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ange1ace · 1 month

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𝓔AT YOUR YOUNG

tw: dark!luke, kidnapping, smut, cursing, innocence kink, daughter of aphrodite!reader, stalking/obsessive behaviors, violence

a/n: was gonna scrap this but we move on !!!!!!

ღ: in which luke believes you can fix him.

Theres a greed that arises from hatred-from envy.

Insatiable, no matter how many tries he attemps to satiate the huger that claws at him. He's empty, wafting through camp like a ghost because really? he's not there. His minds somewhere else, the only thing bringing him down to earth is the rush he gets from sword fighting.

He's volatile, even, like a ticking time bomb, the sound revolving in his head, relentlessly. Its louder when he forgets the hypocrisy, the rejection and for a second? something sick like sympathy snakes into his mind. His hand traces over his scar on instinct because if he presses hard enough? It burns-stings.

And eradicates any solicitude he thought he had.

Tick. Tock.

Campfires were never luke's thing. He sits towards the back, eyes downcast and shadows coveting him due to the flame. His hands drum against backbiter, something he uses to keep himself busy until he can go back to the cabin. The orange hues that bring him back so much so, that he quickly averts his gaze.

Tick.

His fingers trace the line of his sword, and he swallows. He'll be gone soon enough. Laughter echoes in his head at that statement, but he ignores it.

Tock.

Luke's mind is buzzing, thoughts spiraling like his head has a heartbeat. It drives him mad. He's about to leave, sneak and tell some lie to Chiron about forgetting to lock up the stables. Anything, if he can just get out. He walks, caught so much in his head, he doesnt see where hes going.

And walks right into you.

You stumble backwards, as he holds you to stop your fall. You look up at him with wide eyes, a hurried apology emitting from you as he takes you in.

"shit-'m sorry, i didnt hurt you, did i?"

He bites his tongue, retracting what would have been a sarcastic comment, and shakes his head.

"Should be me apologizing to you, sweetheart, didnt see you-"

You smile at him, shaking it off though he's sure you're head is pounding. "'Its okay ,-'m not even hurt-nothing ambrosia cant fix-"

You've regained your balance, staring up at him and something makes his chest feel tight.

Adrenaline, he tells himself , Adrenaline.

He brings a hand to your head, an innocent gesture meant for him to just check if you're really okay. But really? he just wants an excuse to touch you again after feeling the loss of heat from your body, and like he guessed, you're face burns again from the movement.

Cute.

You've regained your balance, staring up at him. Your eyes are slightly dilated, probably drunk of something a camper snuck into camp and if he was a good camp counselor-he would have reprimanded you, probably sent you to chiron to get punished.

But he's not, the term "good" almost foreign to him by now.

So he lets his eyes trail from yours to your mouth where your lip now threads between your teeth. Maybe you think he knows, and some part of him likes watching you squirm a little bit. Another comment dies in his throat when cold blue eyes meet his, ones that he knows too well,

No.

Your face falls when he steps back, your lips forming into a subtle pout as his indifference.

"Just be careful next time, yeah?"

He doesnt even give you a chance to respond, brushing past you as your face contorts into confusion, and for a second luke feels something rising in him, that he quickly snuffs out.

He's not stupid enough to fuck with silena beauregards little angel.

Luke cant sleep.

Insomnia's not uncommon for him-far used to the nightmares by now. But this-this, is different and he knows exactly why, no matter how much he denies it.

He thinks its aphrodite magic, that you've found someway to fuck with his head with those damn eyes of yours.

(Atleast that would allow him to hate you)

But it kills him.

How sweet you were to him. He knows aphrodite girls, that most would have given him a dirty look or mutter something under their breath when he left so abruptly, no apology gracing your ears or emitting from his lips. But you smiled at him, sweet voice serenading him until he's dizzy, even thinking about it now makes his head feel light.

( The timers stopped, something that flies over his head now, his thoughts only centered on one thing)

He supposes youre to blame, for not screaming at him?, calling him a dick and moving on?

Really, any of the scenarios would give him more ease. Curiosity aches to get the better of him, that maybe it would give him an answer to the enigma that you are. Piercing blue eyes resound in his head, and he sucks in a breath between his teeth. Eradicating any thoughts of any further pursuit after tonight.

And its good.

He doesn't need a distraction or silena gunning for him again. He convinces himself that he can abstain from you-the possibility of hearing that sweet, sweet voice again and falls into his bed.

But his eyes don't close and his mind refuses to shut off.

( And in the quiet, he hears the subtle noise start up again. Tick. Tock)

Irritation already settles on your face, by the time you get to the cabin. Words go in and out of your ears, none of them making a single impression as you roll your eyes.

“He was being nice, for christs sake!” you say as she stops, and turns to you. “it’s not like he pointed that sword at me or something-it was my fault, okay? and my heads fine-“

She sighs, her figure relaxing slightly as she dips into the bed beside you. Its weird, her reaction, for many reasons-but especially how much emphasis shes putting on him in particular. You know there's more-that she's not telling you something. But you're too tired and too wasted to ask.

(Or maybe you'd just rather not know what really goes on inside luke castellans head)

"Just stay away from him, okay? and im serious about this-"

You just nod, not for any reason but for hope that she'll get off your back about it as she leans back into the cushions off the bed and you try to feel comfortable in yours.

But you dont.

Maybe its the buzz of your short lived high, or the fact that you've never been a good sleeper or what you know it to already be, the drumming of a fake promise that resounds throughout your head. Because if its one thing you never were, its honest.

He sees you first.

You're upset, evidently, eyebrows furrowed and face formed into a scowl as you make your way to the sword fighting arena. He uses the excuse of an apology for dragging you here-that he just needed a way to see you and say sorry without being too presumptuous.

(Which is ridiculous, because even he knows that the boundary lines blurred the second he removed your name from archery to swordsmanship.)

His brain is fuzzy when you talk to him though. You mumble about being switched over-your tone indicating you're irritation though despite your failing attempt to cover it, his brown irises watching you so intently that you feel your cheeks heat up.

"but i swear i can get them to switch it back if you're busy-, clarisse is a bitch about timetables but im pretty sure i can get her to do it if i-"

No, is what immediately pops into his head and just as quickly comes from his mouth. Its abrupt and makes you pause for a second, staring back up at him.

"Wouldnt want to make you take an entire mile across camp for somethin' like that" he says as if he didnt make you take the journey before. "can probably find space"

He'd kick out every damn demigod in there if he had to.

Despite your protests, he does eventually get a sword into your hand. Positioning himself behind you, as his hands lock onto your waist, slow, intricate movements along your side under the pretense of 'steadying you'.

It has its adverse effects, what luke really intended to happen, as heat rushes up your spine, leaving you as distracted as ever. You try to ignore the urge to turn around, failing miserably as you turn to him. His grip tightens, as he shifts your body back around by your hips, his chest pressed against your back.

"Eyes up front, pretty girl"

A whisper-the nickname-so quiet you're surprised you even caught it and lukes even more shocked that he even uttered it. He should stop, take a step back, he knows hes well past that little boundary line he tried to imagine for himself. He knows hes enjoying it all way too much. But his hands dont leave your hips, his breath doesnt stop warming your neck because he'd be right back at your knees like a dog to its owner if he stopped-coming right back just to have that one moment of redamancy-even if its just out of pity. He snaps out of it though, reminding himself that he at least needs to finish his lesson like a dutiful counselor.

Distracted.

Its what he knows he is and what causes kronos's mocking voice to pop back in his head in the nights. He can only make excuses for so long-knowing that he needs to atleast put something in place before the solstice-before all hell breaks loose.

(Its starting again-he feels it, the low drumming that will eventually become a migraine, and turn into something more. A resounding noise that he's been able to escape with you, letting him turn off his head before his sciamachy begins and he paces like a madman. He wants-needs- to go, its why the damn clock wont stop, why he cant seem to close his eyes for too long.)

Despite his apprehension, he trails you around camp. Even staying at those stupid campfires, just long enough so he can see your smile when your eyes meet. A single moment before your face turn sullen as silena gives you a look.

You say something back, a comment silena seems to dislike as her face contorts into something irritated. Whatever comes out next, though, hits a nerve. He sees the way your eyes still and you swallow, a nod as you walk off before silena can open her mouth again.

And he follows you, making sure you’re okay, of course-nothing more, nothing less, like a good counselor should.

(Another feign play at innocence)

You don’t seem to know where you’re going either-weaving through the cabins, even passing your own. He’s fine with his distance, he’ll just watch, not interfere-he’s good like this.

That is until you stop, turning around with a look on your face that he prays isn’t for him.

“Stalking me now, castellan?”

Eyebrows raised, as you fold your arms. “Didn’t take you for a creep”

(He scoffs, though his reaction is only because you’re right.)

“Just making sure y’r alright” he mutters, taking a step forward-closer-too close-for either of your liking.

(Liars)

You stiffen, at his proximity, at his words-instinctively moving a hand to wipe your face of any remnants of tears.

“I’m fine-it’s hot over there y’know-“

Another step.

“The-the humidity-hot air, all stuffy and-“ you stop when he somehow finds a way to get closer, rambling briefly paused as you stare up at him with your face flushed. “shit-“

The silence doesn’t help. If anything it’s worse-even more intoxicating for him as he smells your perfume. Subconsciously, his hands move to your shirt, fiddling with the hem as you take a sharp inhale.

“Luke-“

He hates how you say his name.

It makes him feel sick-how almost pretty you make something so depraved sound in your mouth.

(But he’d rather hear it in another context-see how far he could push you, how sacred his name could really sound when his head is between your thighs and your hands in his as he kneels like he’s at some altar. He truly believes he might be-something almost sacrilegious in how he wishes to desecrate you.)

You only exhale when his eyes meet yours, and he allows a hand to snake up your abdomen.

“Yeah?”

So casual, relaxed, the exact opposite of the alarms sounding in your head to get him to stop. You should-need to, for both of your sakes.

You don’t.

Instead you let him, when his hands reach the softness of your breasts- you let him touch you. Let him run his hands over your sensitive nipples and pinch them when they harden. You’re just as greedy as him-he realizes, when he watches you arch your back in a desperate attempt for friction.

A slap on the hips is what gets you to snap out of it.

“Such a needy fuckin’ thing” he hums, trailing back to your thighs, “don’t think you deserve it though, pet”

You’re eyes almost go cross way when he kneels. A short lived victory, however, when you hear the footsteps of the returning campers. He hears then-he has to but he either doesn’t care or is too caught up to move.

“Luke”

Trying to get him to focus-to fucking move before someone sees you too. Instead a finger presses against the wetness of your panties. A squeal leaves you-a testament to his earlier thoughts about your sensitivity.

Cute.

You buck your hips for more, but he just tuts as he gets up.

“Should be careful sweetheart-not everyones as lenient about the rules as I am”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead leaving your wetness on his fingers as he turns his back to you and your legs wobbly when you walk back to your cabin.

#luke castellan smut #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #zee writes ౨ৎ #luke pjo #luke castellan x reader #aphrodite!reader #dark!luke castellan smut #dark! luke castellan #tw kidnapping #kidnapper!luke

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etfrin · 4 months

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twelve | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, dr. gual, mentions of blood, mentions of period, period sex (fingering, f. receiving), dom-ish Coriolanus, mean Coriolanus, murder, aftercare | lmk if I forgot anything!

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus Snow finds himself in the arena and later in your arms

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 double update, and they had more than their first kiss? how are you liking it so far? please let me know! ❤️

beta read by perfection itself @nowitsmissing

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The gong sounded at that moment, and the tributes scattered. Most fled to the gates that led to the tunnels, several of which had been blown open by the latest bombing. Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray run to the underground tunnel he had told her about.

‘Run!’ he thinks, and he could see Coral, the girl from District Four with her trident already killing tributes. The fights were a blur. He sees Lucy Gray noticing Jessup, the District twelve boy yet to pick up any weapons. The stupid songbird runs towards him instead of the tunnels and Coriolanus nearly stands up, wanting to yell at her for her actions. It was a few close calls, but she hadn't died.

She takes Jessup and flees under the tunnels. She tries to kick the door open, but the metal door refuses to budge. She looks around, afraid that other tributes would catch up. Meanwhile, Flickerman comments as other tributes rush in, “Hy and Sol on the other side pincering on Lucy Gray.”

There was a small space below the door, thankfully Coriolanus watched as Lucy Gray and Jessup managed to crawl in. Another tribute dies but is brutally murdered by Coral's pack. Meanwhile Jessup and Lucy Gray are safe in the room they were in.

Coriolanus relaxes in his seat, relieved for now. Six tributes were gone within minutes. Lucky Flickerman comments, “To the children watching, that was violent, horrific, and disgusting.” Coriolanus wants to scoff at the blatant hypocrisy, the games existed because the Capitol enforced it. It was violent because of the Capitol. It was disgusting but it wasn't on the districts.

Coriolanus catches himself, his chain of thoughts rebelling against his beliefs. He swallows and looks at you. Your free hand clutching your stomach, your face turning pale in sickness. Coriolanus finds himself overwrought, he leans in to whisper, “Are you alright?”

You let out a small groan and shook your head, “I started bleeding this morning. The painkillers aren't kicking in and the cramps are getting worse.” It takes Coryo an embarrassing amount of time to understand what you meant. You're on your period. Oh. Your earlier behavior made a bit more sense now, you were in pain and you were acting out.

He knew the basics of the menstrual cycle thanks to the Academy teaching Sex Ed. And Tigris never shied away from it either, she made sure Coriolanus knew that period was an extremely normal thing a woman (or anyone with a uterus) has to go through each month. He lets his eyes soften, and he squeezes your hand in a comforting manner.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked.

You shake your head in response, but you look even sicker than before. Coriolanus felt displeased seeing you like this, you should have been resting instead the damn games kept you here. It also explained why you had to skip your interview too. You were too sick.

He looks at the screens. Nothing interesting was happening now. It was so boring that Lucky Flickerman had switched to his former job of being a weatherman. Coriolanus decided to go to the cafeteria, hoping to find something you could snack on. That should help a tiny bit.

“I will be back,” he announced, getting up from his seat and heading to the cafeteria. He sees the assortment of food, he heads straight for the sandwiches first. He takes a plate and gets four sandwiches. Two for each of you. Then he searches for something sweet, thankfully, due to the joyous occasion of the games. The cafeteria made different sorts of desserts including chocolate. Coriolanus made sure to pile them up on the plate, leaving nothing behind. He wasn't sure what you liked after all. He was hoping to find out after this.

Then he looks at one of the staff, and he's not sure if he should ask or not. But then he remembered how you were clutching your stomach. With a sigh, he calls someone out, a fellow worker who looks back and politely smiles at Coriolanus.

“Is there any possible way to be given hot water in a bottle?”

“If it's to drink we can give you a glass-”

“No, it's for my girl. She has cramps.”

The female worker nods in understanding and tells him to wait. Coriolanus looked at the clock of the cafeteria, five minutes had passed. He wondered if anything was happening. He hoped that he hadn't missed anything and the songbird was safe. She was the key to everything after all.

“The show isn't over until the mockingjay sings,” he mutters in futile reassurance.

The worker comes in and hands him the hot water bottle. Coriolanus thanks her and rushes back to the auditorium. “You're back,” you said to him, your gaze on the plate of food he had bought. The only meal both of you had was the breakfast he cooked, and neither finished it. So it was understandable you were hungry.

“What did I miss?” He asked, handing you the hot water bottle. You stare at the metal bottle for a moment, baffled by the gesture. He could see your eyes to water and he felt dread creeping in his mind. Had he fucked up? He wanted to do something nice, that's all. He wanted to take care of you!

“Thank you,” you choked out, your voice thick with vulnerability. You press the hot water bottle to the area of your cramps and blink the tears away. “And sorry…” you muttered sheepishly, “Shouldn't have behaved that way.”

“It's fine,” he said, even if it wasn't. You shouldn't have been rude to him, so unnecessarily, but he will let go for now. He turned away to look at the screen to see Marcus was dead, lying on the ground.

Coriolanus turns to you for an explanation. You were ravishing your sandwich. “Mercy killing,” you had simply replied, “That girl killed him with an ax.”

“Well, that's what happens when you do stuff!” Lucky Flickerman comments, “You get attention.” He moved toward Pup Harington, the mentor of District Seven, Lamina. He explained the rules of communicuff. Pup Harington seizes the opportunity to send his tribute a bottle of water.

Coriolanus can see through the screen that the girl from District Seven reaches out to get the glass bottle. She has to duck to avoid crashing into the metal drone as the drone doesn't slow down and crashes into some debris behind her. Breaking the water bottle as well. Pup Harington curses and Coriolanus leans forward as he realizes the faulty mechanism of the drones. He can't send Lucy Gray water or food unless he wants to risk hurting her.

You tsk, “These were probably last-minute inventions to infuse your idea,” you bite the dark chocolate he bought you, “She could have done it next year.”

“She needs the games to shine this year to have games for the next year,” Coriolanus replied.

“What's the point if it's faulty?”

Coriolanus doesn't reply to that, he turns his focus to the screen. Staring at the death of Marcus from District Two and wondering what was his sin to receive this fate. All he did was run for his life.

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None were remaining in the auditorium except you and Coriolanus. You were asleep in your chair and Coryo was dozing off. Trying to keep his focus on the screen; in case anything happens. He was nearly asleep when Dr. Gauls' voice caused him to flinch and be awake.

“Mr. Snow,” she hisses like a snake.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, his gaze turning into your sleeping form before he met Dr. Gauls' crazed eyes.

“Did something happen? Is it Lucy Gray?”

“Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, she might as well be dead as far as you're concerned.”

Ugh, what the fuck did Sejanus do this time. Go into the arena? Then he realized the irony of his thoughts because he could see Sejanus Plinth through the medium of the screen that was broadcasting the games. He was in the arena.

Sejanus Plinth was in the arena.

The fuck is wrong with him! And why is Dr. Gaul visiting him over this, shouldn't she go to his daddy? He was tired, and his body hurt from sitting in the chair for long hours. Why was he stuck in this mess?

“Bread crumbs I believe,” Dr. Gaul said, turning towards the screen in which he could see Sejanus Plinth wasting precious bread, sprinkling it over the corpse. “Sustenance for a fallen comrade. District two superstition.”

Coriolanus frowned as he watched Sejanus wasting the bread in this manner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It would have made more sense to him if he sneaked into where Lucy Gray was and handed her the food. Instead, he was throwing it on a rotting corpse. Only the districts are capable of this stupidity.

“I need someone to get him out right now,” she said.

Was she implying he would go to the arena for a ridiculous Plinth boy? He knew she was insane but this was borderline dumb. He doesn't want to risk his life!

“You should send the Peacekeepers,” he replied, as calmly as possible. He doesn't want to go. He's not suicidal enough for that.

Dr. Gaul goes on to explain why she can't send Peacekeepers and the district. She even mentions his classmate, Felix Ravinstill. Frankly, Coriolanus couldn't bring himself to care. Let the Plinth boy die, it's the consequence of his action.

Then Dr. Gaul adds, “Who knows? You get him out unscathed, I'll whisper your name in his father's ear. You still want the Plinth Prize, don't you?” Dr. Gaul knew that he didn't need to verbally agree, his expression was enough.

“I'll freeze the feed for an hour. I estimate that's all we have before the people notice.”

Then, Dr. Gaul leaves after informing Coryo that there's a van waiting for him to take him to the arena. He begins to stand up from his seat, getting ready for the journey to his doom.

“You know I am going with you, right?”

He startled, turning towards you, he firmly said to you, “No.” He watched you rub your eyes, you were sleepy that was clear. You must have woken up while that witch was talking. You shake your head in response.

“Don't care. I won't let that bitch make you go alone.”

He said your name in warning. You glare at him with your adorable, tired eyes. “I am going, Coriolanus Snow. Or else I'll tell everyone about what Sejanus is doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw. He grits out, “You could die.”

“So could you!”

He doesn't argue against that.

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A van takes you and him towards the arena. Losing precious minutes that you use to nap. Your head on his shoulder, while he ran his fingers along his scar, thinking of scenarios to bring all three of you alive. He would sacrifice Sejanus to save you. There's no doubt about that. But it's an action he can't afford right now.

So he thinks and thinks. His mind grew increasingly agitated. There's so much that can go wrong. One wrong move. A tribute waking up and deciding that they were easy kills. Caging them. Torturing you. Hurting you. He feels his breathing getting faster, his vision blurring as these thoughts begin to attack.

He gasps, his eyes closing. His chest rapidly moved up and down. He bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. He forced himself to breathe through his nose. There's no time for an attack right now. He doesn't have the luxury of that. He lets the weight of your head anchor him.

He's going to have a future. He's not going to let anything happen to you. And nothing will happen to him. Sejanus will come out of this alive as well.

Snow lands on top.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He doesn't let you go in. He won't. When you tried to insist, he growled at you, “I won't be getting him back if I am trying to save you. I need to get him back. I can't make you a higher priority here.” You narrowed your eyes but Coriolanus knew you didn't have a fighting bone in your body. Your hands wove into his curls, and you make him reach your height.

“Then you better come back, Coriolanus Snow. Alive. Otherwise, you won't like the consequences.”

He wants to kiss you. God, he wants to kiss you. He decided that he would come back alive from this. He will. He will steal your breath and make you lose all of your senses. He will ruin you because life is too unpredictable, too short. He can't wait any longer.

He leaves you there. He walks inside the arena, the monotone voice announcing his entry with the usual ‘Enjoy the game’. It sends chills down his spine.

Snow sees Sejanus near the dead body of Marcus. Coriolanus tiptoes across the field. Sejanus laughs quietly when he sees Coriolanus. “Thought they would send my Ma,” he said, bitterly.

“You need to get out, Coryo,” he said and Coriolanus wanted to choke him. It was a nickname for family and friends. A nickname for you. And he had used it blatantly for the first time in a situation like this nonetheless.

“I would like to,” Snow whispered, annoyed. “I really would. But I promised to get you out.”

“Why?”

Because I need to win the Plinth Prize.

Because Dr. Gaul forced me.

“Because you're my friend,” he lied.

“I had to do this,” Sejanus begins to explain, looking desperate, begging to be understood. “I had to go where the cameras were.”

Unfortunately, Coriolanus wasn't the right person for it. “Do you think anyone is watching this? She cut off the feed. You die here and she'll say you died of the flu.”

“You need to decide,” Coriolanus huffed, “Are you gonna be a dead body in Gauls' war or do something actual good?”

“What good can I do out there?”

Was it too late to choke him?

“You're smart. You're rich. You care.” Coriolanus argued, “You can do it if you want. With your father's money.” Sejanus and Coryo flinch when they hear noises in the quiet arena. It was the sound of sharpening knives. “We’re dead if we don't leave right now,” Coryo hisses.

Coriolanus and Sejanus begin to leave. Coriolanus gripped his arm to practically drag him away from Marcus's body. Just then he hears footsteps, and he freezes. Then yells out at Sejanus to run as a tribute comes towards them with a long knife. Sejanus and Coriolanus reach the entrance of the arena, Coriolanus jumps over the entry point but Sejanus trips.

Sejanus holds his knee, groaning and Coriolanus runs back to get him. The tribute catches up and manages to slash Coriolanus back. Coriolanus lets out a blood-curdling scream from the pain, adrenaline rushing in. He has to go back. He has to go back to you; you're waiting for him.

Coriolanus’s fingers closed around a two-by-four, and he brought it up, catching Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. And then he was on his feet, using the board like a club, bringing it down again and again without being sure where it made contact.

“We have to go!” Sejanus shouted.

He pants, throwing the board aside. The boy was dead and he wasn't sure what to make of the rush he felt as he saw another dead body in front of him. One of his own making. One that assured him of his survival and made him feel alive.

Sejanus brings back to reality as more tributes come in. He and Sejanus run out as the Peacekeepers open the barricade. He was brought to the ground by the weight of a body. He groans as he feels you on top of him. His back was bleeding onto the ground.

“You're alive,” you whisper, your eyes wide, and your lips swollen as if you constantly bit down, concerned about him. He wrapped his arms around you.

He lets out a heavy sigh, “Not if I bleed out, sweetheart.” You take your weight off him and help him stand up. Your eyes take in the blood with horror on your face. He whispered his arms around you, “It's fine. I am okay.”

In the distance, he can see Sejanus approach them and he's too pissed at him to have a proper conversation right now. It seemed you shared the same sentiments because the moment Sejanus came close, you pushed him. He doesn't fall but the impact makes him take a few steps back.

“You! It's because of you and your stupid beliefs that you do nothing but whine about that has led to this! It led him to bleed, Sejanus! How will you pay for his blood!? Fucking get out of here to your ma before I recreate the fucking wound on you!”

Sejanus flinches, looking betrayed. Sejanus looked at Snow but he had to look away because he simply was so proud of you. He was proud that you stood up, he was proud that you voiced what he wanted to say. He was also amused because thinking of your origins, you should have similar beliefs with Sejanus.

But you were simply concerned about Coriolanus, nothing else. It made Snow feel grateful he had you. You cared and you didn't try to hide it.

Sejanus doesn't try to say anything else. He walks with his head down to the car in which his ma and pa were waiting. Coriolanus pulls you back into his arms. “You didn't have to be so harsh,” he whispered, despite the fact he had enjoyed it so, so much.

“Who's the tribute that hurt you?”

“The boy is dead,” Coriolanus glees, unable to make himself look sane. He was bleeding out, adrenaline still pumping in his veins and with you in the equation. He felt drunk. “I enjoyed killing him.”

Coriolanus doesn't find out about your reaction to his confession as the toll of his blood loss takes over and his vision darkens. He goes unconscious.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He groans as he wakes up from the darkness. A dull pain in his back. He recognized that an IV needle was stuck in his arm. His shirt was off, and the wound was stitched. He looked around to find out that he was in the lab, and Dr. Gaul was present, looking straight at him from a corner. He was proud of the fact he didn't flinch. He swallowed the nervousness, and greeted, “Dr. Gaul.”

“Mr. Snow,” She greets back, her voice booming, “Never thought I would see Crassus’ boy in the arena.”

He doesn't say anything, nor does he look at her. His gaze turns towards the glass containers filled with greenish liquid and some kind of horrid experimentation. Dr. Gaul drawls on, “Do you want to be like your father, Mr. Snow? Then it's essential to accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them.”

For tonight, Coriolanus Snow was a murderer. He had to accept that, he took a life for his survival, but he enjoyed it. He vaguely remembers confessing it to you. Horror fills him, he fucked up whatever he had with you for sure. Killing someone for your survival was one thing, even Sejanus can't hate him for it. But enjoying it? Feeling powerful as he felt someone's life draining out. It felt like drinking an elixir to Snow.

He can't imagine the disgust you felt when he admitted it. He can't- how will he fix this- he wipes away the tears staining his cheeks. He would beg and grovel, he would lie if you bring it up.

Dr. Gaul misinterpreted the misery on his face. “You did what you had to, Mr. Snow.” Then she begins to walk away, a clear dismissal.

“Yes,” he replied, cordially, “I am aware.”

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He enters the penthouse; he stops in his tracks as he sees you sitting down in the dining space. Waiting for him. It was extremely late at night by now and you were here, awake. Coriolanus was touched by how freely you showed your care through your actions. From the meal (orange chicken and rice) you gave in the car till now. You cared. So openly, so fiercely.

Unlike him.

His care was always hidden. “Dove,” he whispered, a nickname for you like Coryo was for him. Perhaps his care wouldn't be concealed under layers anymore. Your head snaps towards him, and with long strides, you meet his arm. You are careful about your hand placement, making sure not to hurt him or put pressure on his wound.

“Coryo,” you rasped out, “Coryo, Coryo, Coryo.” You bury your face in his chest and for a moment he thought you were sobbing but you were just taking deep breaths in. He holds you tighter, suffocating you, anchoring you like you did for him. He didn't care that it pulled his stitches.

“Hi,” he whispered sheepishly, he forgot about the arena, the murder, Sejanus, and Dr. Gaul. He remembers you and only you.

“Hi,” you giggle back, your eyes teary. “You're here,” you whispered, “Real or not?”

He let out a small laugh, “I am not a hallucination, dove.”

You shrugged in his arms, “Lack of sleep can cause them. For all I know this is a dream and you're still under the care of that bitch.”

“I am here,” he emphasized his words with a kiss on your hairline. He looks into your eyes and sees how real all of this is. He can make you his reality. He needs to seize it. He needs to control his fate.

He realized you hadn't questioned him about the blood on his hands. He was going to bring it up if you weren't. He would let his confession remain buried if that's what you wanted. No need to unleash his demons onto you.

He guides you to his bedroom, but he gently presses you to the door. He has you in between him and the door. There's no escape, so much for not unleashing his demons when he's a devil in disguise himself. He nuzzles your neck and lets out a desperate, needy noise.

His tongue peeks out to lick a strip of your neck. You gasp, your tense body melting into him. He holds you by grabbing your waist with his hands. “I need you,” he whispered, he pulled back and looked at you with pathetic, puppy eyes; impossible to say no to.

“Give yourself to me, Coryo.”

It's your fault. He will give himself to you. Demons and all. Bloody, pathetic, insane Coriolanus Snow, he's yours now.

“Yours,” he groaned, pressing wet, desperate kisses onto your neck, you move your head to give him more space, more skin to mark. He growls near your ear, letting the past high rush into his veins. The hold he has on your waist gets tighter. You were in different clothes, your academy uniform changed into a simple pink top and jeans.

You let out a moan when he bites into your neck, breaking the skin to form a dark bruise. You pressed into him like a whore. You whine, “I should let you kill more men if it gets you like this.”

He freezes. He then leans back. His lips parted to take in breaths, his pupils blown and his cheeks a deep wine red. He looks debauched and sexy. It drives you insane. You don't say anything further, waiting for his reaction.

He breaks out a feral, primal grin on his face. You were perfect for him. God, you were. He let his fingers wove themselves into your locks and he tugged hard. He relishes the whine that leaves your lips. It didn't hurt, no, he could see the same insane lust in your eyes that he felt in his blood.

He crashed his lips onto your soft ones. Both of your teeth clashed against each other as he kissed for the first time in his life. It was in no way perfect. Too much tongue, uncoordinated, sloppy, wet and so, fucking filthy. His blood rushed down his body as he sucks at your tongue, his fingers pulling at your hair tighter, moving your head so he could fuck your lips with his tongue. His free hand went near your neck. It would be easy to take your life, he realized.

He felt your pulse under his fingertips. His hand around your neck, it was there but he didn't put any pressure on it. His lips attached to yours still engaged in a fight for dominance, and neither of you was willing to give in. Each chasing your own, selfish pleasure through the kiss. He disappointingly understood he would never be able to live a life with you dead. Your beating heart gave him the same rush taking a life did.

You made him feel alive simply by existing.

Your existence is his survival.

You're his.

He groans into your mouth as he comes to the realization. He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both. He immediately went back for a few more kisses, already craving your lips like it was cocaine, chasing the chocolate taste on your tongue.

You gasp, taking in much-needed air as both break away again. His hand which was on your neck, travels to your jeans to unbutton them. Your hand holds his wrist before he can slide your pants off.

“Am bleeding,” you whispered, your eyes wide.

He had seen plenty of blood today, what's more? “Don't care,” he grunts out, he slides your jeans down, along with your panties letting it pool around your ankles. You kick them aside on the floor.

He buried his face into your shoulder, as you took a deep breath. “Can I?” He asked, his hands waiting for permission as his blunt nails dug into your thighs. Frankly, he doesn't even want to ask. And one day, he won't have to.

“Yes, Coryo,” you consent, your voice breathless and needy.

He was glad you couldn't see the satisfied grin on his face. He ignored his aching cock as his fingers slowly traveled up to between your soaked cunt. He pressed his palm against your pussy, letting his hand be colored by your blood and juices. He begins to move his palm up and down your folds and you moan, oversensitive. You begin to rut into his hand and he warningly squeezed your thigh.

“No,” he barks out, a sudden slap on your pussy making you cry out. “Behave, dove.”

You let out a whine, and Coriolanus doesn't want to handle a brat when he's feeling heaven for the first time. He slaps your pussy again, making you jolt. He whispered, dark and menacing, “Behave, bitch.”

“Coryo,” you moan.

“That's it, dove. Let me play with you,” he encourages as his fingers begin to touch your pussy, feeling up your slick folds, your slit through which you leaked out thick goops of blood he couldn't care less about.

His thumb finds your clit, he realized the bud was the source of pure bliss to you from the way you gasped as he began to play with it. His thumb roughly circles around the pearl, and you whine out his name, your hips bucking in again like a whore.

He allows you to do this, knowing that your brain is mush from the pleasure. He begins to bite into your neck, creating more dark hickeys that luckily the academy uniform will hide. He lets out a groan as he slips inside the first digit of your warm, slick, and tight gummy walls. His cock throbs with need. But he won't fuck you so soon, with everything still new to him.

“Fuck,” you cuss, your eyes rolling back. You would have fallen on the floor if it wasn't Coriolanus supporting you. He fucks into your warmth with a single finger, unsure if he should put another one in.

“More,” you whine and he listens. He gently thrust another of his long and dainty fingers inside of your bloody, wet cunt. He moans as he feels your walls pulsate against his digits.

“You feel perfect around my fingers. Look at your pussy squeezing them like a vice. Will your cunt squeeze my cock like that too?” He whines into your ears, growing desperate, his hips rutting into your side. The friction of his pants on his dick was dry but gratifying. He knew he spoiled his pants with pre-cum. He didn't care. He hears you whimper, unable to answer his sinful words.

“Coryo! Slow down!” You cry out as his fingers fuck into you at a rough pace, he wasn't sure what felt good for you or not. He listens, slowing down considerably, he decides to crook his fingers and finds a spongy spot pressing into his fingertips.

You let out a scream of pleasure, and Coriolanus has to use his free hand to shut you up. He pressed his palm onto your lips, muffling your noises. You liked him pressing into that spot. He crooked his fingers even more, rubbing the spot. He giggles as he sees your eyes glaze over like a dumb whore, your cunt spasming around his digits, close to cumming.

He begins to speed up again, and he knows it hurts a bit for you. He couldn't bring himself to care, your pussy is his. He will do whatever he wants. But as he feels the vibration of your desperate whine on his hand. He pressed wet kisses along your jaw, whispering apologies.

“Cum on my fingers, dove,” he whispered, his fingers hitting your g-spot with each thrust, his hips rutting into the side of your body. He was close to snapping himself, for you he was willing to cum in his pants like a stupid boy.

His thumbs find your clit again, now he gets even more feral. The pleasure borderlines to pain, and you drool, your chin covered in saliva which he licks up without shame. “It's fine,” he coos, “Cum, baby.”

He rubbed at your g-spot, his thumb flicking your clit. The coil in your stomach unwraps itself, ecstasy filling your veins as your cunt spasms around his digits. You cum from his fingers, your mind blank. Your eyes rolled back.

He groans, feeling his cock twitch and cums in his pants. It was surprisingly the best orgasm he ever had. He couldn't believe he came untouched. He couldn't find himself to be embarrassed about it, not when he has to pick up your pieces.

“You here with me?” He asked softly, gazing into your glossy eyes. You nod back, weak. He guides you to his bed. “Let me clean you up,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

He quickly changed into his pajamas, cleaning his hand clean of your blood. He takes a wet towel and cleans up the bloody mess smearing your thighs. You let out a whine when the towel touches your pussy. You were sensitive after your orgasm. He shushed you, “It's fine, doll.”

And he cleans you up before he helps you wear your panties. He doesn't make you wear the jeans as he doesn't want you to have any sensory overload right now. He goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of water. He helps you drink the full glass, encouraging you softly.

He even puts a towel under you, in case you bleed through your pad. He feels the tiredness weighing him down and he lays down in bed beside you. The games will be there tomorrow. But he will only have this night with you once.

“You're everything, Coryo,” he hears you whisper, your throat hoarse even after drinking water.

You're his everything too.

NEXT PART

535 notes · View notes

ot3 · 2 months

Text

this is someone reblogging that 'do you watch television aimed at little kids poll from me' and wow.

for starters i was pretty open in the tags of that post about how much i like watching kids cartoons so it's pretty wild that this person would basically say 'if you do this you're a fucking baby who needs to grow up' IN MY ACTIVITY FEED. like i just immediately blocked them, and im not sure what they thought the outcome was going to be other than that.

but really the main point i want to make here is that this person has a pokemon url. which is notably a franchise whose target demographic is elementary school aged children. just because the franchise has been going long enough that a bunch of people who originally grew up with it are adults now doesn't make that not the case. why is having a pokemon themed blog fine but if someone wants to watch bluey or something they're a fucking baby who needs to grow up? insane hypocrisy. i guess 'nostalgia' is the only legitimate emotion an adult could find in children's media by this perspective. anything else is for fucking babies.

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antiodote · 2 years

Photo

she can’t finish and they fight.

warnings: smut (18+), angst

•••

stress was coursing through her veins at every waking moment.

she had been feeling like this for the past two months. scoring a promotion at work meant a lot of things. it meant she got paid more, sure, but it also meant that she had more responsibility than ever before.

ever since her days at school, she craved validation; she needed somebody to tell her that she was doing good, that her efforts were not going unnoticed, that she did the right thing, and that she was good. she never quite figured out where that need came from, but she had an inkling that it must have something to do with the way her mother had raised her.

she, also, never quite figured out how to deal with it healthily, which is why all of her friends knew her as the archetype of a workaholic. she was working all the time and rarely had any time for herself, but she loved her work, so it didn’t seem like a big deal to her.

it was a big deal to harry, though.

harry, who was also a self-proclaimed workaholic, saw how much it was tearing at her and could practically smell the burnout from miles and miles away. it didn’t help that her boss didn't believe in words of affirmation and just piled on more work for her to do every chance she got. harry knew that it was eating away at her, he knew that her way of coping, which was not at all, would eventually come back to bite her in the ass. in any other situation he probably would have done something. he keeps telling her to take a break and to rest a bit; the hypocrisy of it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them, though. truthfully, harry was also as busy as ever. with the release of his new album, movie promotions and public appearances, he rarely has time to rest himself.

before their lives got all too complicated, they had plenty of time to spend together, even with their already busy schedule. they’d go on hikes and cook and watch movies; they were a proper couple. happy and unbothered. shielded from any and all obstacles. maybe they both knew, deep down, that their honeymoon phase was coming to an end. to them, however, that seemed like it was light-years away.

and yet, here they were.

it was the umpteenth time that she had returned from work at an ungodly hour, even later than harry. he usually left to go to the studio after making breakfast for the both of them, and usually, neither of them would end up eating most of it. harry used to playfully bug her about her eating habits. he tried reminding her of the importance of three meals a day, every day. she brushed it off then and it was fine; now, however, it worries and agitates harry to no end. this morning she had left without so much as looking at it, once again. she bid her rushed goodbye and chose to forego a peck on the lips. she had forgotten so much lately that harry began to wonder if it had been on purpose, but since he isn’t the kind to ask for affection he guesses he will never know.

they meet for what feels like the first time that day in their shared bedroom. she comes in with her bag in tow and exhaustion written all over her features and it pained harry to see her like that. however, he too was feeling more than exhausted. it became harder and harder to feel sorry for her if he was being honest with himself. not when he felt like it was preventable.

“hi.”

“hello.”

silence.

“I’m sorry for coming home late again. I know it’s been happening too much. I don’t mean to…” she tried explaining herself as she did so often. harry understood and he wasn’t mad, but the defeat in his demeanour was palpable.

“it’s alright, came home late myself. how was work?“

“same old. how was the studio?”

“fine.” a lie.

harry had been having trouble writing as of late. everything he did write was either too sad to release or just not good at all. apparently, the way their relationship was falling apart seemed to directly affect his creative writing process. it was a mess, truly. he didn’t have the heart to tell her that though. he didn’t want to make her feel more guilty than she probably already did.

“okay, good.”

harry returned to reading his book, albeit halfheartedly, while she was busy looking at him - really looking at him - for the first time in ages. she is shocked to find him looking so… defeated? she wants to beat herself up for not noticing the prominence of his under-eye bags, the dullness of his skin, and even the way his hair looks unkempt and tousled. does she also look this restless? she realises, then and there, that they haven’t made proper conversation for the better part of 6 weeks, and she can’t help but feel like it’s her fault. she knows they have both been very busy, but had she made an effort to do something to at least save her relationship? she doesn’t think so.

“so, uh, we haven’t talked in a while, huh?” she sets her bag by the door and moves to her side of the bed, her side facing him while she removes her jewellery. harry sets his book down as well, hoping they would finally be able to break the cycle. the moonlight shines brightly into their bedroom window, illuminating the side of her face. if the situation was different, he might tell her how beautiful she looks, despite her visible fatigue. he doesn’t know what’s stopping him if he’s honest. what he doesn’t know is that when she faces him and sees how the warm light from the lamp on his bedside table illuminates his features, her breath oh so subtly hitches, too. she thought he was beautiful, always. like the sun, always illuminating. unfortunately, his light seemed dull lately.

fire and ice; the sun and the moon facing one another. that’s what they represent. so close, yet so far away. they used to dance in unison, but they seemed to have forgotten how to dance. why? what happened to them? it felt like they both knew, and yet? they didn’t know what to do.

except she thought she did.

she moved closer to him, fully sitting on the bed now. her blouse pulled out of her trousers, her hair down and her glasses thrown aside somewhere. facing him, she took the book out of his grasp and bent over his stretched-out legs to put it back on his nightstand. she made sure to let her chest graze over his crotch. she wanted to dance again, in a different way. a way they used to have perfected. the last time they danced was way too long ago, though, but she hopes they still remember the steps.

he held his breath, not quite knowing what to do just yet. where was this going? he wasn’t entirely sure and he didn’t want to risk fucking it up. this was the first time she had been close to him in what feels like forever and he missed her touch so much that it hurt. she moved back into a seated position, facing him.

“tell me something. anything. I miss your voice.”

he looks at her, puzzled. what could he tell her? he wrecked his brain for something, anything to tell her. something that wasn’t too boring or too sad. he found himself feeling insecure, for whatever reason. so, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he decides to listen to his heart and let his mind stop working for a bit. this was his love, he would be fine. he knew how to talk to her, he was fine. he was fine.

he opens his eyes again and speaks.

“well, mitch and sarah might want to try for another baby. they’ve been loving parenthood, it seems. I think it really suits them, too. and, uh, jeff and I have been talking about tour dates, which is always a hassle, as you know. oh! I might have to go to italy to reshoot some scenes for the movie. um, yeah.” his monologue was cut short by the sheer fact that he doesn’t know what else to talk about. the oxygen in the room seems to lessen by the second and his throat feels tight. why was he like this? could he not just act normal right now? why did he feel the need to talk to her about how he felt like they were falling apart? and how that was scaring the hell out of him? losing her seemed like such an unrealistic concept not too long ago, whereas now it feels like it’s just around the corner. he feels constricted and he hated every second of it.

“that’s nice, hm? mitch and sarah having another baby? god, I hope it works out for them. it would give you more godfather duties.” she tries to lighten the mood and it works, if only for a second. harry wants to ask her about her day, as well. however, listening to her work struggles right now would be sure to set him off, so he decides against it. and thus, silence falls heavy upon them, once more.

“what happened to us, love?”

he spoke up, his voice sounding uncharacteristically little. he voiced his fear.

here we go.

“I used to be able to talk to you for, what, hours? without any problems. but now it just feels so…different. why?”

he faces her and finds an apologetic look on her face, probably mirroring his own. they felt defeated. lost. what did happen to them?

she sighed heavily, not even trying to deny anything. “I…I don’t know, harry. I don’t know.” a beat of silence lingered again. “I miss us. I miss you, all the time. I don’t like what happened to us, it’s like we drifted apart, don’t you think?” he says. his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest at any given moment with how nervous and stressed he felt.

“do you still love me?” he asks, knowing just how pathetic he must sound. she replies instantly. “of course I do, harry. always. do you still love me?”

“yes, I do. so much.”

her fear turned into desperation. she had to do something, and she had to do it now. she moves closer to him, their faces now mere inches apart. she laces her hand into his own, slowly and carefully, afraid to do something wrong. she looks at him once more and tries not to wince at how dull his eyes looked. if she dwelled any longer on how it might have something to do with her, she might collapse. so, urgently, she moves their joined hands onto his lap.

“good. let me show you how much I love you then. please, can I?”

their hands apply pressure on their resting spot just over his crotch, clearly sending a message. he closes his eyes and relishes the feeling. he felt like they should talk first, to work through any of the problems they might be experiencing. he couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. because right now, the only thought in his mind was how he needed to feel close to her, immediately. he felt selfish, but couldn’t bring himself to care. so he nods. “please.” and in an instant, she moves closer.

their lips attach. relief floods him.

there she was. his moonlight.

heat surrounds them, quicker than they’d care to admit, and everything felt good, for once. the world stopped, and it was just the two of them. nothing else mattered. he was feeling her again, and it was good.

she moves to sit on his lap with her thighs surrounding his own. her hands migrate to his scalp to tangle them through his hair, the way she knew he liked. he moved his own hands to her blouse, desperate to take it off, desperate to feel her. he undoes the buttons and slides it off her shoulders, removing her hands from his head in the process. their mouths move in unison, their movements are rushed and desperate. they needed this. they needed to feel connected like only they knew how. in a rush to feel her skin, he peels off her sports bra, leaving her in nothing but her dress pants. his hands find her chest and in an instant, he starts playing her like an instrument, gaining a plethora of sweet whines from her. she grinds down on him, feeling the growth in his trousers. everything is hot, rushed and filled with need; their arousal growing by the second. she detaches her mouth from his to take a breath, a string of saliva connecting them, still.

“fuck, harry. please, please. I need… I need, god-“

he didn’t wait for her to finish before attaching his mouth to her nipple, sucking harshly. a high-pitched whine leaves her and she grinds down harder, making him groan. he uses his other hand to play with her other breast, and when he moves his head to lick a bold stripe in between the valley of her chest, squeezing her tits in his way, he wonders if this is heaven. this, or the treasure between her thighs. as soon as the thought enters his brain, he detaches himself from her chest in an attempt to move them into a laying position.

“need to taste you, angel. please, let me-“

“no, harry, please. need to feel you. need to feel you inside, please. need to feel full.”

they make eye contact and he contemplates her words. “you can taste me whenever else you want, honey. just need to feel you in me now, okay?” she says, with her hands in his hair once more. he closes his eyes and basks in the comfort she radiates. she was truly remarkable. and truthfully, he couldn’t possibly think of a better sensation than to be berried deep within her walls.

“yeah, okay angel. let me make you feel good, hmm?”

“yes, god yes. thank you, thank you, thank you.”

she lifts herself from her position on his lap and steps off the bed. they simultaneously remove any remaining articles of clothing, leaving nothing but naked skin in sight. she kneels onto the bed once more, resuming her previous position. harry's hands roam all over her body, squeezing her behind and finally resting on her love handles.

“you’re unbelievable. so fucking stunning, god. kiss me, please.”

she grants his wish momentarily, letting his tongue roam freely. they were in ecstasy, purely and utterly consumed with one another. she blindly reaches for his length underneath her, gripping him at the base and gifting him a few languid strokes. her thumb finds his tip and she starts spreading any and all precum around, preparing him. he moans, no, whines into her mouth, his eyes screwed shut in utmost pleasure.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. please, baby, I can’t take it. let me feel you, now.”

she smiled, kissing his nose. she loved his eagerness and how he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry, baby.”

and so, she moves to sit down and truly, she couldn’t wait to feel him, as she had really, really missed it. terribly so.

she guides him inside, preparing herself mentally for the highest form of pleasure she had ever experienced-

or…not?

“ah, fuck! wait, hold on-“

she couldn’t get him inside, but not because of his size. no, she just so happens to be bone dry. no arousal was surrounding her, not even a little bit. this had never happened before, and it left her at a loss. she looks down again, just to make sure that she was feeling it correctly. and there it was, nothing. she should be dripping by now, especially with how turned on she was, but alas, the contrary seemed to be the case.

she looks at him now, helplessly, and at a loss for what to do.

“what’s wrong, you okay? not feeling up to it? we can stop-“

“no! no, absolutely not. I want this so bad, you have no idea. I don’t know what’s happening, honestly. I- I- maybe I can- or we could-“

he grabs her by the jaw, grounding her for a moment. his eyes search for hers, offering reason and calm, and relief floods her as she sees how his eyes look more alive than they did a few minutes ago.

“hey, hey, calm down. you’re okay, petal.” a kiss. “let me just get the lube, yeah? don’t worry about it.” she takes a deep breath. “yeah, okay. thank you.” another kiss.

he reaches over to his bedside table, opening the little drawer underneath. located in-between packs of condoms, some melatonin tablets and an emergency pack of cigarettes, he finally found what he was looking for: the small bottle of water-based lube. neither of them exchange words, just glances, as he shuts the drawer, opens the bottle, and squirts some of the product on his hand. once the bottle is closed and set aside, he uses his clean hand to guide her slightly upwards, freeing him from the delicious confines of her thighs. he then spreads the product on and around his length, wincing slightly at the cool temperature. once he feels like he’s coated himself sufficiently, he guides her down once more.

“tell me if it hurts and I stop, okay?”

she nods.

deep breaths. shaky hands. unsure glances.

and then…

“oh my god.”

euphoria.

“holy shit, baby. fuck. so fucking perfect for me, aren’t you? jesus.”

she sinks all the way down his length, filling her up to the brim. her head is thrown back and her mouth agape in pleasure, not a single sound escaping her for the first few moments. that is until he starts thrusting up and into her.

“good god, harry, fuck!” the delicious stretch of her walls made her want to scream, a feeling that she doesn’t think she could ever get tired of. “please don’t stop, oh my god!” her words only encouraged him more, making sure to keep his pace steady and to hit her spot every single time. with her head still thrown back and her jaw slack, harry took the opportunity to just stare at her pleasure-filled face, which only got him off more. she always looked beautiful, but like this? she was unbelievable. he thinks at that moment that he should probably write a song about it.

a particularly hard thrust made her snap forward. “fucking hell, I feel you in my tummy.” she laced her hands around his jaw and rested her forehead against his own, staring deeply into his eyes and stealing the occasional kiss. harry took this moment to steady her hips and thrust up into her with such vigour, that her eyes rolled all the way back into her skull. she had to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him close to stabilise herself. and then, something weird happened.

usually, with the way he was pounding into her and with how he was moaning straight into her ear, she would be done in seconds. however, now that his face was no longer in her line of sight, her mind started clouding itself with other images.

“make sure you get this back to me by the end of the day. no more slacking off.”

she squeezed her eyes shut. this couldn’t be happening, not now.

“you have to do this over entirely, this is not what I had in mind at all.”

god, no. no, no, no!

“this is unbelievably sloppy, you cannot be serious, right? you’re staying late today, this is unacceptable.”

what the actual fuck was happening?

“baby, you okay?”

her eyes opened wide in an instant. he tried prying her arms away so he could look at her properly. she, however, only hugged him closer.

“yes! yes, I’m good. so fucking good.” she made sure to make her voice extra sultry, grinding down on him to make it all more believable. she cannot let him know that she got ridiculously close to having an anxiety attack in the middle of what was supposed to be mind-boggling sex.

he couldn’t help but groan at her actions, however, he continued. “you sure? your heart is beating very fast. do you- ah!- do you need some water, maybe?” he tumbled over his words as she made sure to squeeze her walls tight to shut him up.

“I’m okay, I don’t need anything. just need you to make me come, please.” she continued squeezing him, both with her arms and her walls until he was putty in her hands. no more words left him as he started thrusting up into her once again, moaning at the sensation her delicious pussy was giving him.

“you feel fucking unreal right now, angel. how do you feel, tell me? please, god, tell me.” he was begging for her, another thing that could usually make her come in an instant. right now, however, she really didn’t think that it was going to happen anytime soon.

how was she feeling? well, for starters, she was feeling embarrassed and confused because somehow, she didn’t get wet when her hot shot of a boyfriend practically devoured her tits and called her angelic, especially because she thought she was super turned on to begin with. and as if that wasn’t enough, she was now drowning in mental images and intrusive thoughts of her workplace and her bitch of a boss, which was the very thing that is currently tearing at her relationship. and she worried, that if she doesn’t get her shit together immediately, she might not come at all. so, fake it till you make it, she guessed.

“fuck, harry, I feel so fucking good. y’make me feel so. fucking. good.” slurring her words and repeating simple sentences; that should be enough to convince him that it’s genuine. she was trying to get into it again, but so far, nothing. she made sure to grind down and twist her hips how she knew he loved. on top of it all, she nibbled at his neck, jaw and ear to really get him going. and she knew it was working when his whines got louder with each thrust.

“shit baby, you feel bloody fantastic. please, god, tell me you’re close, need you to cum f’me.”

he was begging and whining for her like that was his sole purpose in this life, which made her feel all the more guilty for how her body was not reacting at all. he could very well be stroking her thumb right now, and it’d probably have the same effect. but she was determined to make him feel good, both physically and mentally, because he deserved it. the last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel guilty about something that he had nothing to do with.

so, she did what any other stupidly in-love woman would do: she faked her fucking orgasm.

“harry, god, fuck, I’m so close- I-“

“yeah, angel? let go f’me, get my cock all wet, c’mon.”

and that’s exactly what she did, or at least, tried to make him believe.

“god fucking- ah!”

and with all the core strength that she had, she squeezed her walls incredibly tight around him. she even tried to put some pressure on her bladder to maybe release some fluids, just to make it more believable. she was all too aware of his eyes on her, staring in awe at her alleged release. and just like she hoped it would, it triggered his own release just mere moments later.

“baby, fuck! that’s it, good god, that’s- oh!”

warm fluid filled her to the brim and she thinks under any other circumstances, the sheer intensity would’ve had to trigger her own orgasm. and yet, there she was.

shame was making her blood run cold, goosebumps littered her skin and she had this sudden urge to get out of the room to forgo any awkward conversation, but she knew she wasn’t going to be that lucky.

“you okay?”

he ripped her out of her thoughts in an instant, and suddenly he was facing her. his face was soft with pleasure, a post-orgasmic glow etched his features and a tired smile was gifted to her. he looked relaxed, comfortable and most of all he looked really, really happy.

she could not mess this up.

“yeah, I’m good. you?”

“very much so, angel.” he moved his hand to her cheek and oh so very softly moved any stray hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ear. the silence around them felt heavy, almost deafening to her. to him, however, it was pure bliss.

they stared at each other until it became unbearable for her, so she tried to move but his hand on her waist stopped any movement in its tracks.

“wanna cuddle for a bit?”

it became apparent to her that he was holding on to this sliver of positive energy they had created. she felt flattered over the fact that he wanted her around. the feeling however quickly dissipated and was replaced with guilt, shame and fear. she had to be by herself for a bit, she needed to get her head straight.

“let me just do my thing in the loo really quick, okay? i’ll be back before you know it, darling.” she reasoned. he nods, gives her a chaste kiss on the lips and nose, and lets her go. a hiss leaves both of them as she removes herself from him and she makes sure to keep the mess to a minimum. without looking back, she quickly walks to their shared bathroom, locking the door behind her. as soon as her bum hits the toilet seat, the tears flow and the shame begins to manifest itself into a big, green monster in her mind. how could she do this? how could she lie to him about something as stupid as this? more importantly, why could she not come? as the questions multiplied, the answers came short. she never wanted to be this person, and yet, there she was. does she tell him? does she keep the lie going? does she pretend to be so tired and fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillows? she doesn’t want to do any of those things. instead, she selfishly wants to bask in the warmth radiating from her boyfriend, now that he is in post-orgasmic bliss. maybe she’ll be selfish for once if her mind allows it.

“oh god.”

frustration is now emanating from every pore of her body and she decides then that she has to leave this bathroom before things start looking suspicious. so, she finishes up, takes a deep breath and does not dare to look at herself in the mirror as she leaves.

she comes back to their bedroom and is momentarily confused when she finds him in his boxers and surrounded by a cloud of smoke. his back was facing her as he leaned over the railing of the balcony, shoulders visibly sagging with every breath.

“h? why are you smoking? everything okay?”

harry is by no means a smoker. he’s the kind of person to only reach for them when he is going through heavy emotional turmoil. he wouldn’t even smoke when he drank, so this scene was more than upsetting to her. especially because she already had an inkling of what could have possibly caused this action of his.

he turns around, the lazy smile no longer to be seen. instead, his eyes look even more dull than before and his cheeks have a rosy tint to them, almost like he just finished crying himself. she felt her heart sink and suddenly becomes increasingly aware of the severity of the situation.

this was bad.

“why don’t you tell me who you’re cheating on me with, darling.”

•••

a/n: hiiii, i’m back! sorry it took so long, i’ve been super busy with preparing for my move and also seeing harry in hamburg (and getting covid </3) anyways, this needs a part two, but that isn’t quite finished yet. this is also very different from anything else i’ve ever written before, so any feedback is truly appreciated!!!

4.7k words, not proofread (sorry!), lowercase intended

#harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles drabble #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles series #antiodote

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flowerxbunnie · 6 months

Text

Star Crossed

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: angst, cheating/breakup, underage drinking, scene involving cigarettes

“Fuck you Garrett, like actually.” I spat, gripping at the handle of his jeep and threatening to leave.

“What is your problem? You never told me that it wasn’t okay. She’s literally Tristan’s cousin. And your best friend is a guy, I thought you would be okay with this.” he argued, his face plastered with confusion but his voice filled with anger.

“Don’t try to make me feel crazy,” I warned, turning back to face him and pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m okay with you having friends of the opposite gender. But I don’t care if it’s the Queen of England, since when is it okay to text other girls private details about our relationship?”

“I only do it when we’re in arguments and I need someone to vent to. She told me I could come to her when I was upset. It’s not like it’s an everyday thing.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

“Okay,” I let an angry chuckle out. “I’m gonna call up one of my girls’ cousins and tell him about this right quick then. See if he maybe has some advice for me.”

“That’s not the fucking same and you know it. He’d try to fuck you or god knows what else.” He scowled.

I stare into his eyes, blinking slowly, hoping the hypocrisy behind his words catches up to him. But it doesn’t.

“I just don’t get why you treat me like I’m some horrible boyfriend,” he starts, “I meet my best friend’s cousin at a bonfire, get her number and text her casually and you fly off the handle.”

“You text her about OUR RELATIONSHIP. When we’re at our worst. Why do you need advice from a random fucking girl who you barely know?” I snapped, my cheeks burning and my hands shaking. Tears threaten to spill over, something I hate about myself when I get angry. “Let’s not forget that you went through and liked every single one of her instagram pictures. Every single one. Was that a piece of the advice she gave you? To make your girlfriend look like a fucking idiot?” I fumed, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. “And how do I know that’s all you talk about, hm? All the texts are deleted.”

His face remains blank as he grabs the gear-shifter and throws the jeep into reverse. His eyes flick up to the rear view and he backs out of our spot in the random shopping outlet’s parking lot, roughly shifting into drive a he pulls out and into the road.

“What the fuck are you doing, Garrett?” I grumble, watching the streetlights lining the road zoom past my window as he speeds down the highway.

“I’m taking you home. I’m not gonna stay with a crazy bitch who thinks she can micromanage my every move.” He spoke, his tone calm and his expression unwavering.

I take a deep breath. I’m done with the arguing.

“Okay.”

I close out of her instagram account, still trying to convince myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me as Garrett’s name is plastered under her newest scandalous photos. I toss my phone into the space between my bed and the wall, knowing it’s unhealthy to stalk her and mourn my relationship everyday. It’s been a week.

Somehow I’ve managed to drag myself to class everyday. The lessons don’t click in my brain this week, my notebook is empty and my pen is dry. I’m not even sure I have a voice anymore. I haven’t spoken to anyone unless I had to. None of my friends know what happened, I’m too embarrassed to come across as the crazy ex-girlfriend who got her heart broken because she can’t mind her own business.

Aside from class I’ve been lying down rotting for the past seven days, going back and forth on if I’m in the wrong or if I’m valid in my feelings. Garrett was right, my best friend is a guy, but I’ve known him since middle school. We know everything about each other, he’s like family. Garrett threw everything away for a girl he had just met, deleting text messages and completely failing to ever mention her name in conversation.

My body feels like it’s physically reacting, my muscles aching and my head throbbing. My mind races with questions.

How can someone who I poured so much of my love into take it and wring it down the drain?

How can I even feel angry? He just wanted a new friend.

Why did he like all of her pictures, even the first embarrassing one she ever posted in 2013?

Why are you so controlling?

Why didn’t he tell me?

Why do you care so much? It’s just Tristan’s cousin.

Is it bad for my boyfriend to like pictures of a girl in a hot tub?

I hear my phone vibrating, but I can’t even find the energy to move the comforter off of my body. I put a pillow over my ears and try to wish it away. I’m tired of the questions. I don’t want to explain why I’ve seemed down.

It keeps going off, vibrating against the wall over and over relentlessly. Huffing, I shove my hand down into the gap and dig for it, pulling it up and squinting as the screen beams light into my eyes.

“Party tonight at the same house as last week. Y/n please get off your lazy ass and come!!!”

“yeah y/n i need to see ur pretty face!”

“If Garrett gets mad tell him he can come too”

“its senior year pleaseee we don’t have many parties left :(“

My group chat is flooded with messages from my girl friends. I can’t even reply right now. Maybe getting out would be good for me, but I really want to sit in my two day old clothes and stuff my face with Oreos tonight. How dumb am I gonna look dancing alone?

My mind races for the next hour, contemplating whether going out will make me feel better or become a huge regret. Garrett and I never officially broke things off, we just haven’t talked in a week. What if he’s pining over it like I am? I can’t exactly just dance my feelings away with some random guy when I don’t even know the status of my relationship.

After a phone call from Sophie and a lot of convincing, I decide it would be best for me to get out tonight. I need the interaction, and maybe a couple drinks if someone was able to bum them from their college friends. I need to hear music, I need to speak with other humans. But I can’t go alone.

My phone hovers over Chris’s name, worried I might wake him up since it’s already late. I click it anyway, the dial tone only going off twice before I hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/n/n, what’s up!” he chirps.

I smile to myself, my best friend always cheering me up whether he knows it or not. “You know, the usual. Coming up with a blue print for a new and improved Golden Gate Bridge. You?”

“Fuck off,” he stifles his laughter. “I’m watching some show Nick and Matt told me about. For real though, what’s up?”

“Sophie is begging me to go to a party tonight. You down to be my plus one?” I question as I shuffle through my closet.

“Garrett didn’t wanna go?” he asks puzzled.

I take a moment and debate whether or not I want to tell him. I really don’t want to bring down the mood of the night. I’m supposed to be having fun.

“Nah, not tonight. He’s on some boys trip upstate.” I lie through my teeth.

“Sounds lame. I’ll be there, what time?” He asks and I hear rustling, presumably him getting up off the couch or his bed.

“Uhhhh like two hours….” I trail off, nervous it might be too short of notice.

“Alright, I’ll meet you at your house and we can walk together.”

“Perfect! Thank you Chrissy.” I feel tears well up in my eyes, actual happiness igniting, even if only a small spark, for the first time in a week.

“Don’t thank me, weirdo.” He laughs. “See ya dude.” The line goes silent.

I spend the next couple hours taking everything slow. I eat a meal, my first fulfilling one since that night. I wash my face, do my hair, throw on makeup to look and feel more alive. I decide on a maroon slip dress, silky and comfortable. As I’m saying my goodbyes to my parents and about to walk out the door, my phone vibrates in my hand.

“What color are you wearing?”

“Maroon!”

I smile as I text him back, knowing he’s gonna wear something to coordinate our looks. As cringe as it may be, that’s just Chris.

We meet exactly where we planned, the chill in the air causing us to walk shoulder to shoulder for any sort of warmth. We don’t talk much, but the silence is comfortable. We never felt the need to force something out of nothing. Nothing is everything with him.

We walk in and we’re immediately greeted by Sophie and a bunch of other people she’s been hanging around.

“Y/n!” She pulls me into a hug. “Where’s Garrett? Hey Chris!” She waves in his direction.

“Boys trip.” I shrug, going into as little detail as possible.

“Oh, well I’m SO glad you came. You haven’t been yourself the last few days.” She says while giving me a look of genuine concern.

“Class has been super stressful,” I lie. “But I’m so glad I came too!”

Chris smiles as he listens in on our conversation, waving at various people who greet him in passing.

He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a maroon sweater with a button up peeking out from underneath and some jeans that fall perfectly over his long legs. I’ve always been so jealous of his ability to throw anything together and make it an outfit, a good one at that.

“Chrissy I love your outfit,” I whisper in his ear, the music too loud to try to talk from a distance.

“Had to layer, it’s too cold for a ratty tshirt,” he jokes. “But I could say the same to you. You look gorgeous.” He smiles and bumps his shoulder against mine.

The night goes on and we drink, dance, take goofy photos in front of a prop wall, and talk to so many fucking people. I’ve went over my social meter for the night, but Chris looks like he’s having so much fun and I would never say anything to ruin that. He makes his way back over to me after a round of beer pong that he absolutely crushed everyone else at.

“I wanna get one more picture in front of the prop wall and then I think I’m gonna call it a night. Gonna walk to McDonalds if you wanna comeee..” he sing songs, giving me a pleading look.

“Thank fuck,” I laugh, relief washing over me. “I was done an hour ago. Just didn’t wanna take the experience away from you.”

“That’s crazy because I was also done an hour ago, but I thought you were having a good time.” He laughs, his nose scrunching up.

We walk over to the prop wall and find someone to snap a photo for us. I grab a pair of red heart glasses, he grabs a bow tie on a stick and holds it up to his neck.

“3.. 2.. 1… and cheese!” The girl slurs before the flash blinds us.

She tosses me my phone and we thank her before slipping out the door, thankfully going unnoticed by Sophie. We giggle and walk alongside each other on the sidewalk, the smell of dewy late night air flooding my nose. The streetlights carve out Chris’s cheekbones as he looks down at me, rambling about nothing and everything all at once. I listen intently, glad to have my mind on anything other than what it’s been rampant with recently.

“It’s fucking cold,” I complain as I cross my arms across my chest and rub some friction onto them.

“Here.” Chris quickly stops in his tracks and pulls his sweater off, his button up left behind. He tosses it my way and gives me a small smile.

It smells like him as I slip it over my head and bring the sleeves over my hands.

“Thank you.”

We make it to McDonald’s relatively quickly. Chris holds the door open for me and we order our food and find a booth to wait in. My feet ache and my hair just feels tangled.

“What a fucking night. I can’t wait to crash after this,” I sigh and lay my head on the table.

His hand comes down to rub my hair, a sweet gesture he loves to do. His love language has always been physical touch.

“Aww, I was hoping you’d hang out with me a little longer. I’ve got ideas!” He whines.

I look up at him with a raised eyebrow. You never know what this kid is going to come up with in the spur of the moment.

“Just wanted to walk around that nature park down the road. Seems spooooky at night.” He laughs and turns his head, standing up as the cashier calls out our number.

We laugh and eat, my mind completely free of any thoughts besides how much fun I’m having with Chris. Ever since we met in 6th grade art class he’s known how to keep a smile on my face. He’s the kind of person you can’t help but be drawn to. His laugh alone is infectious, filling up any room he’s in. He’s such an attentive friend, which is why I’m not surprised when his mood shifts and he starts to question me.

“So what’s been going on, Y/n/n?” He looks down at his fries and scoots them around.

Do we really need to do this right now? I’m prepared to sink back into my sadness once I’m alone. I don’t plan on telling anyone until I’m sure of where we stand myself.

“Uh, nothing really,” I mumble, taking a sip of my blue Powerade. “Just stressed from assignments and stuff I guess.”

“Not gonna fool me, kid. What’s up?” He looks me in the eye this time.

His blue eyes hold so much genuine concern. They flicker back and forth between my own and he blinks slowly awaiting my response.

“It’s Garrett.” I admit.

“What about him this time?” He huffs as his eyes harden, sitting back against his side of the booth with his arms across his chest.

“He… I don’t know. He crossed a boundary and I wasn’t comfortable with it,” I start, breaking eye contact and pushing my hair behind my ear. “And then he acted like I was out of line. He dropped me off at my house and I haven’t heard from him since.”

His gaze softens and he puts his elbows on the table, scooting closer to me with a knowing look. “I figured it had something to do with that. You know I can read you like a book. So is it over, or…?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I haven’t even tried to reach out.” I close my box of chicken nuggets as my appetite fizzles away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. He fucking sucks.” He leaves it at that and gathers all our trash. “Let’s go.”

We walk to a nearby gas station in silence, the mood heavier this time. I wander around the snack aisle as he makes his purchase. I hear the bell on the door ring and look over as he holds it open and nods his head at me. The black bag swings lazily at his side as we walk to the park.

“What did you get?” I ask as we settle on a bench under a lamp post.

“Cigarettes. Oh and a lighter.” He says casually as he pulls them out of the bag.

“What the fuck,” I laugh, my eyes widening as I realize he’s serious. “Why?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, just figured we could try something new. You’re stressed and shit so I kinda just thought it would be nice, I don’t know.” He flicks his thumb across the lighter and the yellow flame illuminates his face before he blows it out.

“I mean.. I guess. I’m probably gonna cough super bad.” I laugh and straighten my legs in front of me, crossing my ankles.

“Eh, fuck it. I probably will too.” He laughs and rips the pack open.

He brings a cigarette between his lips and holds it there, cupping a hand around it to block the wind. His other hand comes up with the lighter and sparks it a couple times before he gets it to light. He holds the flame against the end and draws in a breath, the tip glowing red as it catches fire. He immediately pulls it away from his mouth and coughs loudly, standing up and holding his chest.

“What… the FUCK.” He says between heaving coughs, small puffs of smoke escaping his mouth each time.

I can’t help but laugh, throwing my hands over my mouth and taking in the sight in front of me. He shakes his head back and forth with his eyes closed, his brown waves flopping around. He extends his arm to me and squats down trying to take control over his breath again.

“Good fuckin’ luck.” He coughs out.

I lean forward and grab it between my fingers, his warm ones brushing mine in the process. He looks up and smiles before shaking his head in disgust again.

“So fucking dizzy.” He says as he sits down fully on the asphalt.

“Baby’s first nicotine buzz!” I joke, stopping my laughter quickly as he squints his eyes at me.

I bring the cigarette between my lips and drag on it, my lungs immediately filling with thick, rancid smelling smoke. I cough one big time and try to hold it in, puffing my cheeks out and attempting to hold my breath. My chest starts burning and my eyes are watering, and my body instinctively coughs over and over to try to clear my airway. I see Chris laughing through my blurry vision, smacking his knees and stomping a foot on the ground.

“Oh… my.. god.” I choke out, my head spinning and my fingers erupting with a static feeling.

“Yeah, shit’s no joke. How do people enjoy this?” He stands up and drags himself back over to the bench, reclaiming his spot beside me and grabbing the cigarette from me.

I cough on and off, still trying to rid my lungs of the contaminants. I throw my head back and my hair dangles off the backrest of the bench. Chris’s hand finds its way to me and strokes my hair softly and slowly. I bring my head back up and look at him, shaking my head with disappointment.

“Can’t believe you would do that to me.” I tease through a stifled smile.

“Just wanted to see what it was like..” he giggles and brings it back to his lips, the end glowing again as he takes a smaller puff.

He coughs once or twice as the smoke billows out of his mouth and dissipates into the foggy air around us. He looks at me with wide eyes. “Hey, that one wasn’t so bad!” He holds it back out to me, gesturing me to try again.

“Uhh.. I think I’m good. My lungs feel like they’re collapsing.” I push his hand back.

“You should try one more time..” he looks away in thought before snapping his head back. “What if we shotgun? I’ll take the brunt of the smoke and you can have whatever’s leftover. It’ll be less harsh that way.”

I’m sorry, but shotgunning a cigarette? First of all, that’s nasty. Does not sound appealing in the slightest. Secondly, I can’t fathom bringing my lips that close to Chris.

“Uhhh..” I trail off and shake my head slightly.

“Come onnnn Y/n/n!” He pouts, scooting closer to me on the bench. “I’m not gonna peer pressure you into it if you really don’t want to..” he says seriously.

“Fine. ONE more time.” I say and narrow my eyes at him.

He nods furiously and scoots even closer, our thighs touching and his cologne strong in the breeze. I can see every detail of his face under the light of the lamp post. His bushy but clean brows, his smile lines, his pink lips wet from obsessively licking them. His hair falls over his eyes as he brings the cigarette back into his mouth and takes a big drag. His eyes widen and he grabs my face in a rush, his warm hand against my cold cheek.

He pulls me close and our noses brush against each other. Time feels like it slows down to a crawl. I open my mouth and he does the same, our lips micrometers apart. His hot breath mixed with the smoke fan over my face as his eyes close, his long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. I can feel heat in my cheeks that I’ve never felt around him.

He exhales as I inhale, the smoke that was once in his lungs filling my own. I take all that I can and he stays for what feels like a moment too long, his icy blue eyes opening to lock onto mine. I feel a weird pit in my stomach and the blood stills in my veins. Why am I feeling like this?

He pulls back and scans over my face, watching as I exhale and a comically small puff of smoke blows out.

“Well, that was lame.” He laughs and brushes his hair back.

“Yeah, little bit.” I agree flatly.

We sit in silence and finish the cigarette together, our lungs adjusting and my mind racing. I try to take my mind off the feeling of his thigh still brushing against mine, but the nicotine doesn’t have any effect at all. I thought these things are supposed to relieve stress.

Once we’ve burnt it to the end, he rubs the bud against the asphalt and flicks it away. It rolls until it hits the curb and we both sigh at the same time. We look at eachother and laugh at our ‘jinx’ moment, not knowing just how different we were feeling internally but thankful that we feel no pressure to be perfect when we were together.

“I’m so thankful to have a friend like you, Chrissy.” I smile and blow some warm air into my frozen hands.

He smiles lazily at me for a second, an almost sad look flashing across his eyes as his hand comes to lay on top of mine and stroke the back of it with his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

•••

The morning sun comes out from hiding, her rays illuminating his brown hair on his pillow beside me. I watch his chest rising and falling steadily, a calming rhythm that could lull me back to sleep any day. Nothing makes me happier than waking up and feeling warmth on his side of the bed. I feel whole in his presence.

I look around at our bedroom and realize just how far we’ve come. We’ve both left the comfort of our parents homes and have made these four walls our own. Piece by piece we made a sanctuary like a bird collecting sticks and paper straw wrappers for its nest. I could go anywhere with him and build a nest. He makes everything okay.

I take my phone off the charger and scroll around aimlessly, hoping not to disturb his sleep, his pink lips hanging open and his eyes moving under his lids. I go through instagram and flip through recipes, gym videos, and dog compilations before I’m bored and close it out. I try Facebook and my distant older relatives have flooded my timeline with political garbage, so I close it out too. I open Snapchat and see a memory, smiling as I start to click through the photos and videos taken on this day from the previous years.

The first video plays, a snippet from last year of us in his car, lip syncing to one of our favorite songs. The next one is from the same night, a photo of him with his arm around me in front of the door to our then-new apartment. His eyes shimmered with happiness, mine mirroring his own with a huge smile plastered on my face.

I click again and watch as our past plays out on the screen in front of me. I can’t help but feel so thankful for the way everything worked out. So much would be different if the world hadn’t knitted us in the exact pattern it planned, one frayed thread and I wouldn’t be sitting in this room with the love of my life.

Click

My smile fades as I scan over the photo. I reminisce on the night, remembering everything as if it were a movie playing in my brain. They used to be some of the best times of my life. He made me so happy.

It’s strange how well you can know the inner workings of someone, sometimes more than your own. You know the temperature they like to drink their water, their favorite salad dressing, the commercials that make them cry. And you sit together and watch the commercials from time to time, because you know the end makes them smile again.

It’s strange how quickly it can all fizzle out, both of you existing in the world without a clue of who the person could be today. Here one minute and gone the next. I know he’s out there. He knows I’m out here. But who is he?

How different would my life had been if I did end up with him? Would I have had the same opportunities, the same zeal for life, would I be happier? Would it be my single biggest regret?

I wonder if he thinks about me and everything we went through together. I wonder if he remembers the angsty songs we played in his car late at night, or the scent of the air freshener I always bought for him when he ran out. Does he wonder what his life would be like with me, or has he moved on and found his own paper straw wrappers?

I know he was in love with me. I knew I loved him. But sometimes things are star-crossed and confusing and they hurt and there’s nothing we can do about it. Sometimes the right people come into your life at the wrong time. Do we pine about it forever, or do we let the world continue knitting while hoping the strings don’t fray?

I look over the photo once more, our shadows on the ground innocent and unaware of the future.

I look over and the boy beside me stretches his arms above him and takes in a deep breath before turning over to me, his brown waves a mess. He smiles from ear to ear and I can’t help but return it.

“Morning, baby.”

“Good morning, Garrett.”

a/n: i sobbed many times writing this im sorry if you like happy endings

taglist: @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @lxvlysworld @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo edit #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader

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emmyrosee · 1 year

Text

[23:39 pm]

Rolling up into the driveway of your home, Kita smiles, sleepily, as he sees the tv flickering in the window leading into the living room.

He’s told you time and time again that the blinds should be drawn closed for worry of people watching through the windows- you said you’ll be damned before you become ‘that house.’

Call him paranoid, but he’s seen those horror movies with Osamu; it’s been a blessing and a curse.

With a small grunt from his sore back, Shinsuke slowly slips out of his truck and grabs his filled lunch bag in the passenger seat. He doesn’t want to eat after he’s been baking in the sun, but a hearty breakfast and a few protein shakes have been fine with keeping him around.

Although, up until this point, he hasn’t had you to corner him and scold him about it.

Maybe that’s why you’re still awake. Crap.

He fiddles with his engagement ring before he unlocks the door to your home- thank god you at least remembered to lock that- before entering in as quiet as possible in an attempt to not wake you if you were asleep.

To his not-so surprise, you are not asleep, and instead wide awake watching someone on YouTube while scrolling through your phone on tiktok. He tells you all the time that’s bad for your eyes. You do not care.

There’s a face mask smeared on your face and you just look so cozy that he wishes he could’ve been home sooner to curl up with you.

“I’m home,” he says, setting his bag on the hook before coming into the living room to see you. You look up at him from over the couch, chewing the last bit of whatever you were eating before grinning up at him. “What’re you still doing up?”

You offer him a shrug, “wanted to make sure you didn’t eat alone.” You nudge your head to the fridge, “and I know you haven’t been eating when you’ve been coming home, so I really wanted to make sure you had something.”

“I eat plenty when I get home,” he says, chuckling.

“And I think you’re full of it- go shower and I’ll finish off my snack and make you some food.”

“Mm?” He hums, leaning his weight on the armrest to kiss your head. “And what are you eating now?”

“Chips dipped in ice cream,” you mumble around a bite.

“…chips dipped in ice cream?”

“Yeah,” you hum, looking up at him. “I wanted something a little salty, but I knew it would make me want something sweet afterwards, so I figured I’d mix the two.”

“God, I adore you, but that’s feral.”

“And you are scared of innovation.” Despite your tease, you load up a ruffled chip with chocolate ice cream, passing it to him with a sweet smile. “Try it.” He eyes it suspiciously, and you scoff. “You don’t get to judge me on something you’ve never tried, Shinsuke.”

“Have you yet to read Hamlet?”

“Don’t you get me on my own hypocrisy,” you scoff. “Do you want the chip or not?”

He stands up and makes a sour face, but despite this, he extends his hand to take the chip from your fingers. He grimaced before hesitantly plopping the snack on his tongue when you bat your eyelashes at him.

One chew.

So far, so decent.

Two chew.

Okay. Now it’s funky.

Third chew has his jaw slacking in horror while from the couch, you start cackling.

“It tastes like bile,” he grimaces, his face scrunching up while you snort.

“That might be the sour cream part of the sour cream and onion.”

“This is foul,” he gags, quickly making his way to the sink to, quite literally, wash his mouth out. He hears you snickering off into the distance, and even if you have the taste of a sociopath, there’s not another thing he’d change about you.

Everything from your strange little cravings, to the way you stay up for him to reheat some dinner with him,

“What’s that thing called, when you like watching someone in pain and distress?” You ask over the running faucet, and he can practically hear the smirk of sadistic pleasure in your face.

He spits out some of the water pooled in his mouth with a retch, “oh, psychopath.”

You snort and he wipes his mouth on a paper towel, shaking his head before approaching you and capturing you in a kiss.

You pull away with a giggle before pecking him again, “you taste like chocolate ice cream.”

“And you taste like a questionable choice I made when I proposed.”

“And clay?”

He inspects your halfway dried face mask and licks his lips, “yeah. And clay.”

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pixiecaps · 1 month

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no bc im not usually involved w stuff like this and believe everyone should be held accountable for their actions no matter what. but seeing the way quackity has been seen as non human, any emotion or misstep he has being seen as manipulative or fake is like crazy. i don’t understand how people don’t see like wait, your actually just being racist you are not capable of seeing him as a person, why? it feels like he really could’ve handled this perfectly and there still would be this large crowd regarding him as a heartless fraud??

truly. i have closely observed this situation and listened to both sides and theres a lot of different opinions that can co exist and theres a lot of complexity to them.

one particular thing that has bothered me and made me uncomfortable is the projection of quackity as this scheming conniving figure. its gross. him having to explain that hes had previous experiences like this where he keeps any sort of bad situation with another creator private and that in turn has made him perceived as more manipulative is so sad. and this isnt surprising obviously since this is something ive witnessed. but overall i think with the internet nowadays theres a large mindset that everything needs to be public information and shared with the audience while they preach to solve things in the dms. people only care for a show and to watch creators destroy themselves. thats what twitter is and what a lot of people actively strive to do on that platform. specifically in regards to leak communities.

everyone should be aware enough that theyre allowed to criticize quackity and the decisions he’s made that people may not agree with. he acknowledges that himself. but to paint him as anything other then human and someone who has deeply fucked up reaches that level where it is racism. i dont think many people quite realize micro aggressions when they see them. so theres that. and then theres obviously the extremes of the situation when it came to the doxxing and death threats. people actively celebrating and saying it surely is an okay thing to spread because well he fucked up right? hypocrisy. this goes the same way for any admin or worker involved the situation that has been sent and told the same.

this entire situation has proved to me that nobody knows how to properly handle anything or how to properly react to anything and choosing instead to immediately jump to those extremes mentioned in the name of activism and moral superiority.

anyways support the admins. listen to their stories. criticize media you consume in a constructive manner. call out xenophobia and racism when you see it. and treat people like the humans they are. they will all make mistakes each side has made a mistake. yes this also applies to the people in the community. think for more than a second before you post anything for fucks sake.

#pix asks aaaa #anon #discourse

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persphonesorchid · 8 months

Text

Sativa - KTH | Drabble |

summary: You and Tae get high with your friends, that's it.

genre: fluff (?), suggestive

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Smoking weed; everyone is high. Making out with other people watching, yoongi's hypocrisy, hinted voyeurism/exhibitionism.

notes: I have NO idea what this is or where it came from. What is this behavior, dani?? Hope you guys enjoy!! (Feedback is welcomed and appreciated :))

Master list - HERE

Your eyelids are heavy with smoke, no doubt red and your head feels like it’s miles upwards in the clouds somewhere. A cold bottle of water was pressed into your hands a bit ago and you’re not sure if you’ve drank it or not. You’ve been chewing on the same handful of popcorn for God knows how long, and every time you swallow you don’t ever feel the snack reaching your stomach.

It feels like there’s a bottomless pit where your stomach should be; everything just passing through you.

Your chest and throat burn with a long-delayed cough, almost has you choking on the popcorn and gulping down water. At least... You were sure there was water in the bottle. How long ago was it given to you? When did you drink it all?

You poke a finger into Taehyung’s side with a frown, “Oi.”

He turns his head, a little slowly. He looks just as you’re sure you do; gone. His eyelids are low and he’s blinking at you in slow intervals like a cat, a stupid, crooked grin on his mouth. The warmth of his hand finds your thigh, as though he’d just remembered your legs were over his – or perhaps, just remembered you were there at all. His fingers curl and his thumb presses into your flesh with little pressure.

“Oi back.” He winks, there’s smoke on his exhale and the scent of the weed that’s starting to give you a headache after one hit too many. You were supposed to be sharing the blunt that hangs loose between Taehyung’s fingers, and as quickly as the thought enters your mind it’s gone.

You stare at him because you’ve also forgotten what you had called him for in the first place. His hand moves from your thigh, and you barely resister the light grip at the back of your neck.

“You good?” Taehyung leans closer, a brow raised as his gaze darts between yours. His fingers apply pressure just where your neck meets the base of your skull and you shiver.

There’s a brief passing thought as you nod slowly against his hold, something reminding you that Taehyung and his boys were way more experienced with this than you were. While you're prone to zoning out and giggling at anything that's barely funny, Taehyung and the boys has enough experience to be mellow.

It’s not that you’ve never done it before, it’s just that the effects leave you all over the place, so you don’t do it often. That, you guess, is what always comes back to bite you in the ass. Your body’s never prepared for the numb hot and cold feeling, and feeling like you’re watching events through a pinhole.

The blunt was long passed from Taehyung when he closes the gap, fingers of his free hand pressing into your cheeks to hold you steady. He kisses you quickly and you’re left chasing, leaning forward as he pulls back.

There’s a faint scent of his cologne under the heady scent of weed, and Taehyung doesn’t keep you waiting for long. He tips your head back slightly, slotting his mouth over yours in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. The hand at the back of your neck moves up to your hair and tugs, and your fingers curl into the rolled-up sleeves of his jersey.

There’s a thud and the couch you’re sitting on shifts. Taehyung barely pulls away from you, and there’s something more than the cannabis that keeps his eyelids low and pupils blown. You tilt your head a little, and through the haze of smoke behind Taehyung on the loveseat across is Yoongi. His foot is still up on the armrest of the couch, and though he’s in the same state that everyone else is in, there’s still a sharpness to his gaze.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, do it elsewhere. No one wants to see that shit.”

He says this and with incredulity, you stare at him. The last time you did this with them, Yoongi had a friend over who’d been sitting on his lap for most of the night. And you don’t mean sitting decently, her knees were perched on either side of his thighs, kissing his neck and his hands were on her ass.

“Dude. You have no room to talk.” Hoseok mumbles, passing the last of the blunt to Jungkook who was busy building another one. His gaze is just as sharp as Yoongi’s, a switch having flipped between hits; Hoseok hiding behind Jay.

Yoongi flips him off, and reaches for the bag of chips that was thrown carelessly on the coffee table.

Taehyung brings your attention back to him, nudging his nose against your cheek, and licking at your jaw. His lips press against your pulse and his tongue and teeth follow. You’re hyperaware of Taehyung’s every touch, his breath against your skin, the way his other hand is squeezing at your hip and damn near pulling you into his lap.

Your lower tummy burns, and maybe it’s the weed, but it’s intense. You’re gripping at his arms, tilting your head back to let him do what he wants. He lets his teeth drag on the spot he’s bruised as he pulls away, you whine and Taehyung chuckles deep in his chest.

“You’re so gone right now.” He brushes a thumb under your eye. He leans forward and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he tilts your head slightly, and you’re met with the gazes of your friends who’s so far been extremely quiet.

“Bet they’d all like a show, hm?” his teeth nip at your earlobe, and even though he says this softly, the room’s too quiet and you’re certain everyone heard. “Bet I can fuck you right here and make ‘em watch.”

Your squirming doesn’t do a thing to help the tingling ache between your legs, and Taehyung’s gaze does nothing but make you whine his name.

Taehyung smiles sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not that high.” He winks, “You’re for my eyes only.”

He pulls away, back to where he was originally and you feel as though you’ve stepped out of a bubble. There’s soft trap music playing from Jungkook’s phone, and his ears are red as he passes the blunt he lit over to Hoseok.

Taehyung taps your thigh once and then again, softly, a brief glance your way and then at the others. “Show’s over, stop staring.” He says to no one in particular, but everyone finds interest in something else.

Tagging: @xpeachesncream @eoieopda @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @dontstoptime @allhobbitstoisengard @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @eren-fall

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung x reader smut #bts v x reader #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts fic recs #bts #bts fic rec #taehyung drabble #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #bts drabble #bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic

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outrunningthedark · 7 days

Note

just that the fandom is proving how they are only in it for Buck and Eddie/Ryan and Oliver when they're complaining about a deleted scene on social media or claiming "queerbait" instead of asking (not demanding, that was poor word choice by me) to hear from someone else a little more often.

I don't think it's a secret that most of the fandom is only in it for Buddie though?

Not that people don't enjoy the show otherwise or wouldn't be watching without the ship, but online fandom specifically? I don't think there'd be a fandom without Buddie. It would be a show like Station 19 or Chicago Fire maybe, good ratings, a couple of people live tweet it, and a gifset would get maybe 100-500 notes on it.

Most of the online fandom is absolutely in it for Buddie, but also Buck and Eddie as individual characters, which is why the reaction to Buck/Tommy from Eddie stans is solely due to the knowledge that Eddie could have had the arc first, and if Eddie actually did come out this season the Buck stans would be letting people know how upset they are - Buddie is preferred because both sides get what they want out of it. The issue is that many in online fandom pretends to care about the other characters to the same degree to appear "better" than the folks only here for Buddie, yet their actions prove time and time again that it's not the case. Take the disrespect towards Hen as a lesbian who's been there from the very beginning. Henren gifs aren't popping up five minutes after a scene airs just so the op can (hopefully) get the most notes. People ask for Ryan to be released from "PR jail", but where are the requests to hear from Aisha? Why don't people get routinely upset when an episode *looks like* it won't focus too heavily on Hen the way they do when they feel like Eddie is being ignored? "There are more Buck/Tommy fics than Henren fics" Okay...and the Buddie tag has always outdone Henren, so....why is a different pairing a problem now? It's their friends writing the fics anyway? And they support them when it's the endgame they like? Similarly, people claimed to care about/look forward to the Madney wedding, and somehow the discussion was never about the actual event until it happened. it was about how karaoke night could lead to a secret hookup or feelings realization or TOMMY helping fandom's faves get their shit together by "noticing" something between them. In an episode about someone else's wedding. They're here for Henren and Madney and Bathena, but what's the thing everyone's blowing up social media pages about? Buddie. Whether it's complaints over being baited with the promo (something being encouraged on this very site) or sending a barrage of Buddie tweets or comments to drown out any Buck/Tommy support...people sure aren't acting like they know how to enjoy anything that isn't Buddie. I have no problem with anybody who is only/mostly in the fandom for Buddie (I myself will always feel the most connected to the Buckley-Diaz dynamic in any form for personal reasons), or anybody who might be new to us because of Bi Buck and Buck/Tommy. Just don't lie about it to make yourself look better when all it does is highlight your hypocrisy. (I mean, unless they want us to see through them that easily. Lol.)

#anonymous #tina speaks

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oshiawaseni · 10 months

Text

Trails of Love Hori's been paving down in the build up for the series' ending

Part II: Decoding the love story being told through other characters

Part One | II. KamiJirou | Part Three ->

.•° ✿ 5. "I̥̰̟͈̣̮͑̑͐̓̌z̴͉̙̲̋͗͌u̶̫̝̒̊̐Ocha" ೋღ

Oh look, time to defeat the raid boss of BNHA: IzuOcha. (I wrote this meta in March, and after reading it now, I didn't feel I needed to change anything, but I added a small bonus section at the end. Hope you enjoy!)

I have a lot of things to say about why Ochaco was never meant to be the one... but I'll try to stay concise and on topic with regards to this meta. Ochaco appears set up as Izuku's love interest from the get-go, but is that really what Hori wanted to do? I'll be taking a dive into their themes and in part three of this meta, I'll be explaining why the answer to that question has been a resounding: NO!

When I compared the feedback Ochaco got from Aoyama, Toga and Mina about her having a crush on Izuku for wanting to be like him, to Izuku, who didn’t get any feedback for all the times he did the exact same thing and copied Kacchan, it felt very unfair.

See what I mean? It is completely unfair. And this was such a hard topic for me to navigate and answer for the anon at that time. But then I did some thinking.

Compress, Gentle/La Brava, Kamijirou and finally Kirimina (which came as a pleasant surprise, and for me, cemented Hori's intentions with all of this)... all of these characters have been written to highlight various things about BkDk's relationship.

Then, there is Ochaco's admiration of Izuku and she always gets told it's a crush, and it's so weird of a plot to begin with. This very one-sided "crush" also felt out of place with the rest of the themes going on. I eventually realised maybe we had been looking too closely at the admiration issue all along. By attempting to explain the meaning of the tree and why it's different from this other tree, we didn't see the forest it's connected to and that there was actually something bigger going on that Hori had been crafting.

Scale it back and you’ll see: It’s not that Izuku didn’t get his own feedback about his feelings for Kacchan in the various ways he shows he wanted to be like him, but Ochaco’s conversations with Aoyama and Mina and Toga were his feedback!! It was one of the biggest AHHHHHHHHHHH SO THAT'S WHY pin drop moments I've ever had.

No one was calling him out, because they didn't need to! Calling out Ochaco for that behaviour was all Izuku's same behaviour needed!

Chapter 15 is the first time Izuku displays this behaviour of wanting to be like Kacchan. In Chapter 48 Izuku trains his movement after thinking of "Kacchan and the others". His movement mimicking Katsuki's is first noticed by Iida in Chapter 52.

We spent so much time worrying what the difference is between Izuku and Ochaco’s admiration, but we tackled the problem all wrong! In fact, we didn’t need to tackle it at all.

Because not only did Ochaco’s crush sideplot serve as a red herring to veil the real love story going on from the average reader, it was also used as another tool to highlight it.

In chapter 58, Izuku showed off his new movement style and everybody, even Katsuki, noticed it was copying the way Katsuki moves. The fact we get another Ochaco shot of her watching Izuku mimic Katsuki really does add credence to the theory that she noticed Izuku's feelings because he's also copying the person he loves. And if their logic was true for her, then why couldn't it be true for Izuku too? Izuku's mimicry being such a non-issue for 1-A was surely done on purpose for us to see this hypocrisy one day: That her mimicry gets called out as love by everyone, but everyone sleeps on Izuku's own mimicry simply because it's between two boys.

Our take away was never meant to be “what’s the difference between their admiration/love”, but simply that Izuku was both wanting to become like and inadvertently becomes like Kacchan because he loves him so much and a way to keep Kacchan close to him was incorporating both his attitude and movement style into his own.

Hori was linking the two concepts of mimicry and romance together with commentary from Mina/Aoyama/Toga while having Izuku do this EXACT THING they were talking about, with Katsuki, right in front of our damn salad!

Because what other characters noted about Ochaco's behaviour... Izuku was also expressing towards Kacchan. (Hori even brought it up again in DvK2 just to remind *everyone* that Izuku is very conscious of doing the exact same thing as Ochaco)

Even if Ochaco later reveals their logic to not be true FOR HER (which I wholeheartedly believe in. BkDk+TogaChaco end game LETS GO), we know for sure this logic has absolutely been true for Izuku. And the feedback Ochaco got also fits Hori’s framework of;

Bkdk -> are the actions

Other characters -> are the words for their feelings and actions.

Ochaco never was a raid boss to begin with... she only had the appearance of one. All to get BkDK through to the finish line.

Ochaco talking about "putting the All Might doll away" here used the same verb as "shutting her feelings away" and her scene instantly jumps to Izuku looking at his black whip - a quirk he has also "put away" behind a locked door that represents OFA. Black whip is a quirk which emerged from the feelings he has for Katsuki, that Izuku has also had to "put away" because what happened to him was so traumatic. I think Hori wanted us to see their two stories of "locking something away" were actually the same in essence, and it wasn't just black whip itself that Izuku had to lock away, but also his feelings for Katsuki... because we lost Izuku's POV towards Katsuki after the "I'm too blessed." scene. Most likely to hide the romantic love Izuku feels towards him from the reader.

I realised the same logic of the other couples also applied to Ochaco too a few months ago, while I was putting together this meta about all the ways Hori has indirectly shown readers what Izuku’s feelings for Kacchan are. Hori couldn’t say it outright because of his demographic and the current expectations society has that BL should stay in it's own category and far removed from shounen.

So Hori gave bkdk their moments without a whole lot of context and developed the idea of them simultaneously in another language, by getting other various characters to do the talking. And he used these characters to indirectly spell out bkdk’s love story in conjunction with bkdk’s own behaviour, all for the sake of his big bkdk reveal in the series' finale.

And to think he’s been doing this almost since the beginning blows my mind. (Chapter 15! Chapter 15 was the start of WWKD: What Would Kacchan Do) The man is a genius. A lot of this feels like he had needed to release his feelings about bkdk, so he left these trails of code throughout the manga... and we’ve finally cracked the damn thing.

We did it. We realised Hori’s 2nd language and roundabout method of telling one of the greatest love stories in shounen history. And I’m sure there’s even more examples of it to discover, that all our fandom's talented, keen-eyed bkdks find every day.

If Horikoshi Kohei-Sensei wrote this story because he wanted to cement his mark in jump history, he has deservedly done just that!

Part B - The real ship of dreams

(It felt too good to be true, yet I was quietly hoping...) .•° ✿ 5. TogaChako ೋღ

Circling back to the first part of this meta, "The Shape of an Eternal Bond" ... Do you remember when I talked about how BkDk couldn't imagine a world without each other, and the sense of an eternity they both exude together? Something that has always been, something that will always be. It seems more themes and feelings we get from bkdk's relationship have now been thrown into the Togachaco fight.

Ochaco gave Toga what is essentially a marriage proposal to a vampire, and then her wires made the shape of the infinity symbol. Toga expresses to her "I can't stand the thought of you not being in this world anymore." This is 1. so touching 2. bkdk as HELL, and I am certain that Katsuki and Izuku will confess their desires to be together forever before this manga ends.

I mean, this just goes to show you how us bkdks and Hori are literally on the same neural link, and we've been right about his methods of storytelling and how he's leaving trails of love inside these other couples to express concepts that are present in bkdk's own (soon to be) very romantic relationship.

It's a fun thought exercise to look at Togachaco's fight and predict what certain themes of theirs Hori will install into bkdk's talk/feelings they will express to each other... but there is a certain one, other than "forever", I feel very strongly about and will focus on here...

And that is Izuku's smile.

Something Katsuki once detested became the thing he most advocated for and longed to protect. His thumbs pointing to himself while talking about smiles... no wonder this had an air of Katsuki, himself, being the biggest reason Izuku smiles. "How could you leave me and choose this for us - a life of no smiling like that?"

At the start of the series, Katsuki couldn't stand Izuku's face or the smile he made at him. Whenever he saw it, he could only think of it as somebody laughing at him, looking down on him... but then DvK2 reframed Izuku's wide smiles at him and turned them into something pure, and genuine, and I think that's when Katsuki started to realise how much he was being loved the whole time.

And how could Katsuki possibly not reciprocate those earnest feelings from his special person who helped him find his heroic heart?

And this seems to be something Ochaco has noticed about Izuku? Ochaco, somebody who loves when people smile, noticed how big Izuku smiles when he talks about heroes... but especially the besotted faces he makes whenever he's with Katsuki... Of course she did.

On the Weekly Shounen Jump cover that featured bnha chapter 394, most of the characters on it are happy and smiling. Izuku isn't, however. That's because he's lost the ability to smile because Katsuki is still dead in the manga... Hori used this jump issue to build on this theme in the manga - that if you take Katsuki away, then away goes Izuku's smile, too.

Because Katsuki's very existence gives Izuku his happiness.

These two panels were supposed to be compared to each other - "Blood" and "Smiles" are two concepts mirroring each other in Togachaco's story. It's their different love languages. Toga felt like she couldn't ask Saito-kun for blood because he'd never accept her, Ochaco felt like she couldn't ask Izuku for his smile... because he'd also never accept her... she knew this was because Izuku already had somebody who gave him his sweetest smile... the same person who knew him more than anyone.

Chapter 395's title, 'shiawase no ue ni' was an interesting one that feels nuanced with Ochaco's feelings towards Izuku. It can be read as "Above (my) happiness..." I think this title is describing the concept of prioritising something else BEFORE one's own happiness. It's the perfect concept title for self-sacrifice, like Toga putting Ochaco's life above her own, but could ALSO be referencing Ochaco placing Izuku's happiness with Katsuki before her own feelings for him!!

Ochaco's story, at present, appears to be about putting aside unrequited love for a person she didn't quite understand, and instead placing her efforts into an attainable goal - rescuing somebody's heart from despair, and in doing so, becoming each other's important person. And then neither have to journey through life alone anymore. Ochaco knew this is something Izuku and Katsuki found in each other. In the image above, the girls are looking at Izuku and Saito, who won't turn their way, because they are both looking at a blonde boy next to them. Their "Sometimes Saturday." Katsuki.

The hidden face as Ochaco says she "came to like" Izuku Midoriya is quite suspicious. It belies what she's saying and she seems to either be hiding something negative or she’s not being truly forthcoming about her situation and feelings for Izuku. There are also themes of envy that finally showed up in Togachaco's dialogue which may be foundation Hori has laid down for the reveal of Ochaco's feelings later, as well. Envy about the attention Izuku received from others as a hero. Envy towards Izuku's innate passion for heroes, and the adoring faces he makes for Katsuki, perhaps.

So this smile that Katsuki has always misunderstood as something negative aimed towards him ended up turning into something... very lovely and important to him, as shown in Izuku's panel and how Ochaco described Toga's smile right afterwards.

And honestly... if we get little snapshots of the many smiles Izuku has made for Katsuki, while Katsuki is thinking about how adorable Izuku looks just for him when they're talking, I don't think I'll make it out of this bkdk reveal alive. Hori is going to obliterate us with whatever he's got cooking for them.

With all the major bkdk-alike couples now finished, the next post of this meta series will be: Part III, and the conclusion of this meta series ->

Back to Part One

#bakudeku #bnha meta #bkdk canon #hori trails #must read meta #kana writes #togachaco #bkdk #I'm sorry I took so long to post this part #you see... there was an order i was trying to do things in...#i wanted to link to topics I was writing on twitter but then stuff happened there which messed with my plans for writing these metas out #on top of that #the tumblr editor would randomly wipe out entire asks so I became really demotivated #but this is one of the last metas I wanted to write for bkdk so I will finish writing at least this series to completion #sorry the togachaco section is small I didn't want to make the post even longer but I felt like I should talk about them #as this was the intended final post of part II - I shoulda known togachaco would also become a big part of this meta series xD #but their themes and expressions of love are a happy and welcome surprise just like kiriminas :)

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donotlookaway · 6 months

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You know the West has something to win with Israel. They don't want Israel to stop, and they are fighting really hard to keep the narrative on their side. Every interview with the "DO you condemn Hamas?" question, every ban to protestors, to the palestine flag, the little coverage in some parts of the world. They want to keep their images clean to the world. They've done it so many times. It has worked for them before. The truth comes out, but mostly after the facts. It gets some air but is soon buried in another issue that is current, therefore more important to resolve.

This time around? Social media is fighting them for the narrative. Social media is given the chance to everyone in the world to see the truth in real time. Social media show us time and time again the hypocrisy and completely lack of morality of our leaders and organizations.

The only thing that matters to them is power and money.

Human life has never been of importance to them. Not even the life of their own citizens. WE KNOW THAT! They want us poor, they want us sick, they want us tired, and they want us numb. So we can't fight, so we can't raise our voices, so we are so tired of everything that we just go with the current. They give us enough to keep us quiet.

I'm not sure what to do except to call them what they are, genocides, criminals, immoral, to paint our own flags in blood, because they carried it, no matter how hard they try to hide it.

I'm tired of a world that keeps progressing for a few while covering our lands in blood and trying to present an image of righteousness.

I'm tired of the double standards. I'm tired of journalists that paint lies with words over the truth we see in lives taken, the utter betrayal they have committed against every journalist who have died in Gaza. I'm tired of the country that keeps talking to the world about freedom and justice, being once again behind horrible war crimes that they hope they will be able, as usual, to hide under the rug.

I'm tired, I'm so damn tired, but mostly I'm heartbroken that people are being killed in mass and every conscious person in the rest of the world is watching in real time and our only weapon is our voices. I'm also furious! So I guess I will keep screaming until I'm heard.

#palestina #palestine #gaza genocide #palestinian genocide #free palestine #free gaza #argentina #i guess we are West adjacent not real West #but our leaders and candidates have showns their true colors... once again

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noodle-anime · 6 months

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just! finished saiyuki og series!!! discovered the first resurrected edition volume recently and it has been. well. it's been a journey lol

oooooooooh boy there sure was some Anatomy and Proportions happening in the first volume but it was super fun to see the art style progress actually. it encouraged me to notice more complex poses and things in the later volumes, and when there was an occasional repeat panel like Sanzo and Goku's first look it was very cool to see the difference in quality.

i have a coupla favorite panels/spreads and generally tried to pay a little more attention to how things are precisely laid out and it was a fun aspect of reading. i want to do some actual breakdowns now, maybe compare early and later layouts.

also! i discovered and watched zeroin! my first intro to saiyuki was discovering reload blast forever ago. the art style in zeroin and the fact that there's a whole set of characters i'd never heard of before made it feel like an au or semi-canonical anime movie, sorta, but i enjoyed it So much and there are some specific notes on sanzo characterization that i want to dig into

sanzo is my fave and the kami-sama arc was So Very Good in that respect but it also grew my love for gojyo three sizes.

the way that they all react when gojyo leaves cracks me up so much. they're So Offended. something so funny and also so tasty that they will not under any circumstances admit out loud that they care about gojyo and miss him so instead they're like we are going to Hurt Him (because he hurt us) for Disrupting Our Daily Routine (he's a fundamental part of our lives) and FORCING us to turn this car around (he left with the full knowledge and expectation that they would follow through with actually continuing to pursue this Very Important job like they always said they would)

mmmmm gojyo's savior complex mmmm it's good.

got blasted by the idea of gojyo and hakkai starting an orphanage when they're done with the mission. hakkai was a teacher and still models himself as a "childcare professional"/co-parent to goku and gojyo wants to save somebody So Badly. also good luck resocializing goku to not be killing people/fighting for his life every other day for Two Entire Formative Teenage Years, helping kids and not having it backfire spectacularly in his face would be good for him

i just read the fourth volume so that's most of what i've got on my mind, i know i have More thoughts from the other volumes

besides the fact that sanzo's joints are gonna/have gotta be So Fucked Up. he really is a grandpa. poor guy.

feels good to nail some characterization aspects like genjyo "i'm a coldhearted bastard and you'd better stay out of my way" (developed coping mechanisms to deal with the traumatic loss of a parent and people repeatedly Attacking Him at an early age) sanzo, cho "yes i'm the wife/mother, please excuse these skeletons, the cleaver is only for special occasions" hakkai, sha "i'm the only one here who understands how to be a normal person" (he does not but he does have the highest emotional intelligence) gojyo, and son "i'm a teenager" (he's a teenager, also growing up with the aforementioned trio as parental/familial figures and starting to come into his own!!) goku

not a single one of these men has had a normal relationship or even prolonged interaction with a woman

i had no idea there was a whole brainwashing segment with kougaiji?? and i really want to see more of lirin, there are fun parallels there to explore that i really wanna dig into

i had no idea to what level sanzo was a bastard gremlin with a gun who just Happens to also be the highest of high priests before and now that i do it delights me. the very hypocrisy of his acceptance in his position disgusts him because He Is Not Priest Material but also it's what his dad wanted for him so fuck everybody who tries to take that from him. in any other situation he'd be the shady penniless vagabond gun for hire but koumyou happened. and now we all get to enjoy it.

#saiyuki #noodle reads #noodle reads saiyuki #saiyuki original series #noodle speaks #genjo sanzo #genjyo sanzo #sha gojyo #cho hakkai #son goku #saiyuki manga #saiyuki zeroin

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goldberrg · 7 months

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₊˚⊹ᡣ𐭩 dont have to do this

summery : Every day you feel worse and worse, hoping that your parents will finally notice you, but only Steve seems to be worried about you, as always.

TW's – alcohol, mentioned drugs, a lot of time skips

— Mom, you really need to sign our report cards. — you get distracted from the TV when you hear your brother Steve talking to mom.

— Already? Oh, yes, the semester ended a month ago. Where are they?

— We hung them on the refrigerator to make sure that you and Dad will find them easily.

— Oh, I didn't see that. — your mother declares, laughing softly.

From afar, you watch the interaction before rolling your eyes. Obviously, she hasn't seen your report cards on the refrigerator, even though she's been passing by it for the last three days. She can't see anything. She doesn't see any of you. Your mother and father are here, but they weren't really here. You know that they are absent because of their work, they do everything to provide you with a "good life", but you would like their definition of a "good life" to have something about being a "good parent".

Your mom takes a pen from her pocket and signs the papers without looking at them.

— Congratulations, kids. You've done an amazing job. — she confirms with a big smile.

This is the last straw for you. How could she say that you did an amazing job when your grades dropped completely this semester? Even your teachers are worried about your future. Your mother doesn't even pay attention to it. As always. You're tired of your mother's hypocrisy, so you get up from the couch and go to your room without looking at Steve and your mom, who are still in the kitchen.

***

When you walk into Miss Click's class, you hand her your report cards, just signed. She thanks you before she starts her class. You sit down in your usual seat and pretend to listen to the teacher. Since last month, your attention to school has decreased, as have your grades. You no longer follow the lessons carefully and continue to skip school. You've done it before, but only twice, and those were exceptions, you found good excuses not to feel guilty about it. Now you do it without thinking. After all, if the school had tried to tell your parents, they wouldn't have answered. If that were the case, you could always lie to your parents about why you skipped school, they would not be able to verify the truth, since they are always on the opposite side of the country or even on another continent. Steve noticed a change in your behavior, but he didn't tell you anything. He guesses that you're just going through a difficult phase. If you were really feeling bad, he knows that you would come to him. He's spent his whole life reminding you that he's always there for you. He knows perfectly well how to take care of you. Maybe even too much if someone asked your opinion.

***

Two days later, it's your father's turn to return from a work trip. He's even worse than your mother. He only speaks when necessary, while mom at least tries to act like she cares. Annoyed by the so-called presence of your parents, you take refuge in your room again. You turn on the music, increasing the volume while you read the magazine. You do everything to get lost in your thoughts, to forget that you are in a house that is anything but home. When you turn the page, the music stops abruptly. You look up from your magazine and see your father in front of the radio with an annoyed expression on his face.

— What do you think you're doing? I was listening to my music! — you say, you're getting angry.

You get out of bed and go to your radio, but your father stands in front of him.

— And I'm trying to work. Your "music" prevents me from doing this. — he snaps dryly.

— I need my music to focus.

— You're reading a stupid magazine. — your father objects, rolling his eyes.

— I do what I want, this is my room!

— This may be your room, but you're under my roof. Do as I say! So stop listening to your stupid music. — he orders. — If you really want to ruin your ears with this, use your player. You know, the fact that it cost us our lives and that you wanted it so badly.

You sigh in frustration as your father slams the door. You go back to your bed and scream into your pillow. You got angry after talking to your dad for less than a minute. By the way, it was also the first time you talked to your dad since he came home. Since you didn't want to deal with him again, you take your player, which he so "kindly" offered, and insert your cassette into it. Wearing headphones, you turn on music, trying to get rid of your emotions.

When you go to the kitchen for breakfast the next day, you find a note on the refrigerator. You'll recognize your mom's handwriting right away. You don't need to read it to familiarize yourself with the content. She went on another business trip for work. She's only been home a week. This is almost a record. You crumple the paper before you throw it on the table. You're not hungry anymore, so you're going back to your room to get ready for school.

When you come to school with Steve, you do everything to hide your anxiety. He tried to question you, but you acted like everything was fine. You don't want him to worry about you. Besides, you don't even really know what you're feeling. There are so many different emotions running through your head. You're completely lost. You just hope that classes will be a good entertainment.

During Miss Click's lecture, she returns you the test from last week. She hands over the paper and says she wants to see you after class. You nod before taking a quick look at your grade. You have a deuce, let's just say it's better than a deuce…

The rest of the time you're nervous about talking to your teacher. When the moment finally comes, you do everything to hide your nervousness.

— You wanted to see me, Miss?

— Yes, darling. I'd like to discuss your grades. You may have gotten a few better grades on the last tests, but it's still not enough. I know what you're capable of. You're a good student. Can you tell me what's going on? What is it? — she asks anxiously.

— I'm just a little tired. — you're lying. — I'm going to improve, I promise you.

— I'm sure you want, but it doesn't seem like you can. Listen, I'd like to talk to your parents. I know it's hard for them, but it can't go on like this anymore.

— My mom left today, and my dad is busy, and he will probably leave soon too.

— I know, but isn't there a solution for me to see them? — she insists, and you start to feel uncomfortable.

— I think you'll have better luck with my mom, but if you want to talk to her now, it will only be on the phone.

— It's better than nothing. Could you give me her number, please? — she says, taking a pen.

— I don't have her hotel number yet. Although I'll probably find it tonight. I'll tell you within a week, but I can't promise that you'll get in touch with her on the phone right away.

— It's okay, I'll try anyway. Thank you.

— Have a nice day, Miss. — you finish and start to leave, but she holds you back.

— You know, if you need to, you can talk to me. If it's difficult for you in class, I'll be happy to help you.

— Thanks.

You give her a small smile before sheepishly leaving her classroom. You get the impression that Miss Click feels sorry for you, and you hate it. Obviously, she has good intentions, but you don't want to make her think that you can't handle everything on your own. You know how to do it. You've known how to do it since you were a kid. Your parents left you no other choice.

Even if it's lunch break, you don't go to the cafeteria. You won't have time to relax properly, so you'd better not eat at all. Instead, you walk out of the building and into the woods next to the school. You walk carefully, making sure that no one sees you until you find yourself in front of a picnic table.

—Little Harrington. To what do I owe for this pleasure? — Eddie "Freak Munson smiles when he sees you.

— You know I'm not just Steve's sister, right?

— I know. What can I do for you?

— What can I get for fifty bucks? — you ask, catching him off guard.

— Excuse me?

— What can you sell me for fifty bucks?

— Nothing. — he claims without wasting a second.

— What, is it more expensive? I can already give you fifty, and the rest is tomorrow.

— No, I think you misunderstood me, sweetheart, I'm not going to sell you anything. — Eddie clarifies, and it's your turn to be taken aback.

— Why?

— You're fifteen.

— I'm sixteen!

—I'm sorry, ma'am. — he says dramatically. I don't sell to minors.

— So what? Are you a saint now? — you ask, and he shrugs. — You sell drugs in high school, what did you expect?

— Let's just say I don't sell anything to people under seventeen. In any case, you don't fit into any category.

— You're a jerk. — you say that with a fake smile.

—Thank you, little Harrington. — he's joking while you're out of the woods. — It was nice not to make a deal with you!

After his sarcastic comment, you throw a sharp glance at the guy, still heading to school. Among the people here, you would never have thought that Eddie Munson would play the good bastard. Even if you don't want to, you go back to class suffering in silence.

***

When in two weeks, your father leaves Hawkins to work, you feel like it's too much for you. You really feel bad. You feel sick in your stomach. You can't even eat. You feel like you can fall at any time. Steve noticed it on the way to school. He didn't ask you any questions while he was driving, he wanted to give you a little rest. Maybe you just needed a few more minutes to sleep? And yet, when you come to school, he's working on his brother's instinct.

— Are you feeling good? You look sick.

— Yeah, I just have a little stomach ache. It'll be over soon. Don't worry.

— Are you sure?" We still have a little time. We could go home. I'll call school and explain it. — he assures you, and you're trying to smile.

— Steve, I'm fine. It will be gone in an hour.

— If you need, you can always go to the nurse and ask her to tell me if you come home.

You nod before you get out of the car. You let Steve join his friends while you go to class.

Your anxiety is still present, even after an hour. Staying in school becomes unbearable for you, and you decide to miss the rest of the day. You're walking around Hawkins for hours before you get home.

You're lying on the couch and reading when Steve comes home in panic. Relief quickly blends on his face when he notices you.

— God, you scared me. I couldn't find you in the corridors and tried to call home, but no one answered!

— Sorry, Steve. I really didn't feel like it, and the nurse said I could go home. I forgot to tell her that she needs to tell you. And when I came home, I went to bed immediately. I'm so tired I didn't hear the phone call. — you lie.

— I understand, but don't forget to tell me the next time. You really scared me.

— Sorry.

— You feel better now? What's the matter? — he asks, putting his hand on your forehead.

—Yeah, I feel better. Besides, I don't have high temperature, Steve.

— We'll never know for sure. Maybe you got something caught.

— There's nothing about it. I'm fine.

— Well, but tell me if it happens again.

— Promise.

Steve goes into his room, and you look at him with a grateful expression on his face. You're lucky you have a brother who's so much worried about you who cares so much about you. He's doing better than your parents. You can't even remember when one of your parents was the last time you'd been clinging to your forehead to check the temperature. The feeling of gratitude quickly leaves the body, changing the wave of sadness when you realize how many Steve sacrifices for you. How much he sacrificed his life to do your parent's work. He shouldn't worry so much.

***

You're trying to call your mom for the fifth time in a row. Miss Click becomes more persistent. She told you she couldn't get to mom, despite the fact that she tried several times. You promised her you'd contact her. You're not surprised mom's acting like that. You told her your teacher wanted to talk to her about your grades. For a moment, you thought she knew something was happening, that she finally worried. When your mom still doesn't answer you, you're breaking the phone. Why do you even bother yourself with all these efforts if she doesn't even try? This situation with your parents becomes more and more intolerable. You want to talk about it with Steve, but you're afraid he'll stand up on your parents. After all, they're not here because they want to provide you with a good future. They do it wrong, but they have good intentions, right? On your part, selfish constantly demand their attention. But they could at least pay attention to your academic situation! If the teacher wants to talk to parents, it's because there's a problem. They must notice that, so why isn't that? Every contradiction comes in your head. If only you had parents with normal work, it would be much easier. These contradictions continue to curl in the head for a few days, exacerbating your anxiety. You're getting out more and more and you miss it. Steve does everything to know the truth, but you're silent. He's got so much to do with that he needs to handle that he doesn't need another problem.

Today you want to try a full day, but once the call rang, you got sick again. Now you know there's only one decision: quit school and stay in your own bubble, away from everyone. You feel like getting better when you do that. So, you're waiting for the corridors to drop quietly to leave the building. You walk out the street, you walk around the city. You go into some shops, but you don't buy anything. Eat a sandwich that made a day before continuing the walk. You're wandering like a ghost like a shadow of my old self. When the day is over, you have no strength to go home. You still want to stay in your own bubble. But stay sober in his own bubble is not enough. You go to the grocery store and wait for an adult to ask him to buy you some alcohol. When a young man of twenty years agrees to do it, you thank him. When he returns and gives alcohol, you feel even more grateful. You're starting to go when he calls you. — You know, you don't have to drink alone. You want to come with me and my friends? We're going to the bar nearby. They don't ask ID cards. You're hesitating for a second. Look at the guy before you look at the car in which two women sit and another man. You think a little more before you answer.

— Why not. — Come on, let's have some fun! — one of the women is screaming before opening the car door.

You're in the car, watching these strangers in the bar you told you about, and you drink almost the whole bottle. As you have said, no one asks the ID at the bar. You can order as much as you want. You decide to try everything in a little bit. You've always been rationalized. That night you want to change it. Your new friends encourage you to drink, telling a little about every alcohol available. You keep drinking shots, and another ordinary drink until you start dizzy. You're grabbing the counter before you feel sick. You run into the bathroom, and somehow you manage to keep yourself up until your face is over the toilet. Nicole, one of the women from the group, followed you, so at the moment she holds your hair while you're emptied your stomach.

— Thank You.

— I think you'll have enough for you tonight, don't you think? — she laughs.

— I think so.

— Come on, come on. We're going to tell the others we need to get you home.

— I really need to go home? — you ask questions before you clean your mouth.

— Your parents are not there, right? — you said it before you were punished. — That's true! You're right! Besides, even if they were there, they don't care about me. They won't even notice I'm drunk. — you add, suddenly feeling confident.

— Come on, the breaker of calm, it's time to go home.

Nicole supports you, helping you out of the bathroom. When you come back to the others, you're not quite in yourself to say you need to bring home, so your new friend tells them about it. They nod and laugh when they see your condition.

On the way home Pete, the one who bought you alcohol, keeps him moving slowly. Not because he drank alcohol too and wants to be responsible, but because he doesn't want you to be ripped out in his car.

Fortunately, you arrive at the destination without giving back the contents of your stomach. You're waving your new friends before you go to the door. You get the key from your school bag and open the door. You don't even have time to put your things down when you're suddenly dazzling the light. Steve runs to you in full panic.

— You're really coming home now? Damn, yes, it's three in the morning, I'm terribly worried. I thought something happened to you! I even called the police.

— It's okay, I'm not dead, Steve. — you're muttering, rolling your eyes.

— You're drunk? What's the matter? — he asks, coming closer to you.

— No.

— Y/N. — he insists more authoritative tone.

— Okay, maybe couple shots.

— How did you manage that? You're sixteen.

— I asked Pete.

— Who's this Pete? — Steve asked.

— The guy I met before. He's the one who took me home. — you're telling him, smiling.

— You really mean to tell me you took the alcohol from the stranger and got under the guard of this stranger? Do you understand how dangerous it was? He could hurt you. — he's splitting in shock.

— Calm down, there were Nicole, Tessa and George.

— And that should calm me down? You're completely drunk, three in the morning, you disappeared from today's morning and there was God knows who. Do you know how bad I felt

— Its..

— Don't you even say "nothing", Y/N. —he breaks down you, knowing what you were going to say. — I'm responsible for you when my parents are not there. I was so damn scared! And, by the way, not only tonight. I was worried about you for two months. — he admits, and you're frowning, knowing he understood. — Yes, they may have seen nothing, but I noticed that your grades were falling from the first day. I also know you tried buying drugs.

— How did you..

— Munson told me.

— That asshole! — you whisper, feeling devotee.

— Thank God he told me! He also confirmed all my doubts. God, what's going on? Why are you so far away? You know I'm here for you, so why are you acting like that? I can help you. I just feel you disappear and I'm afraid for you.

— Oh, God, can you stop? — you scream, dehydration.

— Stop what? Worry about you? I had to. You throw your life out on the wind. — Steve's parrying.

— Stop acting like a parent, it's not your job, damn it! You know what you just said to me, you should have spoken to me, you know, your mother or dad should have spoken. Not you. Yeah, you could be worried, but you're my brother. You have to laugh at me because you're yelling at me, or you have to blackmail me so I don't tell my parents about my grades. It's your job. You're not a parent. You don't have to be responsible for me.

— They work hard to..

— To provide us with a beautiful future, I know. — you broke him out irritably. — But what price?" Steve, I saw you acting like a parent than a teenager, and you're seventeen. I'm tired of seeing you sacrifice your life because two adults are unable to do their job. Look, tonight we have a new proof. You were terribly worried, you called the police because I disappeared all day. — you keep talking. — It's supposed to be parents, not you. You said it was two months since you noticed I didn't feel like it. My mother didn't even notice that my grades fell, though she signed the thing! It's driving me crazy because even when I'm trying to get their attention, you're worried not them. As you always do. I just want them to notice that they failed like parents. I want them to see us. At this time. But it doesn't work. I don't know what else I can do, and I'm sick of it. I can't stand it anymore, Steve.

You're totally in fucking tears. Steve doesn't answer, but hugs you as hard as he can. He knew that the situation in your family had affected you as well as he did, but he would never think you were so much suffering. He strokes you on his head, trying to calm your sobs, muttering some cute little things. You didn't think you'd break tonight, but that's what. You keep crying every tear from your body for a few minutes before you calm down. When Steve doesn't feel your shoulders move, he's a little bit of a hug to look at your face, look at his younger sister's face, completely broken.

— I'm sorry I didn't understand why you felt bad. I should have tried harder when I asked you how things were. — he says, feeling guilty.

— I'd lie.

— I should have tried harder.

— It's not your job. — you repeat in a whisper.

— That's not supposed to be, but that's what. Even if it's hard to handle all these duties, I'm glad to be here for you, so come talk to me when you're bad. Maybe I won't have answers to all the questions, but I'll do whatever I can. — your older brother assures you.

— Thank You. — you smile.

— If you want, we can try to talk to parents? — he's offering.

— They won't listen.

— We can always try.

— Yes. — you agree, but not really convinced.

— You need to rest, okay? — Steve recommends you, and you nod.

— Can you stay with me for the night? How when I had a nightmare when I was a kid? — you ask in a quiet voice.

— Of course. I'm just gonna call the police and tell me you're home. I'll take you a glass of water and some medicine, you'll have a damn bad headache. — he says, laughing slightly and pointing to your head.

— I think. — you say giggling.

Steve kisses you in the forehead before inviting you to your room. You smile slightly before you go upstairs. He goes to the phone in the living room when you stop and call him. Steve returns with a questionable look.

— I'm sorry. — you're starting before you clean your throat. — For disturbing you for the last two months, but especially for tonight. Maybe I wanted parents to worry, but the least I wanted you to be scared. You've been doing so much for me since we were kids. I'm really grateful for you that you're my older brother. — you admit it, for a second, you look. — I just hope you know that.

— I'm glad I have a younger sister.

— I'm sorry for tonight. I won't do that anymore, I promise.

#strangerthings #stranger things 4 #strangerthingsedit #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x you siblings #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington smut

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sisterdivinium · 7 months

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Mother Superion barely had time to assess the large coat, the expensive hat and the aviator sunglasses all bunched up together into a messy pile located at the edge of her own desk when Jillian noticed her entrance.

“You’re alone?” She asked by way of greeting, peeping behind the nun’s back to make sure. “We should best close the door.”

“And ciao to you too, dottoressa,” Superion replied dryly, watching as Jillian went on to lock them in after looking outside for any other nuns strolling in the corridor.

“You’ll understand my bluntness in a second.” Jillian returned to her companion, gave her an apologetic peck on the lips and soon produced a magazine which she put into Superion’s hands. “You should take a look at this.”

It was a thin little rag, the sort that printed more low-quality paparazzi pictures than it did any sort of meaningful text—when there were any words to go along with the images, typos and grammatical mistakes abounded throughout the extravagant theories “explaining” the ins and outs of the love lives of all sorts and ranks of celebrities, from international movie stars to barely significant internet phenomena boasting of a couple thousand followers online.

Mother Superion might have wondered how and why a woman such as Jillian Salvius would ever have any such dreck in her possession had she not at once recognised what the low-quality paparazzi photograph chosen for that particular issue’s cover revealed: it was an aerial shot, likely the product of a snooping drone, which had captured an inner patio of Jillian’s house—and both of them, Jillian and Mother Superion herself, featured in it, standing suspiciously close together as the nun’s hand stroked the renowned scientist’s cheek.

“This has been out for only some two hours and it is making a hell of a lot of noise already. My PR staff are going completely mad. ArqTech’s social media accounts are being bombarded with either accusations of hypocrisy on my part, secretly seducing the church in the background while fighting it in public, or celebratory messages about ‘crushing the patriarchy of a decadent institution’ through ‘full contact sisterhood’ or something like it. Dozens of extremely suggestive emojis are sprinkled throughout in both kinds.”

Jillian said all this with a wealth of gestures, drawing abstract, nervous shapes in the air, squinting her eyes at every word, as if they stung her tongue with each absurd syllable that escaped her lips.

Suzanne looked down at the magazine again, flipping through some of its pages. A couple more of blurry or pixelated images where she and Jillian could barely be made out adorned a page with a single column of text in a large font over a red background that would make anyone’s eyes water; she couldn’t read the speculation contained therein.

She could likewise not speak her mind on the matter, as Jillian continued her tirade.

“And there’s more, of course there’s more. I regret to inform you that you and I have been…" She grimaced. “Blorbofied. And please don’t ask me how I know that word.”

Mother Superion raised an inquisitive, insistent eyebrow nonetheless. Jillian sighed and submitted.

“… Camila,” she admitted.

The nun pinched the bridge of her nose.

“But what I mean to say is that the internet is simply abuzz with this. We’re being shipped. People are writing fanfiction about us. I don’t know if you know, but that’s when they tell stories—”

“I know what that means, Jillian.”

Catching her off-guard, Suzanne was the one moved to confess by another eyebrow raised high.

“Well, Xena fanfiction didn’t write itself in the nineties, you know.”

Jillian remained speechless for a few seconds more as she attempted to process the information of how the woman standing in front of her, who she had seen kill scores of malevolent men as well as writhe beneath her in pleasure, who wore a habit and a veil and prayed to God every day, was the same person who would write Xena fanfiction in the late nineties and post them on the internet—some of which might still be out there, somewhere.

On second thought, the whole killing men part did make quite a good deal of sense…

“If this has been out for only two hours, how are these people writing stories already?” Suzanne asked, rescuing her from her trance.

Jillian shook her head slightly, as if to dispel the thought of a young Suzanne writing stories of dubious merit and intentions in some corner of the convent when not absorbed by training.

“I don’t know. I haven’t read any—nor will I—but they even came up with a name. They’re calling us ‘doctor superion’.

The look she received as a reply was impenetrable. Jillian couldn’t tell whether Mother Superion despised it or was somehow amused by it.

“But that’s beside the point,” Jillian went on, rather exasperated at the possibilities, “because if I’m getting hell over this, what can it mean for you?”

She reached out to Suzanne’s hands, her touch scared, her eyes pleading.

“Can the Vatican take any sort of action against you? Have I put you in trouble again?”

“This will pass,” Suzanne said to comfort her, cupping her cheek. “You’re talking about the Catholic church. They didn’t even believe women could have any kind of sex for the longest time. They won’t read into a bad picture where I’m doing nothing more apart from touching your face.”

“And the gossip? The articles are multiplying online, the stories—”

“How many stories has the Church survived?”

“Suzanne, don’t fault me for saying this, but I don’t give a fuck about the Church surviving anything—it’s you I’m worried about. If my investors drop out now, I can always find others if I need to, but if they excommunicate you and tear you from the girls—”

“Jillian. I’ve been here for about twenty years. I’ve done worse than touch rich ‘heretic’ women’s faces and they know it. You know it,” she said, looking pointedly at her. “Stop worrying.”

The scientist relaxed, if somewhat against her will. She frowned soon after, however.

“… What do you mean by ‘worse’? How many other ‘worse’ things were you involved with?”

“… A conversation for another day. I think doctor superion has given you enough strong emotions for the time being.”

Jillian laughed despite herself. Mother Superion smiled seeing her unwind.

“I won’t hear the end of this anytime soon,” the owner of ArqTech pondered.

“Hence the detective disguise in coming here when it’s thirty degrees Celsius outside?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to unwittingly inspire any more fanfics than are already being written, would I? They’d have a field day with it, no doubt… But are you very sure you won’t suffer any repercussions for this?”

Suzanne kissed her.

Jillian attempted to repeat her question, but she found that kissing Suzanne back was quite a balm to her burdened heart—after all, if there were consequences to face either way, might as well deserve them in full.

When they parted to catch their breath, Mother Superion offered her an idea.

“We can say you’ve had a revelation through me, a miracle conversion. Even the Vatican will be glad to hear of it, for once.”

“Excuse you, but I have known what I liked since very early on. You wouldn’t be able to convert me to anything,” Jillian replied with a smirk. She leaned in to kiss Suzanne again, but stopped short thanks to a thought. “Hold on. Did you already have a contingency plan at the ready in case anything like this should happen?”

Mother Superion shrugged lightly.

“I told you. Worse things. In this line of work, it’s always best to look ahead of yourself.”

“Well, I might just run with your version, then. If only to calm these people down for a time.”

“The writers won’t stop.”

“I know. They might go at it even more excitedly. But the public image of the company might still be salvaged.”

“I pray it will. You’re invited to service if you want to show off just how genuine your new quest for God is,” Superion provoked her.

“Please don’t make me,” Jillian said with a laugh, pulling her closer. “I think I prefer private prayer to this whole blasphemer-to-devoted-choirgirl-overnight AU.”

Suzanne chuckled and kissed her again, throwing the gossip magazine away.

“See? Don’t worry about the others. We can write our own story all by ourselves…”

#doctor superion #warrior nun #jillian salvius #mother superion #this is what happens when you decide to write while sleep deprived #i don't usually write comedy but when i do it is utterly nonsensical lol #in earnestness i confess comedy isn't my strong suit. i think aristotle is right when he says it is based on characters “worse than us”#(while tragedy is about characters “better than us”)#and that usually means dumbing down and exaggerating some character traits which might risk losing their voice in the process #but i thought oh to hell with it -- it's not like i'll do this often anyway #and maybe someone might have a laugh the way i did when this came to me as i washed the dishes #narratives and similar

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