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honkytonk-hangman · 3 months

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All This Love

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: “Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound. “Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Warnings: not much in this one, unplanned pregnancy, some light smut, 18+ only!! <3

Jake feels his pulse jump once, then twice as he walks through his front door. He’d already known you were here, not just because of your car parked out front, but because you’d barely left his company since he’d gotten the news. Still, the sound of you moving around his kitchen, and the smell of something heavenly wafting toward him makes his heart leap just a little in a way that is honestly unfamiliar to him.

Jake Hangman Seresin is not a ‘relationship’ guy. He hasn’t exactly been a one-night-stand guy either these past few years, but certainly he isn’t known for his commitment. Partly he could blame this on his schedule, his various and frequent deployments, moves and busyness, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that taking an endless string of women home was taking a toll on him.

Quietly, Jake hoped he’d meet someone, have a constant in his life to come home to, maybe have a few little mini-Jake’s running around too, but it also wasn’t really something he was actively seeking out. He knew being with him meant a lot of lonely nights, and he’d internalised the attitude that most women were not up for that.

And then he met you.

You’d laughed sweetly like you’d thought he was just kidding when he’d flirted with you, told him outright you’d expecting him to cancel on your first date, and then rambled about anything and everything for the next three hours as he happily listened.

You weren’t really his normal ‘type’, you weren’t overly affectionate with him off the bat, making your intentions known, you weren’t tall or bleached blonde or anything he was used to from the women who showed an interest in him, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t think you weren’t beautiful. You were a little awkward, and dorky and you’d told him you thought he was funny, which wasn’t really one of the things most of the women he dated tended to point out. Needless to say, Jake had quickly found it very easy, very natural to adore you.

He’d gotten three and a half months with you before his orders came in.

The two of you had grown close in that time, but you hadn’t really addressed or discussed what you were. He hadn’t really felt the need, or the pressure like he had in the past. He’d realised over the past few days that this might’ve been down to the fact that he hadn’t even really considered any other options besides the two of you eventually becoming ‘exclusive’. If Jake is completely honest, he’s been off the market since our first date.

Not until the imminent date of his deployment had he begun to take note of his rising anxiety, the complete opposite to the way he usually felt after informing a casual fling that he’d be going. With them, he didn’t expect more, he didn’t want to give them more either, but with you… Jake hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how much he’ll be able to contact you while he’s gone, if you’ll make time for him, even if you’ll send him those care packages so many of the guys he knows often received while on the carrier…

The idea that you saw his upcoming deployment as the official end of whatever this is you have going on haunted him, and Jake was determined to make clear that when he returned in fourteen months time, he still wanted to see you.

He toes off his boots as best he can with the large bouquet in the crook of his elbow, before padding down the hall toward where the delicious smell is coming from, finding you buzzing around his kitchen in a manner that forces him to stop dead in his tracks to appreciate the sight.

This is what Jake has been wanting, but it's not until this very moment he realises just how much. It isn’t even about you cooking for him, no, he just craves the domesticity of coming home to somebody who looks up from what they’re doing with an expression like his arrival is the new best part of their day.

“Jake! I didn’t hear you come in!” you say with a smile and a laugh. That wasn’t exactly unusual for you. You didn’t often hear many things, considering you were hard of hearing. You weren’t completely deaf, in quiet rooms when he was facing you, you could hear him enough, helped by lip reading, or if he spoke directly into your ear. However, it was still significant enough that Jake had downloaded an ASL learning app, partly to communicate better with you, but also so that he could see your overjoyed surprise whenever he correctly signed something very simple to you.

“These are for you,” he steps closer, holding out the large bouquet of marigolds and roses he’d stopped for on the way home, making sure his mouth isn’t at all obscured by them as he does. He hadn’t skimped when he’d bought them, requesting the biggest package the florist offered and paying double what he’d ever paid before for flowers. It was worth it though, especially when once you’ve processed what he’s said, your face lights up all over again and you let out a soft little gasp as you move to meet him.

“They’re beautiful!” you croon as you bring the flowers to your nose. Jake had only ever bought flowers for his mother, and for a few girls around Valentine’s Day. They were always roses. He’d never bothered to ask what their preferred flower of choice was. With you, though, you had inadvertently told him on your first date while lost in a story about a failed garden you’d tried growing and how you adored copper marigolds and peach roses, but that no man had ever bought either for you, including your last boyfriend who’d seemed to think flowers were lame and unnecessary. He’d filed that information away, but curses himself for not using it any sooner as you smile widely back up at him, and push the flowers aside so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly.

“Thank you! You didn’t have to!” you say in between pecks to his lips, and Jake wraps the arm still holding the bouquet around your back, in the hopes that maybe you’ll stay pushed up against him just a little longer. You do, giggling softly as you continue to deliver soft little kisses to his lips, Jake dutifully returning each one, becoming aware of his own laughter joining your own as he does.

You pull away to grin up at him, and Jake drops one last, final kiss to your lips before giving you a slight squeeze, his own smile growing as you stare up at him.

“Baby, the smoke alarm is going off,” he informs you, chortling when you jump away from him in surprise, and quickly return to the stove to remove the pan from the hob. Jake follows you, placing your flowers down on the counter, and moving over to where the alarm sits high on his wall, reaching up to tap the button in the centre that switches it off.

“Sorry! The good news though is that dinner isn’t ruined!” you tell him happily, turning back around to go digging through one of his other cupboards. You straighten again when you find a large pitcher, and he watches you mill about for a moment, filling it with water before moving to place the bouquet of flowers inside. He feels his chest swell with pride as you primp and preen the roses and marigolds, and pictures you two weeks from now, with more and more petals falling from the flowers with every passing day, but refusing to throw them away because they make you think of him. The swelling of pride begins to turn into a swell of dread, and Jake really, really wishes he wasn’t leaving you in the morning.

You turn back to him and smile.

“Why don’t you go clean up, and I’ll finish this?” you suggest, and Jake immediately pouts.

“Why don’t I just stay here and help you plate up?” he says instead, making you frown playfully and shake your head.

“Jake, you need to shower!” you scold lightly.

“I showered on base,” he shrugs, and pushes away from his counter to capture your waist and draw you near again.

“Jake… just let me do this for you… you leave tomorrow…” it’s your turn to pout. Jake’s heart makes a good effort to leap out of his chest and into yours.

“Exactly. I leave tomorrow, so just let me stay with you as long as I can,” he poses, and you soften, resting your hands on his forearms.

“Jake…” you sigh, and bite your lip a little. “What’re you gonna do for the next fourteen months, huh?” you question playfully, shaking your head.

“Wish I was plating up dinner with you.” he answers immediately, then feels his cheeks heat up a little. Your gaze drops from his face, but you’re smiling softly, and rubbing your thumbs over his skin in a soothing manner.

“Okay,” you relent, before reaching up to cup his cheeks tenderly. “Okay.”

Jake leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he memorises the feeling of you holding him. You remain in pleasant quiet as the two of you go about preparing for dinner, Jake setting the table as you portion out the salad you’ve made.

Jake refrains from insisting you sit side by side as you eat, because he knows you’d struggle to hear him if you did, but after dinner, he does insist that the dishes can wait, convincing you to come up and shower with him instead.

You’ve barely stepped inside the glass cubicle when he’s pulling you closer, lips reaching out for yours and you giggle as you kiss him under the full stream of the shower head, laughing properly when he pulls back to spit a mouthful of water sideways out his mouth like a cartoon character. He grins at having made you laugh, but crowds you up against the wall almost instantly after, his smile pressed back against yours.

“M’gonna miss you.” he says right by your ear, before slipping his mouth down to your neck, and immediately sucking a small mark there. He knows your opinion on hickeys, so he’ll make sure the rest are somewhere you can hide them. You seem to squirm in his hold, your hands dropping from around his neck to press against his chest, his abdomen, though he knows you aren’t pushing him away, simply wishing to see his face.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you say after a moment, watching the water drop from his eyelashes, before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him near once again and pressing your chest up against his in a delightful manner.

“Promise you’ll come see me when I get shore leave?” He’s never asked this question before, and his heart immediately jumps into his throat. Usually he’d wait around for shore leave to go bar hopping, pick up a girl or two and show them a good time while he could. This time however, all Jake can think about is how best he can maximise all his spare moments for the next fourteen months to make sure they’re spent with you.

“I promise,” you say with another giggle, and it makes Jake pull back to look down at you. He’s not sure what he wants to say, if anything at all, but a beat passes where the two of you simply watch one another. Carefully your hand rises, skims along his cheek, but ultimately continues upwards where you smooth back some of the hair hanging down over his forehead.

“By my count we’ve got just under twelve hours,” you say then, and he can tell you’re trying not to sound so sad. It makes his stomach flop about.

“No time to waste, then, huh?” He leans in and murmurs against your lips.

Miraculously, you make it back to his bedroom somehow, shower water replaced with sweat now as you both work to make the most of the short time you have left together.

You let out a heavy breath of air as you adjust yourself once more, hands pressing against his taut abs, feeling the way the muscles move and tighten under your palms and fingers as you bounce in his lap. Your thighs are burning, but that's not going to be enough to stop you from chasing down another high. Jake’s hands at your hips take some of the initiative out of your control though, his grip firm and deliberate as he helps you move for him, forcing you up and damn-near slamming you back down again, his hips flexing in time to make sure he’s fucking you as deep as he can.

Your sounds of pleasure are muted against his lips, swallowed by him as he kisses you hungrily, one hand shooting up to clutch at the back of your neck when you briefly break apart. With one hand helping you move now, he begins tilting his hips more and more, his legs bent at the knee behind you, powering his thrusts and completely taking you apart. He lets you break away from his mouth, but doesn’t move the hand on your neck, and through half-shut eyes, you can see him watching you intently, his jaw clenched as he takes you in. He slows down.

“You look so pretty riding me,” Jake’s voice is deeper and more gravelly than normal, and his words are punctuated by tiny grunts of exertion that make you mewl. “Gonna miss the way you feel around me,” he goes on, using his hold on you to grind up into you with each slow thrust. You gasp when his hand on your thigh pulls a little, widening your legs around him and making you take him even more.

“Fuck! Jake…!” you cry out weakly, doing your best to keep your momentum, but with this new positioning, you barely have enough strength to lift yourself from him. Jake doesn't seem to mind, groaning in approval and suddenly sitting up, twisting your still connected hips to spin you beneath him now, his hand hiking your leg up over his shoulder as you go.

You gasp again, your own hands clutching his shoulders as he begins fucking you impossibly deep, picking up his pace again as he hovers above you, one hand now in the mattress beside your head.

“Take me so well, sweetheart,” he grunts out, closing the distance between you to press his lips back to yours. You chase him when he pulls away again, whining in disapproval, but his lips dont go too far, as he falls to his forearms and really begins to fuck you.

“Gotta give it to you so good you’ll be stuck on me, huh? Won’t think about anyone but me while I’m gone?” he goes on, and all you can do is nod.

“You gonna cum?” he asks a little more coherently, and you nod, because the way he’s driving into you nearly has you toppling over already. “Yeah? Go on, let me feel you, want you to cum around me, honey.”

His words alone are enough to push you off the edge, more so when you feel him join you, and you arch up into him, curl your hips against his own ragged thrusts, desperate to keep him from pulling out halfway through. He doesn’t seem to be planning to this time, and you mewl and moan in delight at the feeling of him filling you up, the feeling of him dripping out of you when he gives you a few last firm thrusts.

Jake pants above you, the hand by your head slipping down to caress your cheek as you both take a moment to come down. He kisses you, long and deep and nearly enough to get you going again. You wait patiently when he pads off to his bathroom to find you a cloth, and you barely notice yourself dozing off until you wake sometime later.

The bed is empty, though the bedside lamp has remained on, and you sit up properly, rubbing your eyes.

“Jake?” you call out, but you don't see him in the bedroom or bathroom. Frowning, you scoot out of his bed and grab one of his old squad shirts, slipping it on as you move out of his bedroom in search of him.

“Jake?” you call out again, trailing your hand along the wall as you step softly down the stairs to the first floor. It doesn’t help that you can’t hear him, but your worries are belayed the moment you turn around the corner and into the kitchen, and you’re greeted with his bare back as he stands at the sink. He’d pulled some sweatpants on, but they’re hanging low on his hips, enough for you to see the little dimples at the base of his back, and you itch you wrap your arms around him again.

You try to be as quiet as you can as you move up behind him, relishing in the small jump of surprise he does when you trail your hands over his skin and around his front, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. You feel him chuckle, feel the deep reverberations through his chest as he does, before he’s pulling you by one arm around to his front instead, where your face now rests against his chest instead.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” he tells you, leaning down to absently press a kiss to your hair. You shrug, but peek over your shoulder to watch as he continues to wash dishes, moving with him when he has to move, loving the way he briefly wraps you up whenever he does so, as if he’s worried his twisting might scare you off.

“What are you doing?” you ask dumbly, even as he scrubs down the pan you’d used to cook dinner.

“I didn’t want you to have to wake up tomorrow and do the dishes.” He tells you quietly, like he was worried about admitting this to you, like it was something he should feel guilty about. You coo, and squeeze him a little tighter, just as another thought occurs to you. You’d meant to talk to him about it when he got home from work, but with all the messing around that had happened, you’d totally forgotten.

“Do you want me to drive you in tomorrow?” you ask, feeling the way he pauses. You look up at him after he stays quiet for another beat, and find him staring down at you oddly. Your eyes meeting seems to break him out of his reverie though, and he blinks rapidly a few times.

“You don’t mind? It’s an early start…” he tells you, trying to warn you off, but you see right through him. You can tell it means something to him, though you don’t know what, and a part of you wonders if he’d ever had a girlfriend drive him to base for a deployment before.

“I’m not going to see you for fourteen months, Jake, of course I don’t mind.” you say as if it's obvious. You watch him purse his lips, but smile softly.

“I’d like that.” he says at last, moving one arm to wrap around you permanently now, continuing his task one handed until you extract yourself from him to grab a drying cloth. He makes a sound you only feel briefly, but you shoot him an amused shake of your head and remind him that the faster the chore is done, the faster the two of you can go back to bed. He stops his complaining then, and when the sink is empty and the dishes all stacked away, he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs again with your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping them there until you both fall asleep again.

Jake can’t stop looking back over his shoulder at you as he stands with the rest of Dagger, getting ready to board. You’re right by the front of the crowd of family that has gathered to say goodbye, which doesn’t make it any easier. If you’d disappeared amongst the people, he could fool himself into thinking you weren’t there, but as it is, he can see you clearly, and it’s eating him up.

Even Rooster can tell, watching and following his gaze every time Jake longingly glances back at you, his brown eyes trailing to the beautiful girl in the front of the crowd, occasionally conversing with the people around her, but mostly just eying the group of aviators with a sad little smile.

“You should say goodbye.” Rooster tells him quietly, eyeing up the officers ahead of them and correctly guessing that they would be about to board. Jake swallows, and pushes his sunglasses up his nose.

“We’ve already said goodbye.” He doesn’t mean to sound so snappy or cold, but he really didn’t want to think about leaving you anymore than necessary. Beside him, Rooster shuffles and shrugs.

“Say goodbye again.”

Jake stays quiet for a moment, before he turns to look at his wingman, and then at the line ahead. Quickly shifting his bag and stuffing it into the other man’s hands, Rooster only nods at him before Jake’s body is moving, easily pushing past the junior officers who step out of his way quickly. He barely takes note of the saultes he receives, because his eyes are set only on you, the way you watch him with a frown, but even as he gets right up to you, and you open your mouth to speak, he keeps moving, cupping your jaw and pressing a series of kisses against your lips.

When he pulls back you frown is gone, replaced with a lightness he hasn't seen since before he’d told you he’d be leaving.

“Will you wait for me?” he asks breathlessly, aware now that the carrier had begun boarding, and he needed to get back.

“What?” you ask with a slight laugh. Jake only leans in to kiss you again, and from somewhere behind him, he can hear a few servicemen whistle. You’re still giggling when he pulls back, but he digs into his uniform pockets and brings out his keys, pressing them into your hands.

“Wait for me.” he says again, waiting until you nod your assent before looking away from you. Through the crowd, he can hear someone, Rooster calling him, an edge of warning in his voice.

“I’ve got to go.” he tells you dumbly, and kisses you again.

“I know. Go! I’ll be here when you get back!” you assure him with a laugh, kissing him back but pushing him away at the same time. Jake grins upon hearing the words, and steps in to kiss you again, before finally dragging his body forcefully away from yours, and back to his team.

Phoenix is giving him a funny look that he ignores as he takes his bag back from Rooster with a silent nod of thanks. He receives a pat on the shoulder from the other man, who looks down his sunglasses at him thoughtfully. Jake sees his eyes trail off and he knows Rooster is looking at you again. He pats Jake’s shoulder once more, his lips tipping up teasingly.

“She’s cute,” Rooster tells him. Jake eyes him as he replaces his sunglasses.

“Yeah,” he says. “She is.”

“Hey babygirl, it’s good to see you,” Jake can’t help his wide grin even as he stares at your somewhat blank, reserved expression. Something in his chest wobbles as you eventually give him a weak smile, and he nervously adjusts his camera.

“Hi, Jake.” You say. It only makes his stomach wobble too.

“Is the software working okay? I have captions?” he asks, double checking the program on his end to make sure for the fourth time that everyone is tip top. You nod.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is working fine. I even put my hearing aids in… I’ve missed your voice,” you tell him.

Your words go a small way to alleviate his anxiety, but it’s been four months since he’s communicated with you via more than just email, and he can’t help but listen to the voices in his head from long before he met you, telling him that you don’t want to wait for him any longer.

“I’m honoured, you hate wearing those,” he says with a stiff laugh. You smile a little wider, but don’t seem to relax.

“Too much noise,” you agree. A quiet beat passes between you and Jake steels himself for what he knows is to come. You both speak at exactly the same time.

“Listen, baby, I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to do this sooner, but–”

“–I’m pregnant.”

Jake freezes, and so do you.

“Oh, thank god,” he hears himself say outloud, his entire body sagging as the weight of what he’d thought you were about to say leaves his body entirely.

“That’s… that’s not what I was expecting…” all stress seems to have left your body too, and for the first time since your call connected, you too appear to be completely at ease. “I thought you were going to break up with me…” you tell him, making Jake start.

“I thought you were going to break up with me!” Jake exclaims, before quickly quientening his voice. “Christ you scared me,” he tells you, letting out a sigh of relief.

Your face is a mixture of amusement and bashfulness.

“You’re more scared of me breaking up with you, than me being pregnant?” you ask, and Jake finds himself nodding immediately.

“I wouldn’t say scared, per se…”

“Your own words, Jake,” you remind him, and he chuckles, but shrugs. You both pause for a moment as you take in the wealth of new information and relationship security you now bask in. Jake jumps then, and leans in closer to his screen.

“How far along are you?” he asks, unsure of what really to ask in this situation, it’s honestly not one he’d ever been in before, but he’s proud to discover his mind immediately has calibrated for it.

“I’m going to the doctor in the morning, but I’m guessing around four months,” you tell him with a slightly wry smile. Jake laughs.

“I should hope so,” Jake chortles, before turning serious again when he sees you only laugh weakly.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, then quickly, for your sake, adds; “For the record, I want whatever you want, I just want it with you.”

Your face travels through several emotions, but you at last give him a watery little smile.

“I really thought you’d break up with me, I haven’t even thought about anything else,” you admit, and Jake feels something else in his chest wobble.

“Honey, unless you’re planning on breaking my heart right now, I’m not breaking up with you any time soon… or ever, if I’m honest… I’m sorry that’s not been clearer…” he tells you, feeling a slight lump in his throat at the very thought.

You were it for him, he thinks, he can’t imagine not coming home to you. He’d even considered throwing his medical on purpose the other day, just so he could wait for your email he knew was likely to come. Jake has never even considered that before, not even for family. A knock on the door makes his face fall, and he turns to glare at the ensign who pokes their head in.

“Liuetenant Seresin, sir, Captain Mitchell requires you on deck.”

Jake sighs, but nods grimly.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sir!”

Jake looks back at you, already smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I need to go,” he says tiredly. He’d wished he got more time to talk with you, but especially about this.

“It’s okay Jake, we’ll be fine,” you tell him. Jake can’t stop the quirk of his lips as he stares at you.

“‘We’ huh?” he asks teasingly, feeling something like excitement, or perhaps pure, sheer joy race through his veins. You cock your head but your arm moves, he can’t see where exactly, but he suspects your hand now rests against your belly.

“Yeah. We.”

Jake swallows thickly, and nods, unable to fight the smile that pulls at his lips.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he hears another knocking on his door and huffs. “Send me everything you can, I don’t know when I’ll get to call you again, okay? Send me everything.”

Jake walks quietly alongside Dagger as they return to their ready room, listening to them discussing possible ‘new’ hand signs for each other to signal readiness for the manuevour they’d been working on not even twenty minutes ago, prior to landing. He checks back into the conversation long enough to watch the proposed sign that Payback suggests, and immediately begins shaking his head.

“That’s ‘math’ in sign language,” Jake tells him, earning a look from Phoenix.

“Since when do you know ASL?” she asks, not fully sounding accusatory, but certainly not shying away from that tone either. Jake looks up at her and opens his mouth, but it’s Bob who gets there before him.

“He’s been practising with me,” Bob informs her, making Phoenix only more curious. She turns back to Jake expectantly. Jake shifts on his feet as the group comes to a halt, clearly also wanting to know what this is about, and for a brief moment, he considers telling them to mind their damn business.

That thought passes though, his spite warmed into a quiet kind of glee at the mere thought of you, his chest tingling slightly under the picture he has tucked into his flight suit.

“My girlfriend is deaf,” he says at last with a small shrug. Phoenix stays eying him for a second, even more curiosity filling her gaze, but after a moment she relents. He knows she’ll have questions later, but for now seems to be content not to make him answer them in front of everyone.

“Huh.” she says, and with that the squad continues moving.

Eventually, Phoenix and Halo peel off to the women’s locker rooms, the boys moving on to theirs, Payback, Coyote, Fanboy and Bob making straight for the showers. Jake can’t shower yet, though, he has precious cargo to return to safety, so moves straight for his locker, peeling it and carefully removing the photograph from his breast. Using the wad of blu-tac he’d acquired a few weeks back, he gingerly sticks the image backup in its home when he’s not flying, making sure not to get any fingerprints on it as he does.

“That was a good exercise,” Rooster’s voice makes Jake almost jump out of his skin, and he turns to look over his shoulder, quickly shooting the other man a nod.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, his lips thinning into a line as Rooster steps closer, opening his own locker but inevitably glancing over at Jake’s in the process. Jake tenses up as he feels Bradshaw pause, but after only a few agonising seconds, Rooster is moving again.

“Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Jake reaches up and rapps the ultrasound fondly.

“Twenty-three weeks. She’s supposed to be the size of a peach, but hell if I know what I’m looking at,” Jake shrugs and rolls his eyes, even letting loose a small smile when Rooster leans over to get a closer look. After a moment he too pulls a face and they meet eyes.

“Yeah, looks like topography to me,” Rooster shrugs as well. Jake looks back to the scan thoughtfully.

“Oh. Yeah. There’s a mountain range…. Small valley…” Jake trails off as the showers seem to shut off in near-unisen.

He quickly shoots Rooster a steely-eyed stare, which thankfully the other man seems to understand the meaning of, because all too soon their conversation comes to an end and Jake shuts his locker door protectively.

Their veil of secrecy is shattered however, when Javy, dressed in only his towel, waltzes right up to Jake, opens his locker door again, places a kiss to the ultrasound, then carries right on as Jake quickly closes it behind him. Rooster shoots him a look, and before the others can make an appearance, Jake explains himself.

“Only Javy knows,” he grinds out, but can’t find himself too annoyed. Javy had immediately taken to his Uncle role, sending little gift packages to Jake's house for you to discover.

The ‘My Uncle Is Single’ onesie was particularly cute.

Jake doesn’t even really have to push his way to the front of the line at the docks. Not only had Dagger made a path for him, but they were actively hauling at the collars of younger sailors, and from behind him he can hear various calls of ‘make way!’ and when one sailor protests a little too loudly, Phoenix saying ‘Hangman’s about to meet his kid for the first time, do you really want to get in the way of that?’. He makes a note to thank them later, but then he sees you, and he sees his baby, and all thoughts fly out of his brain.

He rushes up to you, gathering you both in one tight hug before you even seem to realise it’s him. But then he hears you laughing waterly, and he pulls his face back enough to plant a long, passionate kiss to your lips.

“Hey baby, hi!” he gushes cupping your cheek in his hand, before quickly extracting himself only a little, and focusing his attention on the bundle of excited squeals in your arms.

“Hi Princess, c’mere, I’ve been waiting so long to meet you!” Jake continues to talk before you can even get a word in edgewise. You laugh again, and shift the baby on your hip enough and Jake steps in again quickly relieving you of the weight. His daughter is immediately enraptured by the pins and shinies on his uniform, and she babbles talkatively up at him. Jake had shared his worries with you that she wouldn’t know him, recognise him, but all that is quickly abated when she stuffs a fist in her mouth and all but collapses against his chest.

His whole body fills with a warmth like he’s never known and he looks over at you.

“I think it’s too loud for her,” you say with a laugh, cuddling in closer to the other side of his chest. Jake looks between the two of you lovingly, adjusting his girl so he can show off some of the ASL he’d managed to learn in the last fourteen months.

Sorry, he signs carefully. Just – little – longer. Team – want – meet – you – both.

Your face lights up in recognition and your eyes get a little mistier. So – good – now! You sign back slowly for him, just as he feels several presences come to an anxious stop behind him.

“Bob helped,” he says, getsuring over at Bob, who steps forward with a short little wave.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ma’am,” he tells you, before his eyes shift to the baby in Jake’s arms. He tips his hat again at the girl who, as Jake turns, seems to be quietly inspecting the newcomers, drooling all over her tiny little hand. Bob does another little wave, more goofy this time, and she giggles, but turns her face inward briefly to Jake’s chest even more.

Jake uses his free arm to pull you in a little, and nods at his team.

“Baby, this is Dagger, that’s Bob,” he briefly pauses to show you Bob’s sign name, before he goes on to point out the others. “Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback, and this is–” he gets cut off as Javy pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Uncle Javy!” he announces, balling you up in a tight hug. You laugh and nod.

“Thank you for all the gifts for her! She loves them!” you tell him, which only makes him smile wider, and puff his chest out some as he rounds on Jake and his daughter.

“Can I hold her now?” he asks, with his arms already out. Jake’s features drop into a friendly glare.

“No.” he says firmly, tugging the baby closer. He’s rewarded when she begins to fuss a little at all the new attention, and Jake quickly begins shushing and cooing at her, only for her to relax and fall quiet, her tiny fists now clutching desperately into his jacket.

“That’s right baby, daddy’s not gonna let Uncle Javy take you away from him.” He runs his hand comfortingly up and down her little back, snuggling her closer.

Javy rolls his eyes, but relents, pointing at Jake and you.

“Ya’ll got one week, then I’m crashing,” he tells you. Jake shakes his head, but you nod, looking up at him. You sign ‘babysitter?’ at him, then getsure at Dagger in general, and after he puts two and two together, he’s shaking his head.

“No. No way,” he says. You nod again and gesture back to the group.

“No,” he says.

“Yes.” you reply, Bob nodding quickly along with you. Jake rolls his eyes up at the sky, then back down at you. He looks over at where Rooster, Phoenix, Fanboy and Payback have all started cooing and making faces at his girl, making her giggle and kick her feet, and lets out a sigh.

“Fine. Maybe.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction

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prettyfastcars · 4 months

Text

As sweet as blood-red jam | Mob!Lando

Summary: Lando could be many things given the nature of his job. Mean, commandeering, a control freak. But when he came home to you and the kids, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Your marriage to him was arranged of course, because that’s how things worked in the world you were both from. But love eventually grew between the two of you, and it did not stop growing.

Themes: dad!Lando, fluff, smut, arranged marriage, domestic!mob!Lando, mild mommy/daddy kink (nicknames only), praise kink, housewife!reader, breeding kink

“They’re sleeping.”

He announced cheerfully, shutting the door behind him as he walked into your library where you had been reading in silence for the past half an hour.

You were a stay-at-home mom so the twins, your son and daughter, were under your care all day. And so Lando insisted that you get the evening off the moment he got home. He read to them and tucked them in for the night each night. It was part of his routine and he loved it.

You placed your wine glass down and picked up the drink you made for him, handing it to him as he came over to sit down next to you on the large sofa.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the well-deserved drink. “Oh you’re perfect, baby.” He kissed your forehead before getting comfortable next to you, sighing as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“They’ve been running around all day, they went to see the horses,” You said, thinking about how energetic your kids had been during the day, “I thought they would pass out after dinner but they wanted to wait for daddy.”

Your husband smiled, looking a little tired as he took a sip of his drink. You caressed his cheek with a gentle hand as he turned to give you a soft look with those gorgeous eyes of his.

He looked more relaxed and comfortable like this, wearing nothing but dark sweatpants. As opposed to the authoritative figure he is during the day in his expensive, dark suits. Him in casual clothing like this made you realise that he was in fact just a young man, barely 25, who shouldered a lot of weight alone.

Responsibilities, expectations, risks, reputation, legacy, and now his own family. You’d come a long way, the two of you. Only a couple years ago you were just strangers being introduced at a gala. And now you were young parents.

You still remember the night you met him for the first time. How gently he held your hand and danced with you. How your engagement was announced only a few months after and the wedding happened quicker than you thought.

You always thought that you would forever be strangers living under the same roof. Especially given his reputation of being a workaholic which made him such an influential figure in his line of work.

But Lando proved you wrong. He actually took the time to get to know you early on in your marriage, he cared, he listened. He was good to you. Then a year later, you had the twins and Lando had been perfect. Perfect partner, perfect dad.

“What are you thinking about, mama?” He asked softly, his hand leisurely caressing your exposed thigh. That golden chain on his neck shining in the dimmed lights of the library. No shirt so you shamelessly ogled his defined abs and muscles. He let you, with a smirk on his handsome face.

You put the book aside and leaned a little closer to him, cupping his rough chin in your hand. He’d been growing facial hair lately and you liked it. “You work too hard,” You said softly.

He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your hand as he said, “Just wanna give you and the kids everything you want and need. You deserve it.”

He had given you everything. Houses, cars, chauffeurs, chefs, private planes, private trainers, cards with no spending limits, vacations. You and the kids were well taken care of.

You sighed, sliding over and ending up perfectly on his lap. Lando finished his drink, placed the glass aside and grabbed you by the waist to pull you closer. “But we have everything we could ever want or need.” You suggested, “Take a day off. Or two. I’m taking the kids shopping tomorrow, come spend the day with us.”

Lando gave you a faint smile, “Can’t right now, baby. Some important shipments are about to come in. I can’t afford a day off until it gets here.”

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle and pull you closer. “But I barely see you.” You murmured. “The last time we had a date night was like, weeks ago.”

Your face got really hot just thinking about it. Not just the date, but what happened after in the car on the way home…

Lando smirked, surely also thinking about the same thing, grabbing you by the hips and gently moving you on his lap, rubbing you against his growing erection. You hissed in pleasure as he did. The soft, silky night dress you were wearing bunched up around your upper thighs, allowing you to feel everything. The shape of him, the warmth.

“If you wanted a lovesick romeo who writes you love notes every morning then you shouldn’t have agreed to marry a man like me.” He taunted, teasing you and pinching your thigh.

You reached out and grabbed his gold chain, tugging on it playfully, knowing how much he liked it when you did. “Unfortunately I like my men a little more corrupted,” You whispered, “Bonus points if they work all the time and don’t have time for me.” You sassed.

Lando chuckled, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “Aww, what is it?” He cooed, “You miss daddy? Hmm? Does mommy need some extra love from daddy tonight?”

You nodded.

“Come here, baby,” He pressed his mouth to yours as his hands caressed your inner thighs. He kissed you like he was starving, while your hands reached down in between your bodies and eagerly lowered his sweatpants to free his cock.

You whimpered into the kiss, against his lips as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking his hard cock, making him groan into the kiss before he pulled away and said, “Daddy missed you too.” He murmured, looking down to watch how your hand touched him just how he liked it. “Fuck,” He sighed, “That feels good, baby…”

His praise gave you enough confidence to stroke him harder, making him groan and moan. You loved the sounds he made. And you wanted to keep hearing those moans so you carefully lifted your lower body off his, pulled your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself down on his cock, earning louder moans out of his sinful mouth as you sank down on him.

You were wet enough for his cock to slide in, but your body still resisted just a little bit, enough for him to have to thrust up the tiniest bit to fully fill you up. You cried out as he did.

His soft lips parted just a little, and you couldn’t resist leaning in and sliding your tongue into his mouth. You whimpered against his lips, stroking the top of his mouth as you lifted up and sank back down on his cock, making him growl into the messy kiss.

“That’s it, baby… fuck yourself on daddy’s cock…” Lando’s hands rubbed up and down your thighs again as he gently thrust his hips up each time, setting a pace that had you both moaning and wanting more of each other.

Your fingers slid into his hair, scratching his scalp and down his neck as the tip of his cock reached sensitive places inside you.

Lando chuckled when he felt you clench around him. “We’re not using protection again, mama…” He spoke against your open mouth, breathless as you were, “You’re gonna give me another kid, huh?” He sounded cocky as he said it, like it filled him with pride. “Gonna let me fill you up again till you walk around all nice and swollen with my baby in you, hmm?”

You whined, feeling him stretch you out each time you moved up and down his cock. “Lando… please,” You gasped as his hand slipped between the two of you and found your clit, he rubbed it lazily.

“Answer me,” He demanded, “You’re gonna carry another one for me?” His voice sent chills down your back.

“Yes,” You whimpered, moving faster, impaling yourself down on his cock and whimpering shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. Your lips brushed against his each time you moved up and down his cock, feeling him stretch you out as you stared into his ridiculously pretty eyes. You couldn’t help but speak the thoughts of your lust-drunk mind, “I want you to fill me up again,” You mumbled, feeling yourself getting high up there gradually.

Lando laughed, also lust-drunk, “I can’t wait…” He said, “Can’t wait to come home and find you dripping wet for me.” His voice gave away that he was thinking back to how needy you were for him all throughout your previous pregnancy.

You whimpered, thinking about it as well. Some evenings he’d come home and you dragged him to the bedroom immediately. Some days you even called him and asked him if he could come home for an hour or two. Lando happily agreed each time of course.

“Remember how sensitive you’d get? How needy?” He teased, holding you close. “How you almost cried each time I made you come?” He smirked, male pride all over his face. “Some of the best months of my life those were.”

You whined, “Please…” You stared into his pretty eyes.

“Come for me.” He growled in that cold, menacing, erotic voice. “Come for daddy…”

And you did. Whimpering, squirming and whining. You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and Lando kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him.

Lando came right after you, moaning and spilling inside of you, filling you up as you trembled and squirmed on his lap. You leaned forward, pushing your face into his neck to catch your breath while he held you against him, kissing the side of your face softly.

“You okay, baby?” He asked after a few minutes of you two just cuddling there on the sofa.

You nodded, “Mhmm, don’t wanna get up.” You murmured, sighing in bliss as you snuggled into his warm chest.

He chuckled, “Okay.” He kissed the stop of your head. “I love you,” He whispered.

#lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #mob!lando #f1

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violetarks · 3 months

Text

"they don't love me like you do!"

anime: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru

summary: despite the countless valentines day offers he receives, satoru will only ever accept one confession. but you're confessing... to his best friend?

warnings: g/n! reader, they/them pronouns used, high school! au

"please accept these chocolates, gojo!" says the girl in front of him. satoru casually pulls down his glasses enough to see the red, heart-shaped cardboard box.

"oh, uh... thank you." he awkwardly says. this girl was two year below him, judging by the colours of her indoor shoes. he didn't even know her name. "this is... a surprise."

"i've liked you ever since orientation day. i hope you like these." she says with a nervous grin. she's stiff as he takes them out of her hands, standing up straight to stare at the tall man. "thank you for always being so funny and helping everyone you can."

"ah, you're welcome." he says, tucking the chocolates and the letter taped to it under his arm. luckily, the lunch bell had rung and everyone should've been off to enjoy their break. "well, i'll... see you around."

"b—bye, gojo!" she calls, waving at him as he walks the other way. he gives a kind smile before he turns the corner, dropping it immediately.

on the way to class, multiple other students watched him as he carelessly skimmed through the letter before stuffing it in his book bag, ready to throw it (and the others) away once home. valentines day was this week and it was two days before it today. yet satoru had received tons of confession letters and date proposals, none of which he had the intention of accepting.

plopping down in his chair, he groans, hanging his head, "ugh! i hate being so loveable..."

suguru rolls his eyes, outting his book down. "here we go again." he grunts, shaking his head.

"seriously! why can't i be left alone around valentines day?" he questions out lout, pulling his lunch box from his bag.

shoko bites into her sandwich as she listens to him. as she swallows, she retorts, "maybe it's because you flirt with every living being on earth." satoru sends him a pointed look. "so how many letters today?"

"seven." satoru responds, knocking his bag.

"and?"

"none of them were from y/n." he sighs out, picking up his chopsticks.

"wait, y/n?" suguru pipes up, putting his juicebox down, "as in y/n from class d?"

the blue-eyed boy raises a brow, halting his movements. "uh, yeah? l/n y/n." he recalls to his friend, tilting his head, "what? i've been talking about 'em for the past three months—suguru, have you been listening to me at all?"

"oh!" the dark-haired boy chuckles, nodding his head, "i know y/n. we're in the same literature class."

satoru stares at him in disbelief. the other students surrounding them are in their own little world, but the three of them didn't even mind them hearing if they tried. shoko continues to eat her food while suguru shrugs at his friend.

"are you kidding me?" satoru gasps out, waving a hand in the air, "i've been trying to get with them for three months and you tell me this just now?"

"you should've been more specific, man." suguru retorts, waving it off, "anyway, you gonna' ask them to be your valentine?"

satoru sighs loudly, hanging his head back, "i don't know... we only share bio together, i bet there's a lot of people who have asked them to be their valentine. they probably won't even accept mine."

shoko purses her lips and stretches her arms. "i don't know about that." she claims, "you're a pretty guy and everyone knows you. i doubt they'd pass up the chance to revel in that popularity."

"... thanks, shoko."

soon enough, the bell rings and the day goes on.

the next day, satoru notices something in your hand during biology class.

"whatchu' got there, y/n?" he asks, peaking over your shoulder. he sat behind you, enough room to see the handwritten letter you were writing.

"satoru!" you jump a little, covering the page. he furrows his brow. "it's, uh... i'm just writng something."

"is it... for valentines day tomorrow?" he inquires, curious to who was the lucky person. but you were still hiding it from him!

"no, of course not." you were lying, he could tell by the way you look to the left. a pout falls on his lips. "it's notes. for another class."

"oh... okay." he responds, a bit disappointed. why would you lie to him? he sits back in his chair, writing down some paragraphs from the textbook mindlessly. he saw the way your elbow quickly shifted, you were writing faster. your head was down too, never looking up. you were so concentrated.

he's known you for a couple of months now. you bumped into him on the way to school, and you admitted to him that you were a bit lost since you didn't live around here. satoru, being the gentleman he is, offered to escort you. you thought he was some creep (he tried reaching to hold your hand and when you jerked away on instinct, he played it off as it being the wind).

but once realising you two shared some classes together, you grew fond of him. you knew of the countless students throwing themselves at him. both older and younger. he was the school heartthrob. it's a shame though, only your smile could make his heart race like he makes others do.

when you gave him your lucky pen when he told you he didn't study and he was freaking out, you had this kind smile that made him think 'i don't want anyone else to see this but me'.

and he noticed that you awkwardly took it back from him, looking away as he clasped your hands tightly in the filled hallway and thanked you. your reactions were just the cutest...

when the bell rings, you perk up, putting your 'notes' in a suspicious looking envelope and signing it off with something. you stand up and satoru is quick to walk by your side when a classmates holds his arm to talk.

"huh?" satoru grunts, furrowed brows.

"gojo, i... i wanted to give you this." they say, holding out a teddy-bear saying 'be my valentine!'. satoru frowned when he took it. "you don't have to answer today... just let me know tomorrow, please."

as they continue to talk, he sees you exit the classroom. the letter sits comfortably in your palm, and you look left, right, before walking off. satoru is electrified.

"okay, thanks!" he says, running out of the classroom while he clutches the bear in his hands.

weaving through the crowd, he looks for the top of your head. after more and more people pass him, staring at the teddy and whispering 'who gave that to him this time?', he spots you turning the corner, a nervous look on your face. he mutters out apologies as he bumps into people heading to their next class.

the hallway you're in now is empty. you stand in front of a classroom door, waiting. notably, suguru's math class.

satoru stands at the end of the corridor, behind the corner, as the classroom door opens to reveal his best friend, geto suguru.

"suguru!" you call, smile. your shoulders are straightened, you hold the letter in front of you. not scared to show him...

"oh, y/n, hey." he responds, grinning as well. the comfortability around you two was so strange to see. "what's up?"

satoru feels like he's buzzing out. he can't hear everything you're saying, but you look a bit excited yet anxious. he hears your sweet voice speak to his best friend with such kindness that he's jealous. sure, suguru was attactive and nice and he definitely didn't feed into the popularity like satoru did, but...

why did it have to be you who was interested in him?

"please, take this." you say, handing him the same letter you had before. except this time, satoru sees the 'g.s' on it. 'geto suguru'. and you take out a box of his favourite snacks to hand to him. "thank you for everything, again. you're the best."

suguru takes it with ease, seeing how you looked at him. his gaze softens as he takes the treat as well. "you're welcome, y/n. anything you need, i'll help with." he puts the letter in his own bag before slinging am arm around your shoulders. "now, what're your plans for after?"

he was blatantly asking you out now! right after satoru told him he had feelings for you! such betrayal!

you two walk to the other end of the hallway, in the direction of your literature class. satoru slumps against the wall, furrowed brows and lips pressed into a thin line. after a second, he pushes his glasses up and lets out a slow exhale. he could get over this...

"gojo! may i please have a moment of your time?"

"wait no! me first!"

"gojo, can i talk to you?"

"please accept these!"

or maybe he couldn't.

valentines day was today and you danced into school with such confidence. you had a bouquet of flowers in your arms, chocolates of the sweetest kinds, and a bag of new perfume that you knew your crush would like.

you were so excited.

satoru, who was walking a few people behind you, was not.

he saw the amount of passion you put into the holiday, and it made him sick to know it was for his best friend. the guys was in such a bad mood, he ignored suguru and shoko's calls this morning to meet up and walk to school together like usual.

satoru clicked his tongue, thinking about how dramatic the whole valentines day idea was. really, who needed it all anyway?

in homeroom, he can hear your class (which is next to his, across the hall) start whooping and cheering when you walk in. and he knows it's you by the chants of your last name being heard. he sits in his chair in anguish.

"satoru, morning. finally." shoko says, sitting down as well. she grins, bitting the popsicle stick between her lips. "where are all of your valentines presents?"

"stuffed in my shoe locker and under my desk." he claimed, opening the top of it to showcase the blaring red and pink gifts. she picked at one pocky box, munching on the biscuits. "how about you?"

"i got a couple letters and cookies in my locker." she claims, shrugging her shoulders, "lots of 'em are from the badminton team. i don't know why."

satoru shrugs as well as soon as suguru sits down in front of him. the blue-eyed students scoffs, looking away.

"good morning, satoru." he says, noticing his friend's behaviour, "what's got his panties in a twist this morning? does he know we called him a hundred times?"

"i dunno'." shoko says, looking out the window to the school garden. "ask him."

"satoru, what's wrong? didn't get enough presents this year?" he teases, leaning in his chair to poke his head, "wake up late?"

but satoru angrily swats his hand away. the raven-haire boy blinks curiously before satoru glares at him. "why didn't you tell me you were interested in y/n?" he asks, hurt.

shoko looks back to the two boys, seeing suguru just as confused as she is. "you're into y/n?"

"what? no! who said that?" suguru retorts, hands up in defense, "i'm not interested in dating y/n, swear on my life."

"that's a lie!" satoru accuses, pointing a finger against his friend's nose, "shoko, i saw him and y/n all... all... familiar yesterday after period 2! he had his arm around them!"

"suguru..." shoko warns.

"wait wait, that's—you got it all wrong." suguru groans, now understanding. he digs through his bag and pulls out a piece of paper. "here. open it."

satoru pushes away the paper reading 'g.s'. "no way! i'm not reading y/n's love letter to you!"

"ugh! just open it!" suguru grunts, shoving it onto his desk.

satoru begrudgingly takes it and gently opens the letter, not wanting to rip it. once his eyes fall upon the page, he confirms that it's your handwriting.

'thank you for being the sweetest boy to me. i am truly honoured to know such a beautiful person, inside and out.'

satoru wants to barf.

'sitting near you in biology really helped me to understand you, satoru. you're not only a pretty face, but a world-class sweet tooth, a sucker for romantic cliches and a cologne-collector.'

satoru thinks this is the most beautiful thing he's ever read.

he contiues to read, expression changing, letting shoko and suguru understand his thoughts. the girl looks to the other boy, who shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes.

"i'm confused." shoko states, tilting her head.

"y/n isn't confessing to me, they're confessing—"

"y/n is confessing to me! me, satoru!" satoru exclaims, waving the letter around like a maniac. everyone else in the class was suddenly a listener, peaking at the trio. they were interested in finding out what the one confession that resulted in this reaction was. "oh my god, oh my god!"

suguru nods his head. placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "yes, yes, they are. i was meant to give you the letter this morning to read before homeroom, but someone was pissy." he scoffs, shaking his head, "so i had to go and tell y/n that plans had changed."

"you... helped y/n plan this all out?" satoru mumbles, "but you didn't even know!"

shoko chuckles, staring out the window again.

"i just said i wasn't paying attention so you didn't think i was snooping. which i was. and i only told you i knew y/n so you wouldn't get any ideas, like this." suguru circles the air with his finger, deadpanning at the clueless satoru, "you think anyone would do this without definitive proof the other person liked them?"

satoru continues to read the letter you wrote for him before his eyes land on the ending. "'please meet me at the school fountain before homeroom ends.'" he murmurs out, blinking, "suguru—"

"you were meant to go two minutes ago." his friend sings out, standing in front of shoko's desk. he points out the window, much like other students were doing in their own classrooms. "you should..."

when his friends turn around to him, satoru is already one foot out of the door. he's rushing downstairs (down three flights of stairs, actually) with your letter clutched in his hand. he almost flies into a couple teachers on the way to the garden, only for their attention to be caught by students opening the windows and pointing outside.

when he rushed through the doors to the garden, you're staring at the floor, still holding the flowers and gifts you brought to school with you. taking a moment to gather himself, satoru runs fingers through his hair and fixes his glasses. the pair you've complimented a thousand times.

satoru walks closer to you and when he catches your eye, you stand up straight and smile.

"satoru." you chime, not missing the thousand pairs of eyes that were following your every move. "good morning. happy valentines day."

you hold out the flowers to him. it's set in a nice box, and the treats are in a gift bag. when you give it to him, your smile is awkward but hopeful.

"happy valentines day, y/n." he replies, taking it from you. he sits down on the fountain edge, and you follow along. "i'm so sorry, i... i don't have anything for you."

"no, no, no." you retort, grinning, "it's fine. this was a surprise for you, anyway."

he sighs, "no, i'm sorry... please, let me make it up to you."

you laugh a little, placing a hand over his on his lap. the flowers were sat on the fountain with his gifts. "sure thing." you retort, "hey, suguru told me that this morning—"

"i'm sorry, i know, i just thought..." he begins, cutting you off. he looks embarrassed, heavy blush falling over his cheeks. "i saw you and suguru yesterday and you gave him that letter. had me thinkin' you were confessing to him instead of me."

you let out a small chuckle, making him gulp, "oh my goodness, i'm sorry, i didn't mean for you to see that. we were trying to be sneaky."

satoru's chest feels lighter, and he feels better just hearing it from you. he links his fingers with yours, facing you fully.

"ah, no it's fine." he tells you, the most purest form of adoration in his eyes that you can see from the top of his slanted down glasses. you grin softly. "listen, i have had a crush on you for months... and i was hoping that you'd go out with me. i want a chance to get to know you personally, away from any prying eyes."

you peer to the side, seeing the people watching you. they were practically hanging out the window, waving their hands and fighting to view the whole scene for themselves. cameras took photos and videos, capturing your moment with him.

"i'd love that, satoru." you say, scanning his face, "you're the best."

it only takes him a single second to reach his hand out and brush his thumb agaisnt your cheek. you don't freeze up though, only relaxing into him. he was the most inviting guy you've ever met.

"can i kiss you?" he asks, voice unwavering. his blue eyes are staring at your face with such kindness that it cannot be described.

you don't even say anything, only leaaning forward and pressing your lips to his. he's smiling against your lips, gentle hand caressing your cheek. your eyes flutter shut, holding his hand tightly.

cheers erupt from the school. screams and whoops from guys and girls alike. most students are heartbroken due to the obvious confession. nobody had even gotten that close to satoru. no one has been able to hold his hand, let alone get him to go crazy over a letter. you got him to race out of that classroom like a madman, and everyone was surely surprised.

the shouts die down as the kiss deescalates, many of the students sighing as they're forced to move on from the heart-throb gojo satoru.

when you pull away, satoru chases, leaving a gentle kiss against your forehead. your smile is wide and you pinch his cheek softly.

"you're such a drama queen, satoru." you say, standing up, "i was wondering why everyone started yelling and staring at me all of a sudden."

satoru stands with his presents, rubbing the back of his neck as he holds your hand. h goes to answer when a voice is heard from the fourth floor.

"the idiot took some convincing, y/n!" suguru shouts, waving his hand, "glad to know he's got some sense in him!"

"shut up, suguru!" satoru calls back, showing his fist.

"first period is about to start, you two!" the principle says through a window on the third floor, "this is all heart-warming, but you've failed two of ms kinoshita's classes, gojo!"

"r—right!" he retorts, pacing to the school entrance as people begin to 'ooh' at him. he looks back at you, smiling the brightest. "let's go out after school today, yeah? i'll buy you as many sweets as you want."

you chuckle, kissing his cheek, "my hero."

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #satoru #satoru x reader

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gloomygumi · 7 months

Text

quirks - satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary: part two︱you like to think you’re aware of all of satoru’s quirks, but shoko thinks you may have missed a few.

contents: fluff, newly realised feelings, highschool!gojo, he's honestly not even actually there for a lot of it, shoko and geto are tho, honestly a little bit of whipped gojo, probably ooc but definitely self indulgent

word count: 1.2k

a/n: how are we coping since 236 guys ????? wrote this feeling like i’d been widowed so i guess this counts as my coping mechanism 😭 hope you enjoy anyway, constructive criticism and any ideas or opinions you have are always welcome !!

in your past year of knowing satoru gojo, you’d made a note of his multiple quirks.

you noticed how when the group of second years went out to eat together at the weekends, he would whine about how good everyone else’s food looks until everyone at the table took pity (or annoyance, in suguru’s case) and spooned some of their meal onto his plate.

you noticed how when he was in class, listening to yaga drone on about the different types of curses, he would never let all of the legs of his chair rest on the ground. he was constantly swinging back and forth. it’s a miracle that he’s never fallen back, you think.

you even noticed how he somehow kept a momento from every single hangout and mission, each of them stored in a little wooden box he kept on his bedside table back in the dorms. in the past, you’d seen him slide seemingly worthless ticket stubs and receipts into his pockets, and when the curiosity finally got the better of you and you asked what he did with them, you only received a cheeky grin and a wink from your friend.

so, when shoko finally told you some of her own observations of his behaviours and habits during your lunch break one day, it’s safe to say it shocked you.

“i think it’s pretty obvious that he likes you.” she speaks casually, as if her words hadn’t caused you to choke on your own food. she passes you her bottle of water and pats your back. “you couldn’t tell?”

after gulping down half of her water, and spluttering a few times, you finally found your voice, letting out a strangled “he’s my friend - he does not like me like that!”

the look shoko gives you is one of ridicule, but before she can say anything else, you quickly continue.

“how’d you even come to that conclusion anyway, you’re not usually much of a gossip. that’s suguru’s job." you attempt to joke, but you feel the strained smile drop from your face as the boy you mentioned approaches the table and plops down beside your friend.

speak of the devil...

you see shoko's eyes light up, but before you can even attempt to cut her off again, she turns to suguru. "geto! back me up here, isn't it so obvious that gojo likes (y/n)?"

"mhm." he hums, barely even acknowledging the fact that his confirmation has sent you spiraling for the second time. "he's not exactly subtle about it."

"you guys are being ridiculous."

now it's suguru's turn to look at you like you've suddenly grown two heads. "you really didn't know?"

shoko lets out a laugh at his genuine confusion, and reaches into her bag to pull out a cigarette. you quickly hand her a lighter you keep on hand just for moments like this and she quietly thanks you before continuing. "have you never noticed how he's always touching you in some way?"

"that's just how he is!" you defend. "he's always hanging off of suguru too!"

the pair in front of you share a look, before geto continues. "what about how he never lets you walk closest to the road?"

you stop for a second, trying to pinpoint an occasion - just one - where he had only to come up empty handed. in fact, the more you think about it, the more sense it makes. you replay your moments walking back to the dorms after class with satoru, with his arm always casually wrapped around your shoulder. you remember how he always looked comfortable and at peace. you even remember how he would gently bump you closer into the sidewalk if you were walking with someone else, sticking his tongue out at you and ruffling your hair if you voiced a complaint at his behaviour.

your mouth dries up as you try to come up with another excuse to brush off your friends' observations, but you start to question yourself.

maybe they're right...?

you shake you head, as if trying to clear your head of these thought. "he does that for everyone, you guys are just reading too much into it."

between drags of her cigarette, shoko chuckles. "he's never done it for me." geto leans forward from his seat across from you and gently flicks in between your eyebrows. your hand immediately clamps down on the spot, and you groan at him. "what was that for!?"

he ignores your dramatics. "why are you so sure that we're lying?"

his genuine question makes you stop to think. it wasn't that you didn't like gojo, in fact, you hadn't dedicated much time to thinking about him in that way at all. your friends being so insistent on the fact that he liked you made you slowly start to realise that maybe you did share some affections for the ill mannered boy.

you continue to mull over as many interactions and memories that you have shared with satoru, slowly connecting the dots in your head. he always was more gentle with you, never polite but always kind. he regularly brought you souvenirs back from missions that you weren't assigned to and he always insisted on sitting next to you on the train home, offering you the window seat every single time.

almost as if they can hear your inner monologue being to spiral, shoko pipes up once more. "he gave you a different ring tone so he'd know every time you call."

you feel your heart stop for a second, unsure as to why this in particular made you finally believe their words, but before you even have the opportunity to dismiss them again (now in an attempt to convince yourself more than them) you feel the seat beside you sink with additional weight and a familiar arm flung around your shoulder. you barely even register the smug smile shoko is flashing you from across the table as you focus on attempting to cool your face.

"i can't believe you guys started eating without me!" satoru whines, leaning even more heavily into your side. he makes quick work of plucking a large chunk of meat out of your bento, sending you a sly grin as you look up at him in dismay. "what were you guys talkin' about?"

suguru meets your eyes, raising his eyebrows as he meets your glare, urging him to shut his mouth. "oh nothing." he hums, before completely changing the subject.

the conversation from moments prior is still fresh in your mind, and you're now very aware of the soft glances gojo keeps sending your way. you suddenly feel a lot more awkward in his presence, and you barely notice how you're fidgeting with your hands under the table and not participating in the conversation anymore.

that is until you feel warm hands grip your own, effectively halting their movement. "you okay?" you can barely hear satoru over the blood pumping in your ears, and you're unaware of the laughs shoko and geto are trying desperately to hold back whilst watching the scene as you try to speak.

you start to wish your friends had kept their observations to themselves.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk season 2 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you

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a-kaash-me-outside · 2 months

Text

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 5 months

Text

Practice On Me — Part Twelve — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader does what she has to for the information she wants. Talking to Azriel takes an interesting turn. Kaeda’s not doing her job, and she’s feeling a bit sorry for herself — to which Cassian isn’t very sympathetic.

Word Count: 9.6k. OOF. A long one, sorry!

Warnings: None.

You should really just go to sleep. Mind your own business.

But you find yourself waiting. Listening. For some indication that Tathaln has left.

You think it might be hours that pass. Roza has long since passed out in her bed. But there’s no chance of you sleeping, too. Not with all the thoughts that are crammed full in your head and speaking too loudly.

The most pressing of which: Why the fuck would the Lord of Fenlaros be visiting the High Lord in his private home in this private city?

No other camp lords venture here, you’re sure. Don’t even know it exists.

And yet, from that short glimpse you got of Finadar and Tathaln, there was an air of…familiarity, about them. Like it wasn’t the first time they were privately meeting.

Eventually, you grow sick of waiting, wondering. It’s no use. You’re restless and wired and churned up. You need to move, to stretch your legs, grab a drink or something.

The house is eerily still. You take your time traversing the corridors, carefully listening out to catch lowered voices and hushed tones. Even decide to take the longer route — the one that would take you past the High Lord’s study. But even as you pass by the thick wooden door, you hear nothing but the distant sounds of a hooting owl and the slicing wind amidst the mountains.

You’re almost at the kitchen when a figure abruptly rounds the corner on too-light feet. You stop short — and so does the High Lord.

You’re so stunned that you forget yourself. It takes a moment for you to remember to act accordingly. You bow your head in greeting. “My Lord.”

“Y/N.” Your name sounds funny, too familiar, on his tongue. When Rhysand had brought you here at fourteen, Finadar had merely referred to you as that girl. It seems that with age comes at least a little bit of acknowledgment. His eyes rake over you, and you’re suddenly aware of your nightgown, your unbound hair. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“A little, my Lord—”

“Just Fin, please.”

You pause. And then smile a bland smile. “A little…Fin.”

He holds up the object you hadn’t noticed clutched within his hand. A bottle. “I was just about to have a night cap. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

On instinct, you want to decline. Having a private drink with Rhysand’s father seems…inappropriate, somehow.

But then that curious little voice in your head reminds you that this — this is the perfect opportunity to ask some questions, hopefully garner information. He’s relaxed. Open. In his own environment. What better time than now?

So that bland smile becomes a pretty one, and you dip your chin. “It would be my pleasure.”

With that charming smile of his own, the handsome male leads you to his study and holds the door open for you. Stepping inside feels like breaching somewhere firmly forbidden, and a place of such luxury that it would chew up your poor-to-do self and spit you out. All rich mahogany wood and more books than you’ve ever seen in your life. Trinkets and papers and maps and war strategy. The sight leaves you a little breathless, and for a moment, you forget you’re not alone.

But then the door shuts behind you, and the High Lord is striding past, over to his desk.

“You’ve been a friend of my son’s for a while, now, haven’t you?” He asks casually, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.

You step closer, nodding. “I have, My Lo—Fin. Nine years, to be exact.”

“And you’re his age?”

“Yes. Twenty.”

A vague smile plays on his lips. “Old enough to drink, then, Please, do sit.”

You do exactly that, taking a seat in one of the plush, cushioned chairs and folding your hands in your lap. And for all you had planned to speak with Fin, now that you’re in front of him, you’re not quite sure what to say. You don’t know how to talk to someone of such high status.

He’s entirely at confident — even arrogant — ease, though. With a wave of a hand, a fire roars to life, breathing heat into the room and bathing it in an intimate glow. He pours two glasses of dark, smoky liquid and hands one to you before taking his own.

Instead of sitting at his desk as you half expect, he’s slumping into the armchair beside yours and tipping his head against its back.

He looks…tired, you note, as you subtly study him over the lip of your glass. Devastatingly beautiful — there’s no doubt about that. Chocolate eyes that remind you of Mor’s and short, reddish-brown hair. His generously muscled arms push through his shirt as he shifts.

And then he says, out of the blue, “I don’t sleep well, either.”

You’re not sure why he’s telling you that, of all things.

“I’m sorry.” It seems like an appropriate response. “I imagine, in being High Lord, you must have a lot on your plate.”

A wry smile graces his lips. “There’s always someone wanting something from you.” His eyes then drink you in again. “What is it you do in Windhaven? I take it you’re unwed. I don’t remember approving a marriage for you.”

“I am. Until recently, I lived with and worked for my father. But my circumstances have changed, and I don’t know what I’ll be doing next.”

“Was it your father who took your wings?”

Heat burns your cheeks. “It was.”

“Is that what you want from me? To punish him?”

You stare back at him, fighting to keep your expression neutral. “Who says I want anything from you?”

“Do you not?”

“…It was you who invited me for a drink, My Lord. I can leave if my company is bothersome to you—”

“It is not.” He lays a hand on your arm, skin far smoother than you expect from somebody so accustomed to weapons. “But there’s no reason we can’t both get something out of this.”

Your eyes fall down to that hand, and your body is so very still. Perhaps you’ve made a grave mistake in seeking him out.

But you dare ask, “What is it you want?”

A chuckle rasps out of him, and he retracts the touch. “Honesty. I get the sense that you’re of the curious sort. Why else would you have been so intently watching me greet my guest earlier this evening?”

So, he’d seen you. Silly, for you to assume that you could slip into the shadows around such a powerful being. You can almost feel that power prowling under his skin right now.

“I am interested,” you admit, “in what Tathaln Baralas was doing here.”

“You’re familiar with him.” He states — and then chuckles again. “Of course, you are. You were one of the ones who snuck off to Fenlaros for a party. I wasn’t best pleased when my son told me.” His head falls into a tilt. “But why would you be interested in Tathaln’s business here?”

“I may not be from Fenlaros, but I am Illyrian. And I imagine that a matter that warrants a meeting at the High Lord’s personal residence is one pressing enough to effect more than just a single camp.”

Full lips — Rhysand’s lips — tilt upwards. “Beautiful, curious and intelligent. Such a waste in a place like Illyria.”

“You’re too kind.”

“And you are too bashful.” A quiet intensity lies within his brown eyes. “I will reward your candour with this: Tathaln Baralas was here to suggest — request — a grand ball.”

For a split second, you falter. Try not to let it show on your face that you do.

The answer is…underwhelming. Perhaps you’re so idle in Velaris that you’re looking for drama where it doesn’t exist.

“A ball.” You repeat the word rather foolishly, like it’s your first time ever saying it. “I…I wasn’t aware that a Camp Lord would need your permission to arrange such a thing.”

“Confined to his own camp, he would not.” Fin tells you. “But the Lord of Fenlaros proposes something on a far larger scale. Something that has never before been done, and something that, I must admit, has piqued my interest.”

“Which is what?”

“Tathaln,” the High Lord stands, draining his glass and returning it to his desk, “has asked me to throw an Illyrian ball — not solely a Fenlarion ball. Meaning the best legions from all Illyrian war camps will be invited, along with their wives, mates, whatever. They will all gather in one place for this event, and interact as they never have before.”

You stare at him.

You do not mean for your indignation to shine through so freely.

He is your High Lord and not to be disrespected.

But you’re studying him, and wondering why the fuck he doesn’t look as alarmed by the suggestion as you feel.

“Why, by the Cauldron, would he want to do that?” The words fall from your mouth, formality forgotten. “There’s a reason it’s never been done before. Rival camps do not mix because Illyrians are hot-headed and driven by ego, and there would be fights and bloodshed and probably death. It’s a terrible idea. I don’t understand why Tathaln Baralas would suggest such a thing.”

A deep chortle husks out of the High Lord, and you could be wrong, but you think there might be a hint of surprise in the sound. Like he’s unused to such brazenness from his subjects — female ones, in particular.

You asked a damn good question, though.

Fin turns to you, and for a lingering moment, he simply stares. And then he says, softly, “Stand.”

You pause. Think that maybe, you’ve spoken too much, crossed a line. But you stand.

The High Lord beckons you closer.

You take one step forward. Another. Another. He lifts a hand and motions for you to stop. You do. You smooth your hands over your nightgown. Think you might be shaking a little.

You do not need a wealth of knowledge nor experience to recognise exactly how it is that he looks at you.

Deep, tawny eyes trail the length of you and seem to miss no detail. Your loose hair and pretty, open face. The sharp lines of your collarbones and the smooth skin of your decolletage. The flowing silk of your nightgown and the bareness of your legs and arms on show beneath it.

He stares at you in a way that makes you feel you’re wearing nothing at all.

And then he’s prowling closer with preternatural grace, and the heat and scent of his body seems to snuff out the heat and scent of the fire.

You can only stand, your legs wobbling a little, as he begins to circle you, peruse you, like a predator assessing its prey. You might hold your breath a little. You’re not sure what he plans to do, whether you’re to be reprimanded for your candidness. When he raises his hand, you hope you don’t flinch. You learned not to do so, not to show your fear, in the years living under your father’s thumb.

But his hand merely cups the curve of your shoulder and sweeps a few strands of your hair back.

“Give me what I want, Y/N.” He says, his voice gritty. “And I will tell you what Tathaln wants.”

This is all starting to feel like a huge oversight. A mistake. If this goes too far — if he suggests something that would disrespect Roza in any way…

You’d sooner be reprimanded, however badly.

Your eyes shutter, and you speak again, “What is it you want?”

Fin slinks round until he’s stood before you. The mild smile on his lips hides so much. “If I’m to oversee an event with all the camps under my rule,” he says, “I want to look good. I’m a victim of extreme vanity, you see. Appearances are everything. And thus, I would go before my subjects with the prettiest little piece at my side.” His eyes drink in your face, unpainted and unguarded. “You would do nicely.”

You’re not certain that your breath of relief is a silent one. The suggestion could be far worse, of course, but anxious butterflies are still all aflutter in your gut.

It would be prudent to remember who you’re talking to — who it is you’re playing games with. To remember that you are just a young female from Windhaven, with no experience outside of it. You are not a seasoned courtier, and you do not know the rules of the game — how to play them, nor how to break them.

You clear your throat, lowering your gaze. “Forgive me, My Lord. Whilst I’m undoubtedly flattered…I must admit to also being confused. Won’t Roza fulfil the role at your side?”

“Roza will attend no more public appearances for the remainder of her pregnancy — a decision we came to together. She is far too tired and must rest. And she’s fully aware that I will need to invite a special guest in her place.”

“But if you’re trying to make an impression before your Illyrian subjects…I am the last female who would bring you any glory. I am ordinary. I do not have wings—”

“You do yourself a disservice, Y/N.” His slow footsteps begin again. “The likes of your father have got into your head, I fear. What I see, looking at you now, is not these.” Warm fingers touch your ruined back, and you jerk a little. “What I see is the embodiment of classic Illyrian beauty. Just as I see in my Roza. You may not know this, but they tried to take her wings, too. Until I stopped them. It — we — would send a message, don’t you think? That your repulsive father may have taken your wings, but he did not take your spirit. Your beauty. And that spirit and beauty earned you a place at the High Lord’s side. Perhaps I’ll invite your father, and his punishment can be the night’s entertainment.”

It's…strange. Conflicting. Because the High Lord is saying things that you so often long to hear. The shattered, self-loathing part of your brain perks up and leans into the compliments like a pampered cat, waiting to hear more, to be stroked.

But then there’s an angry part of you — one that wishes to yell at him that if he truly abhorred the practice of wing clipping, he would ban it altogether instead of keeping himself in the favour of Illyrians and simultaneously bashing their views and traditions behind their backs.

So many feelings. And yet, you try to remember why you’re here.

Because something eats away at you that whatever Tathaln Baralas is up to will impact Azriel somehow. At least as long as he’s with Kaeda.

So you lift your chin and ask, “I agree to be your special guest to the ball, and you tell me what the Lord of Fenlaros is up to? It’s that easy?”

Fin chuckles. Stops in front of you again. “It’s that easy.” He inclines his head. “As I said, I am of the vain sort — and this is merely a thing of vanity. I’d rather enjoy parading one of my son’s pretty playthings on my arm. Letting those Illyrian males know that I could have any of their females if I wanted. And the fact that I don’t particularly care for Tathaln Baralas means that I don’t particularly care to hold on too tightly to his secrets, either.”

You don’t bother correcting him about the nature of yours and Rhys’s relationship. Seems irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things. And if your only role in this is to dress up and look pretty at the High Lord’s side, you reckon you’ve gotten off pretty damn lightly.

For a moment, there, you really thought he might want…more.

“Alright.” You stand up straight. “I will gladly be your guest to the ball.”

He smiles an odd smile, like he knew you would agree all along. With his arm brushing yours as he closely passes, he makes his way back over to his desk. Refills his glass and yours. Hands it to you.

“The reason the Lord of Fenlaros wants an Illyrian ball,” he says, “is because he seeks a situation in which he can have an eye on all camps — and vet their talent.”

“Vet their…” Your brow pinches. “What?”

“Tathaln, Y/N, has a vision in mind.” Fin turns to you, perching on the edge of the desk. “One that, I have to admit, did pique my interest — if it were to work. You see, he’s of the opinion that Illyria should, eventually, do away with the individual camps entirely. He’d sooner have one huge camp — that he would be Lord of, of course, and have a team of the strongest, most powerful Illyrians working alongside him to train the most fearsome army in the entirety of the Fae realm.”

“That’s preposterous. Cramming all Illyrians into one camp under one lord would mean the eye would be taken off the ball quicker than lightning. How could an army that big be adequately trained by a small team of leaders, no matter how powerful? Even the strongest soldiers couldn’t keep command of such numbers. That is why the individual camps work. Weaknesses get smoothed out and strengths are honed.”

The fire in your tone seems to amuse the High Lord. And you wonder if Illyria isn’t unlike a dolls house to him. Figures he can pluck up and move around and pit against each other for his own entertainment.

“Tathaln would disagree with you.” He smiles. “He believes that the individual camps only create room for complacency, a lack of order. He thinks that your kind spend more time drinking and fucking and fighting amongst themselves than they do training for combat. And he thinks that if something isn’t done about it, the next war could wipe Illyria off the map.”

“And he believes himself to be a strong enough Camp Lord to somehow fix that?”

“Alone? Gods, no. He’s an arrogant brute, but not a stupid one. No,” He says again. “See, this unit he would build wouldn’t be just made up of highly-skilled warriors.”

“Then what?”

“Illyrians with further powers. Special abilities.” Fin’s eyes track over your face, waiting for the realisation to dawn. “Like a shadowsinger, for example.”

And finally, it’s like light blotting out the clueless darkness of your head. Suddenly, it all falls into place.

You don’t know why you didn’t see it before.

“Tathaln wants Azriel under his command.” The words are ash on your tongue.

“Yes.” Fin nods. “He does. And there are other males in other camps, too, with their own, unique abilities. Tathaln wants this ball to see them up close. Pick them out. If things go his way, he would have those males defecting from their current camps and making a home in Fenlaros. There, they would train — and begin bringing Tathaln’s vision to life.”

Azriel leaving Windhaven…moving to another camp and not being around to talk to, to spend mindless hours with, to face life with — the thought is like a cold, cruel stab to your heart.

Your friends are what make Windhaven bearable. Together, you’ve built a little home there, a family. And you may all be at each other’s throats right now, but you love each other. Wouldn’t want to lose each other.

The idea of no longer seeing Az makes you want to puke up the two glasses of whiskey now swimming in your stomach.

And even more sickening is the further realisation—

Kaeda is Tathaln’s daughter — his puppet on a string.

It was never a coincidence that she randomly started floating around Windhaven. Wasn’t a natural thing at all, that she’d found interest in Azriel, of all people. The only shadowsinger.

The entire thing had been carefully orchestrated.

Kaeda’s interest in Az isn’t genuine. Her father specifically sent her to Windhaven to get him on side.

You think you might actually be sick. Suddenly, the High Lord’s study seems far too small.

“Why would you allow any of this?” You manage to grit out around your growing panic. “You’re the High Lord…if you tell Tathaln no, he can’t take it any further.”

Fin shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. “As I said — his vision piqued my interest. It’s not a bad idea, provided it would be executed properly. But if it were? Imagine the glory. The power. The Night Court would boast the most steeled army in Prythian. Battle would be mere child’s play to us.”

You…no. No. You can’t sit back and act like you don’t know any of this.

Azriel needs to be told. He needs to know what games Kaeda is playing — that she’s only interested in doing her father’s bidding, pouring honeyed words into Az’s ear to coax him out of Windhaven and into their ready, waiting trap. To use him. Exploit him.

You need to tell him. Even if he goes straight back to being angry with you after, still doesn’t want to speak to you…you need to.

With shaking hands, you place your glass down. “I…I’m quite tired. I think I’ll try, again, to sleep.” There’s no chance of that. “Thank you for the drink. And the conversation.”

Fin’s head falls into a tilt. He looks…intrigued. “Thank you for the company. And I’ve no doubt I can trust you to uphold your end of our arrangement.”

You nod. Hate the words as you speak them. “I will be your guest at the ball.”

“I’ll be in touch, then. Goodnight.”

You only just manage to return the sentiment as you slip out of the room, the cold hallways making a grab for your bare skin. Fin’s words haunt you all the way back to your room. Keep you awake all through the night. Bury themselves deep in your mind, your heart, and fill you with such an icy-cold fear, you feel you may never be warm again.

You have to tell Azriel — or you may lose him for good.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, over tea and pastries and your rushed retelling of the night before, Roza stares at you.

Her expression is unreadable.

“You’re angry with me.” You breathe, the very words pinching at your heart. “I understand. But I needed to find out what Tathaln Baralas was up to. I just knew that—”

“Angry with you?” She cuts you off. “No, my love. With Fin? Yes. That he’s even entertaining this idea of that odious Camp Lord’s, and that his ego is so great that he would parade you on his arm like nothing more than prize cattle. That, I am angry with.” Her eyes sweep your face with concern — and a hint of something else. Something like…admiration. “You, however…you remind me exactly of myself when I was your age. Scheming, pushing back against what’s simply wrong…and in the name of love, too. I cannot possibly be angry with you for that.”

Your eyes fall to your plate. Love. That word rings in your ears like a war cry. “I need to do this. For Azriel. He’s being used, and—”

“I know.” Roza reaches over, closing a hand over yours. “Believe me, I know. And you have my full blessing and support. But you also have my concern. The games of Courts and High Lords and Camp Lords are dangerous ones. Do what you need to do for Azriel — for love — but have your wits about you. Do not, at any point, let them best you. And if Fin tries to take your agreement any further and lays a hand on you, come and tell me straight away, and I will fucking castrate him—”

Her words are cut short by a night-chilled shroud, darkness-given-form, despite the morning light that bathes the room.

Rhysand appears out of thin air. “Who will you castrate, mother dear?”

“You.” Roza says without a beat, scowling at her son. “What have I told you about just appearing like that? You’re showing off. It’s rude.”

“But I’m so good at it.” He strides closer, kissing her cheek and then yours. And steals the remainder of your pastry. “Ready to go?”

You’d sent a note a little over an hour ago, asking Rhys to come get you and fly you to Windhaven. You didn’t specify that you were going to talk to Az — and potentially break his heart with the information you’d garnered last night.

Rhys, of course, had written back that he’d be more than willing to oblige — as soon as Zakai was done sucking his cock.

Indeed, your friend looks particularly flushed and sated as he swallows your food and washes it down with a gulp of your tea.

“Rhysand.” Roza scolds. “Have some damn manners. Will you steal food from the babe, too?”

“Well, considering you’ll be breastfeeding her, mother dearest, absolutely not—”

“Her?” You blink between them. “You know it’s a girl?”

Roza smiles softly, sliding a hand over her stomach. “Not for certain. But the healer seems pretty sure. Her magic can detect these things, and she says she’s never gotten it wrong in all her years.”

“Gods, I hope so.” Rhys’s violet eyes glitter. “I’ve said from the start that I’m hoping for a sister.”

And you can see it already — Rhys throwing himself into the role of older brother. Protecting that little girl with his whole heart. She’d be the luckiest child in all of Prythian to have Rhys for a brother. And to have Cassian and Azriel protecting her, too…

That is, if Azriel doesn’t choose to go to Fenlaros.

Your stomach turns all over again at the thought. No — you need to speak with him, to warn him. He wouldn’t leave.

“Let’s go.” You stand abruptly, your breakfast feeling leaden in your stomach.

“Much obliged.” Rhys sketches a flourishing bow, to which Roza rolls her eyes. He kisses her cheek again. “Take it easy. I love you.”

Roza inclines her head. “I love you both.”

Its as you, too, dip down to kiss her cheek, that she lays a gentle hand on your arm. Concern swims in her eyes.

“Be careful, my little dove.” She pleads quietly. “Not just of the game you’re playing — but of your heart, too. Protect it.”

The words echo in your mind too loudly as Rhys takes your hand and steals you away.

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Twenty years in Windhaven should have you at least a little accustomed to the brutal temperatures, but landing your feet on the packed snow makes you wonder if even a whisper of the spring season will kiss these parts. It seems to lurk on the horizon, just out of reach.

As Rhys dusts flecks of snow from his jacket, you glance down at your pathetic, worn boots. The very boots that seemed to start this entire godsdamned situation with Az. It was these that made him scoop you into his arms and carry you to the mead hall, where you shared that first, heated kiss on one of the tables—

“What are you staring at?” Rhys hovers at your side.

“Nothing.” You straighten yourself up. Hope your blush can pass for cold-bitten skin. “Do you know where Azriel is? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Sparring rings, I’d presume.”

You nod, and you go to head off in the other direction, but Rhys’s hand is enclosing around yours. He squeezes gently. “Send word when you want me to come get you.”

The sentiment promises more than just safe transport back to Velaris. It offers support, too — in the likely scenario that this conversation doesn’t go smoothly.

Because you have to consider the possibility that the truth about Kaeda, while needing to be exposed, may not be well received.

Azriel will likely be hurt by it. And you might bear the brunt of that.

Rhysand will be there for you, whatever happens. Even if he has no clue what’s going on.

So you squeeze back, and you offer an unconvincing smile as you let go. “I love you, Rhysand.”

He scowls. “Don’t like it when you call me Rhysand.”

“Sorry, Rhysand.”

“You’re a little shit. But I love you, too.”

You smile wider. That little bit of jesting is what gives you the courage, the strength, to square your shoulders and stroll away from him, snow seeping into your boots with each step.

By the time you get to the sparring rings, you think your feet might be frozen solid. But lo and behold, Azriel is there, currently going head-to-head with another male in his unit.

The very sight is the picture of a hard-trained warrior — a dance, a performance, of flying fists and measured breaths. Az is big and muscled, but he’s lithe and swift, and he moves through each step and dodges each blow and delivers his own as though it’s easy as air. He’s flawless, and for a heartbeat, all you can do is watch, every thought eddying from your mind.

But then he’s dodging a flying fist and pivoting on his feet. His eyes catch you. He’s distracted long enough for his partner to grab the upper hand and knock Az off his feet.

The shadowsinger accepts defeat. He sprawls on his back, panting heavily, and you continue to watch as his opponent grins and offers a hand to help him up.

“Distracted by a female?” He jokes. “I thought you were better than that, shadowsinger.”

A tight smile forms and falls from Az’s lips. He hates losing. “It would seem not. Well fought.”

“I’ll leave you and your lady to it.” The other male says, and you choose to ignore the suggestion in his voice. Azriel ignores it, too. Doesn’t even acknowledge him as he strolls away, no doubt to boast to his insufferable friends that he managed to get one over on the shadowsinger.

Az looks at you in that quiet, assessing way of his. Surveys you head to toe, like he needs to reassure himself that your short stay in Velaris has brought you no harm thus far. It’s good that he still cares, you think. You hope.

“You’re back?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wipe at his face. It’s then that you notice that his lip is bleeding a little.

“Not entirely.” You shake your head. “I…need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

And whether he’s ready to talk to you yet, or not, is irrelevant — he seems to realise that as he studies you once more and nods. “We’ll go to the dorms. Nobody’s there.”

You hate this, you want to tell him. The awkwardness. The…the stagnancy of your relationship. It was never supposed to be like this between you and him. It hurts.

And it makes you realise that love isn’t always beautiful.

But you school your expression as he finally closes the gap between you. He glances down, and a soft sigh escapes him. “Those fucking boots.”

Before you can say something, anything, find some way to defend your continued wearing of those fucking boots, Azriel is grabbing your hand. The unexpected touch jolts you — as does the zip through thin air that has you landing in the kitchenette of the dorms only seconds later.

Despite possessing the ability to winnow, Azriel avoids it at all costs, if he can. Something about the practice unsettles him, and he doesn’t believe he’s ever refined it enough to use it reliably.

So, the fact that he just winnowed you to the dorms either means that he still cares enough to get you out of the cold, or he wants to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

Gods, you hope it’s the former.

“Stay there.” He murmurs, and he’s turning on his feet. You want to stop him and tell him it’s imperative that you speak immediately — but you can only watch as he strides in the direction of his room.

Moments later, he’s strolling back through — a pair of his own, thick socks in his hands.

You might just soften and crumble enough to forget about the conversation and throw your arms around him. Even now, he’s still looking out for you, making sure you’re taken care of.

You plead with yourself not to get choked up over a pair of socks. But you just…miss him. Miss this. And you think that shows as you hold a hand out and rasp, “Thank you.”

“Let me.” Is all Az replies. He drops to his knees before you.

Your mind goes quiet.

Gods.

The last thing you expected, from coming here, was to see Az knelt at your feet.

And it’s so fucking inappropriate, but as he begins to unlace your boots, your stupid, pathetic brain begins to lament on what a damn shame it is, that you didn’t get to behold this sight, have him on his knees, when things were still good between you. Maybe there’s something wrong with you.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Need to make sure you’re warm.” He chucks your sodden boots aside, yanks your socks off. Dries your poor, pinkened feet. Tugs his own socks — so big on you that he has to bunch them at the ankles — onto them. And then rises to his feet. “I’ll get a fire going.”

His fussing over you has always bordered on outright hysterical.

“Azriel.” Finally, you lay a firm hand on his arm. Stop him. “I need to talk to you.”

The way he goes so very still at your touch has you realising — all this fussing is to avoid simply…looking at you. Facing you. He’s trying to busy himself in your presence.

But he does look at you. Lifts his gaze to yours. And there’s grit in his voice as says, “I know I fucked up, Y/N. I shouldn’t have reacted to you and Cassian the way I did. I had no right.”

“I’m not here about that—”

“I was angry because I was so damn jealous. And that’s irrational, and I know it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stand the thought of him…anyone else…putting their hands—”

“It’s Kaeda, Az. She’s using you.”

Finally, you’ve won his silence. His arm tenses under your hand. His eyes burn into yours.

“I learned it from the High Lord himself.” The words are so, so sour on your tongue. You hate this. Hate the truth — for Az. “Tathaln Baralas is trying to round up the most powerful Illyrians of each camp and have them under his command in Fenlaros. Eventually, he wants there to be only one camp — that he rules over. He covets you because you’re a shadowsinger, and he sent Kaeda here to cosy up to you and do his bidding, win you over. She’s been working for him—”

He tugs away from your touch. Takes a step back. And the anger, the hurt, that you expect to find on his face just…isn’t there.

“I know all of this.” He says, simply.

“You—what?”

“I had dinner with Kaeda and her family. Tathaln laid his idea out to me and asked me to go to Fenlaros. He was completely open about it.”

You study him, waiting for some vague indication that he’s angry at Kaeda’s manipulation. But he seems entirely nonchalant.

It stings.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You hate how small your voice sounds.

“Well, you and I haven’t exactly been talking—”

“I’d think a situation like thiswould override that.”

“Kind of had other things on my mind, though, haven’t I?”

“Well did you tell Tathaln he can shove his fucking vision up his ass?”

Silence.

Silence, and then the rustle of Az’s wings as he shifts on his feet.

Loud, loud silence.

You think your heart might plummet into your stomach. Your mouth goes dry. You stare at him, every inch of him, desperate for some sort of sign that his silence isn’t saying what you fear it’s saying.

But gods, it’s so very telling.

“Please tell me you’re not considering it,” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at his feet and shifts on the spot and takes his time answering like your heart isn’t thundering in anticipation.

And then he says, quietly, “I told Kaeda I would consider it.”

The words steal the air from your lungs. The picture of a Windhaven without Azriel’s presence suddenly doesn’t seem like a blurred, unlikely one. Feels like it’s being dangled in front of your face.

“What?” Your voice is weak.

“I just…told her I’d think about it.”

“Why?”

“The idea isn’t a bad one—I could hone my skills, put them to use—”

“You could also kiss goodbye to any ties you have to this place! To your family, to—to me!”

Cauldron fucking damn your voice for cracking the way it does. You’re going to break in front of him, and it’s going to be bad. You can feel your chest tightening, the idea of losing Azriel for good making you breathless and panicked and like you don’t know what to do with yourself, your hands, your entire body.

“Y/N.” Az says softly. “I haven’t given a definitive answer.”

“But you’re thinking about it.” You choke. “You’re considering it—leaving. Do the others know about this? Rhys and Cassian?”

“No. Haven’t really been speaking to them, either.”

“Is that all part of it? Distancing yourself from us until you sever your ties completely? Are you truly so angry with me that you’d choose this? To not see me anymore?”

You know immediately what you’ve said.

To not see me. Rhys and Cassian not included.

Azriel catches it, too. He purses his lips, and he stares at you.

“This isn’t about that.” He insists.

“You never would have considered this before I lay with Cassian—”

“This isn’t about distancing myself because you fucked Cassian! It’s because I want you and that terrifies me!”

The words, hard and solid as iron daggers, are actually enough to calm your growing panic. You feel them land, piercing through your skin and spreading a wanton, longing venom through your veins. You’ve spent days — weeks — caught up in your thoughts, trying to accept the fact that you want Azriel. You want Azriel. More than you ever had before.

And perhaps it says a lot about how you perceive yourself, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he might want you back.

Hearing it is heart-stopping.

You clear away what feels like a patchwork of hoarfrost that’s frozen over your throat. “I—thought you wanted Kaeda.”

Azriel makes a noise; something like a humourless laugh. “Believe me, I tried. But I don’t. I want you, so much that it burns. Burns me worse than what scarred my fucking hands. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m sick with it. I can’t sleep for thinking about you, wanting you beside me. I can’t stop myself aching for you and I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Blow after blow after blow, these words. Sour and sweet, pleasant and horrific, love and hate. You feel like you know everything and nothing at once. Like you understand what he’s saying but not quite.

But your honest response croaks out of you, “And if I want you, too? What then?”

Azriel’s jaw ticks. And he presses himself hard against the wall as if he’s trying to disappear through it. “Then,” he says, “that makes it even worse.”

“Because you’d sooner run off to another camp than give yourself to a pathetic excuse for an Illyrian like me, right?”

“Because I would sooner damn myself to a miserable existence in Fenlaros than allow this to turn into another thing of beauty that could be ripped straight from my hands. I’d sooner not see you at all than have you and lose you. And I’d rather base my decision on hypotheticals and protect my heart than give it away and wish I never had. If that makes me selfish—”

“It makes you,” you grit your teeth hard, blink furiously through forming tears, “a fucking coward.”

He pauses. “Then I’m a coward.”

But he isn’t. Never has been. Not when he was locked up in his hateful father’s keep and forced to bear his half-brothers’ twisted cruelty. Not when he came to Windhaven and was targeted here, too, simply for being different. Not through anything you’ve faced together in nine years of friendship.

Azriel has never been a coward. You will not accept it. You will not let him become one.

If he wants you like he says he does…you’re not going to let him have the sole choice of ruining this. He can try to push you away, but you’ll push back ten times harder.

“You think I’m not scared?” You move away from the counter, taking slow steps closer to him. “I am. I’m petrified. But fear is not cowardice. To fear and to face it head-on is to be brave, Azriel. When have you ever balked from fear?”

He’s watching you near him with what seems to be nerves. He swallows. “Never. But I know which of my battles to pick.”

You slow to a stop in front of him. Your body is inches from his, and his warmth and scent are like a punch to your gut. “It isn’t a battle to want.”

“No,” he agrees. “But it’s a battle to need.” So blatantly — he doesn’t try to hide it — his eyes drift to your mouth. “I was wrong before. I don’t want you. I need you.”

“And you’d rather run from that. You’d rather run than need me.”

“…Yes. I think I would.”

Finally, you close the miniscule gap between your bodies, slamming your hands either side of him, against the wall. You fight the curling of your lips when you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“What are you waiting for, Azriel?” You challenge. “Run.”

He pauses.

He does not run.

He snarls, and he grabs you by your jacket, and he hauls your mouth to his.

He tastes like the tang of sweat and blood, but also like the heavy fir trees that guard the mountains, and the crackling of a roaring fire, and the fresh berries he puts in his breakfast every morning without fail. He tastes like Azriel, and you think that taste might be the answer to every dark thought and doubt that has ever plagued your mind.

Without hesitation, you're bunching your hands in his shirt and pulling yourself against him, close as you can possibly get. This kiss is not a sweet kiss in the name of tentative practice. This kiss is a reckoning, and a choice, and it’s the past nine years in flashing moments that have led you up to this point.

Azriel makes a low, wanting sound and flips the script, using his grip on your jacket to spin you both until you’re the one pushed against the wall, and he’s pressing you there. Slotting a firm, muscled thigh between your legs. He pulls his mouth away from yours to pepper quick, biting kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You gasp, and he gasps back.

“I want you.” His voice almost sounds like a plea — a plea for some solution to this. As though it’s a problem. “I can’t stop myself wanting you.”

“So don’t.” You breathe back, pushing the very centre of you against his thigh. “Stay in Windhaven and forget about everything else. Stay with me. Have me.”

“You make it sound so easy—”

“It is.” You pull his mouth back to yours. “It’s easy. We can be easy. We can be—”

Just down the hall, the opening of the front door cuts your words right off. Footsteps follow. It’ll just be a male returning from training, but it seems to send a tidal wave of ice-cold reality straight over the two of you. Azriel stares down at you, lips parted, still panting.

The nameless male passes by without even sparing either of you a glance. Azriel pulls away.

He turns his back to you and rakes a hand through his hair. You can only watch. So fast, he’s facing you again.

“I—I need you to give me time to register all of this.” He swallows. “I can’t…think right now.”

Do the words sting? Yes. Were you hoping that he would just impulsively let go of his fears and say fuck it? Absolutely.

You should be angry. You should tell him that if he truly wants you, needs you, then he shouldn’t need to think.

But something about the lost expression on his face speaks to you. He’s always been guarded. Always struggled to face his emotions head-on. So many years he spent locked up, trying to convince himself that the loneliness didn’t ache, that his heart didn’t wish.

If you push him right now…it’ll end up with him further away from you.

So it’s the hardest thing in the world to straighten yourself out and pretend your lips aren’t tingling, begging for another taste of his mouth. It’s an effort to put how you feel aside for his sake.

But maybe it’ll be for your sake, too. You are angry…somewhere beneath all the longing, the passion. He didn’t tell you about Tathaln’s proposition. He’d been considering it without consulting any of you. That hurts.

He watches you, waits for you to say something, as you reach for your boots and tug them back on. You came here to tell him what you’d found out, and you’ve done just that — and then some.

When you’ve laced up your shoes, only then do you look at him. Try to hide the bleakness from your face.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” You tell him, and it’s a promise. “But can you do me a favour?”

His eyes sweep over your face, and he nods. “Always.”

“Before you make a decision about Fenlaros…” You actually have to stop yourself and swallow down the lump that forms at the words. You try again, “Before you make a decision about Fenlaros, please just…talk to Rhys and Cass first. The three of you have been a strong unit forever. Forget the troubles that we’ve had and just…just remind yourself of what you’d be leaving behind. Fix things with them. Talk to them.”

He opens his mouth. Snaps it shut again. Nods. “Alright.”

“You don’t need me, Az.” You say as you turn away from him. “But them? You’ll always need them.”

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The strutting confidence with which Kaeda Baralas usually carries herself is entirely absent as she enters her father’s study.

Her wings are limp — a telltale sign of nerves, intimidation — and it’s an effort to keep them from drooping.

Wings are supposed to be worn proudly. Hers were left intact for a reason. Never will she forget that fact.

Tathaln sits behind his desk, oozing authority, even through menial tasks like going through his correspondence. As Kaeda stops before him and threads her fingers together, she feels much like the younger version of herself — that little girl always trying to think of ways to impress her papa.

“Well?” Tathaln asks without looking up.

The female clears her throat. “He still hasn’t given me an answer.”

Her father pauses, goes deathly still. Kaeda hates that stillness. Dreads it. Knows it means she’s disappointed him.

The Camp Lord places his pen down, and he asks, his tone slicing, “And why have your efforts not been enough to glean an answer?”

Kaeda purses her lips. “I’m trying, father. It’s — he’s harder than I anticipated. I didn’t expect him to be so attached to Windhaven.”

She watches, stomach turning, as the great male before her stands and rounds the desk. He perches on the other side of it and studies his daughter.

“Your brothers seem to be having no problems with the missions I gave them.” He tells her. “Why do you let me down?”

How is she supposed to answer that? Azriel is simply…not what she expected. He’s unlike all the Illyrian males she’s surrounded by. He’s profound, sentimental, caring. He values more than just violence, than war.

“I got the go-ahead from the High Lord that the ball can take place.” Tathaln announces. “We will be amongst a room full of males with potential, who may join our cause. But they won’t if we don’t have some ground to work on. If I don’t have something to show them — warriors who can advocate for us. Like the shadowsinger.”

Kaeda’s gaze lowers. “I’ll keep trying. I’ll ask again.”

“Yes. You will.” He pushes away from the desk. “Because let me remind you of something, lest you’ve forgotten.” A step closer has him towering over her, and he’s…humongous. “I do not give you the freedoms you have, just so you can waste them. I did not leave your wings intact because I abhor the practice of clipping them. I told you to earn them. To hone yourself into a weapon that I can use.”

“I know, father.”

“And what do I do with weapons that are useless? That can’t be used? I rid myself of them. Make no mistake that I would do the same with you if you can’t give me what I need.” A sneer contorts his brutal, beautiful face. “I don’t care what you have to do to attain it. Trick him, force him, bed him. Just get your ass back to Windhaven, and don’t return until the shadowsinger is on side. The ball will be held on Starfall — you have until then.”

“I—”

“Go.”

End of discussion.

He doesn’t want to hear her excuses, her ideas.

He doesn’t want to know that his daughter, deep down, is not capable of the callousness of which he very much is. That in Azriel, she sees a person who is, perhaps, as lonely as she is, and insecure, and trying not to be, in an environment where those things get you killed.

He doesn’t care to know that all she really wants is for her father to throw his arms around her and tell her he loves her, is proud of her, no matter what.

No. He returns to his seat and doesn’t spare her another glance. She’s dismissed.

She takes to the brutal skies and makes her way from one hollow place to another.

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Cassian decides two chapters into the book that reading isn’t for him.

He’s just so fucking bored. Rhys is somewhere being all moony eyed over Zakai, Roza and Y/N are still in Velaris, and Azriel still doesn’t seem interested in talking through their issues.

So he’s resorted to this — plucking some weird romance novel off the shelf and giving it a go. Some dramatic tale of a human girl who falls in love with a beast who drinks blood and glistens in the sunlight. Two chapters down, he’s tempted to throw it into the fire — but he remembers that it isn’t his book and returns it to the shelf instead.

He could go to a tavern, but those aren’t fun on his own. Could seek out one of his many sexual conquests for a good time, but something about arguing with his closest of friends translates, for some reason, into his dick refusing to get hard. He’s too churned up for an orgasm, and too churned up to give one out.

So, sleep it is. He heaves a deep sigh and drags himself over to the stairs, feeling mighty sorry for himself. He’s barely placed a foot on the bottom step when a knock falls on the door.

He turns, striding over too fast. He hopes for Rhys, or even Az, anyone—

But Kaeda slumps against the door frame, and he immediately wants to scowl.

Her eyes are glazed, her usually pristine appearance a little unkempt, with strands of cherry red hair slipping free from a ponytail and a stain of some sort of liquid on her shirt.

She hiccups, and the smell of booze rolls from her. “Azriel here?”

“No.” Cassian’s jaw ticks.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Probably at the dorms, but he doesn’t tell her that. “Don’t you have a rock to crawl back under?”

She makes a vague noise and bends at the waist, planting her hands on her knees. “Think ‘m going to be sick.”

“Not here, you’re not.”

“Can I just come in? Please? Need…need water.”

Cassian really, really doesn’t want to let her in.

If he had his way, he wouldn’t let her into the camp, let alone his house.

And he’s a shitty enough person that he’s tempted to turn her away…but not shitty enough to actually do so. She’s clearly wasted, and in a place like Windhaven, a lone, drunk female is a target.

So he grits his teeth and steps aside, and Kaeda doesn’t hesitate to stumble in. She heads straight for the couch, slumping down—

“If you puke on that,” Cass tells her, striding over to the kitchen, “I’ll hold you upside down and mop your vomit up with that obscenely red hair.”

Kaeda seems to find it funny. She snorts. Cassian ignores her and fills a glass with water.

He stalks back over. More or less slams the glass down on the coffee table and then sits at the far end of the same couch. “Your water. Drink it.”

The female grabs the glass and gulps it down, droplets rolling down her chin. Cassian has never seen her so…normal.

“Why are you drunk?” He asks.

She returns the empty glass to the table. “I drank alcohol.”

“Give me a straight answer.”

She sighs, and swivels on the seat so that she’s facing him. She’s a little unsteady as she tucks her legs beneath her and says, “Because I’m a desperately unhappy person, and I can’t do anything right.”

Cass stares at her. He isn’t convinced. She seems mighty happy every time she struts through Windhaven, giving pretty, sultry smiles to different males and revelling in their attention.

“I have so much pressure on my shoulders.” Kaeda says. “I can’t afford to get it all wrong.”

“Everyone has pressure on their shoulders. Welcome to the real world, princess.”

Another snort. She shakes her head. Never seems bothered by Cassian’s sharp-edged words. “You don’t get it.”

But Cass reckons he does. He narrows his eyes as he looks at her — thinks that her perfect outfit probably costs more than his entire wardrobe. Thinks that the fact that she’s got to her age, as a female, and hasn’t had her wings and spirit ripped away from her, is a very lucky thing.

“Oh, I get it.” He bites back. “I know exactly what I’m looking at. A spoilt girl who gets everything she wishes for and still wants more. You have riches and a good standing, and you never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.”

“…Don’t have any friends, though, do I? Not like you and yours.”

“Perhaps that’s because you’re such an insufferable toad.”

Kaeda stares at him, and he stares back. Gods, he really cannot stand her. Even the way she looks at him makes him want to punch something.

But then she throws her head back, and she bellows a great, loud laugh.

That annoys him, too — that nothing he says, however harsh, seems to bother her. Maybe he simply wishes that he could be like that. So strong.

“Why is it that you hate me so much, Cassian?” Her laughter ebbs into a quiet chuckle, and she’s leaning forward to crack him a smile that has sent better males to their knees. “Tell me.”

Cassian, too, leans forward — tries to scowl that smile out of existence. “Because I think you’re up to something.” He answers. “And I think you’re going to hurt my friends. And if you hurt my friends, princess, I hurt you. It’s that simple.”

He means it. Kaeda can see he means it. And the threat should intimidate her, but it doesn’t.

It makes her hungry. Ravenous.

His hate for her is a challenge that she wants to chase. Every barbed word, every scathing glance —

It sets her on fire.

And she’s happily not thinking about Tathaln, or Fenlaros, or Azriel, as she grips Cassian by the cheeks and slants her mouth over his. She kisses him with such heat that for a moment, he forgets who she is. Her tongue makes its way past his lips—

He shoves her off him, probably too hard. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Before she can answer, the front door opens, and Azriel is wandering in.

He takes in the sight of them and stops. Stares between them.

His expression is…indifferent. Like he knows what he’s looking at, but he really could not give a fuck.

And then he clears his throat, and turns to Kaeda. “You should leave.” He says. “Cassian and I need to talk.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @katherinearcheron @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @azriels-mate2

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xo-cod · 4 months

Note

would you write something about casual intimacy with simon please??🥹🫠

i'm in love with casual intimacy :") hope you enjoy babe <33 i couldn't pick one so i did a bunch but lmk if you'd like a specific scenario 🤍

rushed/ooc as usual.

affection and attention had been something the masked soldier had struggled with for years. he naturally had been closed off and reserved at the start, he didn't care much for intimacy having never truly finding it in his life. but when you entered his life, it'd all changed him completely

simon riley who disliked being caught in hugs and being squeezed, who grew to become incredibly uncomfortable and awkward around hugs and physical touch now came home from a long and hard day of work to actively seek you out and just collapse onto you in a heap, cuddling you close to his chest falling asleep on you. feeling as safe as ever between your arms

simon riley who was an incredibly observant man, who was known on picking up on the small habits others around him did even if they weren't aware of it casually and silently handing you glasses of water or food throughout the day because he knows you might tend to forget or you didn't have a good habit of remembering when to do so.

simon riley who had an intelligent yet busy mind, filled to the brim of placements on how to take down the target as efficiently as possible and how better to inflict the worst torture on his enemy carried space to memorise your coffee/tea order, making sure it was just the right temperature for you to drink and the correct amount of sweetener (or none) so you didn't have to top up

simon riley who everytime you both spoke couldn't help but fidget slightly with you purely out of love. who noticed everytime a strand had been out of place and delicately brushing it back as you spoke to him, continuing to listen intently but making sure your hair remained as perfect as ever

simon riley who was a natural born leader and protector, who lead his team along with price through countless battles and ensuring every last of his men came back to safety now couldn't stop protecting you no matter what. holding your hand securely with his fingers toying with yours or a gentle hand on the small of your back guiding you through the crowd of the streets, keeping you safe and close by at all times

simon riley who didn't laugh much through his youth or a fair share of his adulthood, never being able to find that connection and keeping to himself now gently nudged your calf with his foot under the table everytime soap and gaz did something stupid knowing it was funny but wouldn't give them the ego boost so he kept it to you solely. or his linking his foot with yours from the opposite side even if it was unknowingly because his body craved your warmth, some part of him having to touch you no matter what

or simon riley who was incredibly strong and who scoffed at the sight of couples, who thought he didn't need someone else now enjoyed resting his head gently on your lap whenever he had the chance. his fingers laced with yours as he brought the back of your palm for a soft kiss, still not used to the fact that you were his and he was yours.

simon riley loved different than most, initially he had been too worried to even reciprocate any feelings because he was damaged. some parts of his past couldn't be healed and he swore up and down he could never do to uou what his father did to his mother. some days were easy and others were hard, some days he sought out your touch other days he needed to be alone for a while to decompress.

but even in those silent moments, there was love.

he learnt that perhaps love itself didn't have to be made of grand gestures or explosive displays. it didn't have to be chaotic and mind numbing, it didn't have to be so terrifying and confusing. you were the anchor keeping him steady and grounded

love was made up of the little things and simon was so full of them, he might've not been the most romantic person in the whole world but he was always there and he cared for you in ways that couldn't fully explain himself. it took months of him adjusting around you, it took time to fully trust and let you in, to break down the walls that guarded his heart so fiercely but your life had intertwined so deeply with his, his heart was yours simply all along.

he thanked his lucky stars everyday when it came to you because he didn't have to pretend or make a charade, this love came easy. your love came easy and it wasn't for a price it wasn't something you snatched and dangled in front of him only to watch him fall and break. you kept him steady and in return, he cherished you well.

you truly were the other half to his soul <3

#asks #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff

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thenadnerb02 · 1 year

Text

Peter Quill: You seemed pretty casual about me returning from space like it was no big deal

Grandpa Quill: Please, compared to the other stuff that’s happened on Earth these past few years, you returning from space is nothing

Peter: Oh yeah, I guess after the snap anything’s normal

Grandpa: You better believe it. Did you know they added Captain America’s shield to the Statue of Liberty?

Peter: That’s unexpected but it’s not too weird

Grandpa: A witch placed a whole town in New Jersey under some spell and mind-controlled them into acting in her sitcom

Peter: Okay that’s fucked up

Grandpa: One day the sky turned back 2000 years

Peter: This is NOT normal

Grandpa: There’s an entire race of humans that live and breathe underwater

Peter: Please stop

Grandpa: Werewolves and vampires are real, always have been apparently

Peter: Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?

Grandpa: Oh, don’t forget djinn, they’re out there too

Peter: I’m just gonna stop listening

Grandpa: A newborn Celestial emerged from the ocean and got immediately petrified, then another Celestial showed up a few days later, it was larger than the entire planet

Peter: Alright that’s it, we’re moving to another planet right now

Grandpa: Oh and rumor has it the entire multiverse is in danger of falling apart, we’re not safe anywhere

Peter: FUCK!

#mcu #marvel cinematic universe #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #gotg vol 3 #peter quill #star lord #grandpa quill #falcon and winter solider series #wandavision #black panther wakanda forever #ms marvel #eternals #moon knight #werewolf by night #earth #earth is weird

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zepskies · 2 months

Text

Take Me Home - Part 1

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.

AN: Welcome to my first ever Big Sky series! I’ve been wanting to get to this for a while now. I’m so glad I finally get to start sharing this with you! I truly hope you enjoy the ride. (Note: This is set towards the beginning of season 3.)

Song Inspo: “Fly Away” by John Denver. And remember, you can listen to the full Take Me Home Playlist ⬅️ here.

Word Count: 4,400

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, a bit of setup, “Glamper Girl,” and a side helping of cops enjoying baked goods…

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 1: All of Her Days

“This really feels like cheating,” you mused.

Yet again, you surveyed the sheer size and luxury of this tent you were supposed to be “camping” in.

Between the giant king-sized bed with crème and burgundy comforters, a two-seater dining table, a dresser (with a vanity), and even a small bookshelf, it looked like the Taj Mahal of glamping.

“Can’t you just enjoy it?” your best friend replied, poking a teasing finger into your side. She smirked when you flinched and gave her some playful side-eye. “My parents are the ones footing the bill, anyway.”

“Of which, I intend to pay them back for my half,” you said. Mary just rolled her eyes and waved you off. Her parents’ money was something she’d never had a problem spending.

“Come on, they’re getting ready to go on the hike without us,” she said, tossing her little purse over her shoulder. You were a bit more practical with your backpack, filled with a bottle of water, a couple snacks, bug spray, and your sketch pad.

Mary bumped your shoulder with hers as you two walked out of the tent, and you gave her a smile. You were glad she insisted on this little week-long excursion. It gave you exactly five more days to enjoy the fresh air of no responsibilities, before you returned to reality.

“So where are you guys from?” you asked a couple of walking companions on the early-morning hike.

The woods of Helena, Montana were vast and deep, and you found them a bit intimidating. You were a city girl, through and through, but you were learning to appreciate the mountains and the steep trails flanked by dense trees. You were also grateful that you weren’t alone.

Emily seemed to be a nice girl around sixteen, while her stepfather Avery was a lightly graying man in his 40s. You pegged his accent as English, the “casual posh” kind. On a scale from Dame Maggie Smith to Dick Van Dyke's attempt at cockney, you’d put Avery on a Benedict Cumberbatch level.

“Well, I met her mother in Houston,” Avery replied, nodding at the girl beside you. “She and Emily joined me here in Helena after we were married this past spring.”

Emily confirmed with a nod. “Yep, starting school here in a few months.”

At that, you could smile. “Me too, actually.”

Emily gave you a confused look while she fiddled with an app on her phone.

“What? You’re still in school?” she asked.

“No,” you laughed. “I’m—”

“She’s a college professor,” Mary tacked on. “AKA: a giant nerd.”

Emily tried not to smile at your expense. You just shook your head at your friend.

“Thanks,” you said wryly, despite your amusement. “We can’t all be personal trainers. One can only take so much Spandex.”

Mary rolled her eyes and prepared to fire back a retort, but your attention shifted back to Emily, who seemed to be debating whether to press a red button on her phone. You thought it looked like a voice recording app.

You followed her line of vision and saw Paige and Luke up ahead—a young “happy couple” here at Sunny Day Excursions. They were whisper-yelling at each other, sniping something about Luke’s birthday. Apparently, he had a problem with getting another year older.

Don’t we all, you thought, with no small amount of sarcasm. The guy had been a sour apple since the start of this trip, and to be honest, he was starting to get on your damn nerves.

“This is like, prime time stuff for my podcast,” Emily whispered.

You looked over at her. “Oh yeah? What’s your podcast about?”

“Relationships, lies, that sort of thing,” she replied.

You almost grimaced. Good luck finding willing subjects for that one.

Mary snickered on your other side. She leaned close to your ear so only you would hear.

“God, Paige’s voice is so effing annoying. Like a chipmunk on helium,” she said. “I feel sorry for him.”

You shot her a dry look. “He’s the one asking for it, if you ask me. But they’ve been going at it the whole time. Makes me feel sorry for both of them.”

You shook your head and kept walking on the trail. Mary sobered as she stared back at you. She was reminded of why you two were really here, and what you’d been through this past year…

What you all had been through.

You and Mary fell behind Avery and Emily on the trail, giving Mary the opportunity to touch your arm and stop you in the middle of the trail.

“Do you really plan to stay here?” she asked. “In dusty-ass Montana? With the snakes and the bears and the old hicks?”

“Well, I got the key to my apartment before we got here,” you said. And she knew that. “My aunt is letting me crash with her until the rest of my things ship over in a couple of weeks, and I start a new job in the fall. So yeah, I’m staying.”

Mary’s lips pursed. She gave you a long look, but you held your ground. You even popped your Airpods in for good measure. You were done with this conversation.

She huffed and kept walking.

You watched your friend go in annoyance. You knew she would try to talk you out of your decision at some point on this trip, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

Heaving a sigh, you looked up at the clear sky above you, filtered through the tall trees. You took a moment to collect yourself in this great big no man’s land, where you could finally let yourself slow down for a minute, and breathe.

You raised the volume in your Airpods when a particular song came through.

“All of her days have gone soft and cloudy. All of her dreams have gone dry,” crooned the soft melody. You nodded to the rhythm of the mellow notes, but all the while, you tried to blink through the sting of tears.

“All of her nights have gone sad and shady. She's getting ready to fly…”

You rubbed your left hand, where you still had the tan line of the ring you used to wear.

“It’s really okay, sweetie,” Mary tried to console you, rubbing her hand between your shoulders.

After the hike, you all had returned to camp and sat down to brunch. It was an amazing spread, with waffles and muffins and Danishes, eggs done three different ways, toast with jam, assorted sandwiches, coffee and orange juice (and sparkling wine for the adults).

But even with a huge plate of appetizing food in front of you, you were sulking a bit. You had your face covered by your hands as you rested your elbows on the table.

“One of my only goals on this trip was to ride a damn horse, and I couldn’t even do that,” you said.

Sunny Barnes and her husband Buck were the heads and hosts of this whole trip. And after the hike, their son, Cormack, had tried to help you onto the nice chestnut mare the handler had brought out of the stable for you. But your entire body had locked up in fear at the prospect of being vaulted onto the horse.

In fairness, she was huge. And you were both afraid of heights, and animals that could buck you off its back and trample you.

You hadn’t been able to speak. You just shook your head vigorously every time Cormack asked you if you were okay.

So he’d graciously patted your back and gave the mare to Emily instead.

“I’ve never been able to ride a horse either,” Avery offered in commiseration. You lowered your hands and gave him a wan smile.

Emily was carving an apple with an impressive (and somewhat scary) looking pocketknife. She shrugged.

“It’s not so hard,” she said. But, perhaps realizing how she sounded, she looked up and gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I mean, I’m sure you’ll get it! It’s hard in the beginning, but once you get used to it, it’s like riding a bike.”

Right. A bike with hooves, you thought, ripping a piece of bread from your egg and cheese sandwich.

Mary bumped your shoulder with a teasing smile. “You just got showed up by a high schooler. Again.”

You pursed your lips in amusement. You tossed the piece of bread. It hit her dead between the eyes. You giggled at the way she jumped with a start.

“Real mature,” she shot back.

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a giant bite of your sandwich for good measure. “I learned from you.”

Even Emily snickered, making Mary roll her eyes in amusement.

Shortly after, Avery and his stepdaughter were finished with brunch and got up to get back to their tents.

You glanced over and noticed that Emily had left her knife on the table, now closed in its sheath.

Sheriff Beau Arlen may have still been relatively new in town, but he considered himself a consummate professional.

He’d agreed to accompany Cassie, the local private investigator (and his friend), up to this mountain pass to look for a missing backpacker. Questioning Buck and Sunny Barnes and their crew was just good old-fashioned, thorough police work.

But if it also gave Beau a chance to check on his daughter up here “glamping” with her half-baked stepfather, then he couldn’t pass up on that opportunity, now could he?

After talking to Buck and Sunny, who hadn’t seen hide or hair of the backpacker, Beau let Cassie take care of questioning Cormack Barnes while Beau found his daughter outside her tent. After giving her a big hug and inspecting her “tent” (Really? he thought. Looks more like a hotel room than a tent.), he asked her how her trip was going so far.

“Good, Dad. But you really didn’t have to come all the way out here just to check up on me,” Emily said. She was amused, but no longer surprised to see him.

“No, no, no. I didn’t, okay?” Beau refuted. Though at the look on her face, he knew he wasn’t fooling her. She was a sharp kid. “All right, maybe not the only reason. We had to talk to Sunny about a missing backpacker. It’s something Cassie’s investigating.”

Emily’s amusement faded into surprise, and then concern.

“Wait, what?” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just, you know…parents probably didn’t get the memo that ‘off-the-grid’ was part of the deal,” he said, giving her a meaningful raise of his brows. Maybe his daughter didn’t have to screen so many of his calls while she was on this trip.

“Overprotective parents, huh?” Emily dryly remarked.

“The worst,” Beau agreed, shaking his head.

But he smiled. Just seeing her made his whole week better…and it alleviated some of the hurt in his heart. Not getting to be with her on a trip like this stung. And knowing Avery was the one who got to be there for her grated on him.

Beau was already missing too much of his daughter’s life, and he still wasn’t too sure on how to deal with that.

Speak of the devil, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Avery approaching. Beau forced himself to look as close to pleasant as he could get around his ex-wife’s husband.

While Mary went back to the tent to freshen up, you grabbed Emily’s pocketknife and went to look for her so you could return it. It had a wood-carved hilt and had her initials, E. A., engraved on the side. The knife looked special, not the kind of thing you wanted to lose.

You found her outside her tent with her stepfather, and a man you didn’t know. He had broad shoulders and short brown hair that swept above his brow. When he turned to look at you, the first thing you noticed was the cut of his bearded chin, and then the green of his eyes.

You didn’t realize it, but your insides stilled, just for a moment. Then you remembered to smile.

Avery looked a bit tense, as did the newcomer. You sensed you were interrupting a tete-a-tete.

“Uh, hi. I’m sorry,” you said, and extended the sheathed knife toward Emily. “Just wanted to get this back to you. You left it at the table.”

“Oh! Thanks,” Emily said gratefully.

“Well, hi there,” said the new guy. He was tall, you noted, wearing a beige jacket over a buttoned-down shirt, some jeans, and boots. It was a casual look, but all worked very well for him…in a rugged cowboy sense.

“This is my dad,” Emily supplied.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma’am,” he said, giving you a more friendly smile that you matched in kind when you shook his hand. You also gave him your name to go along with it.

“You here for a little belated vacation, Sheriff?” you added.

“No. Matter of fact, I’m here on police business,” he replied. That concerned you, but he was quick to wave a dismissive hand. “Everything’s okay here. Just checking on a missing backpacker. But it looks like we’ll have to continue our search for him elsewhere.”

You hummed at that in concern. “Well, I hope you find him.”

“I do too,” he agreed with a nod.

Then, Emily took the slight pause in the conversation as her chance to escape.

“Okay, Dad, well, we’re gonna go hike down to the lake,” she said, gesturing at Avery. “But as you can see, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Beau’s smile became a bit tight, but he nodded in understanding. He gave her a big hug, and you could see he was reluctant to let her go. Avery stood behind them. He held tension in his shoulders. You felt a bit awkward yourself, being in the midst of what was clearly an uneasy family dynamic.

Beau released his daughter. After she took off with Avery following close behind, Beau turned to you next. You tried not to blush at the sight of his handsome face.

“Sorry, again,” you said, raising a placating hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

His lips twitched upward, and he shook his head. “You’re fine. Though you don’t look like a local. You from outta town?”

I could say the same thing about you, cowboy, you thought. There was a slight southern drawl in his voice that sounded like Alabama. Maybe Texas?

“You got me,” you nodded. “I’m from Chicago originally, but…I’ve actually just moved here to Helena.”

“Ahh, a city girl,” he remarked. “Small world. I just got here a few months ago myself. Houston, Texas.”

Your smile brightened. Right on the money.

“Yeah, I figured,” you couldn’t help teasing him a little. His grin kicked up in the corner.

“How’re the mountains and fresh air treating you then?” he asked. “Better than that blanket a’ smog in Chicago.”

“We do not have smog…or, well, not that much,” you laughed, “but yes, I’m actually really liking it here so far. I mean, I just got here about a week ago. I’m still learning. Though Emily actually tried to help me ride a horse today.”

“Yeah?” His brows raised. “How’d that go?”

You had to laugh. A kind of self-deprecating laugh that had you half-covering your face to stem off your blush.

“Not well,” you admitted.

Beau ducked his head with a smile. He met your eyes in amusement, but not without kindness.

“Well, here’s a tip for ya,” he said. He planted his feet, held his hands up into lightly clenched fists. “The trick is in the legs. Grip tight, but not too tight. He’ll think you’re rarin’ to go.”

You blinked a bit wider. Was that just honest advice…or was he sort of flirting with you?

It made you blush in earnest.

“Ah. Good to know,” you said with a laugh. He treated you with a tip of his imaginary hat.

“Hey,” someone called out.

Both of your heads turned to a tall black woman with long curly hair. She gave you a polite smile before she nodded up at Beau.

“You ready to go?” she asked.

“Ah, yep,” Beau nodded. He gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry, gotta get back to the station.”

“Oh, of course,” you said. But you held up a finger. “Wait, just a sec.”

You hastened back over to the table of confections from brunch and offered them a chocolate chip muffin each for the road. Cassie politely declined, but Beau gladly took his.

“Although, are you trying to stereotype me or somethin’?” he teased.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but after a moment, it hit you. You’d just given a cop a baked good.

“At least it wasn’t a donut,” you quipped, despite your embarrassment. Beau still looked bemused, but he let you off the hook.

“That’s okay. I’ve never been known to turn down free food,” he assured.

“He really doesn’t,” Cassie confirmed. You noticed how she was waiting, arms crossed.

“Well, there you go! Sorry for keeping you,” you said.

“Not at all, darlin’,” said Beau. His smile had a charming gleam. “Nice to meet you.”

You quirked a smile back. “Wow, you are from Texas.”

You didn’t think you’d ever been called darlin’ in your life.

Beau’s good humor shifted into slight embarrassment himself.

“Sorry. I’ve been told to stop doing that,” he said. When he chuckled, you did along with him. You weren’t offended by it, just surprised by the old-fashioned endearment.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Nice to meet you too, Sheriff.”

You raised a hand in goodbye, and Beau returned it, watching you go. Meanwhile, Cassie watched him with a small smirk. He stepped down from the short platform in front of Emily’s tent to meet her.

“Were you just checking out Glamper Girl? In front of your daughter, no less,” Cassie remarked.

Beau shot her a look of denial. “I did no such thing. I’m a professional. And a gentleman, mind you.”

Cassie rose a brow at him. It stirred up a bit of his defensiveness.

“But, I’ll have you know that Em had already moved on when I had a friendly conversation with the glamper,” he said.

Cassie rolled her eyes. Right.

That afternoon, you decided to bring your sketchpad and your modest collection of paints to the lake. You sat on the bank and tried to paint, while Mary joined the others in swimming.

“That looks nice,” Emily’s voice startled you from behind.

You twisted to look at her, and she gave you an apologetic look. She was dressed to go for a swim in a one-piece bathing suit and some shorts. She seemed more of a conservative dresser than typical high school girls her age. Maybe that had something to do with a policeman being her father, or maybe that was just her personality.

“Sorry,” she said, raising her hands.

“It’s okay.” You waved it off and gestured for her to sit beside you if she wanted. She did so, admiring your work over your shoulder. You felt a little embarrassed by it, but you didn’t mind her watching you try to paint ripples of light on the water.

“Are you an artist?” she asked.

You shot her a smile. “You’re very sweet, but no. I just started this year.”

You’d just Googled some therapeutic techniques instead of, you know, going to therapy. You just knew that if you did, your aunt would probably tell your parents, who would never let you hear the end of it. Specifically, why it was a waste of time. Your father especially would have something to say.

But one of the sources you found suggested trying out some creative outlets to calm the mind and think productively, but not create more stress for yourself. You’d tried a few different things, but landed on painting. It was working for you so far, even if you didn’t think you were that good.

“How do you like Montana so far?” you asked your companion. “Your dad told me you guys just moved here too, a few months ago.”

“Yeah, when my mom got remarried, my dad moved to stay close to me,” Emily explained.

Your brows raised. Your painting hand paused with the brush near the page.

“Well, that’s a good father,” you said. You smiled at the thought of Beau Arlen. The way he hugged his daughter before, like she was his entire world, and the fact that he’d moved entire states just to stay with her, told you a great deal about the town’s new sheriff.

Emily nodded, but her lips were pressed. “He’s a bit overprotective.”

“Well, he is a cop,” You said, smiling. “I assume that’s just part of the package.”

“I get that,” she said. “It’s just…a bit much sometimes.”

You gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand. My dad can be like that too. He’s got his soft moments, but he can be a real tough nut too… He’s a retired fireman.”

“Wow, that’s cool,” Emily said. She looked impressed. “Did you ever want to be a firefighter?”

You chuckled. “No, and he never wanted me to. It just wasn’t my beat, anyway.”

In the many years before your father had risen in the ranks to firehouse chief, your mother had often worried about him when he was on shift. Being a firefighter in inner-city Chicago had brought some hard and dangerous calls.

But you had always been more bookish, and both your parents were grateful for that.

You sighed. Your paintbrush made a stroke of deep green on the page, creating darker shades in the bottom of the lake.

“I did end up dating one though. Almost married him too,” you muttered, before you could stop yourself. You forgot you were talking to an insatiably curious girl.

“Really? What happened?” she asked. You looked over at her, and she was staring at you with her full attention. You remembered then that her podcast was supposed to be about relationships, but you had no desire to be a subject.

“It didn’t work out,” you said at last, and with difficulty.

“Why?” Emily asked.

Your internal struggle kept you quiet. It gave time for Emily to really see the withdrawn, almost pained look on your face, the slight hunch of your shoulders. She deflated guiltily.

“Uh, sorry,” she said.

You offered a small smile. “It’s okay, honey.”

“I’ll uh, just let you get back to painting,” she said. You waved her goodbye after she got up and left, giving you one last look before she joined her stepfather in the lake.

You let out a deep breath. The teen was tenacious, and naturally curious. That in itself wasn’t such a bad thing. But as you watched her splash at Avery, laughing that weightless laugh that kids got to have, you realized how much you missed being that young and free in your heart.

Again, out of habit, you set down your brush and rubbed at your empty left ring finger.

Mary finally joined you back in your shared tent after a long night of socializing by the fire. You had kept to the tent, reading Much Ado About Nothing for one of your classes that would start in the fall. It wasn’t your first time reading the Shakespeare play, by any means, but you did want to brush up on it.

“You know, you’re actually supposed to be vacationing on this vacation,” Mary pointed out. She started changing into her pajamas for bed. You were already cozy in one of your old college hoodies and some shorts, not to mention snuggled under the warm blankets.

“I am,” you said defensively. “I hiked, I painted, I ate no less than one burger, a basket of fries, and three smores, and now I’m reading.”

“Yeah, for school,” she pointed out. “I may not be as smart as you, but I know homework when I see it.”

You shot her a smile. “You’re plenty smart, M.”

She snorted and slipped into bed beside you. It felt like the sleepovers you two used to have in college, years ago, when she’d come to crash in your dorm, or you in hers. She’d been a philosophy major (despite not giving two shits about Socrates), forced to attend college by her parents. You were an English major, working three part-time jobs just to get you through until graduation.

“Hey,” she said, laying a hand on your shoulder. You turned to her in question. She seemed more serious than usual.

“I’m worried about you,” she said. “And I’m not the only one.”

You sighed. Lowering your book, you leaned back against your pillows and stared up at the tent’s fairy lights.

“I know,” you replied. “But you don’t need to be.”

“Yeah you keep saying that, but you know the real reason I’m here, right?” Mary asked. Her insistent hand on your arm made you meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this," she said. "You don’t have to move out here and leave everything behind. You should just come home with me. Your parents, our friends—everyone wants to be there for you, like we have all year.”

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head.

“I’m not going to change my mind. So if that’s really why you’re here, and not to just spend some time with me, as my friend, then you should just go home,” you said. “I’ll leave here and go to my aunt’s house. I’m sure your parents can negotiate some kind of refund.”

Mary got angry and huffy, just like you thought she would. You weren’t playing around though. This was your life, and your decision.

If your friends and your family couldn’t be happy for you, or at least understanding, then they could at least respect you. You just weren’t sure when they’d get the hint that this was real.

You were moving to Montana, permanently.

On the drive back into town from the camping site, Beau ate his chocolate chip muffin and tried his best to listen to Cassie—to her theories on where the backpacker might’ve gone, and how best to tell the parents to keep her on this investigation.

A good part of him was still thinking about his daughter, wishing he could be there with her right now.

And maybe, his mind occasionally wandered…thinking about the pretty shade of your eyes when you smiled at him.

AN: And there we have it, Part 1 of a new series! If you liked it, please let me know! 🥰

And a special Happy Birthday to @jackles010378! 💖 I was going to say we're both Aries (mine is next month) but forgot Pisces comes first lol. ♓

Next Time:

The trees were tall and dark now. The moon was filtering through them like the sun had during other day hikes, but it was much more ominous at night.

“Shit,” you muttered. You gripped your flashlight in worry as panic started to well up in your chest.

Now you were lost.

You jumped with a start when the hoot of a bird passed by overhead.

Shiiiit. This was very bad.

You kept moving forward on what you thought was the trail. That was all you could do, keep moving forward. You made a few turns around some trees, occasionally calling out for Sunny, or Mary, or anyone to hear you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 2

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slttygeto · 10 months

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╰┈➤ 12:01 ⋆·˚ ༘ *geto suguru‧₊˚.

[forever n then some] ➛ in which suguru is nervous to propose to you.

this is stupid, he knows he shouldn’t be so nervous about this. it’s you, the love of his life, the one he swore to spend the rest of his days with—but the time has come to ask you to be his forever, and it’s terrifying.

he doesn’t have a big thing planned, and now it seems like such a stupid thing. couldn’t he have planned something instead of nervously pacing around your kitchen while you took a shower?

he waited until you were done with showering and got into a fresh set of pyjamas before he went to the bathroom, and you didn’t suspect anything when he walked past you without commenting on how good you smell. you figured he was waiting for you to do your face mask first.

he places the ring where you can’t find it easily, opens the door to your bathroom (you had one in your bedroom, god bless) and watches as you walk in.

“you didn’t poop?” you ask so casually, hands reaching to open the faucet to wash them before applying your face mask. he laughs a little at how comfortable you are with him, i mean you have been dating for five long years, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“no, turns out the food didn’t really hurt my stomach.” suguru leans against the door frame and watches as you listen to him intently. you’ve always been like this with him, so patient and gentle. the perfect lover despite all the hardships you guys went through (which were a lot).

“oh, i was gonna make you a herbal tea before bed. are you sure your tummy is all good?” you worry so much, you care so much and you love so hard. he wishes he could hand you the world on a silver platter.

“positive.” is all suguru says before he goes back to watching the rest of your night time routine.

you both laugh at something he remembers, you describe to him what you’re doing and the entire time he’s just nervously eyeing the sparkly jewelry laying so close to you, yet you seem so unaware of its presence.

“you look a little tense though, are you sure your stomach is fine?” you wipe your hands after being done with everything, and suguru nods before crossing his arms over his chest.

“i’m fine, it’s just— i think, i see something over there,” he nods his head towards it, and you’re confused for a moment.

“something? is the sink dirty or—“ and suddenly, you can see very well what that something is.

it’s…gorgeous, you almost hesitate to grab it. your hands are shaking, and you’re looking back and forth between the ring and suguru’s mischievous yet nervous smile.

“is this…?”

“I would’ve loved to plan something, to take you somewhere fancy and get down on one knee but—“ he pauses for a moment, his warm hand holding your wrist to pull you towards him.

“it wouldn’t have felt like us. I am not saying you’re not worth me spending money on you, or planning out something big…but i wanted to do something intimate for us, is that okay?”

you can feel yourself tearing up the more he spoke, the way this was all so thought through in a careful manner—to ensure that it feels like a moment shared between you both at first, before announcing to the world that you were finally getting married.

you choke out a sob, and your boyfriend (now fiancé) is pulling you in his embrace. those are happy tears, and you knew you had to get them out of your system.

“oh baby, i love you,” you sniffle, still staring at the pretty ring. suguru takes it out of your hold before getting down on one knee on your bathroom floor.

“so, will you marry me?”

[ reblogs ↻ + comments are appreciated]

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto fluff #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk geto #jjk fluff #jjk season 2 #jujutsu geto

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spamgyu · 21 days

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PRETTY BOY // College!Mingyu AU – birthdays and i love you's

"Even if the sky's on fire. Got you here, it's alright, with me ..."

Started off as this prompt: no bc college!mingyu as someone who lives down the hall from your dorm and you always run into him doing something questionable genre: tooth-aching fluff PRETTY BOY MASTERLIST

This was her first time at his family home; and to say she was on edge was an understatement.

She's met his family a handful of times, able to count the interaction on one hand – but spending a whole weekend with them... that was nerve wrecking.

She felt as though she needed to be on her best behavior, not wanting to say or do anything that may cause his parents or his sister to disapprove of her.

It was Mingyu's birthday and contrary to how she thought he would be ringing in another year of his life, he carried on his tradition of spending it with his family – with a plus one, this time around.

Everyone else their age threw parties or went away for a trip with their friend group, going absolutely feral, as they celebrated another year around the sun. But just like before, Mingyu took her by surprise when he had notified her that he would like her to join his birthday festivities.... at his family home.

It wasn't anything special.

Just two days of being around his immediate family at almost every waking moment.

Y/n couldn't help but fall deeper in love for the boy as she come to realization that he was a family man – he loved bothering his little sister, helping his mother around the kitchen, and spending time with his father in the garage.

All with her in tow.

"I'm really glad you're here with me, this year." Mingyu hummed, a soft smile on his lips as his arms lazily draped around her waist.

They had just finished eating lunch in the garden, a meal prepared by Mrs. Kim with the help them two.

"I'm glad you invited me." Y/n matched the grin on his face, reaching up to wipe away a crumb off his chin.

He always did eat like it was a race; shoveling food into his mouth like someone was going to grab it off of his plate.

"My mom likes you."

"I would hope so."

"My dad and sister too."

"What about you?" She teased.

Mingyu shook his head. "Nope not me."

"Really now? You don't like me?" Y/n laughed, knowing that he was simply playing along.

"Nope." He popped his lips. "I love you."

Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks and ears, Y/n couldn't help but let out a giggle – her nose scrunching in the process. One of his favorite things about her, amongst the million of other mannerisms that had him swooning.

Mingyu could have sworn he felt his heart melt in an instant at the sight of the girl, who he once only dreamt of dating, practically become putty in his hands.

Using her finger to motion him to come closer. "Wanna know a secret?" She whispered, Mingyu nodding his head for her to continue.

"I love you too."

Mingyu had always been in love with the girl; his friends teasing him every time they had caught the poor love struck boy looking at her from a distance – back when she barely considered him as a friend. To anyone, this moment may have been something so casual; something so minuscule, but to Mingyu it was everything.

He didn't care about the new car parts his parents got him for his birthday, or the Chrome Hearths necklace Y/n gifted him – this was the best thing he had received all weekend.

"I love you more." He whispered.

"I doubt it."

Mingyu felt his knees weak; the feeling of happiness bubbling in his chest. He knew it wasn't a competition, but whatever love she had for him in her heart didn't measure to how he felt for her – the girl that made him want to be a better man than he was yesterday.

The girl that had made him feel like he had been living in a rom-com movie the past seven months.

The girl who he thought was far too good for a guy like him, spending nearly a week bragging to anyone who would listen that he had gotten the girl of his dreams.

He felt like a cartoon character floating in air, following her around with hearts for eyes – and he had no shame about it.

"I'll prove it."

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 10 months

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SPINNET?

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!reader Summary: You fall for your best friend Warnings: mention of crying, snogging

you only started to notice the tingly feeling you got when you around George at the beginning of your 6th year at Hogwarts.

the way your cheeks turned hot and palms turned sweaty when you around him. that never happened before.

you knew what was happening, it happened to a lot of best friends, it was a phase they go through, but you never thought if would happen to you, because it it were to happen, it wouldn't gone by now.

he's a very attractive bloke. but this year is different. he grew his hair long, his face is more defined, grew another inch taller and his arms seemed bigger and more toned, probably from quidditch. his posture straightened and his lips were more full.

he was hot, but he was your best friend

but how could you not like him? he was funny, playful, and just plain adorable.

"wicked" the twins whispered as Dumbledore announced the Triwizard tournament, you smiled at them and continued listening, your eyebrows furrowing at the mention of no one under the age of 17 can put their name in the cup.

you laughed as the twins stood up and booed "you don't know what you're doing!" they yelled

"god those two are loud" Angelina spoke to you, being dorm mates for the past 6 years have made you guys really close, you guys will stay up late talking and gossiping about merlin knows what

"tell me about it" you rolled your eyes playfully

you've heard a familiar voice call out your name and you smiled, your stomach feeling like it's going to explode. you turned around and saw him

"hi George, what do ya need?" you asked, he smiled brightly at you backing your cheeks turn red.

"Angie and Hermione were looking for you, there in the library" he told you.

"oh, ok, thanks!" you grinned

"i'll walk with you, c'mon" he placed his arm around your shoulder, you tensed up and felt your hands start to get clammy, he was always sort of touchy, but your newfound feelings make you nervous.

"so, me and Fred are thinking of putting own names down for the tournament" he said casually

"what? but you're only 16, you won't be able to do that" you raised your eyebrows

"ah, but that's where you are wrong, love" he always called you that, but now it made you want to cry.

"how so?"

he only smirked "guess you'll have to fine out"

"oh merlin's beard, please don't do anything stupid" you pleaded. he chuckled as he let go of your shoulders, dropping his arm and grabbing your hand instead. going ahead of you and walking backwards, pulling along with him

"do you even know me?" he tilted his head

"unfortunately" you grumbled

"oi, don't be annoyed at me, you love me" he furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes to glare at you playfully

"I- I do not!" you agued pathetically, your words getting caught in your throught

"don't deny it, I know you do" he teased but you began to feel dizzy from the butterflies. a good dizzy.

you avoided George after that, you didn't want to embarrass yourself and ruin the friendship by letting something slip, you didn't want him to know your secret. you didn't want anyone to know, it was pathetic, falling for your best friend.

he noticed, how wouldn't he, he would look at you and you did your best to avert your eyes.

he would try talking to you and you would get up and leave or start a conversation with the person next to you.

he would go up to you and you would rush away.

he felt like he did something wrong

it's been 2 weeks and nothing

even after him and Fred's failed attempt at putting their names in the cup, you didn't go up to him and scold him, you didn't even laugh when they turned old. you just looked at them, looking disappointed

so when you were sat in muggle studies, 5 minutes into the lesson when he rushed in, the only empty seat was next to you. he smiled as he sat next to you, trying to get you to look at him

"hey, love" he whispered, you sighed, closing your eyes and you bit your lip

"hey" you mumbled

"you alright?" he asked you, leaning closer to you

you hummed at him and looked at the board, writing your notes

"what do you think the second task will be?" he questioned, the first task were brutal, how could they let kids fight dragons?

you almost smiled at his attempt to talk to you.

you only shrugged your shoulders in response

"why won't you talk to me?" he wondered out loud.

"silence Mister Weasley, not only did you arrive late but you are interrupting the class and disturbing miss Y/L/N" the Professor yelled at him

you and Angie stayed up late again, sitting in your beds talking to each other

"so, the yule ball huh?" she smirked

"i know, it sounds so fun!"

"what colour dress are you gonna wear, i was thinking purple" she informed you

"I haven't thought about it, but purple sounds great for you Ang" you grinned

"sooo, do you fancy anyone?" she interrogated suddenly

"no" you responded quickly

"I don't believe you" she glared at you with a smile

"do you?" you asked back, she shuffled in her seat

"you can't tell anyone, promise?" she raised her eyebrows, you nodded your head

"promise" you repeated

"I kind of Fancy Fred" she whispered, even though it was just you two in the room.

you gasped lightly "do you think he'll ask you?"

"probably not" she frowned "i mean, he's really popular, you could go with a girl from Beauxbatons"

"i bet he'll ask you, you would look really cute together" you pointed out

she giggled softly "speaking of a twin, I heard you were avoiding George, why? he's your best friend" she whined

you stayed silent to for a moment, your mouth slightly open, trying to fine the words

"um-"

she let out a gasp and covered her mouth in shock

"oh merlin- do you fancy George?!" she stared at you wide eyed

you stayed silent again, there was no point denying, it's safe to say that ever since you found your new feelings for him, he was no longer your best friend, but your crush.

Angie was your best friend now.

"aw, that's so cuteee, you guys are perfect" she awed

"as friends" you mumbled

"hey, don't say that, he would be stupid to not like you back" she frowned again

"thanks Ang" you murmured, laying on your back on your bed

"let's get some rest, yeah?" she turned off her lamp and you went off to bed

it's been another week and you were sat next to Angie when a paper ball got thrown at her, she looked over and Fred was staring at her, signing at her to go to the ball with him, she nodded her head happily and looked back at you with a big smile

"we need to get you that purple dress of yours" you said quietly.

you both got up and heard footsteps behind you

"wait up" they called, you both turned around and saw George coming up to you, Angie nudged you as he got closer looking at you, you looked at the ground and avoided eye contact with him

"would you give us a minute Ang?" she stepped away to give you a bit of privacy

"i uh- i need your help with something" he looked at you

"with what" you took a deep breath, tapping your foot

"doesn't matter yet, just meet me outside of potions after dinner, alright?" he told you briefly.

even if you were trying to avoid him, you couldn't say no to him when he needed your help

"ok" you mumbled before turning away and walking back to Angie. George still felt like he had done something wrong, but it didn't matter, because he knew how to cheer you up.

"did he ask you?"

you shook your head no and continued walking with her.

you had told her everything about your feelings for him, how you didn't want him to know and that you don't want to like him because you didn't want to lose him

so she knew that you didn't want to talk about it anymore

you finished your dinner and saw that Fred was without his partner in crime, so you excused yourself and began walking to potions.

you turned a corner that led to the classroom and caught George snogging Alicia Spinnet

"George?" you said in shocked. they broke apart and he looked at you

"what do you want?" he grumbled angrily as you interrupted their session

"you told me to come here, you needed help" you spoke weakly

"no I didn't, just go away, I don't know why we're even friends anymore" your heart broke bit by bit as you saw them holding each others hand, she looked at him with such love, it made you jealous that she looked at him the same why you did

"i- I'm sorry" you said soflty

you rushed away, going to your dorm room.

it was pathetic, this whole situation, crying because he was with someone else, crying for a boy that wasn't even yours to begin with. it wasn't like he cheated on you, you're not that type of person, but it hurt to see him holding her waist so gently, so tenderly, kissing her with such passion and love.

Angie came into the room finding you sobbing, you told her what happened and she comforted you

"it's ok, there's always somebody else out there" she cooed

"but they're not him, Ang!"

"I know, I know"

"so do we all have dates to the ball?" Fred asked

Lee nodded and George sat there, next to Fred looking at you, but you refused to look at him, you were embarrassed and uncomfortable

"George and Y/n don't" Angie replied, looking at you

"I might" you interjected

her eyebrows raised as she stared intently at you

"who!" she interrogated

"doesn't matter, I don't know if I'll say yes yet" you blushed nervously, you saw him watching you.

"what house is he in?" Fred wondered

"none, he goes to Durmstrang, he's a seventh year, friends with Viktor Krum but he's super sweet" you smiled sheepishly

"when did this happen?" Lee talked curiously

"this morning when I walked in here, he said i could think about it"

"say yes! please say yes, we both need dates" Angie clapped her hands exitedly

"i'm still thinking, but i'm leaning towards a yes" you saw Fred look at George shortly and glare at him, they seemed to have a conversation with their eyes

"wait, I thought you were going with Spinnet?" Angie interrupted them

George looked confused "Alicia?" he huffed. Angie nodded her head "why would I go to the ball with Alicia Spinnet?" He continued

"Because you were snogging her in th-" you nudged her leg with yours to stop her from talking and she shut her mouth

"What? Where did you hear that from?" she glanced at you and then shrugged

He looked at you and you averted your eyes

George felt like he was about to burst. He was sick of you doing this to him. He had done nothing wrong and you just ignore him.

He looked at you with sad eyes and his began picking his nails under the table

"So you weren't snogging her?" Angie breaks the silence. Still curious

"No! I've talked to her once, where did you hear this Angie?" He shook his head

"Doesn't matter. Let's go. Y/n, we got to study" she stood up and waited for you

You got up and walked out of the hall with her to go study

"Are you sure it was him?" She asked

"Yes. I'm sure. It couldn't of been anyone else, it was him. Angie, trust me" you sighed

"I believe you but I don't get why he would deny it"

You hummed along with her. Wondering why yourself.

the yule ball was coming up and you had gotten your dress along with Angie's. but you didn't have a date, you were going to go up to the boy to say yes but he told you a girl from Beauxbatons asked him and he said yes, they were quite cute actually, so you weren't mad.

but that meant you were alone. even though Angie said she'll reserve a few dances with you, and Fred said he would save one for you, you continued to feel a bit embarrassed, I mean out of hundreds of guys in Hogwarts, absolutely no one wanted to go with you. not to say you were desperate- if a first year, second you or third year asked you, you would probably say no, probably a fourth year too, but no one through 5th to 7th didn't want to go with you? it sounded sad and pathetic.

"so you asked Spinnet, huh?" Angie chuckled, cutting her pork, glancing at George

"what?" he tilted his head

"right, I heard that, good on ya, finally got yourself a date, Georgie" Fred smiled, patting his twins back, making the younger red head tense

"i don't have a date." he denied, he made eye contact with you and you saw a glimpse of hurt in his eyes as you broke it, looking at Fred.

as much as you wanted to avoid him, Angie was always with Fred, and Fred was ALWAYS with George, so you didn't have a choice, because otherwise you would be alone, you had other friends, but you weren't as close, and it would be weird if you suddenly starting sitting with them out of know where. so this was your only option.

"but Alicia has been telling everyone about how you asked her, sounded pretty excited about it" Lee said, looking lost.

George rubbed his face roughly, looking tired and annoyed

"I've told you this, I have no ide-"

"Georgie!" Alicia cut the by off, walking up to him and ruffling his hair, he moved away from her hand and looked at her strangley

"why did you move away, you love when i play with your hair" she pouted. you all looked at him with the same look, a look that said "can't deny it anymore, can ya?"

"no, I really don't" he replied shortly

she giggled, hitting his shoulder softly, obviously flirting

"anyway, my dress for the ball is gonna be orange, in case you want to match your tie, although you're clearly already matching with your hair" she giggled again. you and Angie looked at each other, amused smiles planted on your faces

"I'm not going to the ball with you, Alicia" he spoke bluntly

"don't joke like that, Georgie, it's not funny" she laughed

"Alicia, I would really appreciate it if you left me alone and stop telling people we're going out" he rolled his eyes

"but what about us? you told me you loved me? remember? in the corridor, where Y/n interrupted us" she looked at you bitterly. George glanced at you as you stared down at your plate, the food looking more interesting than this conversation.

he looked back at Alicia

"no, I don't remember, because it didn't happen" he fought with the girl in front of him

"merlin's beard George, stop trying to deny it- I saw it, there's no point in pretending it didn't happen, she knows it, you know it and I know it, now stop" you but in, getting annoyed at his childish ways

he stared at you, looking hurt

"no you don't know it, that's the first time you've talked to me in weeks, Y/n! why have been ignoring me" he spat

you looked at the brunette who clung to George

"Spinnet, do you remember what George said to me when I saw you both that night?" you asked her, she thought back for a moment and replied

"he said he didn't want to be friends anymore"

you looked at George and held eye contact with him for the first time in a ages

he, however, looked disgusted, but it didn't seem like it was aimed at you

"I didn't say that" he shook his head

you sighed, picking up your bag

"I need to study, i'll see you guys later" you got up, walking away from the table

it was the day after the ball, you had a good time, and Angie helped you with that, she grabbed your hands danced with you, smiling brightly trying to motivate you to have fun the whole night.

but you couldn't help but notice George, alone, staring at you almost the whole time, he was without a date and was sat down the whole time that he seemed bored, so much so that he left half way through the ball, he looked handsome, he looked really handsome, it made you want to go up to him and ask to dance, but if he wanted it, he could do it himself.

you had gotten detention a week ago in Snape's class, and after a discussion with McGonagall, he was forced to not have it on the night of the ball. George was trying to prank you by messing with your work cause he thought it would get you to talk to him, but it only ended up in you both getting detention.

bringing you here

"you'll be cleaning the classroom while i run errands" he informed you

"it's already clean sir" George butted in

"then you will sort the books in alphabetical order and then scrape the gum underneath all the desks" he glared at the twin

"without your wands"

he walks out of the room, leaving you and George alone, for the first time in months

you walk to the shelves and begin sorting the books, letting the boy deal with the gum.

you knew that you couldn't escape him in this moment, stuck in this locked room with only him, so when he tried starting conversation, you knew he would wear you down and you'll end up cracking

"so uh- I want you to know that it really wasn't me, that you saw with Alicia" he started

you sighed quietly and took out books, looking at the titles, wondering if Snape wanted them by the titles or authors, you decided on titles because it was easier.

"you can't ignore me forever, Love" he used the nickname, you could tell that wasn't doing the work by not even looking at him.

"love?" heat rose to your cheeks as the butterflies came back after a long time of ignoring them.

"it was Dylan, Dylan Trellweather, he's in Ravenclaw, I found out he was using Polyjuice potion, turns out Spinnet just likes me and he likes her so well, he wanted to be me so he just- yeah" he explained

you believed him, his confusion to the whole situation every time it was brought up seemed quite genuine, and he's supposed to be your best friend, he wouldn't lie.

"I was waiting for you that night, outside potions class. I waited two hours, thought you might of forgotten and were on your way because maybe you went to the common room" he spoke softly, you felt his presence behind you.

you felt his warmth as he stood there, waiting for your reply

you placed the books in their place and scratched your nose

"you should probably get to the desks, wouldn't wanna be here longer because you didn't do it" you said quietly

"please talk to me, what did I do?" he questioned standing beside you, leaning against the shelf, you glanced at him and refused to smile at him

you took a deep breath and took hold of more books, reading the titles and putting them in there place.

you went to get more but he grabbed your wrists gently, turning you to face him, pulling you closer to his tall body

he looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to talk, to tell him what's wrong, but you knew if you did, he would be the one not talking to you. you were saving yourself from embarrassment.

"I'm your best friend, Y/n, you can tell me anything" he reassured you.

you looked at him painfully, feeling yourself begin to cry, the tears forming in your eyes as he began he get worried

"hey, what's wrong, hey, hey it's ok," he pulled you in, bringing you in to his embrace "it's ok" he cooed and you began to cry

"shhh, please don't cry" he hushed, rocking you in his arms.

"I'm fine" you sniffled

"c'mon" he let go of you and held your hand, guiding you to a desk, pulling out a chair for you and making you sit down as you sobbed.

he knelt down in front of you and held your hands

"you looked pretty last night," he broke the silence, looking up at you.

"you always do but you looked really, really pretty" he smiled slightly

you stared at him, admiring the way his hair was in his face, long enough to reach to top of his collared shirt. you took a moment to appreciate his parents for raising this beautiful young man in front of you, who was looking up at you tenderly

"I was gonna ask you, you' know. if you showed up, I was gonna take you up to the astronomy tower- cause you love that spot, i was gonna take you up there, light a few fireworks and ask you to go with me" he admitted

you stopped crying and you wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt

you didn't say anything- he was gonna ask you to the ball?

"this might not be something you want to hear, because of reasons i still don't know, but I love you, I have for quite some time now" he confessed, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand resting on your cheek, you leaned in to his touch, letting your eyes close at the contact

"I'm sorry if that ruins things, but i thought you should know, because I don't wanna keep it a secret, I want you to know how much I love and care about you" he rambled

you looked at him knowingly, giving him a smile.

the butterflies came back again, stronger this time. he felt the same way, it seemed unbelievable, a popular, gorgeous boy like him? liking a girl like you? it had to be a dream.

it wasn't, it was too good to be a dream

"I didn't want you to know about my feelings for you," you began, sighing

"so you avoided me?" he finished for you, looking upset

"I thought you wouldn't talk to me if you found out, I thought I was doing myself a favour" you looked down at the ground

you heard him chuckle lowly, you looked at him, your eyebrows furrowed as you frowned

"I'm sorry" you apologised

he lifted you up off the chair, pulling you into another hug

"don't apologise" he rested his chin on your head, holding your hips gently.

he was always gentle with you, never rough, he would never grab you forcefully or pull you violently.

he always held you with such care and sincerity. and that never changed

"can I- can I kiss you?" he looked at your lips after pulling away slightly, you felt your heart flutter at the question, you nodded you heard, letting him bend down, cupping your cheeks and placing a delicate kiss on you lips.

he pulled away from your lips stared at you lovingly

"well then, wanna ditch?" he smirked mischievously

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#george weasley x fem #george weasley #harry potter imagine #fluff #yule ball #angelina johnson #fred weasley #lee jordan #harry potter #george weasly x reader #oneshot #imagines #oliver phelps #james phelps

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