invites yn along to the UCLA college with him and as he signing autographs he notices a group of male students surrounding her, talking to her and he gets jealous.

I live for jealous Jude😭🤦🏾‍♀️

UCLA • Jude Bellingham

Warning: none just three other men involved. They're not named. Slightly described

Word count: 600+

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x f reader

Finally wrote the Jude Masterlist right here

Enjoy

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

You were very happy to accompany your boyfriend Jude on his preseason tour with the US. The moment he asked you to tag along, you were ready, bags packed faster than he could get out his question.

The first stop on the tour was Los Angeles. The team was training on the college campus of UCLA. While Jude was out training on the field, you stayed in a shaded seating area, waiting for him to finish up. He promised you he’d spend the little bit of time he had to take you around the city.

You were scrolling through your phone when you felt a presence beside you. You looked up to see three guys standing there. They were blondes, dressed in shorts, graphic hoodies and a backpack on their back. They were obviously students of UCLA from the way they were dressed. They gave you major fuck boy vibes.

You smiled at them politely. “Hello.”

One of the guys smiled at you. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“Um I’m waiting on someone.” “a friend.” You laughed at the question. “Sure you can say that.”

You turned back to your phone Hoping it was the end of the conversation, but unfortunate for you it wasn’t .

“Do you go to school here?” one of the other boys asked. You wanted to tell them to go fuck off, but you choose the nice route today.

“No I don’t . I’m not from here at all.”

“Oh we’re you from?” one of the guys slipped into the seat across from you. “I’m from Spain. Ok look.” You stood up grabbing your phone and the water you brought to stay hydrated.

“I should probably get going so I’m going to go.” On cue you heard the irrupt of fans which only meant one thing. The boys were finished training. Thank God.

“We heard there’s these professional players here from Spain. They got a game here in a couple of days.”

You nodded walking slowly to where the crowd was gathered. The guys beside you kept talking but your focus was on Jude who was signing jerseys. He hadn’t spotted you yet.

“Apparently they’re really good but we haven’t watched them. The sport isn’t interesting to be honest. They’re just kicking the ball back and forth for what.” They hummed amongst each other agreeing on their friends stupidity.

As you were about to tell them to shut and stop following you. You heard your name being called by a familiar voice.

“Y/n.”

Mentally you breathed a sigh of relief knowing your nightmare was over.

You looked up to see jude. He looked between the men and back to you. You looked at him in a help me face hoping he’d get the hint.

“Hi baby.” Jude wrapped his arm around you. He kissed your temple before turning to the guys. “Who are they?”

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. They haven’t stopped talking enough for that.”

Jude hummed. “ok I get it. Now if you lads don’t mind, I’m going to steal my girlfriend away from you. See you around.”

Jude spun you around away from the confused men. You laughed, but said nothing to Jude until you were far away from the watchful eyes of the crowd.

“Sorry I didn’t come in time to stop those frats from getting to you.” Jude wrapped his arms around you, hugging you.

“It’s ok. I kinda like watching you get jealous.”

“Jealous?” Jude pulled away from you. “Whos jealous love?”

“You.” You poked your finger in his. “You get all touchy and you love making it known you’re my boyfriend when guys is talking to me.”

You looked up at him watching as he rolled his eyes at you. He knew it was true.

“Well they need to know you’re taken. Nobody deserves your pretty ass but me.” Jude kissed your nose as you laughed. "I'm all yours."

Jude pulled away from you. “Ok I gotta get back." He kissed you. "but you’re staying close. Don’t need anymore blonde college boys to hit on you”

You let out an aw as Jude walked away shaking his head.

#Jude Bellingham #Jude Bellingham x reader #Jude Bellingham fanfiction #Jude Bellingham fluff

[effeminate-wastrel]

Something fucking weird happened to me yesterday. A few fucking weird somethings in fact.

I was at a premiere party for a local comedian's special, maybe like 25-30 people in a little art commune backyard space, kinda place with a bunch of art sculptures and free ranging cats and a fun vibey vibe.

This comedian is one of those kinda 'i'm not a terf i just think maybe trans people could tone it down a little' lesbians who i first met through a trans comic friend (who no longer speaks with this comedian over some apparently terfy views) so i'm kinda already on red alert. But there's a few other trans girls there and generally I don't think this comedian is like hateful or even terfy i think she's just kinda catring to a certain demographic of queer people that aren't as progressive or whatever.

not my particular FAVORITE crowd of people or ideology but I'm interested in hearing and hanging out with reasonable people whose views are different than mine, assuming they are pleasant and not disrespectful, yknow, so i went into the party with an open mind.

i was being a social lil butterfly as i'm wont to do and i met this big burly beardy kinda guy, he seems chill, nice enough. Later in the party after a bit of weed and drinks have been slung, he comes up to me and asks if I can help him get some drugs. He asks if I have any Clomid. I haven't ever heard of it, I look it up and he explains it's a fertility drug for cis or trans women, he described it as an estrogen blocker and i guess it makes ovaries OR testicles more fertile if a trans woman has undergone HRT, I guess.

I'm a little dumbfounded and trying to figure out what the hell is going on, why this random dude is asking me for meds i know nothing about, and i'm desperately trying to figure out the context of this request. I'm making him a little uncomfortable with my questions, trying to figure out if this is a trans man, closeted trans woman, detransitioned trans woman, or i dont even know what, and i ask for a little bit of clarity.

he offers up, "well... i was a boy who got raped and spent some time where i thought i was a woman but now i'm on testosterone again and trying to have a baby" and i'm like... okay detransitioned trans woman i guess, and i'm like yeah sorry i have no idea if i can find anyone who could get these meds for you. I asked him why he was asking me and he said "[comedian's name but ALSO his partner's name, so i don't know which person he's referring to] said you were a safe person to talk to about this. Conversation basically ended there and i walked away from it thinking it was extremely strange, not knowing how to process any of what just happened.

Then later i meet another person who's detransitioned, she was 'being a guy' for a while then kinda ended up not resonating with it and is presenting femme again.

the party just kinda started closing in on me at that point, just started feeling like more people there might be detrans, is this the audience of people, is this the vibe of the party, did the comedian mean something else when i made a joke earlier to her along the lines of "yeah looking bad is so hot right now" (just lightly roasting gen z type style and all that stuff which isn't my vibe obvi) and she said "yeahhh you couldn't be more right" in a kind of way that i could have interpreted as being in reference to ME if she was saying something along the lines of 'you ugly man in a dress' if she IS a closeted terf orrrrrrrr

idk. so much of this is spiraling based on a weird experience and also RSD that goes haywire in situations where my transness has even a 10% chance of being related. but also like. maybe my intuition should be trusted and it really was a bad situation? i just wish i had some neutral way to find out what the hell was going on but it feels so fraught

[feralforfrank]

ENCHANTED.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW X FEM!READER

summary (based on enchanted by taylor swift) you're visiting your childhood friend, natasha, when your eye happens to catch a very attractive pilot.

cw SOOOOO MUCH FLUFF. friends to lovers! NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

a/n i'm kinda proud of this one. there's goingnto be a part two someday.

masterlist | taglist

It was a hot Saturday night when Natasha—your childhood friend—invited you to the bar she frequented. After officially settling down in North Island, she had begged for you to take as many days off from work and visit her. And, of course, you couldn't say no to her.

A messily packed suitcase and a tearful reunion later, Natasha led you inside the bar called the Hard Deck. You could describe the atmosphere as anything but dull. Old music played from a jukebox. Men and women wearing uniforms and civilian clothes conversed and drank. You shrunk in yourself as some turned with a curious glance towards you.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends," Natasha yelled over the chatter and music.

You pushed past the crowd to the pool table, where a few people your age greeted Nat. A guy with glasses waved, and you realised that it was Bob. He was the only guy you knew from the countless times he'd popped in while you were facetiming Natasha.

"Hey, guys! This is my friend from home." Natasha went ahead and introduced you as you awkwardly waved at them.

After Natasha introduced her friends to you, you excused yourself to get a drink. Nerves were eating you from the inside out. Nat seemed relaxed around them, but you barely even knew them. You needed to chug a drink or two to gain confidence.

There I was again tonight;

forcing laughter, faking smiles.

You spent most of the night conversing with Nat's friends, occasionally cheering her game of pool against Hangman—or Jake, as he had politely asked you to call him. Too polite—in your opinion—his words bordering on flirty. Although you seemed fine from the outside—all smiles and laughter—guilt consumed you.

You wanted to go, but the problem wasn't Nat or her friends. It was you. You felt too awkward to open up to anyone, especially some of the guys who were complete flirts, clearly trying to get in your pants. Of course, you laughed at their jokes and entertained their discussions, but it was draining you.

Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy

vanished when I saw your face.

All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you.

Your eyes lazily looked around the packed bar after Coyote left you to play darts with Hangman. Nat was still playing pool with Bob on her side, but her opponent was now Payback, with Fanboy cheering him on. 

As soon as he walked in, your eyes locked on his figure. The way he carried himself made your jaw drop ever so slightly. He wore jeans, a white tank top, and a yellow Hawaiian shirt, with sunglasses resting low on his nose. Who wore sunglasses inside, especially when it was almost dark outside?

You watched him greet people as he made his way to the bar. Penny, the bar owner who had introduced herself to you, gave him a beer before he could speak his order. So, he was a regular. He leaned at the bar for a second, looking around—probably trying to spot his friends.

His eyes fell close to you, and he smiled, pushing himself from the bar and walking to—what you quickly realised was—the pool table. Oh, shit. You watched as he greeted Nat with a smile and a hug. Does he know her? Do you know him? Your eyes never left him as you tried to figure out if you knew him. Nat had introduced everyone to you...So who was he?

Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"

'Cross the room your silhouette

starts to make its way to me.

You didn't have time to react. The stranger's eyes met yours. He squinted his eyes in question. Fuck. He caught you staring, shit. You try to look away—it's the polite action to do—but you can't bring your eyes to move. And then he excuses himself—you read his lips. And he's walking towards you.

Your cheeks are heating up faster than a plane's engine, and you subconsciously tighten your grip on the beer bottle. The stranger is smiling—smirking, actually, knowing he caught you staring. 

The playful conversation starts.

Counter all your quick remarks,

like passing notes in secrecy.

"You know, it's rude to stare," he says while making himself comfortable on the chair next to you.

"Who told you I was looking at you? Maybe I was glancing around, or perhaps, I was looking at my friend, Nat." You tried to play it cool while desperately trying to hide your trembling hands.

"Oh please, I caught your stare as soon as I walked to the bar," he countered.

Your blush deepened. "Sure, you did because you can see so clearly with those sunglasses." The playful sarcasm was evident in your tone.

"I'm Bradley Bradshaw," he extended his free hand, "but my friends call me Rooster."

You turned to face him with a questioning smile. "M-My callsign. I'm in the Navy." He added.

Oh. He's the Bradley. You finally shook his extended hand, telling him your name in return. "You're the Bradley Nat always complains about ruining her clothes."

"Hey! That was one time. And it was my first time doing laundry. It's not my fault!" You laughed at his defensive tone.

"Yeah, but I was the one she called to fix her clothes! You know how hard it is with the time difference and all?" You both laughed.

God, his laugh was so beautiful, and his neck, biceps, nose, jawline, cheekbones—everything really. Your gaze fell to the floor as your blush rose on your cheeks and ears again.

"So, what do you do?" His voice was soft and curious.

You scratched your neck. No one had asked you what your profession was ever since you'd gotten here. 

"Um, I'm a teacher—kind of. I help elementary kids with speaking or writing disabilities—like a tutor. I have five students so far, and I go to each house for a few hours to help them with homework and work on the lessons ahead."

You were proud of your profession. It was rare for teachers to take on such big responsibility, but you loved teaching and kids. It's the perfect combination for you. Plus, it didn't matter where you moved, for there's always a child in need of you, and you're glad to help.

"That sounds so cool." Bradley beamed, and you chuckled.

"Not as cool as being a pilot. How's that working out for you? Got any awards yet?" You lightly elbowed him.

His head snapped to your side, a confused smile adorning his face. "How'd you know about that?"

"Nat told me one of her friends was getting an award for saving an old guy or something. I assumed it's you because there's no way Hangman could be getting it." Bradley snorted. "Am I right?" 

He just nodded with a smile, sipping on his beer. "It's my godfather, yeah. But I don't really see a point to this. I rescued him because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted an award." Show off, you think.

"You're a hero to our nation, anyway." You turned to face him. "Thank you for serving this country, sir," you saluted him, trying to keep your expression serious.

"Stop," Bradley whined, turning away to hide his blushing cheeks. His grin widened, though.

"What? I'm being serious! Take me seriously—what is it? Is it Lieutenant?" He nodded lightly. "I'm being very patriotic, Lieutenant Bradshaw!" Your giggles were on the verge of becoming uncontrollable.

Bradley couldn't help but laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I just like watching you blush and squirm away," you snorted.

"You're a menace." You shrugged in response.

This night is sparkling—don't you let it go!

I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

You hadn't had this much fun in so long. You found yourself entertaining Bradley and his silly questions about everything—apparently, since you're a teacher, you're a walking encyclopedia—all night. At some point, Nat called for Rooster to play the piano, and your conversation was cut short. 

The disappointment you felt dispersed as soon as you heard him sing. Great Balls of Fire, an ancient song you had a special spot in your heart, resonated through the bar. Bradley played the piano expertly and sang like an angel. The whole bar joined him, most patrons using their beer bottles as microphones. You hugged Natasha sideways, your eyes meeting as you screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

After a few songs, most civilians went home, leaving only the pilots. You yawned against Nat's shoulder as you listened to Jake narrate a story. Your phone read thirty minutes past midnight, and you decided it was time to head home—a small house by the beach you'd rented for two weeks.

"I'm going to head out," you whispered to Natasha, who nodded and patted your thigh in goodbye.

You slipped unnoticed since everyone was invested in Hangman's story to see you leave. You waved goodbye to Penny, who nodded back with a smile and continued wiping the counter.

Your stomach dropped in disappointment as soon as you stepped outside. You wanted to say goodbye to Bradley, but he'd excused himself to the bathroom, and he hadn't come out when you left. You'll see him again, though. Right? He was Nat's closest friend after you and Bob, so there was no way he'd leave your sight anytime soon.

You fished for your car keys, only to realise that Natasha had driven here. "Fuck," you muttered.

"Hey." You spun around, startled.

There stood Bradley, a small smile on his face, his hands buried in his jeans' pockets. You softly smiled back, your stomach doing multiple flips. His glasses were perched on his tank top, and you could see his eyes now. The sky was dark, but the moonlight and lights inside the bar made him look more attractive than ever.

Good fucking god, you were shamelessly checking him out. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" He asked, bringing you out of your trance.

The knowing and growing smile on his face told you he had caught you checking him out. Again. Heat rose to your cheeks for the umpteenth time tonight.

"No. I just realised Natasha drove here, and I have to Uber home." It sounded like an exhausting nightmare.

"Sounds exhausting," you snorted. "Come on." Bradley signalled for you to follow him, but you froze in place, staring at him.

He stopped next to a Bronco—you should have guessed this car was his. "Are you coming or what?"

You snapped from the trance his action had set you in, speed walking to the car door and opening it. The seat was comfortable, and a content sigh escaped your lips. Your back hurt from the uncomfortable way you sat all night. So you leaned back and closed your eyes for a second, relishing how your spine relaxed.

During those seconds, Bradley leaned over and buckled your seatbelt, causing your eyes to open again. You could smell his cologne. It was fucking intoxicating. Did he actually just put your seatbelt on?

"There you go. Just don't fall asleep on me before you tell me where you live." You chuckled tiredly.

After giving him your address, your head turned to the window. You watched the scenery go by, very aware that you were in Bradley Bradshaw's car, which also smelt like him. A blush covered your cheeks and—you were pretty sure—your ears and neck. The man was driving you crazy, and he didn't even know.

The drive was over quicker than you wanted it. The music playing in Bradley's car—old eighties songs—was comforting. The smell of the sea and his cologne in your seat were soothing. His presence, alone, calming enough for you to escape in a state between blissful sleep and consciousness. Why did it have to end?

"That's the house. Right there." 

"Oh, you got a garden?" Bradley asked curiously, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, yeah. You should see the backyard! It's full of flowers and three apple trees!" Your smile caused his to widen.

"I'll come around soon, then. I wanna see that view." His tone was soft, and you wondered if he meant something else.

You nodded. "I could give you my number?" Was that a desperate move?

Before you had time to rethink, he beamed at you. "Yeah! Put it on my phone, and I'll text you."

Your fingers brushed, and tingles shot up your spine. It felt like you'd just gotten electrocuted. Oh fuck. His hands are...nice. 

Your exchange was short, and you got out of the car a blushing mess. After shutting the door, you looked up for the last time to say goodbye. Bradley was already looking at you with an unrecognisable look in his eyes. 

"It was nice meeting you, Bradley," your words were almost a whisper.

"You, too, sweetheart."

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew,

I was enchanted to meet you.

He waited for you to unlock the door, get into the small residence and switch on a light. He saw you through the open curtains as you threw the keys and phone at the kitchen table, deciding he had been enough of a creep and finally drove away.

You heard the Bronco's engine come to life again—when had he shut the engine?—and speed down the empty street. You moved to the window, watching the headlights disappear.

"It was lovely to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw." 

The lingering question kept me up.

2 AM, who do you love?

I wonder 'til I'm wide awake.

You're crawling under the covers in no time. Your thoughts are racing a hundred miles per second. The only thing in them is Bradley Bradshaw. You can't understand why he has plagued your mind.

You wonder if he has someone. He has a charming smile, a kind heart, not to mention a remarkably fit body and a steady job. He was in his thirties, making you the same age as him or a year or two younger. He even was at the right age to have a family, but you spotted no ring on his finger. Your heart fluttered with hope.

Fuck, you turned to your left side. Does he look like he's good in bed? I mean—he has this look that screams big dick energy, but is that a thing? Well, you'd love to find out.

What about his girlfriend?

The thought lingered. Bradley had been friendly all night, but there was no sign of a girlfriend. Maybe she wasn't a pilot. And she may not even enjoy crowded bars. Or maybe, there is no girlfriend.

But what if he likes someone? Like a crush? 

God, these thoughts were ruining your scenario-making. It was true that there was always a possibility he had a crush on someone else. But the sheer need to feel loved and appreciated—the exact emotion Bradley had awakened in you tonight—was overpowering the insecure thoughts and fuelling the butterflies in your stomach.

Who do you like, Bradley Bradshaw?

You turn your head to look at the digital clock on the bedside table—it reads two fifteen in the morning. God, I need to sleep.

And now I'm pacing back and forth,

wishing you were at my door.

I'd open up, and you would say, "Hey."

But you can't. So you drag yourself out of bed, thinking that maybe cookies and milk will do the trick. You grab your phone from the nightstand, press on Netflix, and then Friends. Balancing your phone on the coffee pot, you searched the cupboards, looking for the Oreo cookies you'd stuffed earlier. 

God, what is this infatuation? I just met the man. 

You bite the cookie as you pace in the small kitchen—from the entryway to the fridge and back. You wish you could've said more. It was nice meeting you, Bradley—come on, that's so stupid. I think I fell in love with you at first sight is a much better sentence.

I wish he were here. 

The thought caught you off-guard, but you didn't hate it. You'd love to have Bradley here, watching Friends and munching on Oreo cookies instead of day night-dreaming about him.

You worked the scenario in your head. You'd be asleep when he knocks on the door. You'd have that cute messy hair look and sleepy expression on your face like the girls in all the movies you watch. You'd unlock the door and look at him. He'd be panting for some unknown reason—maybe he ran from his car to my door (I don't know, the guys in movies always try to catch their breaths)—and he'd throw you a casual but oh-so-raspy-and-sexy hey.

You snorted, and suddenly, the picture in front of you dissolved. Jesus, I need sleep and to get out of the house more.

previous | next

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #miles teller #miles teller x reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun fic #fluff #fluff and romance #mutual pining #frank writes

[vaspider]

Reposting because I absolutely cannot and will not reblog a post made by someone who tags things 'q slur.' For fuck's sake, grow up.

And since I'm reposting, let's made the post better by including a source link to the entire article.

Kanegson, Jared. (1998, June.) After the Butch/FTM Conference, Why Not to Give Up on Butch/FTM/Trannyboy Coalition Building. FTM International, 5.

After the Butch/FTM Conference Why Not to Give Up on Butch/FTM/Trannyboy Coalition Building by Jaron Kanegson

I'm a transgendered person who identifies as both Butch and FTM. A faggy "Butch" who typically dates Butches/boy-dykes/FTMs, an FTM cross-dresser who responds to a range of pronouns, a bio-female who frequently passes, and partially identifies, as male, I can't squeeze my gender iden-tity into one category. As such. I felt excited, even relieved, when I first heard about the Butch/FTM Conference. Finally, I thought. a forum that would logically include genders which, like mine, incorporate elements from both the categories of Butch and FTM. And, I was happy that a spectrum of people from communities that sometimes overlap—more, I think, than many would like to admit--would be coming together to work towards change. I figured we'd have a lot to talk about regarding discrimination from the larger society, identity questions, health care, employment, sexuality, racism, etc. I am saddened to report that while some bridges were built, others were broken, particularly during the "Betrayal—What Makes It Hard To Trust Each Other" workshop. I believe that structural aspects of the conference contributed to the conflict in that workshop, and detracted from the progress that might otherwise have been made that day. Though I had briefly worked on planning the conference, I quit because I was convinced that the conference was not being planned in a constructive way. During the six-week period that I was involved in planning the conference, I attended both a general meeting and panel-planning subcommittee meetings. I also took part in conversations with various conference organizers, potential panelists, curious friends, etc. In my circle of friends, Butch and FTM describe not only categories that at times blur, but also groups that, along with femmes, MTFs, bio-fags and others, often relate as friends, lovers, roommates and members of a larger community. So, I expected the Butch/FTM Conference to build on the base of shared community that already exists, to a certain extent, in San Francisco. Instead, I found that some of the other organizers seemed to see Butch and FTM as two inherently separate, distinct, and perhaps even naturally hostile identities. One area where I saw this mindset demonstrated was in the planning of the morning panel. I thought that, of the five or six panelists, at least one should be a person with an identity specifically incorporating aspects of both Butchness and FTMhood. I suggested a number of boy-dykes and dyke-fags, all of whom identified as transgender. In response, one organizer, a Butch woman, expressed her frustration that I was "muddying" things. She stated that I was "Not respecting that the conference (was) supposed to be about Butches and FTMs." That conversation marked the end of my involvement. Ultimately, although some gender ambiguity certainly crept into the panel, no panelists with the type of gender identity I had lobbied for was included. Transfags and people younger than their mid-thirties were also absent as panelists, and all of the FTMs seemed to be former Butches. That unfortunately reinforced the idea that every FTM "gained" is a Butch "lost" and the misconception that all FTMs are straight. As well, though I know gender-flexible people of all ages, my personal experience is that younger queers are more used to the idea of alliances between dykes, fags, trannies, etc. There were other aspects of the conference that did not seem to be designed to bring people together. One example was the wording of the Harvey Milk Institute catalog course description. Originally, it described Butches and FTMs as

Butch and FTM describe not only categories that at times blur, but also groups that (along with femmes, MTFs, bio-fags and others) often relate as friends, lovers, roommates and members of a larger community. "competing for dwindling resources!" While this and other potentially inflammatory language was ultimately removed, other revisions aimed at making the language more inclusive did not stick. For example, I suggested at the general planning meeting, along with others, that we list a wider range of relevant gender identities—including a more culturally diverse range—in the course description. That way, people who identified only with certain aspects of "Butch" and/or "FTM" would know that the conference was about them, too. Five of us spent half an hour at that meeting's end rewriting the course description to specify that the conference was not strictly about "Butches" and "FTMs," but also about boy-dykes, transfags, bull-daggers, cross-dressers, anabes, marimachas, etc. While the line "All genders are welcome" stayed in the course description, the idea that the focus of the conference was about a range of gender identities was excised. Finally, while the course description set the tone for the conference, as well as drawing a particular audience, the workshop topics themselves were not conducive to alliance building. In particular, the smallest of the three after-noon discussion groups,

"Betrayal: What Makes It Hard To Trust Each Other?," ended in an emotional explosion that I fear may have left many hurt, bitter, and, worst of all. convinced that conflict between Butches and FTM is inevitable. Unfortunately, the title of the workshop alone virtually guaranteed it would be painful. The focus was negative, and on difference. I am not suggesting that there arc no under-lying tensions, nor that these tensions should not be talked about. However, I think a more positive context—such as a workshop focusing on the oppression Butches and FTMs face from larger society, including some discussion of the pain we cause each other—would have been more likely to lead to a sense of a community. Obviously I have a difference of opinion with many of the conference organizers about just who should be included in the categories of Butch and VIM, and how the conference should have been structured and focused. I do not want, however, to discount the hard work they did, nor do I want to gloss over the fact that I have heard hateful remarks about FTMs from dykes, and sexist remarks about dykes from FTMs. However, I believe that as people our society labels queer, and as people (usually) born in "female" bodies expressing masculinity, maleness and/or gender non-conformity, we have a lot in common. We also have a lot of work to do togeth-er and a lot of fun to have together. Despite my critiques, the Butch/FTM conference was an historic first effort towards community building. As someone with a foot—and friends—in each community, I hope that process will keep going.

#trans man #butch lesbian #intracommunity issues #reclaimed slurs

[centralperkspoison]

I Can See You - G. Way

PAIRING: Gerard Way x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: sexual references, a little fluffy.

SUMMARY: You and Gerard have known each other for years. When you finally confess to him, everything works out! But how do you keep it as a secret? (Based loosely on I Can See You by Taylor Swift)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

OTHERS: me posting? whattttt?! this was highly inspired by the song I Can See You by Taylor Swift, so I recommend listening to that while you read. Also, I haven't posted a fic in like a year this is crazy. also!!! not my usual work, not that much fluff just more back story. idk i have wrote in a while so im sorry!

---

YOU KEPT EVERYTHING PROFESSIONAL. You and him only showed your true emotions behind closed doors. You'd brush past each other in the hallways most of the time ensuring to not let anyone catch on.

Of course, you and Gerard were friends to the public eye. You and him were the two lead singers of My Chemical Romance, but what happened behind closed doors stayed there.

You'd moved next door to the Way family when you were fairly young, quickly becoming friends with the two brothers despite the slight age differences; Mikey was three years older than you and Gerard was six years older, which is why in the beginning everything had to be quiet. But of course, you had kept your feelings for the nerdy older brother hidden since you were six, so that wouldn't be too hard.

When the band began recording for Bullets you had just turned eighteen and Gerard was almost twenty-five, which is when it first started.

-

"Why don't I understand basic song structure," You groaned. "You clearly have it down."

Gerard scoffed, "I do not have it down whatsoever, I just actually ask for input unlike someone who's stubborn as hell." He laughed. 

It was only the two of you on the bus, the rest of the guys were inside a restaurant buying breakfast while before you traveled four hours to only record half the album for Bullets.

"Here, bring it over so I can look at it." He said, sitting up on the couch on the bus. You slowly walked towards him, hoping he wouldn't realize who it was about. You silently hoped he couldn't tell, then sat next to him and handed him the lyrics you had written so far. He began analyzing them and handed them back to you.

"It's good, but the bridge should have more meaning. You've described this person in such a beautiful light, then the bridge is just happily ever after? Include some of the struggle in the relationship." You nod, beginning to write. He watches you closely from over your shoulder causing you to face the other way and lay down on him so he could get a better view. This was nothing unusual for you two, it was normal for you to lay on him or anyone else in the band.

You took his words into consideration, then started writing lyrics along the lines of 'If only he knew,' and 'I could see you being my addiction, you could see me as a secret mission.' along with some more context.

"Hey, (Y/N)?" He called, you could feel his heart speed up from your spot on his chest. "Yes, Gee?" You say, looking up at him. "Who is this about?" He asked quietly, playing with your long hair. You dropped your pencil and sat up, facing him. "Is that really important right now?" "I mean not really, I'm just a bit curious." He says with a slight smirk across his face. You just shrug and walk to where you were sitting previously to the whole song structure conversation. Once you sit down, he began speaking again.

"I mean of course the description sounds a little similar, short black hair, hazel eyes, crooked smile," He says, walking behind your chair and gripping it and looking down at you from over the back of the tall chair. "I would say Frank, but his hair doesn't exactly fall under that category anymore, and when you think about it, I'm the only one with short black hair now." He smirks. He already knew, but he was just trying to play around and have a little fun before he had to make his own scary confession.

"God, okay Gerard, the song is about you." You roll your eyes trying to make it come out as if you're not afraid to say it. "Wait, you're actually admitting it?" "Yes, I have a big fat crush on you, now can you please just turn me down already so I can get over it sooner." You sigh, and he walks around your chair so you two are facing each other now. 

"(Y/N), I'm not rejecting you," He smiles. "C'mere." He says, opening his arms for a hug, and you quickly throw yourself in his arms. You two linger in the hug for a while before you take a step back and look up at him. You two were so close your noses were touching. 

"May I?" He asks, moving his hand up so he's cupping your jaw. You lean into his touch and nod.

-

After you two established your feelings, your situationship turned into a relationship that ranged from sweet moments to insanely sexual ones, not that you had a problem with that, of course. It was just difficult keeping it from your best friends.

Eventually, fans began sniffing the two of you out. How you would always sit next to each other in interviews, when you were on stage you would always seem as if you were singing to him and he was singing to you, when they watched Life On The Murder Scene every time there was a video on the bus you'd have your legs sprawled out on top of his or you'd be laying on him, and even away from the bus he'd always send you looks.

You started seeing the fans reactions on Twitter in the two of your comment sections.

(Y/N)(Y/L/N): Day off with my boys! &lt;3

mcrlover616: OMG R U AND GERARD DATING

frerard4li4e: Gerard belongs to Frank, girl. Back off.

bugmomma24356: You and Gerard are so cute ug! &lt;3

After trying to cover up everything to the best of your abilities, nothing made them believe you, even your own band mates started thinking the two of you were together, so you two had to act more distant. 

No more laying on him, no more lingering hugs, and definitely no more making out on stage just to "make the crowd go wild". 

-

The two of you had to be entirely secret for almost a year now, and it was the first night of your new tour, Rise Against the Black Parade. 

Gerard brushes his shoulder against yours in the hallway while you two walk into the dressing room, shooting you a look. "Oh sorry, (Y/N)." He says quietly and slides his arm across your back before sitting two seats away from you in the dressing room. 

Makeup took a while, but you and Gerard were the last to finish. Once your artists left the room he sprung up to lock the door, and quickly met you in the middle of the room. 

He rested his hands on your hips and you hand your arms on the back of his neck, while he pressed his lips to yours aggressively. You parted from him for a moment, "Now don't go messing up our makeup," You smirked. "We can fix it ourselves." He grunts, picking you up and placing you on the counter.

The two of you were in there for a total of five minutes before someone started knocking on the dressing room door, causing you to jump like two teenagers caught by parents. "Hello? Who's in there, we need to change!" You hear Frank say from the other side of the door. The two of you quickly check your makeup to make sure it wasn't messed up, then you walked to the door to unlock it before turning to Gerard.

"You know, if stopped hiding... it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." You said and he began to shake his head. "The age difference, (Y/N)." "It's six years, Gee. At least it's not like twenty or thirty like some other couples." You say, causing him to shrug. "I guess it's not the worst thing in the world." 

You walk over and unlock the door allowing Frank to come in with the costume cart. Once he realized it was the two of you he gasped. "You?" He said pointing to Gerard, "And you?" He said pointing to you. You turn to Gerard and tilt your head. "Yeah yeah, big deal." He said walking over to wrap an arm around your waist.  That night was one of your best shows yet. You two started showing affection on stage once again, you put your emotion back into your lyrics, and you even got a chance to preform the song you wrote for Gerard that started the whole relationship.

#mcr gerard #my chem gerard #gee way #gerard way #my chemical romance #my chem #gerard way x reader #fem!reader #frank iero #mikey way #bullets #you brought me your bullets i brought you my love #tcfsr #three cheers for sweet revenge #revenge era #tbp #the black parade #fanfiction #mcr #ray toro #danger days #killjoys

[naranjapetrificada]

The first thing I should ever have said about Izzy and the last thing I intend to say until at least October 26th.

[Although I am not Her strongest soldier, so who knows if I will stick the landing.]

So to start with, I was a "late" arrival to the show. I knew it existed of course, but I only occasionally saw things that reminded me it existed. The first time I saw a mention of "grumpy/sunshine" it was with a picture of Ed and Stede, so I guess on some level I knew there was shipping going on, but that was literally all I knew. I didn't even know it involved Blackbeard lol.

Which is all to say that I first approached and watched season 1 removed from basically anything anyone had to say about it. I think what actually got me to watch it wasn't anything anyone had to say either, it was from youtube recommendations? Like I think I had watched a couple Taika interviews or something and ofmd stuff started showing up? So after catching a few clips and intentionally spoiling the kiss for myself (life is too short to be queerbaited) I watched it in April/May 2023, and was Changed by it the way so many other people were. It grabbed me so hard I started looking for fics, and when fic grabbed me even harder I became a regular tumblr user for the first time ever in June 2023.

What I didn't do, before the second half of 2023, was care particularly much about Izzy Hands.

I remember describing him as psychologically fascinating to the first IRL friend I talked to about the show, and joking that he just needed a good dom. As much as his decision to call in the navy was a threat to Stede's and Ed's lives, I saw his actions as part of a thing needed for the story, and while I knew he was one of the season's villains there wasn't really any heat behind that assessment.

For me he was there to set things in motion, and to serve the narrative in certain ways, to be a foil, more storytelling tool than man. That doesn't mean I didn't think Con did an excellent job adding layers to him, he absolutely made Izzy take up space and feel more present and textured than he otherwise might have. But when I began to zoom out and consider things on meta level, Izzy existed to do a certain thing or occupy a certain place in relation to the narrative and other characters more than anything else. And that was fine.

Then I started reading meta here, and found myself surrounded by passionate conversations about Izzy from many directions occurring with an intensity that I couldn't wrap my brain around. I saw people tying themselves into knots to justify and excuse the behavior of a textual antagonist, and I was baffled and because I still saw Izzy for what his role in the narrative was, it literally made no sense to see his behavior explained away. In the framework I brought to the fandom when I first arrived, trying to explain away Izzy's behavior would be like looking at a forest fire and trying to explain away processes like combustion and oxidation. Or if you'll allow me to borrow another extended, nature-based metaphor from a fic in an entirely different fandom:

Again, because from where my head was at, it didn't make sense to look at Izzy's morality as a zero sum game because in this metaphor, he was functionally just a brackish body of water. I'm not saying the morality is brackish, I'm saying the morality was literally not the point because like an estuary, an antagonist "must exist" because antagonists exist for specific reasons directly related to storytelling goals.

So there was no real heat behind my feelings about him or his actions, beyond the natural emotional reactions we have to characters and their behaviors before we zoom out. I was of course upset with his treatment of Lucius, which was targeted compared to other members of the crew. I was annoyed with the way he talked to and about Ed. I laughed when his plans had the equal and opposite results of what he intended, which you could argue happened with every single plan he made for the entirety of season 1. And yes, especially as a Black person living in the US, I felt the fear and betrayal that comes from seeing someone call the cops (which given the show and its writers, it does not feel like a stretch to describe calling the navy that). I wondered if there was any coming back from a choice like that, which is a big overriding question for the series as a whole.

I'm not here to debate any of the points in the previous paragraph. I know how I feel and you feel how you feel and there's already been so much said about the morality of it all by people who have explained themselves well, so let them convince you or not. Instead I've been trying to talk about the two sides of my experience before and after getting into the fandom with Izzy.

Before: Izzy Hands, Narratively Useful Antagonist Portrayed Compellingly And Effectively by Con O'Neill.

After: Izzy Hands, Unfortunate Avatar Of The Sadly Common Tendency For Certain Fans To Hyperfocus On A White Antagonist Or Secondary Character When There Already Exists A Protagonist They're A Foil Of (And Also It Looks Bad TO Do That When The Protagonist Is Someone With A Marginalized Identity).

I'm not here to argue the merits of those assessments either, because that's not the point. The point is the vast gulf between them and how the latter does such an incredible disservice to the Izzy we were given and that so many people claim to love. The latter comes from a place where morality is the focus, which I'm sorry y'all, feels like it originates with people who refuse to countenance Izzy's role in the story as well as his characterization.

Viewers who were willing to see Izzy as an antagonist, who don't view the word "antagonist" as a value judgement in and of itself, who don't think that finding an antagonist charismatic or compelling means anything about their own morality, those people can look at the show we were given and take it for what it was made to be. I'm not saying that it's only the Izzy stans (not enjoyers, not jar people) who start fights or that people who understand that Izzy is an antagonist don't also have deep morality related feelings about him and his actions in the first season. What I am saying is that sanding off Izzy's rough edges and trying to make him into something he isn't poisons even the possibility of having a discussion about him because people enter the conversation with two completely different understandings of reality. If you cannot accept the job that season 1 Izzy was given to do to move the story along, well you might as well have watched a completely different show for how much that fanon Izzy has anything to do with the canon one.

This show deserves better than that. The writers deserve better than that. Con O'Neill deserves better than that. Israel Basilica Hands deserves better than that. We all do.

#I know some of y'all are allergic to calling season 1 Izzy a villain or even an antagonist much less a villain #but given how self aware this production is about tropes it's weird to pretend that's not literally his function #at least in season one #maybe there are changes to that on the horizon #but we won't have the complete picture until Oct. 26 so maybe chill if people have an antipathy toward him #especially because at least a third of that antipathy is rooted in how criticizing him AT ALL acts like a summoning ritual #and I have to wonder about the acrimony levels if people felt like they could offer critical opinions easily #anyway rip my notifications probably #ofmd #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd spoilers #ofmd speculation #ofmd meta #fandom meta #fandom fuckery #character meta #let izzy be izzy #izzy hands #izzy critical #the izcourse #and now to filter literally every Izzy tag until November so I can enjoy the season in peace #that's as close as I'll make it to the halcyon days of my season 1 watch #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 speculation #ps I won't be responding to replies because look at the title of this post

[whatisreggieshortfor]

No More Bad Dates

Suna x gn!reader

“So, how did it go this time?”

You groaned, not looking at whichever of your friends asked the question as you face planted onto the bleacher in front of you. “Literally- such a douche.”

One of them snickered, based on the following smack and whine you figured it had been Atsumu. Osamu nudged you up, “How bad could it have been? Wasn’t he Kita’s cousin?”

“Yeah, I seriously question that genetic claim after last night.” You groaned again, “There’s no way respectful, organized, perfect captain Kita is related to him. There’s no way.” You didn’t see the way one of your best friend’s deflated the slightest bit as you described Kita.

As if on cue, the captain made his way into the gym, “Oh, Y/N, Keigo wanted me to tell you that he had fun, and he would like you to reach out about when you want to see him again.”

Another groan left you.

Kita barely raised a brow, “Yes, I was afraid it would go that way for you.”

“Then why did you encourage me to go out with him?” You wished you could actually be mad at the captain, but even with your best friends on the team he only started letting you into the gym when you agreed to sign on as manager, because he kept practices closed after too many of Atsumu’s fangirls mistakenly interrupted his practice serves. The two of had gotten a lot closer in the time you worked with him.

Kita shrugged as he blinked at you, “You asked me to give you a reason to say no, and rejected the one I gave you.”

“That reason wasn’t a reason!”

“What went wrong on the date exactly?” Aran asked, ever the logical one.

“What went right?” If you weren’t always like this, they’d be concerned about the amount of groaning you were doing, “He was late, by almost an hour. Was annoyed I had already ordered for myself while I waited for him. Not only did he talk about looking up my socials- where he graded my last five selfies to my face and made fun of every interest I had listed- but he kept bringing up an ex. I don’t know who Seki is, but they sound amazing and I feel like I should’ve gone out with them instead.”

The team wore varying faces of disgust or concern, but Kita just sighed, “I see your point.” The sad reality was also that the captain was blunt whether you liked it or not, “If you would ask out the person you actually want to date, you wouldn’t go on so many bad ones.”

Your three best friends whipped around to look at you again, clearly offended that Kita knew this information about you that they didn’t get. “Thank you for that.” You grumbled, ignoring the twins arguing about reasons you hadn’t told them, too afraid to even glance at Suna to see his reaction. Practice started before you had to face the conversation, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

Suna had been your best friend since first year, something about his nature fit into yours and unless he was at practice the two of you were always together, until Kita had convinced you to sign on as manager in second year. As Kita knew, somewhere along that way you had developed feelings for him, so you tried to shove them away and went on dates to find someone else that could fit in that space.

But it was an ongoing failure. Every date went terribly, every date resulted in failure, every date ended with you calling Suna to complain or distract yourself from how it went wrong- somehow when you called he was never napping even though you knew it was his favorite pastime.

When practice ended, you collected the volleyballs methodically for Kita to wipe down, making sure to ignore the way your best friends were practically vibrating to hound you about the captain’s comment at the start of practice. Well… two of them were. The third, the one you were most afraid to face, seemed to have disappeared. Wheeling the cart over to Kita, he gave you a nod, but grabbed your wrist as you turned away, “Why are you avoiding it?”

“Avoiding what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you pretended to play dumb.

But Kita was too observant, “Just ask him out, Y/N. Quit hurting yourself. Quit hurting him.”

“Hurting him?” You scoffed uneasily, “The most this can hurt is his ears when Atsumu starts squealin’ about it.”

The captain sighed, “if you say so. Did you still want to video chat later to study for your exam?”

“Yes, please?” You didn’t mean to answer like you were asking a question, but Kita was never one to change the subject so abruptly.

“They might be busy.” You went stiff at the voice behind you, but Kita just smirked. “Thanks for the heads up, cap.”

“Kita, you didn’t-“

“Someone needed to save you from yourself.” Kita offered sternly, but his eyes softened a bit, as they always did for you, “Besides, do you really think I’d set you up to get hurt?”

You resigned to follow the tug on your arm, marching with him straight past the waiting twins as they watched with jaws dropped open, until the two of you were finally on the walk home, “Why might I be busy?”

“Why do you keep going out with people you don’t like?”

“Why do you care?”

You weren’t sure how this walk had become just the two of you questioning each other, but as he sighed you felt like you were missing something.

“Y/N.”

“Suna.”

He leveled you with an unimpressed stare, but you grinned back. Love languages changed depending on the people you looked at- and the love language between the two of you was affectionate annoyance.

“Just answer one question for me and I’ll drop it. Swear.”

You raised an eyebrow, he always swore he’d stop his teasing when he got information he wanted, but it usually just got more specific. So what was different this time? Probably his usually bored gaze. His eyes seemed serious. “Ask it.”

“Why are you avoiding confessing?”

You hummed, mostly just to give yourself a moment to come up with an answer. The reasons you told yourself wouldn’t work on him. “Because… because as much as he doesn’t act like it, he deserves more. I could spiel some bullshit- like I’m not his type or im afraid of rejection, but that’s not even close to right. He just deserves more than I could offer him.”

“And what if he wants exactly what you have to offer?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Suna was nervous. His face showed no signs, but where his eyes always looked calm instead they looked anxious, like they couldn’t settle.

So you shrugged, “Then I guess I’m waiting for him to show me that.”

Finally a smirk cross his lips, “Good. Now let’s go, we’ve movies and snacks at my place.”

You felt a laugh shoot up your throat, “And what exactly is different from normal there?”

“I’ll let you cuddle me?”

“We both know that just means you’re gonna fall asleep on me.” You argued, sharing a grin as the two of you kept walking, “But I guess I can accept that.”

Masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu suna #suna rintarou #suna x reader

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

What made you feel like using the term “butch” to describe yourself despite some of your obvious feminine qualities? (This is an absolutely genuine question coming from somebody who is trying their best to figure out “which box” they fit into).

I guess I’m having a hard time figuring out if I’m “butch enough” which I know sounds ridiculous. I know that there’s such a spectrum and not everybody is strictly “butch” or “femme” but I guess I feel called to butchhood. But I invalidate my own feelings by finding all the ways in which I’m “too feminine” for it.

I’m genderqueer as well so it can be hard for me to find the right balance between my masculine and feminine features that make me feel euphoric.

Hey anon, so this is a very good question, and one I really want to take some time with. As such, I will provide two answers. A short copout answer if you don't have the energy to read a lot, and a long answer.

Short answer, and I really hate when I have to pull out this answer but well...

It's no different than gender euphoria in of itself. Each person is different, and it is based off of well, vibes. It's things like how I can be beside my he/they nonbinary friend, let's call him C, in the exact same outfit as him, and all our friends are like "yup, Nomi looks butch, and C looks boy-adjacent". It's vibes, and there's no real easy way to explain it further than that.

Now lovely anon/reader, if you want something a little more... nuanced (and just as inconclusive), strap in. Pun fully intended.

So I've been mulling over this for a few hours already before typing, and of course my overly analytic ass started scripting this whole thing around exploring the history of butch and femme identities, the gender politics of the matter, the racial contexts, etc. before realizing that doesn't answer your question; how did I specifically, a trans-feminine two-spirit person, reach butch being where I felt the most at home in myself despite apparent feminine aspects of myself? Understanding the history, cultural implications, and other nuanced portions of "butch" as an identity was a huge part of how I got there, and so I'll briefly go over that, but it's also important to keep my copout answer in mind as well. You know yourself best. It's well, vibes.

Let's start with the barebones identity of butch. I think a good place to start is understanding that while all butches are masculine, not all mascs are butch. Same with femme vs. feminine. It's something you claim, you embody. It's well, an identity. For many, myself included, it's an inseparable part of ones gender identity to boot. And like all identities, it is often intersectional with other facets of your life. Gender, sexuality, race/ethnicity, culture, etc. For me, Butch ties directly to my Two-Spirit identity. Part of being a Michif (Métis) Two-Spirit person is holding both the masculine and feminine at all times. While not necessarily a woman in the western sense, I feel woman-adjacent. My "feminine spirit" comes from feeling woman-adjacent, and honestly when around other Michif women, like a Michif woman (but that's a conversation for another day). My "masculine spirit" comes from being a butch Michif lesbian, amongst other things. If I had to describe how my gender "feels", Two-Spirit Butch feels honestly the most accurate, even if that doesn't fit into a Western queer lens that nicely. I may have, as you said anon, apparent feminine aspects to myself that counter my masculinity, but part of being Two-Spirit is holding those with love, honor, and compassion. Feminine spirit doesn't negate my queer masculinity, if anything it augments it. But, exploration of my Two-Spirit identity and how it relates to being butch likely won't be of much help to most of the non-indigenous readers.

Let's look at a more Western approach, because Butch is just that, a rather Western queer term. I do want to preface that as a trans-feminine person there are many within queer spaces that believe I do not have the right to claim butch for myself. To them I counter, bugger off terfs. I would also like to point out that while in a modern sense butch more or less refers to a masculine lesbian identity, that was not always the case. Butch for many many years was an identity to describe queer masculinity as a baseline, regardless of lesbian, gay, bisexual, etc. Especially in queer BIPOC communities. Butch becoming a lesbian-centric term is much newer within the queer lexicon (with some pointing to white queer culture stealing a term from BIPOC queer culture, but that is a topic I do not have the expertise to go into). While both butch itself, and queer masculinity as a whole have evolved since those times, I think keeping that historical context in mind is important.

To me, part of why I claimed "Butch" specifically is how it relates to non-conformity of expected womanhood. While I do not claim woman in the Western sense, during the early phases of transition, I began by identifying as a woman, and trying to abandon all of masculinity and what it came with. You can find a bit more of how that went in this post. I dove headfirst into femininity and hit my head on the floor of the pool so hard I ended up right back in dysphoria central, just a different kind. But, that exploration of womanhood and femininity were integral in why I claimed butch for myself. I don't think I ever would have claimed it had I not. One of the common factors with every AFAB butch I've met is a rejection of the expectations of womanhood that Western culture thrusts upon them. Personally, I don't think it would have been right for me to claim butch without having first explored Western femininity and it's expectations to the extent I had.

Eventually I finally admitted to myself that, while I knew for certain I wasn't a man, I didn't feel right as a feminine (Western) woman either. So, what was I? I felt more at home, more welcome, and more loved amongst queer women, lesbians especially, than I ever had with queer men. Hard androgyny and genderqueer (which btw I do not identify with genderqueer, not upset with you though) didn't feel right either. There were aspects of classical womanhood from a physical standpoint I knew were in line with myself after many years of HRT. Breasts, my waist line, my now feminine skin texture, my legs, honestly my entire estrogen-sculpted body. Hell, while I haven't gotten full vaginoplasty for medical reasons, I would if I could, Stone Top identity aside. I felt at home around women and lesbians, as a Michif woman/lesbian, but not in femininity. As described in the post I linked in the previous paragraph, the first true step was reclaiming masculinity, and making room for healthy queer masculinity separate from gender.

I want to bring up this exploration of the meaning behind the colours of the lesbian flag for a moment. For me, Butch and all it encompasses, is a part of all of these. Gender non-conformity I think is self explanatory. I am a walking defiance of gender norms and expectation at this point, and butchness as a whole is as well. Independence can mean many different things to different people, but I feel self sufficient as a butch. I feel competent. I feel secure. Mostly importantly though, it is an identity I feel independent in. For years and years I let my expression of gender and sexuality be defined by those around me. Past partners, friends, family, coworkers, etc. I could not claim butch until I took a step away from all of those. I stopped letting them dictate who I was, and let myself learn who I was independently. Community and butch is always going to be linked. Butch is a community-centric identity. When I tell someone in the queer community I'm butch, they know what it means. In a single word I can describe large swathes of my experience and how I relate to the world. But it also comes with community role and responsibilities. Butches and Femmes protect eachother. Butches provide safe masculinity in queer spaces that heals wounds for so many people, including other butches. Butches take up space in a room to ensure other non-butch women have space. We protect, we heal, we love. Butch love is so fucking unique and important to a community. Butch comes with a community meaning, but also community role and responsibility, and to me that is a big part of why I feel comfortable claiming it. Serenity and Peace is so many things. Both internal and external. I have peace within myself as a butch. I feel more peace with myself now than I did for so many years. When I finally said it outloud, said I was a butch lesbian, and people affirmed that, it was like a weight I never even knew existed was lifted. I've felt happier in my time openly being butch than I have in ages, and everyone around me as noticed it too. Friends, family, coworkers all comment on just how happy, confident, and at peace internally I've been. Love and Sex this is a doozy of a topic that I truthfully do not have the desire to explore right now. It is important, but I am not in the headspace for it. But butch love is unique in itself. As for sex, well. Please refer to the wild swathes of queer theory and discourse out there. As an off-hand example relating to myself though, see Stone Butch. Unique Relationships to Womanhood/Feminity. I explicitly wanted to link these together. As a Two-Spirit butch, and a trans-femme one at that, my relationship to womanhood and femininity is unique, complicated, and at times inexplicable. The fact that I can say I don't identify as a Western woman, but with other Michif woman I do feel like a woman, is one confusing way. The fact that butch being a gender identity to me is another. But one aspect I want to explore is this notion that masculine and feminine are antithetical to eachother, when I don't think they need to be. I'm not androgynous. I hold both masculine and feminine, not a middle thing. My masculinity is queer masculinity, and I genuinely think queer masculinity MUST be in some way shape or form partially feminine. There is a softness to queer masculinity. A vulnerability. A tenderness. Queer masculinity is often gentle, loving, soothing. All things associated with Western notions of femininity, not masculinity. But queer masculinity, non-Western masculinity, makes room for those things. You wouldn't look at a mother bear protecting her cubs and say "that's not motherly behaviour, that's not womanhood". My relationship to my feminine self is in relationship to my masculine self. They are tied, and being butch, being a soft butch at that, encompasses it.

I think finally a topic I've been dancing around, though alluded to multiple times, is that first copout answer. Vibes, and gender euphoria as a part of vibes. From the vibes standpoint, what I have to offer is this anecdotal piece. When I told my friends that I was mulling around with the idea of claiming butch, basically every single one went "... yeah? You didn't know that?" Off of vibes alone every single one of my queer friends already knew I was butch. From behaviour, to what I was most comfortable in fashion wise, to how I related to others, they all knew that my "vibes" were butch already, well before I had even remotely considered it. As for the other hard to define aspect... As a non-cis person yourself anon, you mentioned it already. Gender euphoria is a weirdly difficult to attain thing. I spent years on years of experimentation, exploration, and rumination trying to find my euphoria. Trying to find the spot I'm in now, where I find myself loving what's in the mirror every single day. Butch got me to the point that I legitimately look in my mirror and love what I see Every. Single. Day. I take selfies of myself because I love what I look like, even in just a hoodie in sweats, every day now. I put more casual care into how I look now, because I love myself, more than I ever did before. I take better care of my health. I have more self confidence. I'm happier and more stable emotionally. Hell, I'm a better friend, coworker, and community member now as a butch than I ever had capacity to be beforehand. It's not just me noticing that too. Near everyone in my life started making note of it anytime I took another step into fully claiming butch for myself. The biggest reason I feel right in claiming butch is that frankly, how can you look at secure, holistic, stable happiness like this and not say it's right.

There's a lot more I want to say here, but I've already been at this for nearly three hours, and that's on top of the two hours I spent just thinking on the matter to boot. I hope I was able to answer your question at least partially anon, and that it helps you with your own gender expression/identity journey. I think the only other thing I want to say is that it's okay if what you identify with now changes. It doesn't invalidate what you feel now, just like how you are now doesn't invalidate what you felt was right for your say, 5 years ago. Human experience and identity evolves, it grows, it changes. If you feel right with butch now, excellent. If you end up realizing that it was just a stepping stone in discovering your unique patch of gender euphoria, that is just as excellent. Rootin' for ya anon 💕

#holy crap i went way harder on this than i meant to #but i also think this is a topic that deserved some effort #thank you for the thoughtful ask anon #bite me #ask nomi #trans #transgender #butch #trans butch #lesbian #nonbinary #two spirit #sapphic #stone butch #queer #queer theory #gender

[hey-kae]

A Moment in Time

Based off August by Taylor Swift

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader

Storyline: Spending your vacation with Charles was a risk, but was it one worth taking?

Warnings: language, sex but not really smut? , mention of alcohol and of drinking it, lots of kissing and cuddling, angst, badly proofread.

Sidenote: Might just be my favorite thing i’ve ever written, but sorry in advance. That’s all I’m gonna say…

You had been sitting between his legs, his arms were wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. A soft wind had blown, tickling your face and brushing through your hair, perfectly mirroring how soft the moment felt. The sun had slowly started setting, running away to hide behind the vast ocean, leaving the two of you a dull golden glow. You closed your eyes, welcoming the bewitching sound of the waves crashing against the shore as it melodically harmonized with the beat of your heart.

It was too perfect, no wonder it was so short-lived.

•••

“Charles, how would you describe the pace of your car today?” The voice on the TV snapped you out of your trance, snatching the memory away from you. You were in your living room with your friends. No one was paying attention to the screen anymore. They barely cared and just a little over a month ago, you didn’t care either. Now, that was a past long forgotten. He had tainted every part of you: body, soul and feelings.

It was too painful, no wonder it felt so real.

Salt air and rust on your door,

I never needed anything more.

Whispers of “Are you sure?”

Never have i ever before.

From the second your feet had met the burning sand of the vast beach stretched out in front of you, his voice wrapped itself around your heart, caging it so easily from the very first conversation.

“Are you on vacation here too?” He had asked, showing you the most breathtaking dimply smile you had ever seen in your life.

That should’ve been your first warning to run for the hills, to get lost in the vast spaces of greenery where his voice wouldn’t reach you and his prying, caring gazes wouldn’t be able unravel you, because they were only caring for such an ephemeral time. It should’ve been your first warning to run away before you lose yourself in him.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve… All’s pointless.

It was frightening how easily his simple question had changed every plan you had for your two weeks of vacation. It was scary how fast your mind started plotting ways to sneak out of your hotel room to his, for ways to meet up on the beach without anyone noticing. It was petrifying because you didn’t care about the consequences. Time beyond these two weeks ceased existing; you just wanted his arms wrapped around you, his hands on your body, his lips on yours and him smiling at you like you mattered, because for a short while, he made you feel like you did.

Sitting there with him wrapping you in his arms like he was ready to shelter you from every pain to ever exist was all that mattered. Your back was supported by his chest, his lips were kissing your neck as your hands played with the sand underneath you. It was rather absurd that at the time, you had only known each other for 3 days.

You didn’t care, he felt too familiar. He had just seemed like such a perfect fit: his head fit perfectly in the crook of your neck, his fingers seemed to have been meant to intertwine with yours. He was even at a perfect kissing height.

“Look at me, love.” He had whispered in your ear, his fingers ever so gently tilting your head towards him. Then, he smiled and even the waves stilled for a second, just letting you admire the perfect curve of his lips.

“You are so beautiful.” You had breathlessly but unintentionally whispered.

The misery? A blush spread across his cheeks, his smile growing wider as he leaned closer, his lips capturing yours in a delicate kiss that felt too perfect, too real; too perfect to be real.

“I’ve got nothing on your beauty, love.” He said between kisses.

It all happened in a blur after that, but you were suddenly straddling him as he laid on the sand, his lips never leaving yours, not even to breathe.

It seemed, for just a few weeks, neither of you ever cared about coming up for air. It seemed, for just a few weeks you were addicted to each other.

“We should stop…” His words were cautious, weighed down and charged with the risks involved, but you were on that vacation to take risks you had never dared taking before.

He was a risk, the biggest risk of your life. You were well aware of that. The goosebumps on your skin every time he ran his hands all over your body were screaming it to you. The way your heart raced every time his lips met yours made it clear as day. He just seemed like he’s a risk worth taking.

He’d be worth the pain, you had told yourself.

“I don’t want to stop, Charles.”

That short sentence seemed so earth-shattering to him.

His sparkling eyes, the perfect mix of colors, studied your face too intently, his gaze so caring, it made you lose your breath. He was shedding every layer off you with just his look, leaving you so exposed and vulnerable in his arms. Something squeezed at your heart when you heard him sigh, his emotions a mix of desperation, relief, but most obviously dread.

He pulled you down to lay on his chest, his tan arms firmly wrapping around you. You heard his every hesitant breath. You heard the way his heartbeat was racing. You felt his hands clutching your shirt like it was a lifeline he was fighting for, fighting himself to keep. Through the straggled inhales and the repetitive sighs, he softly whispered into your ear, “Are you sure?”

You were too afraid to answer, so afraid your voice would betray you, so afraid your tone would reveal too much of your emotions.

Were you sure? No. Never before; but you wanted him, you needed to feel him all over. You craved being consumed by him like a drug. You longed to offer him all that you’ve got on a golden plate like it was always his to take.

You reconnected your lips to his to muffle the one word on your mind,

“Please.”

He carried you back to his room, whispering sugar-dipped words to you as he snuck the two of you through the hallways.

His kisses were burning hot on your bare skin, scarring every inch of flesh they contacted, marking his trace on you forever.

Sure, you barely knew him but it felt like you did after you had spent the night admiring him, his closed eyes and parted lips, his delicate hands on your hips, his small smiles between kisses, his careful looks and the soft sounds he made.

His body glistened with a slight sheen of sweet as you felt him move inside you, soft and slow like he was engraving his memory into your body, like he was making the best of your time together, like he was so meticulously discovering everything you had ever hidden away. You too felt every emotion that coursed through his body that night. You felt everything so deeply, every move of his sent shivers down your spine. It had been so intimate, you had to break eye contact every time it was initiated so your whole body wouldn’t combust under his hooded gaze.

It was so intimate, you’d think he had made love to you.

Then, after long hours of whispered ensorcelling spells and sloppy kisses, just as the sun began rising, you snuck back into your room, body exhausted but vibrating with his lingering touch; mind pretending for yet another day that you didn’t know Charles Leclerc.

A day of many.

But i can see us lost in the memory,

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘cause it was never mine.

And i can see us twisted in bedsheets,

August slipped away like a bottle of wine

‘cause you were never mine.

Echos in your mind, flashes in front of your eyes, heart-stopping waves of hurt and your body burning from his long-gone kisses. You still sat there in front of the television.

Thoughts that tortured you, memories of his hands, longing for the safety of his arms and bittersweet visions of his lips on yours. You were frozen on the couch.

Tingling on every spot of your body that he had touched, soul-scarring sweet words he had whispered, beautiful eyes that had stared right into your soul. Changing the channel was impossible.

Your friends, never having been racing fans were still watching the screen nonetheless, rating each driver’s looks, judging if they would hook up with them.

You would’ve gotten bragging rights if your lips didn’t feel like they were on fire with the memory of his against them, if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, dreading seeing him again even if only through a screen.

“So, Charles! You’re starting fifteenth on the grid…”

You body froze and your limbs went cold. You couldn’t do it, couldn’t look up and see his face, the eyes that very briefly showed you love, the lips you had kissed too many times in just two weeks. The patterns on the carpet were less torturous to look at.

“Oh, ten out of ten. He could get it anytime, he doesn’t even have to ask.” The voice of your friend invaded your ears. You wanted to put your hands over them and lock out all the voices around you as you broke out in a cold sweat when you heard the rest of the girls start to discuss what he’d be like in bed.

You knew but you’d give anything to forget how heavenly he looked on top of you, how caring his hands felt and how attentive his eyes were. You wanted to say something, you wanted to tell them that sex has only felt real and meaningful with him but you couldn’t. You were tongue tied.

“I don’t know. It’s giving… vanilla.” One of your friends cringed.

“Vanilla? Girl, look at his eyes. He’d fuck you slow and soft when you needed it but that man knows how to rough it up. I just know it.” They argued.

True, you thought, feeling your eyes burning and your heart clenching at the memories.

Sure, the sex was great but the painful memories weren’t of that.

Sneaking out in the middle of the night to get food, driving around while exchanging soft chatters under the moonlight for hours, meeting up to watch the sunrise, beachside cuddles as the sun set, getting wine-drunk together and doing the unlikely thing that is giggling the night away instead of the expected sex, the small french phrases he tried to teach you only to end up laughing it away while telling you it was adorable when you tried to repeat after him.

Sure, the memory of the sex was painful but the memory of having him so casually around at every chance you had was excruciating.

Honestly, you were clueless how your friends never noticed.

“Hello! Where have you gone?” A hand was waving in front of your dazed, spaced out eyes.

Shaking him out of your thoughts, you replied.

“Here, i’m here. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t really give us your opinion on Mr. Leclerc.” She gestured to the screen where he was still talking. The “c” at the end of his family name was so harshly pronounced, it took you back to that time you were laying on his chest, watching the sun rise from his bed while he tried to get you to pronounce his full name in the right accent.

Swallowing away the heartache, you shrugged, “Looks bland to me, i don’t know. He doesn’t seem interesting.” You painfully lied and watched your friends’ eyes widen.

“That’s called being tasteless.”

You knew that, you agreed to that but they didn’t need to know it, especially if you weren’t planning to break down in sobs right in front of them.

They didn’t need to know how empty you felt, like you had lost the biggest part of your soul.

It was two weeks, just two weeks. You kept trying to remind yourself of that but your heart didn’t care. It was stuck on how fast the days had slipped from your grasp like the sand from that beach. It slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving you to deal with a memory-packed head, so much memories that your mind had no idea how to deal with. It seemed like every touch exchanged, every whispered word, every longing gaze, every desperate kiss and every shaky breath you had exhaled when he smiled at you was lost in the wind, riding away towards the horizon, escaping on the angry waves of the vast ocean, progressively getting further and further away from your grasp.

The memories of you and him seemed distant, lost in time eternally but it felt so much like a fresh bleeding wound. August might’ve ended before you wanted it to but it was still with you everyday, in every thought and breath. How could it leave your mind when your skin still remembered the feel of the crisp white hotel bedsheets tangled between your legs as Charles softly snored into the crook of your neck, his arms tightly securing your body as close to his as possible? You still got goosebumps when you thought of his breath tickling your skin as he slept.

Maybe, just maybe, if it had only been sex, if all these other things never happened, it would’ve been different.

Maybe if you never woke up in his hold, if you never felt him litter innocent kisses all over your face, if you never heard his laugh, if you never held his hand or hugged him to sleep or shared his clothes or let him bring his glass of wine to your lips for you to drink or jokingly fed him breakfast or cried with him to his favorite movie, the pain would’ve been bearable.

Maybe, if none of that had happened, if he never started feeling like he was yours, you wouldn’t have felt like you lost him.

Maybe then, it wouldn’t have felt like a loss and you would’ve stayed aware of the fact that he was never yours to lose.

Your back beneath the sun,

Wishing i could write my name on it.

Will you call when you’re back at school?

I remember thinking i had you.

“What are you doing here?” The whisper had left your mouth quickly, your head poking through the door so your friend wouldn’t see the knocker in case she stirred awake.

A bandana was holding back Charles’ hair and suddenly that was all you could see until his lips were on yours in a hasty kiss, his face decorated with a bright smile afterwards.

“Meet at the beach.” The words were spoken softly against the skin of your forehead, his hands burning against your cheeks for a fleeting moment before he was walking away.

“It’s 5 in the morning!” Complaining got you nowhere, he had just turned back around, walking backwards, his small chuckle sounding through the hall but resonating in your mind, coursing through you veins and settling down in your heart, the reactions of your body only having paused when your breath caught in you throat at the sight of him blowing you a kiss before disappearing down the hallway.

It hadn’t mattered to you, what you were going to wear; you just wanted to be his arms, the few hours of distance having felt like weeks. It had made you gulp, realizing that this was bound to end but you had chosen to push away the thought and it was long gone as you ran towards him, sand flying behind you while your eyes were fixed on your target: Charles laying down shirtless on a towel, his sunglasses ready beside him.

“You are torture, i swear to God.” You had said to him while leaning down and giving him a kiss on the cheek, “We’ve barely had three hours of sleep.”

Charles had pulled you down to sit sideways on his lap, his lips immediately finding yours, the look in his eyes being dangerous, too lovable that it had made you completely forget that the vacation had already been halfway through.

“I just don’t want to waste time.” He had replied like the few words he had blurted out didn’t make you dizzy, like he hadn’t noticed the smile dropping off your face at the sound of the reminder.

The both of you had decided not to dwell on that.

Instead, you had enjoyed the sunrise and the soft, enamoring words that were being whispered to you, your eyes eventually closing once you had allowed the soft breeze to carry you away as if your heart hadn’t already been aching at the mere thought of being separated from Charles. But his arms had remained wrapped securely around you, his face in your neck while he was littering butterflies kisses onto your skin, his own eyes having shut, completely relaxed by your side, enjoying the way your hand had been softly scratching at his scalp and neck.

Soon enough, the early morning sun was shining down onto the two of you, illuminating the way Charles was laying on his stomach, his face tilted to look at you sat beside him on the sand, smiling as he admired your blissful face as you stared off into the horizon.

If only he could’ve read your mind. The thoughts in there weren’t nowhere near the apparent content on your face.

Scrolling through your social media the previous night while you had been lounging with your friends was nothing but a cruel reminder of how shallow your knowledge of Charles was, that realization itself having been a wake up call, reminding you that this was the way it was supposed to be, that everything would end the second you would check out of the resort.

Your curiosity had gotten the best of you and you had searched him up on instagram.

Formula one driver, you had read, your brows raising when you realized you knew nothing about him, even when he felt so familiar to you.

His gaze had been hot on your skin, unmissable as he admired you like you were a treasure he was on the brink of losing, but you couldn’t have met his eyes if your life depended on it.

In substitute, you had watched the waves as they crashed on the shore, you had sat there right by his side, feeling like you were already half the world away from him as your mind had begged you to distance your heart from the ticking bomb.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver…” the words on your mind had escaped your lips before your mind had registered that they did. You hadn’t even looked at Charles’ reaction but his eyebrows rose and his breath caught in his chest, not having expected that sentence to leave your mouth.

“I was hoping i could continue to ignore that for a while.” He had chuckled as he sat up, his arms wrapped around his legs.

“Why?”

“It’s not going exactly well - the season i mean and i’ve managed to stop thinking about it with you by my side.”

That had been the last time the two of you discussed his career and his fame but the rest of that morning was spent watching every little move Charles made. You had come to the conclusion that there was nothing in this world that he didn’t do gracefully.

Nobody’s perfect but fuck, his little quirks did nothing but complete him, nothing but make your heart beat faster.

He bit his nails like there was no tomorrow sometimes when he spaced out, but it had only been another excuse for you to hold his hand. He hated sunscreen with a burning passion but that often ended with you straddling him and applying it to his body, sometimes tracing your name discreetly in the white cast as if it made him any more yours.

You wished he was, you really did and it wasn’t even the major things that gave you these thoughts.

Watching him stroll down the beach, testing the temperature of the water with his sunglasses on his eyes while he smiled back at you made you wish he was yours.

Him not letting go of your hand as the two of you walked through the water made you wish he was yours.

The way he moved his Ray-bans onto your face and smiled in satisfaction after he did so made you wish he was yours.

Him wrapping you in his sweater during chilly nights beachside, giving you his shirt to sleep in, removing your make up when you were too drunk to do so yourself, teasing you from across the club when you were with your friends, hugging you as you slept, drinking wine with you in the bathtub, kissing your hand while driving late at night, buying you coffee at midnight…

It had become painful, how much you were wishing you would get to call him yours but then you looked up him. The glistening water surrounding the two of you had been reflecting on his face and even through the dark shades he had placed on your face, you could see how breathtaking his eyes looked, shining with happiness and serenity while his lips curved into a perfect smile that had you weak within instants as he studied your face. You had forced yourself to look away, your heart not allowing you to even enjoy the moments you had left with him as it had already started paining you.

“Stop.” You had urged him.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that. It’s making me nervous.” and making pain shoot through my body, but you had only said half the truth.

Charles, oblivious to everything you had been thinking, had chuckled and kissed you.

But I can see us lost in the memory,

August slipped away into a moment in time,

'Cause it was never mine.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets,

August sipped away like a bottle of wine,

'Cause you were never mine.

“If you keep spacing out, i swear to god…” The voice of your best friend shook you out of your thoughts for the third time in half an hour.

Never would you have guessed that seeing his face again, only through a TV screen, would hurt you that much.

You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care but you did. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have froze when his eyes looked at the camera, you wouldn’t be constantly loosing your focus and getting carried away by your turbulent thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You apologized, finding yourself a new escape route that was getting a beer out of the fridge in the kitchen this time, “I’m gonna get something to drink.” You quickly left the living room, the questioning words of your best friends still chasing your down the hallway.

You grabbed the cold glass bottle and opened it with a pop as you leaned against the counter, the breaths in your lungs forced and your arms going numb as you felt your legs shake. Why did he have such an effect in you? You could never understand but the tears were starting to pool in your eyes, his smiling image making an appearance behind your clouded vision.

Missing him was so painful. You didn’t really prepare yourself for such a heart-wrenching separation but that didn’t mean there was anyway to avoid it.

Your eyes were widened and staring into the distance, you fingers tight around the bottle as you mumbled to yourself to stop crying.

“Okay, spill.” Your closest friend interrupted, making you jump since you seemed disconnected from all your surroundings.

“Where did you come from?” You wiped your palms against your eyes and attempted a laugh that wouldn’t have fooled anyone.

You managed it. The tears stopped, you dried your face with your hands, your lips weren’t quivering but smiling instead as you brought the beer up to take a sip, all under the burning hot gaze of your suspicious best friend.

She watched you gulping down the alcoholic beverage with enthusiasm, what was unusual since you always said you weren’t exactly a fan of beer. She eyed your stance, studied your movements, looking for a sign, a sign of anything at all until the shaking of your hands become unmissable.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, quickly putting down the bottle before it started slipping and your vision blurred again.

You tried. God, you tried so hard to hide it, biting down on your lip, cracking your knuckles, blinking furiously.

You tried but you didn’t succeed.

A sob forced its way out, the tears now impossible to hold back as they ran down your cheeks in burning hot streams.

You felt a pair of arms wrapping around you, attempting to comfort you as you finally allowed yourself to cry.

“I hate him.” The words kept pouring out of your mouth into your best friend’s hair.

You let her hold you.

You let her hold you for the first time in ages. You embraced it despite you rarely feeling comfortable with such gestures and that is how she knew something was severely wrong.

Your words weirded her out since, as far as she knew, there were no guys involved in your life at the moment.

“Who?”

The question was so simple.

That one syllable shouldn’t have been such a trigger, a play button to the tape of newly made memories that never ceased to bring you immense heartache no matter how much you had restarted it these past few days.

Him telling you he wished he could have you forever and you asking yourself why he couldn’t.

The walk back to your room from his and the ever growing sense of happiness and fulfillment tainted by pain and dread.

The eye contact that always lasted for a heartbeat too long when he walked into the hotel bar with his company and found you there then the smile he would give you when no one was looking.

Him helping you pick out your bikini the night before then teasingly watching you from his room’s balcony the next day as you sunbathed on the beach with your friends only for the swimsuit to end up on his bedroom floor just a few hours later when you would sneak out to meet up with him.

The sweatshirt he had given you being found in your luggage and the stupid stories and excuses you had come up with to hide the truth of the sudden appearance of a shirt that was clearly not yours and the burning jealousy that shot through your chest when your friend borrowed it from you.

All of that was really that pointless to him? Because it sure was hurting like a bitch on your side.

After a few seconds that had lasted too long, the reply to your friends question pushed past your lips.

“Charles.”

Back when we were still changin' for the better,

Wanting was enough.

For me, it was enough,

To live for the hope of it all,

Cancel plans just in case you'd call

And say, "Meet me behind the mall".

So much for summer love and saying "us",

'Cause you weren't mine to lose.

You weren't mine to lose, no.

Hope was never supposed to hurt.

Hope was a word that had been ringing in your ears ever since you were a child, people endlessly telling you that it is your strongest weapon.

Maybe they failed to mention that it was a weapon that could be turned towards you at any given second, therefore maiming you with something that was supposed to be your strength.

Hoping when it came to Charles was a bullet headed straight for your heart at a hurling speed and in a way, you were awaiting the pain with open arms.

That particular pain would feel like a confirmation that, even if it was for a very brief time, you had him.

That was the way you saw it as the days had passed and another secret meet up had turned into another, a hug had turned into a cuddle, and a kiss had turned into burning, eager touches that had no failed to send electric waves throughout your veins.

He was sat against the headboard. His head had been on top of yours. His arms had wrapped tightly around your waist.

The thin white sheets were pulled over your shoulders, covering your naked bodies. You had been holding him like you weren’t ready to lose him in just two days; and you weren’t but he didn’t need to know that.

“I miss home.” He had told you and slipped down the bed, putting the both of you in a sleeping position.

You had thought so hard of something to say but nothing had come up. You hadn’t been missing home, you were far too afraid to because it was undeniable that you’d miss him way more than being relieved to go back to you home.

Having not received any words back, he had begun brushing his hand through your hair, knowing that always put you to sleep. He had wanted to fall asleep with you that night, with your arms wrapped so tight around him, with your head on his chest and your eyes looking up at him like he had hung the stars and put the moon in his sky.

“I don’t know what to say.” You voice had startled him, “ I don’t even know where you’re from.”

You had felt the vibrations of his laugh from under you and for some reason, it had made you blush like he didn’t have you pinned down onto the bed less than twenty minutes earlier.

“Monaco.” He had replied, causing your eyebrows to furrow as you tried to recall where that was.

“You’re french?” The surprise had been evident in your voice.

“No.” He groaned, “I’m monégasque.”

“Monagésque?” Your frown had been impossible to hide.

“No, sweetheart. Monégasque.”

“Forget it. French is easier.”

Within seconds, he was grabbing his phone, “But i’m not french!” He had complained while he pulled up a map of Europe on his screen, pointing you to a minuscule spot on the map.

“That is Monaco.” He had then pointed to another spot, “That is France.”

He had went on a rant after that, detailing to you geographical facts that you had no interest in knowing but that you had listened to nonetheless because he just had looked and sounded adorable as he told you why Monaco was its own country.

Charles was twirling a strand of your hair as he spoke, the tone of his voice soothing you as the geography had turned to history and eyes had started burning, threatening to close. Your sleepy mind hadn’t been working properly when you pushed yourself up and startled him with a kiss.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.” You had said without thinking, you own eyes widening, your mind not having expected your mouth to speak these words into existence.

Charles had stilled when the words had met his ears, leaving him speechless. He had tightened his hold on you, kissing you again instead of replying while your heart had begun shattering at how swiftly he had avoided acknowledging that statement.

Every fiber of you had begged you to at least go sleep in your room but his hold was a magnet that you never seemed to manage escaping. A kiss to dismiss the subject should’ve never been enough but fuck, it was.

Anything he gave you was enough. For all that vacation, you had went by the logic of a bit or nothing and no matter how small that bit he was willing to offer you was, it was better than nothing, better than the void. It felt enough.

The smell of his perfume lingering on your clothes was enough and the little nothings he whispered to you were enough. Waking up to him singing in the shower was enough and the two pictures that the two of you gave in and took were enough.

Wanting him by your side was enough.

One thing was enough, you wouldn’t ask for much, just a sprinkle of hope to gold plate the infinite pain that looking into his eyes gave you, just a silver of glimmer to shine in the darkness of the thought of saying goodbye forever.

You wouldn’t have asked for much, just for him to keep you wanting, to keep you hoping instead of cutting you off like the last two weeks meant nothing at all.

Or maybe even a simple “I will miss you too.” but it never came.

Nothing that made you feel any better came from Charles.

He had fallen asleep and you had sneaked out immediately after that instead of in the morning like always.

Your room was empty, reminding you of yet another night out you turned down under the name of tiredness so you could spend it with him.

You had slipped into your bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering why were you doing that to yourself, basically committing to an all-strings-attached situation that had an expiration date stamped on it, that had the end set before it even started.

Charles. He was the only answer. He was the reason you were so happy but also the bullet lodged in your chest.

Charles had become too important in your life considering he was supposed to be a side character that would eventually fade out like he faded in.

You should’ve known, though. Right from the get-go, you should’ve known. Charles wasn’t anything but main love interest materiel.

So, the next morning, much to your dismay and your friends’ annoyance, you pretended you needed more sleep when they made breakfast plans then you waited for them to leave before you found yourself in the monégasque’s bed, cuddled into his side as he woke up.

'Cause you were never mine, never mine,

But do you remember?

“No way.” Three faces stared back at with slacked jaws and widened eyes.

“Charles Leclerc? The same one that is in that car?” One of them gestured to the television where the race was still in progress.

You were crying so hard your ears were ringing and your vision was no longer clear, finally letting the emotions of the past week of torture unleash themselves. You couldn’t even tell who was speaking.

“You’re lying. If someone who looked that good was around me for that much time, trust me, I’d notice.” A voice spoke while you stared down at your bouncing leg and the curdled tissue in your hands.

“Shut up. You’re not helping.” Someone replied.

“Are you sure it was him?”

You were someone who had a fast temper. It was something everyone knew about you. Almost all intense emotions you felt turned back eventually to anger and it wasn’t something you were proud of but it was the way that you were.

“Do you think i’m fucking dumb? Or are you being entertained by this?” You snapped, grabbing your phone and scrolling past the pictures of sunset and sunrises and beached and nightclubs until those two pictures reappeared.

You didn’t allow yourself to dwell over them, over the way Charles was hugging you in bed, over the way you were both tangled in the sheets, over the way his arm was wrapped around your chest and the big, bright smile you were sporting in one of the pictures. You didn’t even allow your to look at the second picture since it was one where you were in your swimsuits on the beach, your hair flying behind you while he was carrying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his lips molded to yours while the phone, set on timer and propped up facing the two of you, captured the moment and the seemingly evergreen smiles on your faces, even as you kissed.

Your phone was instantly passed around your friends. Seeing the pictures made them realize that no matter how surreal this all seamed, it was still reality.

Meanwhile, you were attempting to escape to your bedroom and in fact, you thought you made it when you had reached you bed and tugged yourself under the cover but, soon enough, everyone joined you, huddling up beside you to comfort you, only now realizing the extent of the hurt you were feeling.

They had rightfully questioned you about what happened, how it happened and how you managed to keep this from them.

You told them everything, feeling the weight lift off your chest as you did so.

You narrated to them how you met and how you had no clue who he was and why he was being so secretive at first all the way to the end, to the very last day and the hell that had broken loose in his hotel room as goodbye’s turned into the one and only fight the two of you ever had.

Then, you cried you heart out into the pillow while your friends sat beside you, never leaving your side, the worry in their chest doubling every time they attempted to recall the last time they had seen you like this, only for them to realize they had never did.

Eventually, a sad movie was put on, the race channel quickly having been switched the second you reappeared in the living room. They tried to resist it but ended falling asleep.

You sat there alone, bored and with burning eyes, the crying now having downgraded to small sniffles while you spaced out.

One thought replayed in your mind until the you caved in and switched the channel back onto the race.

Does he think about you at all? Does he remember everything just as vividly and specifically as you did?

Does he remember what he was wearing that first day? Because you couldn’t seem to shake the white shorts and navy button down out of your head.

Does he think about the moonlight reflecting so beautiful onto the ocean surface the night at the beach when he had carried you back into his room? Or the first night the two of you spent together?

Does he recall the lady at the coffeeshop nearby that you visited at midnight and the comment she had made when she saw you holding hands? “Aw, the two of you are cutest couple i’ve seen!”

Does he remember how quickly he dropped your hand after that?

Does he ever think back to the time he kept you up all night so you could binge watch his favorite movies with him? Or the way he had you wrapped in a bone-crushing hug as he fell asleep at dawn after that?

Does he reminisce over the sunsets you’ve watched and the sunrises you had welcomed? The waves you fell asleep to and the stars you tried to name? The songs you played to each other and the lyrics you pointed out?

Does he remember? Will you ever know? Do you even want to know?

Maybe it’s a good thing that all these questions lacked answers, that they would go unanswered forever.

Forever was scary but not as much as the possible answers were.

But do you remember?

Remember when I pulled up and said, "Get in the car",

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all.

"Meet me behind the mall"

Soft sounds of the engine running and Taylor Swift playing on the radio as you and Charles had driven around the unfamiliar streets illuminated by mere moonlight and occasional flickering lights were enough.

It was perfect, it was all you needed; it made you wonder if this meant anything to Charles.

Let a couple months water down the events of August, would he still remember you? A world where you wouldn’t remember him seemed like an alternate one at that point.

He hadn’t seemed to have been thinking about that. His hand had been lightly rested on your thigh as you drove while he had sat slouched in his seat, letting the soft music carry him away.

It had always been Charles that drove the two of you around the unfamiliar streets late at night, not once you and it had started to annoy you.

At the end of a party he had been attending with his friends, you had picked him up instead of allowing him to walk back to the hotel and somehow, he had managed to make his absence go unnoticed.

On a cliff overlooking the bay, the two of you had spent the entirety of the night, laying down on the hood of the car as you gazed up at the stars.

The two of you had planned on ignoring that you would be leaving the next day, but sat there with barely anything to do or say, you had ended up talking each other through the stress of going back to your everyday lives.

“Some Sundays, i just want to run away.” Charles had confessed as he continued tossing pebbles into the water underneath.

“I don’t know shit about racing but, why?”

His head had dropped onto your shoulder and his hand had grabbed yours.

“I don’t know how to say it. I’m racing for a team. Winning is not only my effort paying off but theirs as well and week in , week out, one of the two sides has been ruining the other side’s efforts and upsetting the fans. Then, you manage to deal with the disappointment but you’re immediately tossed into a sea of journalists who never fail to rub salt into the wound.”

You had rested your head on top of his then, praying that he’d take it as a sign to carry on.

“Forget it. I sound like an ass, bitching on about a life hundreds dream of.” He had sighed.

“Just because something is highly sought after doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its downsides, Charles.”

“Say it again.”

You had frowned, not understanding the reasoning.

“Just because-”

“No. My name, love. I love the way you say it.”

You had blushed and smiled, “Stop it.”

“Why? Am i making you nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Seems to be my speciality now.” His chuckle nearly killed you, but you survived.

Driving back to the hotel had proved itself to be interesting. It seemed to have finally sunk in that it was the end, that within a couple of hours you would have bid each other farewell and part ways, not having exchanged even phone numbers.

“I’m thankful for meeting you.” Charles had said with a choked up voice once the car was parked, his hand already on the door handle.

“Charles, i know we said only on vacation but i want you to keep this.” You had slipped the thin, red bracelet off your wrist and dropped it in his palm, watching as he put it on.

“Will it help me win races?” He had joked, his hands cradling your face now.

“I’m sure you can do that on your own. I believe in you even if i’ve never even seen anything that would make me do that.” You had attempted to joke back but ended up tearing up instead.

“It means the world coming from you, baby.” His lips then crashed with yours in what was the most emotionally-charged kiss of the vacation. It was right then that you had realized, he wasn’t as unaffected as he acted.

And if that kiss held emotions, then the hug that followed it was packed with feelings. His arms were around you neck, his hand in your hair, pushing you closer to him while your hands fisted his shirt all while he kissed you neck and face repeatedly, hiding the tears he had been holding back with the kisses.

“Fuck, why are we acting like i wouldn’t be seeing you once more in a few hours?” You had forced yourself to pull way.

“Meet me in my room in three hours.” He stepped out of the car.

Three hours later, your fist had knocked on his door and he immediately pulled you inside.

It was the most awkward fifteen minutes of your life up until a fight broke when you told him you’d miss him.

“I told you from the very start that it would end here.”

You hadn’t understood why he was picking a fight right before you parted ways. You were aware that that had been the end and you weren’t asking him to keep in contact so you had went up to him, kissed his cheek and left with tears streaming down face.

For the hope of it all…

Maybe you should’ve stuck with the goodbye you got in the car.

Maybe you shouldn’t have even said goodbye.

Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out until morning with him.

Maybe you shouldn’t have had that talk on the cliff or even went on that car ride.

Maybe you should’ve stopped everything when you found out about his job and his schedule and the impossibility of working around it.

Maybe you shouldn’t have let “just sex” slip into everything and anything he wanted, everything and anything that would allow you to keep his attention for a while longer.

Maybe you should’ve pushed him away that morning when you felt like the happiest person on earth just because you woke up in his arms.

Hell, maybe you shouldn’t have even replied to the question he had asked you the day you got there, or maybe you shouldn’t have even went there or on vacation begin with.

Maybes, you had concluded, were the mind’s personally inflicted torture, a thought that came too late, way past its rational arrival time. Like what ifs, they did nothing but force you to dwell longer on a past that you are now unable to change, only to look back on, no matter how unpleasant it was, no matter how rushed the decisions made were.

The problem was that the past you were looking back on didn’t come across as unpleasant at any point of the excessive reminiscence.

It hurt.

It sure did hurt, like a stab in the chest, like being suffocated, like a door being slammed shut right in your face, but as you watched his exhausted figure in the television, your little red bracelet dancing on his wrist as he spoke and gestured with his hands, you realized that never in your life, you would regret him.

In fact, you would do anything to go back to that beach and lay on his chest for two more minutes.

Even if you could turn back time, you wouldn’t have walked away from him.

Sighing once he disappeared off the screen, your eyes drifted to the small carry on you still had to unpack, figuring you might as well do it.

The stuff inside it were carelessly tossed back into their original places, the only things being actually put back properly being the fragiles: perfume, makeup…

But in the front compartment was something that made you frown.

An additional pair of sunglasses tucked away neatly in their case.

Opening the case felt like opening a time capsule because Charles had left you his sunglasses in your bag with a tiny note folded right under them.

“Tu vas tellement me manquer, mon ange.”

I’m gonna miss you so much, angel.

Part 2

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[violetsaffron5]

Beautiful Disaster (10)

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↳ 10 | Insights

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Meeting Satoru's family

words: 4.6k

cw: mention of infidelity and open relationships

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When Satoru described his house to you, it sounded pretty modest, all things considered.

Based on the conversations you’ve had with Satoru and the things he likes to buy, you knew his family was rich, or at least had more money than most due to owning a law firm.

What you weren’t expecting was to be standing in front of an entire fucking estate as Satoru types in the code at the gate to get in.

They’re rich, rich and that thought kind of makes you want to vomit in the neatly trimmed bushes you’re currently walking past.

The estate is grand and luxurious. Soft snow is falling onto the acres of lawn that span the entirety of their property. Fern and Maple tree branches hang with the soft, freshly fallen snow making it look like an enchanted wonderland.

There’s a fountain in the center of the large, circular driveway surrounded by several bushes. And in the driveway there are several expensive cars, Satoru’s being among them.

He laces his fingers with yours guiding you to the front steps of the house to the large wooden double doors, passing by a wooden bridge that leads to another smaller building that sits on the lot, a little ways away from the main house.

The house is modern with multiple stories, a patio that wraps around the entire house with large glass windows to let in plenty of natural light. 

The inside of the house is, to no surprise, even more grand. Everything is clean, shiny, and new. 

The foyer has a table with fresh flowers on it between double staircases with marble flooring.

It’s almost impersonal in a way that screams the house was decorated by an interior designer.

Satoru leads you up one side of the staircase, down several halls, past a few closed doors to his bedroom.

The room is large and clean. He has several posters hanging on the wall over his bed, a giant TV with a game console set up under it on opposite his enormous bed. The room is clean with everything put in its place.

It would be hard to keep a house of this size clean so there’s no doubt there’s probably a few maids that help maintain organization and cleanliness. It would be impossible to keep clean on your own.

“Where are your parents?” It’s not that you thought they’d be waiting for you with open arms as soon as you walked through the front door, but you did expect to see them greeting their son after he had left for the night.

He shrugs, putting your bag down on the bed, “Around here somewhere, probably.”

Satoru presses his lips to yours, leaning you back onto his plush bed. Your legs spread automatically for him to lay between as he moves to kiss your jaw and neck, teeth grazing gently on the tender spot below your ear.

“Mm, Satoru,” you breathe, “Can we wait?”

He sighs, pouting, “Why?”

“Because we just got here. I want to look around and meet your family.”

Satoru pecks your lips a few times before muttering, “Fine,” standing and offering his hand to help you up off his bed.

There are several doors that are closed and Satoru explains those are just extra bedrooms, and when Suguru comes over or they have any parties, Suguru sleeps in one of them. The room at the end of the hall is a game room, or more of an arcade, really.

A massive sectional couch lines one wall, with a giant TV filling the entire wall space across from it. There’s a pool table, air hockey, and plenty of old-school arcade games spaced around the room.

It’s every kid's dream to have a room like this.

“This is incredible,” you laugh while looking through a bookshelf filled with board games, “I would have lived in here as a kid.”

“Yeah, I spent a lot of time in here playing while my parents were working.”

“Oh. Wasn’t that lonely?”

“Not so bad, especially once Suguru and I became friends. He stayed over a lot.”

You realize it must have been lonely being an only child with his parents always working or gone. Before you have a chance to say anything someone comes and knocks on the door of the room you’re in.

It takes you by surprise, not having expected someone to knock when the door is already open. There’s a pretty woman in the doorway with a simple uniform and a soft smile on her face, “Dinner is ready.”

Satoru rolls his eyes and groans while you giggle, “How fancy.”

Since you agreed to come to Satoru’s house with him, the two of you decided to spend most of the day with your Aunt Nagi, keeping her company for the day. She was getting ready to head out for her own dinner with a few friends when the two of you decided to leave.

As Satoru leads you through the halls upstairs, he points to the other wing of the house, up the opposite set of stairs that you initially came up stating that his parent's bedrooms are that way, along with a few studies and offices for his dad's work.

“You okay?” Satoru asks as you grab and gently squeeze his hand at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, just nervous. This is… more than I could have imagined. What if your parents don’t like me?”

“I really don’t care what they think.”

“But I do. I’ve never done this before.”

“My dad will love you,” he kisses your temple sweetly, “Mom will come around eventually.”

“Because she’ll prefer Mei?” You ask quietly, insecure.

He nods slightly, “Dad doesn’t really care for her. Says he knows what she’s all about and what she’s after. Mom will be the harder one to win over. She really only cares about how our family acts and appears in public, and Mei is very good at that.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Satoru points out a library stating they have all kinds of books, really anything imaginable in there and to help yourself at any time. Just off the library is a staircase to the basement. He says they don’t use it very much and it’s mainly for storage, but when he had parties in high school, that’s where they would hang out.

Satoru’s parents are already seated at a large mahogany table with a chandelier over it when you walk into the dining room. The room itself is just between the double staircase and has a massive carpet under the table with simple wooden chairs surrounding it.

His dad looks up from his tablet with shining eyes and a nod of his head when you give him a shy smile, “Welcome.”

Gojo Sr. looks as you remember from seeing him in Tokyo, shopping. Tall and lanky with salt and pepper hair. Satoru is a spitting image of him, only with his mother's snow-white hair.

Turning to his mother you give her the same sweet smile. She doesn’t return it. Instead, she looks you up and down a few times, and you’re unable to read her expression.

Knowing she only cares about image, you dressed the best you could with what you had packed. It’s a simple dress that cinches in all the right places.

She doesn’t look impressed.

“Who’s this?” His mom asks and you purse your lips as you take a seat across from her with Satoru next to you; it has you wondering if he’s even bothered to mention your name.

The thought doesn’t have time to fester since you hear Gojo Sr. say your name with confidence, “He told us she’d be joining us this week, and that they started dating a few months ago. Remember, honey?”

She hums, choosing not to respond. There’s an awkward silence for a few moments that’s making you want to crawl under the table and die, but before you get the chance to do that the food is brought out by a few of the house workers.

The hustle and bustle of plates, silverware, and doors opening and closing quickly fill the space drawing out the awkwardness of the introductions that just happened.

This is probably the fanciest dinner you’ve ever been to in your entire life and you can’t imagine people eating like this every single day without a care in the world.

“Why’d you have them make dinner like this?” Satoru asks, clearly annoyed that he had to come down to eat a four-course fucking meal with his parents.

“Your mom said that it would be a good idea to impress your guest.” His dad answers.

Satoru sighs, “Right. Even though mom just acted like she had no idea who she was.”

“It’s okay,” you interject, not really wanting to be the center of attention any more than you already are, “This is wonderful, regardless.”

You smile at Satoru’s mom, but she ignores you, taking a bite of her food instead so you turn and smile at Gojo Sr.

“So, what is your degree in?” He asks.

You’re thankful to have something else to focus your attention on, rather than sitting in an odd, uncomfortable silence until everyone is done with their meals. You tell him your major and that you’re helping tutor Yuji along with picking up a few extra-curricular courses in order to get enough credits to graduate early.

“Smart. It seems like you have a good head on your shoulders.”

“And what about a family?” His mom cuts in before you’re able to respond.

“Um,” You laugh awkwardly, “I’d like to have one, one day. I think I’d like to be settled in my career first, and be in a good place financially before really considering that.”

“Degrees are useless if you plan on staying home with the children. Better to have them while you’re young.”

“Mom,” Satoru warns, glaring at her.

He knew she was going to pull some shit like this, trying to find a reason to berate you, make you feel like what you’re doing isn’t good enough, no matter what you said. It’s how she operates when she’s not happy with his decisions.

“It’s fine.” You give him a tender smile, trying to hide the fact that your hands are shaking from the bombardment of questions regarding such a personal matter, “I don’t know if I plan to stay home with them or not. That’s a decision that’ll be made when the time comes.”

She scoffs, “Letting someone else raise your child-”

“What’s the difference between dropping the child off at daycare while working versus staying home and letting a nanny raise them?” You cut in.

Her eyes narrow at you as you smile sweetly in her direction before losing some of your nerves, opting to take a drink of water from the glass in front of you. 

Gojo’s dad laughs quietly, breaking some of the tension, “Honey, let them worry about that when the time comes. They have plenty of years left before that would even be an option.”

Your cheeks flush at the thought of you and Satoru getting married one day, and starting a family, but there is a long way before that’s even a real consideration in your mind. You were honest with his dad, wanting to wait until you’re out of college, well into your career before you start thinking about starting a family.

You’d also want to be away from your mother so there’s no possible way she’d be involved.

“What does your mom do for a living?” His mom's voice is tense, but she’s trying. You're not sure why, but your best guess would be so Satoru doesn’t get pissed at her.

“She’s in hospitality.”

She perks up a little, hopeful, “Management?”

You shake your head, “Um, no, she works at a travel agency.”

There’s no hiding the disappointment that crosses her features. She opens her mouth to say something, but you see the way her eyes flicker to Satoru for a moment before closing her mouth.

You’re internally thankful when Gojo Sr. cuts in discussing the law firm and upcoming projects with Satoru, taking the heat and conversation off of yourself for the rest of dinner.

Once you’re done eating, Satoru excuses the two of you, bringing you back upstairs to the game room.

The two of you decide on a simple board game to play and as Satoru gets it up, your phone pings with a text.

Choso: do you have all the supplies you need for class? You: No, not yet Choso: We could go together, I still have a few things I need to pick up as well.

“Who are you talking to?” Satoru asks when you smile and tap away at your phone.

“Oh. Choso texted asking if I have everything I need for our art class this semester.”

His jaw twitches, “You have a class with him?”

Your eyes flicker between his for a moment, “Yeah. I didn’t realize it until we talked the other day. It’s the art class I’m taking as my extracurricular this semester.”

“Oh, great.”

There’s a shift in his mood at the mention of Choso. You can tell he’s not a fan, doesn’t like it when Choso hangs out with you or even speaks to you, but he hasn’t said anything about it.

You’d understand if there was anything going on with Choso, or if anything had ever happened in the past with him, but Satoru is the only person you’ve been with, physically and romantically since transferring.

It’s also a little hypocritical of him to be so jealous of someone else just because you get along with them when he’s still hanging out with Mei despite your protests.

You drop the subject though, quickly texting Choso back telling him you won’t be able to make it out before the semester starts. You’ll just ask Satoru to go with you to buy the things you need later this week.

Turning your attention back to the game, you ask Satoru to explain the rules and play a few practice rounds until his mood lightens. The rest of the night goes quickly, filled with laughs, giggles, and silly little arguments about him cheating so he doesn’t lose.

Your brows furrow when Satoru’s alarm goes off bright and early the next morning, feeling a kiss on your cheek with the bed dipping before he rolls out of it.

It takes you several minutes for your eyes to adjust to the darkened room. He has blackout curtains hanging over the windows, helping keep the morning sunlight out of his room.

When you sit up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, Satoru emerges from his attached bathroom in a white button-down and black slacks. He looks great, professional, but you’re also confused.

“Where are you going?” You ask between yawns.

Satoru chuckles, “I have to go into the office.”

“I thought you said your dad would let you take the week off since I’m here?”

“He will. But I have to at least get-up and get ready. Showing initiative and all that. He’ll tell me to come home and spend time with you instead.”

You pout, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Trust me, he’ll tell me to come back and hang out with my pretty girlfriend.”

You smile and flush as he kisses your lips before walking out of his room. And true to his word, he’s back shortly after leaving, pulling your sleeping body into his before he falls back asleep holding you close.

When the two of you decide to finally get up for the day, it’s almost noon and the house is empty. There was a part of you that expected to see some people working and cleaning throughout the house, but it is totally barren.

Both of your stomachs growl as you make your way out of his room to the kitchen, looking through the massive pantry to find something quick and easy to make.

He’s able to find soba noodles tucked away in a corner, grabbing those and getting out the necessary utensils to cook it on their stove.

While the water is heating up Satoru lifts you so you’re sitting on the kitchen island before pressing his lips to yours. He swipes his tongue over your lips silently asking to deepen the kiss. You let him, you always do.

As an opportunist, Satoru takes full advantage of the empty house, slowly leaning you down on the marble counter so he can kiss and lick down your neck until your legs are spread wide and his face is buried in the apex of your thighs.

Your moans of his name echo through the quiet house as the boiling water bubbles over the rim of the pot extinguishing the flame of the burner below. Neither of you pays much attention to it, not having the desire or will to stop, especially when he buries his cock in you, telling you how much he loves you.

Eventually, the two of you clean up the stove and turn your attention back to lunch. The rest of the day is filled with more of the same; Satoru taking you on any and every surface imaginable.

In the evening, his parents come home and his mother forces everyone to have another awkward dinner. His mom doesn’t speak to you much while his father asks about how your day was before discussing business with Satoru.

It’s incredible to hear Satoru talk about the field he’s studying, and how he already knows so much. Though it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise considering it’s his family business and he’s expected to work there after graduation.

After dinner, you and Satoru lay around for a bit before deciding to watch a movie. While Satoru works on getting the movie set up in the game room you decide to run downstairs to get some drinks. He explains where you can find sodas and wine, letting you decide on what to bring back for him.

The house is quiet when you come down the steps and head into the kitchen, grabbing several sodas and snacks to bring back with you. When you pass by the library on your way back upstairs, you can hear a few giggles coming from the room.

After dinner, his mom left again and you were under the impression his dad did as well since you hadn’t seen him since excusing yourselves. Furrowing your brows, you open the library door and poke your head inside to see what the commotion is about.

And your stomach hits the fucking floor.

His dad is in the room with a woman leaning back on the desk, who is very much not Satoru’s mother. She has a robe barely draped over her body, cupping his father's face as he chuckles, kissing her neck.

Your palms are heavy, heart is racing, and knees weak as you close the door as quietly as you can. You’re not sure if either of them saw you but as you slowly head up the stairs debating how to tell Satoru what you saw, nobody comes out to stop you.

There’s a massive lump in your throat when you walk into the game room, brows furrowed in concentration. Satoru looks up and smiles at you but it quickly drops when he sees your expression, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Um, Satoru, baby. You might want to sit down.”

“Uh, okay…” His brows are knitted together in confusion, but does as you’ve asked, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” You take a deep breath, voice laced with concern, “I heard some noise from the library, so I decided to poke my head in there and… your dad is in there with another woman.”

“Oh. What does she look like?”

You shake your head and blink a few times, confused about why he’s wanting to know, “Um. Tall, light eyes I think, long dark hair, thick eyebrows.”

“That’s Yorozu. They’ve been seeing each other for like, I don’t know, a few years now, I guess.”

“I- What?”

Satoru repeats himself, watching your confused expression stay as you take in the information he’s providing on his family.

“So you just… know he’s having an affair? Does your mom know?”

Satoru shrugs, “Yeah, she does.”

“Ok, pause. Start from the beginning.” Satoru raises an eyebrow, quietly chuckling to himself as he watches your confusion. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”

Typically when someone is cheating or having an affair, it’s a private matter. Not something they want out in the open, and certainly not something they want their child to find out about.

“My parents don’t really care for each other, romantically speaking. Never have. They had me to cement their marriage and so I could take over the family business one day. They were friends, met in college and their families decided they should get married to merge the businesses.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for them to just get a divorce?”

Satoru shrugs again, “Don’t know. Dad’s seeing a few people, it works for them.”

You stare at Satoru for a few moments, eyes flickering between his. He’s totally uncensored with the conversation you just had. Which makes sense.

His views on relationships make more sense now, keeping things casual, with no real commitment. Even though his parents are married and had him, it’s essentially the same thing. It’s what he watched and saw his entire life growing up, emulating that in his own relationships as he got older.

“I don’t want that.” Satoru states unprompted before sighing, “I mean I thought I did, before. But not anymore.

“What do you mean?” You ask quietly, stepping between his legs, moving his bangs away from his eyes.

He wraps his arms around your waist, looking up at you with gorgeous ocean-blue eyes, “I want someone I can be happy with. I want to be with you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He rests his cheek on your stomach as you card your fingers through his hair, contemplating his words before putting the back of your hand on his forehead. He looks up at you confused narrowed eyes.

“Just had to check to see if you have a fever.”

He’s unamused with your antics, “Haha. I’m being serious.”

“I know,” You answer softly, “Just hard to believe this is the same Gojo Satoru who was only interested in causal relationships a few months ago. Now he’s talking about forever?”

“It’s different with you.”

You smile, cheeks flushed because you can see the sincerity in his eyes. You know he’s uncomfortable, talking about his feelings, having explained this family dynamic to you, so you tease him, trying to lighten the mood.

“Babe. You sound so crazy right now.” He laughs, pulling you into his lap and kissing your lips before the two of you lay on the couch, getting ready to start the movie.

The last few days have been filled with hard conversations, getting to know each other on a deeper level than you ever have before. It’s a big step forward, sharing these details and secrets of your home life.

As you watch him, focused on the movie, you know you wouldn’t want to have had these conversations with anyone else.

January 2012

The rest of the week goes by quickly, celebrating new years, venturing into all of the rooms in the estate and exploring every nook and cranny of the yard. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to you but on the back patio, they have a hot tub that the two of you used a few times, along with a little hot spring in the back, far off from the house.

Everything is gorgeous and maintained even in Winter, and there’s no doubt it would look even better in the Spring and Summer when all of the hedges and flowers are in bloom.

Your mom did call once she realized you weren’t at home, and you begrudgingly answered at Satoru’s insistence. He wanted to speak to her, especially after hearing the shit she had to say to you about leaving unannounced but you didn’t let him.

Satoru took you shopping to get the items needed for both of your upcoming classes and to do some shopping in general. He took you to all of his favorite pastry shops along the way and went back to the little ramen shop the two of you discovered during your first date.

After a few nights of forced dinners with his parents, his mom relented, letting the two of you have your time together uninterrupted. You’re not sure if Satoru or if his father said something to her, or if she decided to leave the two of you to your peace on her own, either way, you’re not complaining about it.

It’s the night before you and Satoru are heading back to his house just off campus, to spend the weekend with your friends before the semester starts. He’s already asleep, having fallen asleep in his bed, holding you close while some cheesy Christmas romance movie you wanted to watch played on his TV.

You’re in one of his oversized t-shirts, fingers running through his soft tresses, listening to his light snores until the credits roll. It’s the middle of the night, and the two of you have planned to wake up early and get breakfast before heading back to college life.

Satoru has his face against your chest, and you’re amazed you’re able to slip out from under him without waking him, deciding to go downstairs to the kitchen and get something to drink before heading back to bed.

The house is quiet with no signs of life as you make your way down the steps and into the kitchen, the only sounds to be heard coming from the wind blowing and wildlife outside.

You’re startled when you walk into the kitchen and find his mom quietly sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island in her nightgown, legs crossed one over the other. She’s tapping away on her phone, looking up with sharp eyes when she notices you come into the room.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I came down for some water. I didn’t realize anyone was still awake.”

She watches for a moment as you smile awkwardly, pulling down the hem of Satoru’s shirt as you make your way to the cabinet to grab a glass.

“What do you think you’re doing with my son?” Her voice isn’t harsh per se, more curious than anything.

You watch her for a moment, chewing the inside of your cheek before replying honestly, “We’re just getting to know one another. I’m not after anything if that’s what you think.”

“You won’t fit in with our family.”

You sigh, setting the glass on the kitchen island, “I love Satoru, hard edges and all. If he’s happy with me, then honestly, that’s all that matters.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, “Love doesn’t matter when you’re making a name for yourself and have a family legacy to uphold.”

“It’s really unfortunate that that’s what you believe.”

His mom watches as you grab the glass, filling it with ice and water before drinking it, setting the used cup in the sink. You’re about to make your way out of the kitchen and back upstairs before she says, “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Satoru’s interests have always been… fleeting. Much like his father's. He’ll find a reason to end things, one way or another.”

You purse your lips, turning back to meet her gaze, “I’ll worry about that when and if the time comes.”

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[sallownights]

Hi - I absolutely love the Taylor Swift and Hogwarts Legacy crossover you have going on here, it’s right up my alley!

Anyways, I had this idea for a fic based around “The Way I Loved You”; reader and Sebastian aren’t together anymore but she’s missing his antics.

Double points if Ominis is the ‘sensible and endearing’ one 🩷

the way i loved you

word count: 2.7k

CW: angst, fighting, fluff, mentions of sex

A/N: i don’t know where the fuck i ended up going with this. i feel like i blacked out while writing. this song, SLAPS

pairings: sebastian x f!reader, ominis x f!reader, sebastian x f!reader x ominis

The silence of the Undercroft. No spells. No fire. Nothing. Y/N brings her robes closer to her, trying to trap her warmth against her.

She came down here when she missed him. It didn’t matter if they broke up. It didn’t matter if she had a new boyfriend. She missed him.

It’s not like Ominis isn’t kind to her. If anything he was better for him. He’s sensible, kind, and endearing. There were so many words to describe him. Just thinking about him brought a smile to her lips.

It always comes back to Sebastian though. Sure, they had their fights. Often. They were, by no means, not a toxic couple. He would be jealous whenever Y/N decided to help Garreth with something. When she and Amit would work on Astronomy projects together. When she would stay out late with Poppy.

“I’m not having this conversation. Not again.” Y/N rushes past him, walking towards the castle. She had just returned from a trip with Poppy.

“Of course, you don’t want to talk about this.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. Y/N’s hands ball up into fists.

“Oh come off it Sebastian! I’m not fucking cheating on you. I can have friends.” He scoffs.

“You only spend time with them. I feel like I never see you.” He says. Clouds rush by in the sky, the night was dark. Darker than normal. The moon wasn’t visible. Thunder rolled throughout the clouds as it started to rain.

“I was with you all day yesterday! All day. Does that mean nothing to you?” The rain came down hard. Both of their robes quickly getting soaked.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just miss you!” Sebastian throws his arms out, exasperated.

“You have a funny way of saying that!” They stand far enough away for there to be awkward tension. They’re both breathing, hard. His eyes stare into hers as best he can, the water pouring into them, making him blink.

They rush over to each other, smashing their lips against each other. Their hands were roaming around the other's body, not knowing where they were exactly. It was just important that their hands were on the other.

The kiss deepens, Sebastian, dipping Y/N, holding her tight. He picks her back up as they pull apart, their foreheads touching.

“This is a stupid fight,” Sebastian, holds her arms and pushes her nose with his.

“I’m sorry,”

“I just need you to trust me, Seb,” He nods, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and starting to walk her back to the castle.

“We’re gonna get insanely sick,” Y/N giggles.

“I know.”

Y/N smiles at the memory. She remembers them shivering walking back to the common room. He held her close though. She misses it. Misses him.

They never stopped having that fight though. When they decided to break up, it was a bit of a shock to some people. Ominis wasn’t surprised. He knew they were having trouble. Knew that they were constantly bickering.

Sebastian and Y/N’s love was like a hurricane. Mostly stormy with a moment of peace every now and then.

She missed when he would do random things for her. Or surprise her by taking her into the Forbidden Forest for little picnics. It always seemed as if he would do anything for her.

“How much farther?” Y/N walks with one hand stretched, in case she runs into something while the other hand grips Sebastian’s for dear life.

“Darling, you’ve asked me this four times already,” he chuckles. Y/N huffs.

“Well, we’d be there already if you didn’t put a stupid blindfold on me.”

“That ruins the fun of a surprise,” Sebastian takes both her hands, beginning to walk backward. He stops suddenly, causing Y/N to stumble a bit but he keeps her upright. He gets behind her, taking the blindfold off, wrapping his hands around her waist.

When Y/N opens her eyes, she blinks a few times, getting used to the light again. When her eyes focused she sees a hidden waterfall nestled among the trees. The water cascades down a series of rocky ledges, creating a symphony of gentle splashing and bubbling.

But what catches her eye is the water itself. It is so crystal clear that she can see straight through to the bottom. And as the sunlight filters through the thick canopy of trees above, the water seems to glow with an ethereal light, creating an otherworldly ambiance.

The pool at the base of the waterfall is surrounded by smooth, moss-covered rocks, and the water is so invitingly clear that she can't resist dipping her hand in. It's refreshingly cold and seems to rejuvenate her soul with every touch.

As she gazes up at the waterfall, she notices that the rocks around it are covered in lush greenery and wildflowers, and she can hear the sweet chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. It feels like a hidden paradise, untouched by the modern world.

She takes a deep breath and lets the beauty of the place wash over her, feeling grateful for the chance to experience such a magical moment in nature.

“Sebastian, how did you find this place?” Her voice quiet, she turns around to look at him.

“I found it earlier this week, I wanted to show you it. Do you like it?” Y/N nods, hugging Sebastian tightly before giving him a quick kiss.

“It’s beautiful,” She turns around again, watching the water cascade down. She takes a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air. Sebastian’s cologne gets mixed into the air when he steps behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck.

“Seb,” She says, placing her arms on his.

“Yes, my darling?” He asks before he nips at her neck.

“Did you take me here to fuck me?” She turns around, his eyes dark.

“Maybe,” He smirks before crashing his lips against hers.

Y/N smiles again, it really was a magical day. The waterfall was kind of a perfect place for them, she would still go there sometime, once she had figured out how to get there. It was a place she would go after they fight. More so when she was in the wrong and she didn’t know how to apologize. He would sometimes find her there, just sitting on a moss-covered rock, her eyes unfocused as she thought.

He would sit with her until she was ready to talk. He could be furious with her and just sit with her. Towards the end of the relationship though, he stopped looking for her after fights. The energy to keep going was dwindling quickly.

Now, things were awkward. Sort of. It felt awkward. Ominis was there for both of them after the breakup. Y/N would spend nights crying in his arms in the common room. They started hanging out more and more after. Sebastian would join sometimes. They ignored each other for a while, just speaking to Ominis. After a few projects in Transfiguration, they started speaking again. It was still tense between them but not nearly as much. They respected their old relationship without talking about it.

Y/N wondered if he missed her too. If he spent nights thinking about her. She does feel bad that she started dating his best friend. However, she loved him. Ominis was nothing but kind, he was always so caring. She couldn’t help but miss Sebastian though. He was so fun. He just… couldn’t trust her. She also would go out into the forest for hours at a time without telling anyone. No wonder he didn’t trust her. She promised she would tell him and she never did. But he was jealous of her friends. It was a bad match.

“Love?” Ominis’ voice calls out in the Undercroft.

“Hi,” she calls back, her voice cracking. She brings her hand to her face, realizing tears have been spilling out of her eyes.

“What’s wrong my darling?” Ominis walks over to Y/N, he holds her hands gently. Not wanting to harm her.

“I’m… just sad.” Y/N drops her head, tears falling faster.

“What’s making my dove cry?” He brings a hand to her face, wiping some of her tears away.

“I… I miss Sebastian. I miss how he and I were and that’s so unfair to you. I just… I miss him so much. I know we weren’t good together but it feels like part of me is missing. But you… you fill a different part of me.” She sobs, turning away from Ominis, and cries into her hands.

“Darling,” he places a soft hand on her shoulder. “I know you miss him. It’s okay.”

“No! No, it’s not. I love you so much and I… I shouldn’t be thinking about him.” She sobs into his chest. He runs his hand up and down her back, whispering comforting words into her ear.

“I know, I know, love. You know he still loves you, darling,” He holds her head as she begins to cry harder.

“The problem is I do too!” Ominis shushes her as she sobs, whispering that it’s alright and he knows.

“You know if you want to be with him you can be,” Ominis says calmly.

“I don’t want to leave you though,” Her sobs beginning to subside.

“Darling, you know I have feelings for him as well,” Her head shoots up to look at him. His was was stoic, a slight frown on his face from her crying.

“Y-you do?” True confusion comes across her, she realizes that it makes sense. They had been so close for so long. She’s also almost 99% sure they kissed at a party once.

“Yes, darling,” he chuckles a bit. “Before I loved you, I loved him. I think I still might.” She nods, wrapping her arms around him. They stand there, in silence, Y/N sniffling every now and then.

“So… do we tell him?”

“Would you like to? You would both have to change how you act in a relationship.” Ominis’s voice is calm. It always was. He was good at making her feel so comfortable.

“I think I want to… and I want to be better to him. I put a lot of blame on him but I could've been better too,” Ominis nods and kisses her softly. “So, would we all just… date… each other?” Y/N’s voice is uncertain, she really didn’t know what was happening. Her head was swirling. It was hard to believe that if Sebastian wanted to get back together and wanted to be with Ominis, she could be with her two favorite people.

“Well, let’s go find him. I was just with him in the library, I’m sure he’s still there.” Ominis takes her hand in his and leads her out of the Undercroft. The walk to the library was normally a peaceful and meditative experience. This time, there was an excitement and nervousness as Y/N’s steps fell in with Ominis’. As they make their way through the castle, they could hear the soft sounds of their footsteps echoing in the stone halls, and the occasional rustle of robes as other students pass by.

As they enter Central Hall, Ominis squeezed her hand, entering the library. When you enter the library, it's a quiet atmosphere. Broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the scratching of quills on parchment.

The space itself is vast, with towering bookshelves stretching up towards the ceiling and long, polished tables scattered throughout the room. Soft lighting illuminates the space, casting a warm glow over the books and creating a sense of tranquility.

They climb the spiraled stairs, stumbling a bit in their haste. When they reach the top, Y/N’s eyes scan for Sebastian, spotting him sitting by himself, writing quickly. She yanks Ominis and they start rushing over to him. Sebastian looks up at the noise, seeing Y/N and Ominis. A few different emotions flash over him. Jealousy at them holding hands. Worry at Y/N’s puffy and red eyes. Confusion by the smiles on their faces.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Sebastian’s voice is quiet, he can’t get kicked out of the library again. He didn’t want to study in the common room. Imelda kept bugging him about Y/N and he couldn’t handle it.

“Yes, can we sit?” Y/N says, clearly excited about something. Sebastian nods. Y/N and Ominis split apart, moving chairs to sit directly next to Sebastian. He looks at both of them, confused. He hadn’t sat this close to Y/N since they’d broken up and Ominis doesn’t sit very close to people unless he likes them.

“What- what’s going on?” Sebastian says, looking between the both of them. Ominis takes one of Sebastian’s hands, Y/N following suit. Sebastian’s heart rate picked up. He could feel it pound against his ribcage.

“Well, Y/N and I had a… talk… about something. We wanted to run it by you.” Sebastian turns and looks at Y/N and she nods.

“O-okay.” Ominis makes a motion for Y/N to talk about what they had discussed earlier.

“Well, I was in the Undercroft earlier… I was thinking about you and how I,” her face heats up, a pink blush dusting her cheeks. “How I miss you.” Sebastian started to blush as well. He had missed her so much. He knew he fucked up. They both did.

“I miss you too, Y/N,” Sebastian looks to Ominis, trying to gauge his reaction, but Ominis is just smiling.

“So, then Ominis and I started talking about you…” Y/N looks to Ominis as he leans down to kiss Sebastian’s hand.

Sebastian’s head was reeling. He was with his best friend since he had arrived at Hogwarts. Ominis showing Sebastian more affection than he ever had. Then, his ex-girlfriend who he was still in love with saying she missed him. He was absolutely certain he had fallen asleep while doing homework. He looked forward at his notes but they were coherent.

“Now, I am aware this may sound… odd…” Y/N continues before Ominis speaks up.

“It’s actually quite common in certain wizarding communities.”

“Oh! Well, I suppose it’s common in some places…” Y/N giggles. “Anyways, we were thinking maybe we… could all be… together? If that’s something you find suitable.” Sebastian’s eyes go wide, confused out of his mind on how this is happening today.

“Like… date both of you?” Ominis and Y/N both nod.

“I’ve liked you for some time, just wasn’t going to tell you. Then, when dove was crying about you, I figured it was time to admit it to someone else.”

“You didn’t have to tell him I was crying, Omi.” Her voice lowers.

“If I can interject, you look like you’ve been crying.” Y/N’s eyes widen and quietly says,

“Oh.”

“It’s alright, you still look beautiful,” Sebastian takes his hand from hers and places it on her face. There was an immediate sense of familiarity. Of home.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, quietly.

“I’m sorry too,” Sebastian and Y/N look at each other before turning their attention to Ominis.

“Well, I do find this ‘arrangement’ suitable. If you both would have me.” Sebastian squeezes Ominis’ hand. Y/N giggles and kisses Sebastian softly. She had missed this. Missed him. He was hers and she was his again. They were both with Ominis too. Y/N could feel her head spinning, her heart feeling full and fuzzy and the men in front of her. Sebastian pulls away and leans in to kiss Ominis, which he gladly accepts. Y/N leans back, happy that she's with the two people she loves dearly.

“This is not what I had planned today,” Sebastian says when he and Ominis pull apart.

“This is the last thing I expected, but it’s certainly not a bad thing.” Ominis smiles and walks over to Y/N giving her a small kiss on the head, playing with her hair.

“So, anything you want to do?” Sebastian asks the two of them.

“Oh! Oh, we should take Ominis to the waterfall. It’s so peaceful there.” Y/N closes her eyes, imagining the cold water and sound of rushing water.

“Oh, is that the waterfall Sebastian and you used to have se-” Ominis says before Y/N covers his mouth.

“Alright, let’s go!”

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