#her voice was so deep & theatrical it breaks my heart

[dozydawn]

Britney Spears covering “You’ve Got It All” by The Jets during a showcase in Singapore, 1998.

#her voice was so deep & theatrical it breaks my heart #britney spears #1998 #1990s #the jets #i posted this before but i was new to vids so here’s a cropped one w/o the black bars #idk if this is true but an old comment said this was a mostly empty hotel ballroom or whatever with a few super rich important ppl watching #like potential investors? idk how music works

[hysterotic]

𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 𝑵𝑬𝑿𝑻 𝑫𝑶𝑶𝑹 ✩ 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑩𝑨𝑱𝑰 𝑲𝑬𝑰𝑺𝑼𝑲𝑬

𝑺𝑯𝑬’𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 𝑵𝑬𝑿𝑻 𝑫𝑶𝑶𝑹,

𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑵𝑨𝑼𝑮𝑯𝑻𝒀, 𝑨 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻’𝑺 𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑬

baji’s placed under house-arrest after setting a cop car on fire and prior to that his mom cut off the internet as punishment, he thought it was gonna be a torturous 3 months until he finds a new source of entertainment through stalking the new girl next door, who turns out to be a former pornstar?

⤷ disturbia (2007) the girl next door (2004)

⚠︎ : stalker themes but not really, usage of weed, college!au, non-consensual filming (at first), 80% plot 20% porn, unprotected sex, baji is mean and naaaasty, breeding kink, gag kink, face slapping (once), pussy slapping, he records you two fuckinnnn

proofread by my sexy bf & my bsf who were BOTH high when they read this so if this is shitty blame them lmao

one week of house arrest almost drove him crazy. actually, almost is an understatement; he had completely lost his mind.

the judge did cut him a break by making it a 3 month house arrest instead of 2 years in jail due to his constant arson, all thanks to his mom pulling a few strings, insisting that “it’s technically not aggravated arson” and “wouldn’t do any harm, he’s just a bit impulsive”.

but at this point, he would rather do time than be facing her wrath.

he tried to cheat the ankle monitor’s alarms a couple times, thinking he could just walk out the house like he did once before when he was under house arrest, forgetting that the only reason why they let him go in the first place is because they didn’t strap an ankle monitor on him, since he was just a teen at the time.

the number of times baji was handcuffed this week had cops expecting a call about him almost everyday; sometimes, they didn’t even bother to pick up at all.

hell, this is christmas to criminals. they have their chance to do whatever their hearts desire now without worrying about authorities, all thanks to baji keisuke.

but lately? he’s been leeching off of kazutora, calling him two to three times a day.

“kazutora, you have no fuckin’ idea how much this thing itches.”

kazutora could hear baji shuffling around on his bed, even though he couldn’t see him, he knew he’s elbow deep in some bag of chips.

baji continues to speak with a mouthful, “plus my mom fuckin’ transformed, she’s a dictator now. she took my goddamn xbox– can’t even watch no TV. i’m losing it, i’m losin’ my mind just give me any information anythin’ at all what’s goin’ on out there?”

he could hear kazutora walking outside from the cars driving by and the wind blowing against the speaker, making his voice barely audible. “just say you want us to come over, you don’t gotta complain’ in my ear all the time.”

baji shoves another handful of chips in his mouth, “come over?” he looks around his hellhole of a room. “seriously?” he starts scratching the ankle monitor aggressively and running his fingers under the band.

he hears more shuffling from the speaker, as if someone had grabbed the phone from kazutora, “it’s been almost two weeks, and you didn’t miss any of our faces? i’m hurt, keisuke.” ryousei says, his voice filled with theatrical passion and intensity, he could sense him posing with his hand on his chest dramatically.

baji rolls his eyes, “you guys comin’ or what?”

he could hear another voice coming through the phone, he couldn’t make out what they said since they were heavily inaudible.

“who else is with you-“ baji questions before kazutora quickly cuts him off, “we’re almost there gotta go byeeee”

and with that, kazutora hangs up.

he clicks his tongue, throwing the phone across the room and falling back onto the bed.

no way is he gonna handle being at home for the entirety of summer break, especially since his mom decided to take away every little thing remotely entertaining in the name of “learning his lesson” and to “quit being involved with hoodlums.” as if that’s not making him want to get twice as violent–

a slight jingle interrupts his train of thought.

he furrows his brows at the sound, sticking his head up to look around his room for the source. his eyes land on a long, fluffy black tail trotting around the area where he threw the phone. he sits up seeing the rest of it’s body, catching it playfully pawing at the phone.

baji’s brows twitch, confused about how the cat managed to climb up to his room. he stands up from the bed, slowly walking towards it, “how’d y’get in here.. huh?” he questions it softly.

the cat whips it’s head towards the voice, responding to his presence, it emits soft chirps and trills, immediately striding towards his legs, going in between them to rub itself on the ankle monitor. baji steps back, feeling something sharp against his ankle.

he hums curiously at the unusual feeling, noticing something shining on the cat’s neck, he couldn’t tell what it was from how fluffy the cat is.

he crouches down for a closer look, seeing that it’s wearing a small spiked black collar with a little skull charm in the front, he tilts the charm up and turns it around seeing “nightmare” engraved in the back.

“nightmare?” a subtle grin appears on his lips, he uses his finger to tilt its chin up so he can get a better look at the cat’s face. nightmare sniffs his finger and leans it’s cheek against his hand affectionately.

he gently scratches underneath it’s chin, watching it purr softly with contentment at his affections, until the voice of a girl who sounded like she was calling out for the cat disrupts the moment.

“nai-nai? where are youuu?” you call out, making kissing sounds as an attempt to lure the cat in. your voice gets louder and louder, getting closer to his house, almost as if you were irritatingly yelling by his window.

his lips curls down into a frown as he huffs in annoyance. the cat quickly hops on baji’s shoulder as he stands back up. he peers over the window, looking at you yelling around his house’s fence while he continues scratching nightmare’s cheek. he pauses, his irked expression calms as his eyes meet your distressed face.

the face he was met with threw him for a loop, how come he has never seen you before, “has she just moved in?”

he slowly walks closer to the window to get a better look of you.

beep beep beep

he looks in the direction the noise came from, seeing a big van moving backwards towards the house next door.

he glances at another car from behind after hearing the car doors opening and closing, though he can barely see because of the van blocking his view.

he glances back at you again, seeing you run towards the car, watching your short short skirt that barely covers your ass flow every step you take til you disappear out of view.

. ˳⁺⁎˚ �� ♰ ༻ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

“has anybody seen nightmare?” you ask your parents who were walking away from the van, carrying moving boxes.

your mom sighs, her voice laced with irritation, “didn’t i tell you to not let her out of the carrier while we’re moving?”

“but she needed to pee–“

“that’s your problem now. go help your siblings with the boxes; we don’t have all day.”

“i’m not gonna help until i find her!” you whine, following behind your mom into house.

. ˳⁺⁎˚ ༺ ♰ ༻ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

baji sighs disappointingly at the thought of returning the cat, slightly turning his head towards nightmare while still keeping his eye on the front door from where you disappeared. “guess y’gotta go home.. c’mon.” he gently picks her up with one hand and sets her on the window, watching her bolt towards the house next door.

. ˳⁺⁎˚ ༺ ♰ ༻ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

the moment you heard nightmare’s collar jingle, you ran outside, sighing with relief at the sight of her, baji could see your worries melt away from your body as you crouch to pick her up and hug her. he leans his arms atop the window frames, observing the scene quietly.

“where were you?” you coo, kissing her head, noticing that she has an unfamiliar scent clinging to her. “were you snooping in people’s houses?” you turn her body to face you so you could scold her, seeing that she was distracted, staring up at something. you assumed it was a bird until you followed her gaze, eyes locking with brown ones.

his big, muscled arms were visible for you to drool over, seeing his body leaned atop the window frame, staring down at you. you feel the intensity of his gaze as it raked itself up your form, eyes darting between you and the cat. the way he –basically— checked you out made your head spin, making you weak in the knees.

he looked tall, and strong. you could see his big shoulders bulging out of his wife beater, with a couple of black rings on his hand too. and that long, jet black hair.. the cross layered necklace he was wearing.. is he seriously your new neighbor?

“good taste, nai.” you whisper in her ear as she purrs in your arms, you hesitantly bring your hand up to wave at him with a gentle smile. he nods his head at you, seemingly distracted by his thoughts.

. ˳⁺⁎˚ ༺ ♰ ༻ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

It’s an insignificant interaction; he was just greeting his new neighbor, and yet something about you had his body growing hot in a way he’s never felt before, he didn’t wanna take his eyes off of you; he nearly gets lost in a trance until he hears the ringing sound of his doorbell, crushing the tension.

he clicks his tongue, pushing himself off the window frame, looking back to where the front door is, contemplating if he should answer it or not, he slowly turns his head back to look at you again, staring at your figure that is now walking away, slowly growing smaller the farther you go, walking back inside the house.

he keeps his eyes glued to your front door, hoping that you’d come out, maybe flash him that smile again. at this point, he might even kidnap the cat just to get you to come out once more–

ding dong ding dong

the doorbell rings again, annoyingly on repeat this time.

“fucking hell, i’m comin’ i’m comin..” he quickly runs downstairs towards the front door, yanking it open irritably. his eyes are met by none other than dumb, dumber and dumbest.

“damn, you really are going through it.” ryusei greets, chuckling at baji’s disheveled look. his amusement gets cut off by chifuyu elbowing him in his stomach, wincing in pain.

kazutora walks in between the two and pushes the zip to baji’s chest, brushing past him to walk up the stairs.

baji quickly shoves it in his pocket in a panic, “don’t be openly showin’ that around! i got my mom up my ass enough.” he yells at kazutora.

“whatever! you down to roll one right now or what?” kazutora replies, completely ignoring him as he walks into baji’s room.

baji feels a pat on his shoulder, turning to face ryusei. “surprised you actually stayed home this time.” ryusei remarks, referring to the last house arrest he was in. ryusei starts walking up the stairs following behind kazutora.

he rolls his eyes and turns his head back at chifuyu, “what’re you doin’ here?”

“after kazutora told me about what happened, i felt bad leaving you be all alone, the gang misses you by the way.” chifuyu says with a smile.

a shy grin tugs at the corners of baji’s mouth, “c’mon. i’ll be fine; this ain’t a charity.” he says, turning his back towards the door, leaving it open, and walking up the stairs towards his room, with chifuyu following.

he locks the bedroom door behind him after finding kazutora on his bed, openly prepping to roll a joint, with a tray set, and ryusei sitting beside him with a remote, flicking through apple music tracks. kazutora sticks his hand out for baji to throw the zip.

“damn, she even locked apple music from you? how are you even alive right now.” ryusei mutters to himself.

baji reaches for his pocket and throws it at kazutora, “don’t be stinkin’ up my room with that; smoke out the window,” he says in a low, gravelly tone.

kazutora hums in response, continuing to pack a joint, “not worried about the cops who’re watchin’ over you seeing that from the window?” chifuyu questions.

“my mom s’worse.” he sits down on his gaming chair, leaning back, slowly rolling it towards the window where he last saw you.

he didn’t mean to stare at the house next door again; he did it subconsciously. it’s like there was something about you that pulled him in. he thought to himself; it’s none of my business, but he can’t help the need to be curious about what you were doing right now.

his eyes flick towards a figure on the room right across his. coincidentally, your room windows are aligned towards one another, he could see almost everything without trying, almost like it was there for him to look. he sees you digging through your suitcase, throwing your clothes around, searching for something.

you finally pull out a swimsuit and set it aside, you start to tug on the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly to reveal your bare back. you weren’t wearing a bra this entire time.

you seem unaware, and yet with the way your body moves, the way you smoothly took off your clothes, the way everything was perfectly angled, teasing him, it was like you knew he was watching, knew that he won’t be able to do shit with the annoying cuff on his ankle.

you walk out of your room with a swimsuit on and towel draped on your arm, disappearing from his sight. he rests his arm on the window sill, pinching his lip between two fingers, patiently waiting for your appearance again, his eyes darting between the metal band posters you already set around your room, the more he looks around, the more he learns about you.. the more intrigued he is.

a couple minutes later, his eyes flick at the back door, seeing you walk outside in your hot pink swimsuit, dipping your foot in the brand new pool, slightly shivering at how cold it is, you slowly start walking down into the water, trying to adjust to the temperature.

you begin swimming under, he sees glimpses of what looks like a tramp stamp and two bows exactly under your ass. he leans closer, trying to get a better look until he hears a loud, aggressive cough right by his ear.

he looks in his peripheral vision, seeing kazutora and ryusei smoking right behind him, with chifuyu crouched on the floor coughing, holding the back of baji’s chair for balance.

“did you even inhale it?” ryusei snickers at the sight of chifuyu struggling.

chifuyu stands up and spits out the window, clearing his throat. “that shit tastes disgusting, i’m not inhaling that!”

“quit pressurin’ him to smoke,” baji turns the chair around to face the two. “grab the wuss some beer- uh, redbull to get rid of the taste, i got a pack right there” he points with his finger, snatching the joint from kazutora in the process.

kazutora turns his head to the direction baji pointed at and walks towards it with ryusei following behind. baji spins the chair back to look at you once more and takes a puff, fully leaning against the window sill, seeing you still swimming. he seems to forget chifuyu’s still there until he hears him clear his throat, baji snaps his head to look at him.

“you know her?” chifuyu questions, raising his arm up to rest it against the wall, leaning his head on it.

baji shakes his head, putting the roach out. “she just moved in next door” he says after a few minutes of silence.

chifuyu forms an “o” with his mouth, he continues staring at you peacefully swimming then looking back at baji again. a mischievous smirk forms on his lips, “think she’s cute?”

“what the fuck, matsuno!”

“your staring at her too much, you’ve never done that with anybody!”

“so? doesn’t mean shit,” baji scoffs.

“who’re you two arguing about” kazutora pops up from behind, holding three bottles of beer and a can of redbull.

“nobody,” baji grumbles.

“nah, nah, nah—she’s not a nobody if she got baji drooling like this. he’s checking out his new neighbor.” chifuyu points at you with his chin.

baji's jaw clenched, crossing his arms irritatedly. kazutora pushes both of them aside to get a better look at you, he mutters, “hold on,” and turns around, walking towards baji’s drawers, looking through them and finally pulling out old, dusty binoculars.

“this is getting fucking creepy,” baji mumbles lowly.

“what is?” ryusei raises a brow, looking from chifuyu’s shoulders, catching you in his eyesight.

kazutora blows the dust away from the lenses, placing the binoculars on his eyes and pointing them at you, he walks closer to the window. his sight reaches your tramp stamp, “huh.. that tattoo looks familiar.”

“let me see, give me that,” ryusei snatches the binoculars from kazutora, he points the lenses towards your tramp stamp, taking a sip of his drink, seemingly deep in thought.

“you don’t think that’s…”

“no fuckin’ way…”

baji’s brows jump. “what? spit it out,” waiting for them to elaborate.

it finally hits them, literally.

ryusei almost chokes on his drink from kazutora’s continuous smacking on his back. “i know that tattoo—that’s that one pornstar! damn, what was her name?” he starts snapping his fingers, trying to jog his memory.

baji’s eyes almost burst out of his skull “HUH?!” baji and chifuyu said in unison. “how many pornos you gotta consume to identify a pornstar based on some tattoo? you fuckin’ fiends,” baji grimaces with disgust.

“i knew it,” ryusei said under his breath, walking back, looking around baji’s room trying to search for something. “you got a camera keisuke?”

“fuck you need that for?” baji spat.

ryusei pulls an old camcorder out from the top of his closet, “let’s get her to smile for the camera. that’ll show you, ponstars are naturals like that.” he walks up towards the window and hits record, slowly zooming in to get a close-up of you. “there’s the star,” he sultrily whispers

his filming was quickly interrupted by baji’s hand covering the lenses. “quit bein’ a creep! turn that off.” he shoves the camera away. “she just moved in your gonna freak her out,” chifuyu says, trying to take the camcorder out of ryusei’s grip until he puts his arm up out of chifuyu’s reach.

kazutora steps in between, backing up ryusei who continued to film you, “hell no this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! you got the chance to live next door to a goddamn pornstar” he said poking baji’s chest with a pointer finger.

baji swats his hand away, clicking his tongue as he sits back down on his gaming chair and pushes it away from the window with his leg, making sure he’s not in your sight when you catch them being stalkers.

“i don’t even know why he got that chance.” ryusei mumbles, zooming in on your figure, licking his lips, feeling baji’s glare burning a hole into the back of his head.

“huh, come to think of it.. i’ve never seen baji even look in the direction of a girl,” chifuyu says to himself, rubbing his chin deep in thought.

“and how do you know that? you stalkin’ me and keepin’ track of who i look at?” baji says bluntly

“i’m not the one who was ogling the girl!” chifuyu bites back.

“i’m seriously gonna kill you.” he jumps at chifuyu, accidentally bumping into ryusei, pushing him to fall forward into the window sill, causing him to flip over and fall out into the bushes.

you jerk your head at the sudden sound, seeing three men peering down into the bushes and then to you, meeting eyes with that raven-haired hunk again. your eyes wander to his friends and see binoculars in one of their hands. were they creeping on you swimming?

they immediately duck, their backs against the wall under the window.

“you two are jackasses, genuine jackasses.” baji says through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose, kazutora cackles and claps as if he’s seen the funniest thing ever.

“us two?! your the one who pushed ryusei out of the window!” chifuyu whisper screams before kazutora quickly smacks him on the head.

chifuyu looks back at kazutora in shock, seeing him holding a finger against his lip shushing him, he slowly stands up to peer out the window to see if you’re still staring at them.

he sees you swimming towards the stairs, watching you walk out while squeezing the water out of your hair, you feel somebody stare at you and you turn your head towards the window again.

he quickly sits back down, “yeah, she just saw me” he says, laughing in between.

chifuyu scoffs, now standing up to peek his head out to check for himself. his eyes dart around the swimming pool area, looking for you. he straightens himself up and peers down to check on ryusei, finding him gone too.

he looks back at both of them, lips pressed into a thin line. “i can’t find neither her nor ryusei.” he says, shaking his head, walking away from the window to pace around the room in a panic, already assuming the worst. the weed paranoia is getting to him already and he barely smoked.

“fuck you mean ryusei’s gone?” baji questions, he stands up to check, finding nobody there. shit.

“maybe she just went inside, no big deal!” chifuyu says nervously.

baji sighs, “yeah, ‘cause she caught you three stalkin’ her like a bunch of creeps.. now she’s gonna think her neighbors are perverts,” he mumbles, leaning against the wall.

before chifuyu and kazutora had the chance to react at baji’s hypocrisy, the doorbell rings.

“is that him?” kazutora runs to the front door window to check until chifuyu yanks his arm back away from the door before anyone sees him, “what if it’s her?“

“so? not like we can pretend we’re not home” baji points at his ankle monitor with his eyes and starts walking towards the door.

baji didn’t suspect a single thing, he wasn’t even nervous at the idea of you being the one ringing the doorbell, it’s just some girl, he thinks. so why is he frozen in place at the sight of you, drenched, wearing a skin-tight black button-up top with shorts underneath, practically swallowing your ass and thighs, a weak attempt to “cover up”, once again, being a fucking tease.

“i’m all wet.. can i come in?” your tone oozing with seductive intent.

chifuyu and kazutora pop out from behind baji, catching the scene. chifuyu looks at your form and then at baji repeatedly with a confused look. the sight looked like a skit from a porno. you truly are a natural.

baji’s hard-on was unfortunately stepped on when he sees ryusei pop out from the side with a camera, laughing hysterically at the scene that unfolded, clearly, this was all planned to be a prank. and yet, baji seems unfazed by it. he’s barely even listening at the three, mind drifting elsewhere, lingering over the idea of you genuinely being a pornstar, he can’t get the moment out of his head.

he kept his eyes on you, watching you giggle at the two arguing and yelling at ryusei for the prank he pulled. all baji was thinking about was how sweet and innocent your smile looked compared to your former lifestyle, how your strawberry pink lipgloss was glistening perfectly with your glittery skin that came from your sunscreen, how your shirt was unbuttoned at the top perfectly exposing your breasts– the hot pink bikini you were wearing, yeah.. that’s totally what he meant.

you hugged your form from the cold breeze, unknowingly making your tits look appealing. god, if he was a casting director for porn, he would hire you in an instant with him in it. a true succubus in the flesh.

ryusei blocks baji’s view of you with his camcorder, cackling in a way that grated on baji’s nerves, “you should’ve seen your face, keisuke,” he ends the video and fiddles with the camera to watch it again. “you don’t mind if she smokes with us right guys? she got locked out” he grins infuriatingly wide, finding amusement in torturing the raven haired man.

“yeah for sure, she can smoke with us, right baji?” kazutora speaks without a thought.

baji’s stare lingers on your form once more, especially the little cute ribbons that are peeking out of your shorts, holding your bikini bottoms against your hips before quickly breaking it away to speak.

“whatever.” he says nonchalantly. he moves out of the way, walking up to his room without another word.

you slightly pout at the interaction, you hoped you’d get the chance to talk to him more since your closer now, that’s the only reason why you even agreed to ryusei’s little prank. it was so worth the reaction though. you’ve had many eyes on you and your used to it by now but this is the first time you’ve felt a magnetic pull that ignited a flicker of excitement within you just from being checked out, especially the way he did.

it was a challenge trying not to stutter after seeing him opening the door, his wife beater hugging his form so deliciously, his exposed big shoulders that his long hair couldn’t cover had you drooling, and grey sweatpants too? he’s such a gorgeous man and he doesn’t even know it.

“don’t worry about him; he’s always like that,” kazutora comforts, gesturing his head inside, inviting you in properly. a slight jingle sound from his earring. “come on in, after you.”

“such a gentleman” you fawned, brushing beside him to walk up the stairs with the three behind, finally reaching baji’s room.

“you got locked out? you, uh, need to call someone?” chifuyu says, a note of concern evident in his tone. avoiding eye contact, trying his best to ignore your.. look.

“i’d rather stay stranded if you don’t mind..” you smile nervously, shoving your hands in your back pocket to avoid fidgeting.

you look around, checking out his hot mess of a room, he’s sitting on his gaming chair, staring at the cat who’s sitting on the window sill, actually, that looks like nightmare!

“how did you get in here?” you murmur lovingly, slowly walking towards the window, bending over to pet her, unknowingly having your ass directly infront of baji, yeah, no doubt. your most definitely teasing. and he’s not falling for it. he kicks his chair back a bit to hit the wall so he can face the cat more.

your eyes flick up towards your window seeing how it’s aligned so perfectly with his, you look down finding nightmare pawing at the binoculars.

you grab it, looking through the lenses and directing it towards baji, “sorry about her; she likes to explore sometimes, especially when it comes to our neighbors.” you tilt the binoculars down a bit to look at him better.

“no worries, cats’re usually like that with me” he says, his voice carrying a husky undertone.

cats love him too? can he get any hotter?

you both sit in silence for a bit until you feel smoke being blown directly on your cheek. you turn, now facing the guy with the tiger tatted on his neck. “here,” he hands you the joint, “you two can smoke, the three of us might play some video games.” kazutora fabricates, he stuffs his hand in his jacket pockets, “you don’t happen to have wifi, do you? ours got cut off.”

you take a puff, blowing it out the window. “of course, here.”

you connect them to your wifi, and kazutora uses it to his own advantage, putting it into baji’s computer. he sits on the bed with chifuyu and ryusei next to him, he opens up a porn site and starts searching for titles he remembers you being in.

he clicks on the first video that pops up and mutes the volume. you mostly did POV videos since it’s what you were mostly known for, hundreds of videos of you bent over, teasing the camera, every POV theme, you did.

you hand baji the joint, a wave of embarrassment takes over, now noticing how soaking wet you were,

“uhm, where’s the bathroom? i need to dry up.. or at least attempt to,” you nervously laugh.

“down the hall to the left” he rasps.

you walk out of the room, feeling baji’s eyes glued to your back as you went to where he directed.

“damn, is this your girl, keisuke?” ryusei teases, watching videos of you plastering your pussy on the internet. “quit it, she’s not my girl.” baji responds with an edge to his voice, continuing to pet nightmare, who’s now laying on his lap with her stomach up.

“not even curious enough to look?” kazutora questions, his head is facing baji, but his eyes are still glued to the screen.

“'m not interested.” baji says with a monotone, knowing it was a flat-out lie, but he couldn’t give in, not yet, especially with you in the house.

chifuyu narrows his eyes at baji with suspicion, nobody knows how baji thinks like he does. he knows he’s not gonna bother asking them for the titles to watch privately, since he’s not gonna hear the end of it from kazutora and ryusei.

chifuyu makes sure kazutora didn’t put it in incognito mode and secretly moves the mouse to favorite the link for baji to check out later, glancing at kazutora and ryusei, hoping they didn’t notice.

you walk back into his room, who didn’t move his eyes away from nightmare the entire time you were gone, he lifts his head up to look at you, taking a long drag from the joint. you walk towards him to snatch the joint from his lips before he finishes it, you crouch down til your eye level with nightmare to pet her, who’s still on his lap. your current position not helping baji’s situation at all.

ryusei clears his throat, leaning back against the headboard, pretending he just didn’t see your entire naked body, head to toe, in every sex position ever created. “so, how’s the move going with you?”

you stand beside the window with your back facing it, you lean back slightly, placing your hand on the window sill for support, “still going..” you sigh, exhaling the smoke out, you quickly glance at baji, catching him with his head tilted upwards ever so slightly, fixated on you with unwavering intensity, his eyes conveying a sense of intrigue.

you immediately look away, breaking eye contact to hold back a smile.

“we’d help but, uh, one of us is a little spatially challenged at the moment” chifuyu points at baji’s ankle monitor with his chin.

“yeah i can tell, he got that whole lindsay lohan thing going on.”

“who?” baji questions, tilting his head as he gazed at you, the sun peeked through the window, streaming directly into his eyes, casting a warm glow over his face, he squints slightly, his eyebrows scrunching together, almost looking like he’s winking at you. his eyes are so intensely brown it’s driving you crazy.

you giggle handing baji the joint to smoke it, he pushes the chair closer towards you and places his foot on the wall right next to your thigh, trapping you between him. he takes a puff from your fingers. the coconut flavor of your lipgloss lingers on the joint, you would’ve thought he was messing with you until your eyes land on his hands, seeing that they’re a little occupied from nightmare playfully biting them.

“where’d you say you were from?” kazutora probes.

you tilted your head towards kazutora’s direction, still keeping eye-contact with baji as he continues playing with nightmare, watching the smoke curl out from his lips as he exhales. “i’m from the city!”

“the city?” he inquires.

you hum enthusiastically in response, “and now forcefully relocated..” you relax your back against the window sill, tilting your head back, letting the breeze hit your neck for a moment as the familiar sound of your mother’s voice reaches your ears, a shiver of fear creeps up your spine, tinged with the realization that you're in a place your definitely not supposed to be, especially since you snuck out without a word.

you jolt up and duck under the window, your head is now directly next to his foot, eye level at his ankle monitor, baji silently chuckles at you, watching his shoulders shake.

“could you come in here, please?”

you look back at the four, mouthing and pointing at the direction of the voice, “my mom”

baji offers a quiet “mm-hmm”, he peers out the window, looking at your mom who’s clearly staring directly at his window.

“yeah, she’s polite and always says please but she has that tone did you notice?” you say sarcastically, realizing that you're sitting on something. you sit up and find a blue marker right under you, taking the opportunity. you bite the lid off and carefully scribble your number onto the monitor that’s resting mere inches from your face, your hand trembles slightly as you add little hearts around and a cat resembling nightmare.

“uhuh, i know that tone” baji replies, you notice a knowing smirk in his tone.

the atmosphere crackles with anticipation as he watches your every move, his gaze lingering on you intently.

you finish off your scribbles on his cuff and place the lid back into the marker, “gotta go before she kills me..” you get up, dusting off your butt from the floor. you start walking towards the door, quickly saying your goodbyes, and run outside towards your mom

baji brings his leg up to his lap to check out the cuff, seeing your little cute doodles and your number in the middle, he bites back a smile hoping his friends don’t see, he leans back against the chair, pushing it closer to the window to watch you walk towards your front door with nightmare beside you.

it’s been a week since you moved in, since you came over and wrote your number on his cuff, since you became a tattoo in his mind, and he couldn’t control his urges any longer.

he thought he could ignore the fact that he’s neighbors with a goddamn former pornstar but you giving him a show every. damn. time, you undress has been nothing but hard on him, literally.

it’s no coincidence that everytime you undress you had your back facing towards the window, you do it so torturously slow and seductive, almost as if you were giving him a strip tease every night, you knew exactly what you were doing.

in rare occasions you’d catch him staring and he would play it casual, acting like he’s busy doing whatever he does. but sometimes it’s innocent and sweet, you’d catch him staring at you playing with nightmare or getting ready for bed, you’d give an innocent wave or a little nod and he’d do it back, it’s a cute interaction but it’s still not helping him avoid whatever’s in his search history.

and that’s exactly what he’s gonna be clicking on tonight.

he opens the tab, already overwhelmed by the amount of POV options he could choose from. he clicks on the last video you made, and by a freak coincidence; it’s the girl next door themed.

the video starts off with you giving your usual strip tease by the window, classic. baji leans closer to the laptop, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes flicking between your window and the laptop screen.

you reach for your panties, the camera zooms closer to your ass, catching you linking your fingers under the straps, tight around your hips, you slowly start to pull them down, then snap! the camera pans back to your face from your sudden movement, catching you looking directly at the camera, the camera-guy ducks down immediately at the sight, muttering “shit, shit, shit!” behind the camera.

after a couple seconds of him hiding he holds the camera up, checking to see if you’re still there, noticing that you’re nowhere to be seen in your room until he hears footsteps walking towards the house, he pans the camera down catching you walk towards his front door.

the doorbell starts ringing.

baji’s eyes flick towards your window again after seeing your lights turn on from his peripheral vision. seeing you throw yourself onto your bed seemingly exhausted doing god knows what.

disappearing out of his sight; he continues watching the video that was still going.

“i’ll delete the video if you suck my dick” said the camera man, your eyes lit up at the offer, already getting down on your knees to unzip his pants. you bite your lip with anticipation as you look up at him with glassy doe eyes, correction; looking at the camera lense. you jerk his pants down along with his boxers–

a fluffy feline silhouette appears, blocking the laptop screen with its presence, demanding attention with a gentle purr emanating from her throat.

“seriously nightmare? now?” he gently pushes her off the laptop, accidentally having her tap on the keys from his push, disrupting the video and making it skip to the part where you finally get fucked.

except, the volume was all the way up. filthy loud moans emitting from his laptop speakers, baji immediately shuts it in shame, and from behind the laptop screen it was you, looking directly at him with a walkie talkie in your hands.

you click on the button, “sounds like somebody’s got access to the internet again” holding back a giggle.

the sound of your voice come out from the walkie talkie on his table, seeing nightmare pawing at it, she must’ve brought it here and was trying to get his attention for it.

he grabs the walkie talkie and rolls the chair closer to the window, click, “you could say that.”

click, “what’re you watchin’?”

click, “a continuous of.. something we recorded.”

click, “we?”

he grabs the camcorder from his desk and replays the part where you teased him on his front door directly to the walkie talkie speaker.

click, you laugh at the humiliating sound of your own voice attempting to seduce the hunk next door, “oh my god i completely forgot about that!”

he tongues his inner cheek, emitting an amused scoff. click, “i didn’t.”

click, “what? you jack off to it every night?” you joke with a small laugh.

click, he licks his canines, a sly smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “maybe”

click, “don’t you got a girlfriend?”

click, “says who?”

click, “you look like a guy who would have a girlfriend”

click, he tuts “nah, i never had time.. why the sudden curiosity? y’want me or somethin’?”

you squirm in your seat, pulling up your knees to your chest and burying your face in them. click, “i didn’t mean it like that…”

click, he tilts his head slightly, leaning back against the chair. “c’mon.. be brave, just like how you were last week on my front door.” baji sways the chair side to side with his leg.

you peek your head out from your knees, resting your chin on it. click, “you’re just gonna keep bringing that up huh..”

click, “uhuh.”

click, “what did you mean by continuous by the way?” you say after a few minutes of silence.

you watch him spin his chair side by side as he ponders his answer for a bit, click, “c’mere and i’ll show you exactly what i meant.”

you bite your lip from his boldness, you didn’t expect that from him at all, then again, you didn’t expect him to be shy either, he looks like the type of guy that makes sure he gets what he wants and god does that thought make you throb.

click, “i can’t.. i’m sort of grounded for sneaking out, ever since we moved here mom’s been eyeing me like a hawk, why don’t you come here instead?”

he places his cuffed leg up on the window sill, indicating that he’s still in house arrest, you completely forgot that you’re neighbors with a criminal, another thought that has you throbbing.

click, “how’d you get that?”

click, “burnin’ a cop car for shits n giggles.”

click, “didn’t know i was neighbors with an anarchist.” you tease.

click, he mumbles “didn’t know i was neighbors with a pornstar but y’learn new shit everyday huh?”

click, “what?”

click, “don’t worry your pretty brain, gimme a sec.” he stands up from the chair and walks out of his room, disappearing from your sight, a couple minutes pass by and he comes back with a long ladder, placing it on his window and pushes it straight towards yours.

you lean your head out of the window from his action, “are you insane?! i’m not coming in like that!”

“what? too chicken shit?” he chuckles, successfully bridging the gap between your window and his. he pulls out the camcorder and clicks on the record button, panning the lenses towards you, “i’ll hold it just c’mere.”

you shake your head, incredulous. “you’re crazy–“

“you don’t trust me?” he persists, tilting his head, his gaze fixates on you with such intensity that has you breathless.

you sigh, rolling your head back. fuck it, you reluctantly step closer to the ladder. “if i break my neck it’s on you” you slowly start to climb the ladder towards him.

he grins, his eyes lingering on you, drinking in your reaction to the height as he watches you climb up with shaky hands.

he couldn’t resist fucking with you, captivated by the way your fear only seemed to enhance how gorgeous you are, he gently starts rocking the ladder back and forth, pretending to lose his grip.

you shriek, mixing with laughter, echoing in the quiet night, you bite back your screams trying to avoid your parents attention. “you fucking dickhead! stop!” your grip tightens.

“i don’t even think this fall is gonna break a neck i think it’s gonna kill me!” you whisper scream at him, laughter turning into nervous giggles.

he finds your determination cute, even after his little attempt to give you a heart attack, he relents, “alright i’ll behave, just get over here already.” he steadies the ladder.

you resume your ascent, curses punctuating the quiet of the night. you finally reach his window, breathless but wearing a triumphant grin, he offers you a hand, pulling him into his room with a subtle yet lingering touch.

you both stand face to face, the adrenaline from your little escapade still coursing through your veins, “didn’t know you had it in you.” he toys.

you roll your eyes, playfully pushing his shoulder, “you’re an asshole you know that!” a hint of a smile plays at the corners of your lips, unable to suppress it.

he zooms the camera lense at your cheek, “yeah, think i made you cry a little bit” he teases, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

“shut up, it’s just the wind in my eye” you mutter, wiping at your cheek with the back of your hand.

“is that right?” his hand moves almost instinctively, gently cupping your cheek as he wipes the tear away with his thumb. his touch starts to linger, gaze fixating on your lips, slowly tracing his finger along your bottom lip.

you gasp softly, caught off guard by the sudden shift of the atmosphere, his touch intoxicating, sending shivers down your spine. instinctively, you lean into his touch, your tongue darting out to lick the lingering taste of your tears from his finger.

your eyes lock, lips slightly parting, taking in his thumb in your mouth as you start to suck on it.

he sighs, biting back his groan from emitting out of his throat, observing you from the camcorder as you suck on his thumb like a mindless whore, “uhuh, open that pretty mouth f’me.. all the way.” he flicks his eyes from the camera screen to look at you, you do as he says just from the look in his eyes, like a good girl would, he starts tracing his thumb around your tongue, thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth, prepping it for his cock that was already bulging out of his sweats.

“suck it just like that..” he says, drunkenly watching your eyes water as you gag around his fingers, he tuts, “already?” you whimper, drooling all over his fingers, “m’ i gonna have to prep that pussy too?” you shake your head, whining even more.

“c’mon baby, use your words.” he pinches your cheeks together smushing your face, your doe eyes flick down to his crotch before looking back up again, soft lips pushed out in a pout, you link your fingers down under at the band of his boxers, pulling him closer towards you.

his grip tightens on your cheek as he lifts your head up, the look on his face when he stares down at you makes you weak in the knees.

“you actually wet this time?” he teases, bringing up what happened last week yet again,

you tease back, “how about you touch me and find out?”

he lightly slaps your cheek shutting you up, making you yelp, rubbing your thighs together after he genuinely made your clit embarrassingly throb from the slap. his hand finds its place on your cheek again, “quit being a tease and do as i say princess” he mocks.

“what does that needy pussy want, huh?”

“wanna suck your dick.” the way you were acting so damn shy and obedient as if you weren’t whoring yourself out and plastering your pussy all over the internet makes his dick spring up in an instant.

“yeah?” he tilts his head, moving the camera away to admire you, the ends of his hair tickling your skin, you nod persistently, he grins wider, his canines poking out of his lips, his hand slides down your throat and grips around it, pulling you closer towards his face as he locks his lips with yours,

your plump coconut flavored lips kisses him back, groaning at your taste, remembering how he first tasted it when it was lingering on the joint. you deepen the kiss after feeling his grip tighten,

he pulls you closer towards his chest, making you stand on your tippy toes savoring the kiss, your hands rest atop his chest to tug on his shirt desperately, silently begging for more of him, his tongue licks at the bottom of your lips. finally breaking the kiss off to breathe, his spit string connected to your lips, your knees already growing weak from the small make out sesh as he grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it down forcing you on your knees, enough to make your pupils dilate at the subtle feeling of pain, he takes a mental note of your masochism and unlinks his sweats, sitting down on his chair, legs spread wide open for you to drool and gush over.

he points the camera towards you again, “what’re y’waitin’ for huh? suck what you’ve been beggin’ for.”

your fingers tremble with desire, squeezing your thighs together getting wetter and wetter from how deep his voice is, you curl your fingers under the boxer band and pull it down, freeing his thick fat dick out from it’s confinements, falling entranced with the bobbing of his cock that sprung upwards towards his stomach.

your hand reaches out to grab his cock, wrapping him around your delicate hand, slowly jerking him back and forth. your fingers aren’t even near touching from how thick he was, a fat flushed tip pooling with pre making you drool at the sight.

you part your lips, flattening your tongue around his tip, circling around it, toying with him– toying with his patience,

he rolls his head back holding in his groans as you bob your head up and down painfully slow, he snakes his fingers through your hair, grabbing a handful of it to push you down further, thrusting in your throat, back and forth. you moan on his dick, he grips onto the camcorder tight, your throat vibrations against it almost made him lose control, he yanks your hair pulling you back away from his dick, groaning at the loss of you.

saliva trailed from your mouth to his tip, making his dick twitch at the sight.

you teasingly kiss at the tip, giggling at his reaction as you quickly got up to walk over his bed, bending over, crawling towards the middle of it. you arch your back, ass up with your head down, you look back at him motioning him to walk over with your finger as you moved your hips back and forth.

he zooms the camcorder at your form, “there she is..” he slowly starts to walk over towards you, he grabs your hips, hooking onto your black lace shorts and tugging it back towards his crotch to grind on you, you arch against him, moaning at the friction of his hardened dick against your aching clit, pushing yourself back like a bitch in heat, “pretty fuckin’ sight, right there.”

he reaches his hand down, skimming up your thighs, spreading it apart more, the hand at your thigh slides up and cups your ass, pulling your shorts upwards to reveal the outline of your plush pussy, you silently thank god you were wearing black or you’d already have a visible wet spot.

you can’t help the blush that consumes your entire face, burying your face into his blanket from embarrassment, “stop teasing me..”

he hums in response, getting a close up of your outline on his camera, “i haven’t even seen your pussy and just from the outline of it.. jesus christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.” he says through gritted teeth as if he was straining to hold himself back from eating you,

he starts kissing your clothed clit, burying his sharp nose up the seam of your shorts. “need to taste you.” he rips off your shorts in a blink of an eye,

“w-wait-“ “i’ll buy you new ones baby, quit whinin’.’”

he pulls at the sides of your panties, letting them go to snap back against your pussy. you whimper at the sensation, greedily moving your hips against his finger trying to get him to touch you already. he tuts, moving his hand away making you miss his fingers, you feel a sharp smack against your ass, “be patient.”

he slowly starts pulling them off of you, you wish you weren’t so embarrassed from your position so you could look at his pretty face, it’s always what drove you crazy about him, feeling his eyes on you everytime you undress in-front of the window, of course you fucking did that on purpose, your neighbor is hot for god’s sakes! all you ever fantasized about was him, him, him.

and here he is, right in-between your legs from behind, recording and staring at your pretty pussy glistening around his index finger, slowly rubbing your slit up and down, his long finger slides up inside you, curling it, the bottom of his palm rubs right against your clit.

baji hovers above you, jaw clenched as he works his hand fast, shoving his ring finger to join his middle one. he whispers in your ear, “you’re so fuckin’ hot like this, so needy for me.” he kisses and bites the back of your neck, trailing his lips down your back towards your ass, lowering himself to be in direct line of sight of your pussy again.

he lightly starts sucking on your now swollen clit, burying his face in your cunt, messily eating you making the nastiest noises, which sends your hips squirming away from his lips, he circles his arms around your thighs, keeping you still enough while he tasted you.

he continues finger-fucking you, hardening his tongue to lick at your clit. he changes his thrusts to the scissoring motion. even though you told him you didn’t need prepping for his cock, something tells him that you’re not gonna be able to take it, begging him to stop.. whining about how it’s too much, the thought of hurting you like that and stretching your cunt out to only fit the form of his cock got him twitching.

seems like he’s not the only one who’s throbbing already, feeling your walls tighten up around his fingers, thighs trembling beyond your control as he holds it down with his grip that squeezes you from time to time. your moans, pleads and whimpers were music to his ears as you climax on his mouth,

you grip at the sheets feeling him spit on your pussy, sucking and tasting your juices with his eyes dilated, taking in the sight of his meal as if this is his last one, cause you truly are gonna be the fucking death of him. his fingers spread open your folds, watching his spit drip in between, clenching around nothing since you were achingly empty, he suddenly lifts his face, coming up to hover over you, continuing to work his fingers into you, fucking your own slick back into your cunt. “think she can handle my cock baby?” he gives your pussy a quick slap!

you clamp your teeth, hissing at the slap, you push yourself up with your arm to meet his eyes, biting your plump lips as you look back at him finger fucking you, the corners of his mouth glistening with your arousal, you nod persistently.

“use your words.” he gives your pussy another slap, “yes, yesyesyes..! please..” you plead pathetically, tears leaking from overwhelming pleasure already and he hasn’t even fucking started.

“atta girl, gonna give your pussy what it keeps throbbin’ for, and ‘m not gonna fuckin’ stop.” he says in between ripping off a condom from its confinement with his teeth and slides it on his cock, you moan after every promise he makes as he slowly sinks his tip in, your swollen plush lips swallowing and clenching him already, “shit.. ease up baby, you’re so goddamn tight.” his head tilts back, feeling you resist him, he hisses trying so hard to hold back from blowing his load right then and there.

he slides his hand to the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as his entire length finally sinks into you, you immediately grip on his arms, nails digging into him as a whine leaves your throat.

he pulls out and slides back in, over and over, his eyes glued to the way your slick is already coating his cock, he keeps his pace slow and hard, finding your spots and avoiding hitting your cervix, as much as he loves the thought of seeing you in pain he’d rather watch you squirt from overwhelming pleasure all over his abdomen.

his head dips down into the crook of your neck, biting it to suppress his groans, holding back from pulling out the condom and snapping his hips against your ass, the thought of breeding you is slowly consuming him and he’s trying his very best to hold that back.

suddenly, the creak of the front door of the house interrupts, followed by the soft thud of it closing. baji recognizes his mom’s footsteps slowly approaching the stairs, he suddenly straightens up at the sound, turning his head towards his door expecting her to barge in like she usually would, he takes the opportunity to slide the condom off, slowly shoving his tip back in, ignoring her presence in the house.

“s-stop.. i think somebody’s here.. i-“ he cuts you off immediately shoving two fingers into your mouth, “suck ‘n shut the fuck up.” the worst part about all of this is that he doesn’t stop.

matter of fact, his pace is moving faster than before, sounds of his hips roughly clapping your ass echoes around his room. you try to talk with a mouthful, “she’s gonna hear-“ “i don’t give a shit.” he gags you with his fingers, rolling his waist to knock into you, soaking wet pussy coating his abdomen, strings of slick connecting the two of you as he continues to kill your guts, forcing you to swallow back your screams as you mindlessly suck on his fingers like a dumb whore.

the second he started fucking you raw, everything that was holding him back from brutally pounding you is gone, your pussy’s too damn addictive, he can’t miss it for a minute, god if he was one of your costars he would’ve grown attached to you, making the producers yell “cut” cause he just. won’t. stop. fucking you.

you plead for him to stop, trying to push him back, too overstimulated for another orgasm, you suppress more moans from escaping your lips as he shoves all of his pulsating dick inside your wet cavern. the base of his cock meets your slit to let you know just how absolutely deep he’s gone in.

you were a siren to him, whimpers and squeaks too addictive to hear that he falls in a trance, watching you suppressing your noises like he ordered you to. he’s already planning on rewarding you for being such a good girl for him, ideas about lapping on your pussy nonstop cloud his mind, yeah. he’s gonna make you his after this.

for now, you don’t care about anything else except the feeling of his intoxicating desperate thrusts as he rams more forcefully inside, tears well up your eyes along with your whimpers. slobbering over his fingers and choking on your spit, you clench around him as you feel a growing sensation in your lower abdomen, aside from butterflies.

baji finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, “speak up baby.” he taunts before tightening his hand around your neck “fuckmybrainsoutfuckmybrainsout please please..” you can barely form a word from the pressure he’s putting against your windpipe, the only words that emit from your mouth are the words of a bitch in heat who’s clit possessed her body, mind and soul, and that’s exactly who you are right now.

“shit. let me cum inside you and i will princess.”

“wh- what about the condom..”

he grunts feeling you tighten around him, “must’ve slipped out.”

he’s so fucking mean, you’d be lying if you said you hated it, especially with the way you clenched around him after finding out that he was fucking you raw this entire time.

you nod, you nod desperately and latch onto his arms when the skin slapping becomes louder and louder with each second that passes, you cry in absolute euphoria as he chases his orgasm, feeling his own climax budding inside of him.

you start clapping your ass up to meet his thrusts, your mind brainless from his constant fucking, focused on one thing and one thing only.

your tits bounces as he jerks his hips more rapidly, he cusses under his breath, catching up to an animalistic pace until you completely disintegrate under him by the time you reach your climax.

your legs shake and your lips quiver, baji takes the opportunity and coats your insides with his load, shooting thick ropes of white all over your walls as you clench your cunt around him, draining the life out of him from the tip of his dick just from your tight pussy.

gasping and whimpering as he slowly pulls out of you to direct the camcorder towards your pussy, watching how his hot seed oozes out of the hole he just destroyed. he gives your ass a smack, flesh shaking like jelly as you push out more of his seed, making it drip down your slit, he grabs your ass spreading you open to give more room for it to ooze out.

“you’re so fucking perfect.. mine. all mine..” he says softly from behind the camcorder, he pans the camera towards your face, you smile into your shoulder blissfully and giggle as he films your bruised and used cunt. “mhm.. only mine.”

#this was sitting in my drafts for MONTHS lmao #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #baji keisuke #baji keisuke smut #tokyo revengers baji keisuke #tokyo revengers baji #baji keisuke x reader #keisuke baji #chifuyu matsuno #ryusei satou #tokyorev #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x you #baji x you #baji x reader

[roycevelvet]

Tangled hearts

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x reader Warnings: none Notes: I have nothing interesting to say, I was listening to 'Heather' lol + i was thinking about Sons Of Anarchy Jax while writing this, pls keep that in mind x

You were walking next to Noah to your local pub, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you like a whirlpool. You'd been best friends with Noah for as long as you can remember, sharing laughs, tears, heartbreak, happiness and everything in between. But there was this secret, this feeling you kept hidden deep down—a kind of love that felt too risky to admit, scared it might ruin your friendship.

As you arrived at your local pub, the familiar sights and sounds washed over you as you settled in your usual spot. Noah plopped down beside you, his smile lighting up the room. It was a routine, almost, Noah snagging the seat next to you without fail. If he didn't, well, he'd sulk like a kid missing their favorite toy.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Noah asked, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in closer.

"I was thinking we could start with a game of pool," you suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied, his tone light and playful. "But you know I'm going to beat you at pool, right?"

You laughed. “We'll see about that," you teased, your heart swelling with love for your best friend. "Besides, if you beat me, I might have to find a handsome stranger to console me."

There was a pause, a flicker in Noah's eyes that caught your attention. His smile wavered, his gaze shifting.

"Really?" Noah's asked, arching his brow.

You shrugged. "Who knows?" you said with a playful wink. "I might just sweep some unsuspecting guy off his feet with my killer pool skills."

Noah's expression darkened. “Mh, okay.” he muttered.

You furrowed your brow, caught off guard by the sudden change in Noah's demeanor. "Are you okay?" you asked, concern coloring your tone.

Noah forced a smile, avoiding your gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine," he insisted, his tone not quite convincing. 

Lost in your thoughts, you attempted to immerse yourself in conversation with your other friends, hoping to distract yourself. But then, like a sudden gust of wind disrupting the peace, the door swung open almost with a theatrical flair, like those damn Hollywood movies, and just the most beautiful girl stepped inside.

Your heart skipped a beat as she made her way across the room, her presence along drawing the attention of everyone around her. Your gaze followed her, unable to tear away as she approached Noah, her smile as bright as the stars.

And then, like a dagger to your heart, Noah turned towards you and the rest of your group, his eyes lit up with genuine joy. "I want you to meet someone special," he said, his voice filled with excitement.

"This is Heather," he introduced, his gaze never leaving your face. "My girlfriend."

The words hung in the air like a heavy shroud, suffocating you with their weight. You forced a smile, your heart breaking with each syllable that escaped Noah's lips. Who the fuck is she and where did she came from? Since when has Noah a girlfriend?

"It's lovely to meet you, Heather," you said with the sweetest smile.

Heather smiled warmly. "Likewise! Noah's told me so much about you," she said, her voice a gentle melody in the chaos of your thoughts.

As Noah and Heather chatted with the others, you felt yourself drifting further away.

Nicholas squeezed your hand, his silent support a lifeline. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” you whispered back as casually as you could sound.

You watched as Noah and Heather sat down hand in hand, unable to suppress the ache in your heart.

—

Feeling overwhelmed, you excused yourself to go to the restroom, Juno, your best friend, offering to come with you. As soon as the door closed behind you, the tears just came streaming down, and you collapsed against the wall, also like a fucking Hollywood movie.

Juno wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight as you sobbed. Juno knew about your feelings towards Noah.

"I don't know what to do, Juno," you whispered between sobs. "Noah, he... he's always so flirty with me, always acting strange when I mention other guys, always so touchy and needy and then he pulls this stunt? Since when is he dating a girl named Heather?”

Juno's grip tightened around you, her own confusion evident in her silence for a moment. "I wish I had the answers for you, Y/N," she finally said. "But I don’t, I’m sorry, men are trash."

Her unexpected comment caught you off guard, and despite feeling heavy, a little laugh came out. It was a moment of relief in the middle of all the chaos.

You nodded, tears still running down your face. Despite feeling sad and insecure because Heather was the most stunning girl you’ve had ever seen, you knew you had to act tough.

Standing up straight, you wiped away your tears. "No man is going to make me cry today," you declared. "I'm not going to let Noah ruin my night. I'm here to have fun, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

—

As the night rolled on and the drinks kept coming, you did your best to ignore Noah and Heather. But for some reason, Heather seemed dead set on getting to know you, constantly interrupting your conversations with her silly questions. You just wished she'd leave you alone with her pretty eyes, perfect nose, and flawless skin.

Despite your efforts to be friendly, you kept your interactions with her short. Not really in the mood to mingle with her, even though nothing was her fault actually. It’s not like she had any say in how God chose her to be his favourite. You asked Noah to play a game of pool, but suddenly he wasn't interested anymore, only eyes for Heather. So, you did what you knew best: flee the situation and find that handsome stranger to console you.

If Noah could bring along his girlfriend, you figured you could find some fun for the night too, right?

Juno was by your side, the ultimate wing woman. It being a Friday night, the pub was crowded with people. It didn't take long for Juno and you to approach a couple of guys for a game of pool. You played the part of a clueless girl, pretending you didn't know how to play, so the tall, blonde haired stranger would offer his help, just like in the movies, again. 

As you engaged in the game, bantering back and forth, the tension between you and the stranger grew stronger. With a playful smirk, he leaned in closer, his eyes locking with yours. "You know, for someone who claims not to know how to play, you're doing pretty well," he smiled.

You chuckled softly, feeling a flutter in your chest. "Beginner's luck, I suppose," you replied. "But who knows, maybe you could teach me a thing or two?"

A spark of interest igniting in his eyes. "I'd be happy to give you a few pointers," he said flirty. "But only if you promise to give me a chance to win you over with more than just pool skills."

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Well, in that case, consider me intrigued," you said, a smile playing at your lips. "Lead the way, pool master."

“I am Jax by the way” he said as he flashed a smile. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

—

Noah watched as you interacted with that douche, sharing laughs and exchanging glances, and couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. His discontent grew more apparent by the minute. 

Finally, unable to contain his annoyance any longer, Noah started bitching to Nicholas. "Can you believe Y/N right now?" he asked sharply. "She's completely ignoring me for that guy. It's like she doesn't even care that I'm here. I mean us, I thought it was a friends night out.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, looking at Noah with a hint of amusement. "Maybe she's just having fun," he suggested.

But Noah shook his head, his frustration evident. "It's not just that," he continued, growing more agitated. "That guy she's with, he's not good enough for her. And he clearly doesn't have a clue what she wants.”

“And you know what Y/N wants? Are you’re the Y/N expert?” he laughs.

Without hesitation, Noah replied firmly, "Yes, of course I do. And it's not that guy." His tone left no room for doubt.

Nicholas listened carefully as Noah complained further. "Are you jealous?" Nicholas asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Noah's expression darkened, his jaw tensing as he struggled to contain his emotions. "Why would I be jealous?" he replied defensively. "I've got Heather, remember?"

But Nicholas could tell that Noah wasn't being completely honest. It was clear that Noah's true feelings for you were far more complicated than he was willing to admit.

—

As you chatted with Jax during the game, seeing Noah and Heather being all lovey-dovey in the corner made you feel a bit jealous, well this was maybe an understatement. They looked so cozy together, like they belonged with each other. It made you want to puke, want to pull your hair out but it also made you wish you were Heather as well. You just wanted to smash her pretty, little face into a wall. So, yeah, you were only a bit jealous.

"So, how did you end up here tonight?" Jax asked, flashing you a friendly smile as he lined up his shot.

“Nothing special, just hanging out with some friends.” You replied nonchalantly.

Jax chuckled, leaning against the pool table. "Same here. Thought I'd come out and see what the night had in store. And I must say, meeting someone as intriguing as you was definitely unexpected."

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. "Flattery will get you everywhere," you teased, taking your turn at the pool table.

As the game continued, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you and Jax. But you couldn't stop thinking about Noah and Heather. Feeling jealous like that was weird for you, and it made you feel like like you weren’t good enough.

But before you knew it, the game had ended, but the tension between you and Jax grew strong. With a shy smile, you found yourself blurting out, "Do you maybe want to go for some fresh air?”

You knew you were acting out of spite and jealousy, but Jax was a cute guy, so no harm, right?

Jax's eyes lit up with excitement, mirroring your own. "I'd love to," he replied eagerly. "Lead the way." mimicking your words from earlier.

You motioned for Juno, to let her know you were okay as you and Jax made your way out of the bustling pub.

—

Meanwhile, Noah's mood was shifting from bad to worse as he watched you leaving with Jax. His face turned red with anger, and he clenched his fists, fuming silently. Nicholas noticed Noah's frustration and tried to calm him down.

“Are you okay, man?” Nicholas asked.

Noah waved him off, trying to play it cool. "It's nothing, just being protective, you know? Y/N's my best friend, and I just want to make sure she's okay," he said, but his words rang hollow, even to himself.

And to make matters worse, Heather was up his ass as well now. Heather, who had been observing the situation all night, couldn't hold back her frustration any longer. She wasn't a fool. Noah was always talking about you. About how funny you were, how kind you were, even how beautiful you were. That's why Heather wanted to get to know you tonight, to scout the competition.

"Noah, ever since Y/N went to talk with that guy, you've been acting weird," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Noah's facade cracked, his frustration boiling over. "Why are you acting jealous all of a sudden? Y/N’s just my best friend," he snapped.

Heather's eyes widened in shock, hurt flashing across her face. "Excuse me?" her voice rising in anger. “I’m the one acting jealous? You're the one with a girlfriend, yet you're acting like a possessive boyfriend over another girl. Maybe you should figure out what you really want before pointing fingers at me!”

"No, no, it's not like that," Noah tried to backtrack, but his words only seemed to further fuel Heather's anger.

"What do you mean it's not like that? It’s exactly like that!” Heather yelled, her voice sharp with frustration.

Heather stood up in a hurry, grabbing her jacket from the chair. "Call me when you made up your mind about what you want, I don't have time for this." she said firmly before storming out of the pub. 

Noah watched her go, his jaw clenched in stubborn silence. He made no move to follow her, his gaze followin her to the door where he spotted you standing outside. The sight of you and the stranger chatting outside only seemed to add fuel to the fire of Noah's already simmering emotions. A mixture of jealousy and frustration swirling within him. 

He didn't know what to do, so he just stayed where he was. He didn't chase after Heather, and he didn't approach you either. He just stood there, watching, feeling lost.

To be continued.

#noah sebastian #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #bad omens #angst #light angst #bad omens fan fic #bad omens fic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #fandom

[youryanderedaddy]

Are you still writing about Edgar?

Yeah but I yassified him (he's evil now) (well, more evil)

tw: female reader, non - con, cockwarming, snuff (watching), threats, captivity, abuse, hinted murder (not reader), degradation

My Ko - fi <3

You shudder, leaning back against his hard shoulders. You can feel the hot sweat sticking to your skin and you want to scratch at your body in a desperate attempt to feel yourself clean and proper again - but this isn’t an option when you’re so stuffed you feel like your insides are going numb. Of course this doesn’t stop the killing machine taking the appearance of a man from pounding into you even harder, short staccato thrusts that leave you breathless. You’re starting to notice the pattern - he’s slow in the beginning while you still have energy to keep up and gets meaner and meaner, bullying his way into your cervix as you get tired and sloppy.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking screen.” Edgar hisses in your ear with one meaty fist wrapped around your throat tight like a leash. Your legs are spread as far as they can go without dislocating, and despite all his hushed threats that leave you gagging, you still want them intact at the end of the torture session. You blink through the thick tears glued to your eyelashes and make an effort to focus on what’s happening on the small black and white TV. There is a girl. She’s screaming. She’s bleeding. A big buff guy with a chainsaw is taunting her - and you tell yourself it’s just a movie; it’s all fake. The blood, the cruel laughter, the scorching screams, the shivers they send down your spine. Such good actors, you think. Certainly better than you would be had you been in their shoes. 

“That’s the best part.” The killer whispers down your ear as his hand tightens around your neck, cutting your air supply for a good few seconds - and while you’re choking on your own spit, you can feel his member throb inside you, wet with pre - cum. Suddenly your heart starts beating faster inside your chest as if trying to break out of your ribcage, and you make the mistake of looking up. Perhaps you’re looking for some type of human warmth, for a smile, a reassuring glare, a dimple or even an automatic twitch of approval at the corner of his lips - but all you’re met with is the same old black porcelain mask along with a pair of cold dead eyes staring back at you, completely empty. Devoid of anything, but sadistic animal pleasure at your expense. 

“You’re not fucking looking, slut.” The man growls, agitated, reaching to slap you across the face. It stings, but you barely feel it, too overwhelmed to care about pain at this point. But eventually his deep, domineering voice registers in your head and you obey automatically, turning your head back at the screen. “That’s a good girl.” He coos at you, but such gentle words sound unnatural coming from him - he twists them. He fucks with them and messes them up, making a mockery out of the sweetness, manipulating intimacy in the way he knows would hurt the most, so when he hits you again, you can actually feel it.

On the tape you can make out certain blurry moments - there is a rather artistic close - up of the woman’s eye being torn out, making her chapstick - red lips curl up in an almost theatrical fashion, and if you didn’t know the creator of the film yourself, you would have fully believed it was just an overdramatic slasher movie meant to scare over - curious teenagers, locked in their mom’s basement. You can recall a long forgotten essay you had just started way before you were stolen away never to be seen again, about the objectifying sexual gaze in old horror flicks. You want to laugh, because it’s funny - but you don’t, because it’s also incredibly fucking sad. 

In the next moment his left hand is entangled into your shaggy, loosened locks, pulling at your scalp, and you moan, even when you know that to Edgar pain and pleasure mean all the same, look the same, sound the same - so how could he ever make out a difference? So you don’t blame him when he sinks his teeth into your throat and pumps himself inside you, bouncing your body up and down on his cock just like a toy, only slightly more human than a fleshlight. You can feel yourself growing wet and you look down just to make sure you’re still capable of such devine human feeling, but it’s yet another trap. 

It’s his fingers. They’re long and bloody, curling up inside your tight slippery hole. You hold back the sigh of relief, because it’s obviously not your blood - yet your eyebrows narrow. You can’t help but wonder who was the miserable fucker who died for you to not have a painful dry fuck for the first time in weeks, but you don’t let yourself dwell on the topic, because you’d rather die than let your captor see you cry for the second time.

“K-keep looking.” The murderer groans, short of breath, growing soft inside you - but of course he doesn’t pull out or even move away like the sadistic fuck he is. You’re not sure if he’s looking at you looking at the woman with her head decapitated and the knife sticking out her naked chest, or if he’s just blissed out and dissociating into space. Edgar pulls on his sweaty white shirt, and the only evidence of his humanity left - his lust, manifests as redness on his neck and white stars in his empty eyes. 

“You just twitched.” He purrs with a certain boyish giddiness to his usually husky voice, letting his hands grope at your open trembling thighs, caressing the old healed scars on your battered skin. “It’s because I’m fucking scared–” You try to argue, but the panic settles at the back of your throat like a massive, sticky lump of fear and you just can’t continue with whatever you wanted to say. Your voice is hoarse and tired anyways - why even try at this point? It always ends the same. 

“That means you’re getting used to it.” Edgar grins, stroking his chin as if he is deep in thought. Then he laughs with that nasty little chuckle that you now associate with pink razors and pins, and sometimes needles. “You used to fucking piss yourself at those helloween movies for kids.” He kisses your neck, pulling you closer into a bear hug, and you wonder if he’s intentionally squeezing all your vital organs in. “Now you’re getting off to my old tapes like a fucking snuff bunny. I’m proud of you, baby.” His mask falls on the ground, revealing his face. It’s the same as usual - evil and bloody. 

“Just don’t get too used to it, m’kay?” The killer smiles coldly, but his eyes remain just as lifeless as five seconds ago. He pinches your nose playfully, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Because soon enough you might just find yourself at the other end of it all.” He squints, his sides heating up with perverse excitement. “And I’d hate for you to make a boring actress.”

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #yandere smut #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #tw non con

[irenadel]

Pygmalion.

Chapter 4. She rose to his requirement, dropped the playthings of her life.

This chapter gutted me so once more, no beta we die like suicidal teenagers, set after the fateful murder/suicide of “The Only Man In The Sky" The slow burn up and turned the fuck on. We have smut, I repeat we have smut. It's not the smut we need maybe, but it's the smut I deserve. Homelander still needs a friend tho.

Chapter 1. That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain Chapter 2. We sat grown quiet at the name of love Chapter 3. He touched me, so I live to know that such a day, permitted so

He knew you could feel your phone vibrating (the newest, most expensive thing you owned since a harried Vought assistant had delivered it to your door), both because he could hear your heart speeding up in anticipation and because, through the flimsy barrier of your store’s concrete roof and thin ceiling tiles, he could see your hand fly to your back pocket. He was also able to catch a glimpse of the brief pull of your exasperated smile.

He needs you to stop fucking smiling and hurry it up, he thinks almost fondly.

Unfortunately, that quick grin costs you. Whatever goddamn idiot you are trying to service seems to think you are laughing at him (you should, he thinks, rolling his eyes, bored already) and that sets your customer off. And for a second, Homelander is almost pleased by that cocksucker screaming at you. It serves you right. Because you’ve been WASTING your time (his time) and kindness (HIS kindness, HIS rightful property) on the fucking undeserving mud. He’s had to hear you speak to this pathetic, daft old man in the same cheerful, soothing voice you use for HIM. You’ve been smiling at this idiot with that stupid, sickly-sweet (wonderful) smile of yours (his! his by right!) and he, for one, is fucking fed up with it.

It catches him off-guard when you start to cry. The anger comes first, surprising in its suddenness because he’s become so unused to anger when you’re around. But goddamn it, you cry so easily! It’s frankly embarrassing. He feels it hot and indignant and nauseous in the pit of his belly, like he imagines being sick must be like. Cannot decide who this anger is for: you, your stupid job or that idiot trying to apologize. He wants to break something about this, he is going to BREAK that asshole as soon as you stop your sniveling—

“Hey!” Your manager (insignificant, pathetic and completely outside of Homelander’s scope of possibilities) steps in between you and the half-irate, half-apologetic customer (“I was just telling her I didn’t need a fucking online profile! She doesn’t have to get so fucking worked up!”). His authority is immediate and definite and Homelander feels the alien white-hot burn of envy. “You can leave, sir. Customers who speak like that to my people are not welcome here. Goodbye.”

He hugs you and calls you something in Spanish that makes Homelander bristle in outrage. Sends you to your overdue lunch and you are so pathetically grateful it makes him ill.

It’s not right. It is, in fact, obscenely wrong. He feels strangely and absurdly robbed and considers flying off to leave you fending for yourself. It would serve you right if he did. You would have certainly earned it, missy—

Except you don’t quite make it to the roof. You stop on the last couple of stairs, settle your stupid little packed lunch and sit down, face hiding between your knees. You don’t cry anymore, Homelander would have known if you did, you just take deep, gulping breaths… 

He feels stupid for a moment… Then he decides he’ll be damned if he lets you rob him of your tears as you had robbed him of your gratitude.

He breaks the roof’s lock and crushes its alarm mechanism before you have time to even turn his way, let alone protest, and takes advantage of your shock (seriously misplaced, you should know better by now) to sweep his cape out of the way and settle theatrically by your side.

“So… what’s for lunch?” He tries, offering you his best camera-worthy grin and you take the bait for a second before bursting into tears again. You’re such a pain, Homelander thinks, pleased as you, at long last, fall into his arms and let him be your hero. What would you do without him?

Probably bore someone else with your little complaints.

It turns out that what’s for lunch is leftover Thai from Lumlum on 49th between 9th and 10th for him and a salad with shredded chicken and (in his opinion) an excess of bell peppers for you. Homelander is equal parts annoyed and flattered by the leftovers, carefully curated from your dinner last night with the only one among your pathetic friends who can actually afford to eat out. It’s not too spicy, I could stand it and I’m shit at spicy curries, you tell him confidently and he relents solely because he enjoys your endless attempts to get him to eat new things.

You’re still weepy, but Homelander is pleased to see that the city sun, his own marvelous self, and the well-worn routine of your lunch hour has finally made you relax enough to fill the empty spaces with your chatter.

You’ve been doing this since you started going back to work full time at the end of your semester. You bring enough lunch for two and he, Homelander, lets you bask in his presence for one glorious hour of your ordinary life. He sees it as a sort of charity work, given how much it perks you up, no doubt massively improving your day.

Sometimes you talk. Well, most of the time. You talk a lot. It was… unsettling, the way you would get him to spill whatever it was that bothered him. He would start with complaints about Ashley and the incompetent board at Vought and then he would be telling you about Stan Edgar, or god forbid, Vogelbaum. (Or at least a version of Vogelbaum… one you could understand.)

You always had something interesting to say.

“… I get it… sometimes you wish they’d done something that left scars then you’d feel like it was real. Like it counted.”

And then he’d be paralyzed with sympathy and longing. Like he’d almost reached something, some important bit of understanding that had eluded him. Like there was a physical thing between you, tying the two of you together. You’d have found a better way to say it.

Today, you sounded more tired than outraged. He did not like the defeat in your voice.

“… it’s not that I want it to stop… it’s just that it grinds you down, and I don’t know if it’ll ever get better… if it’ll ever stop being so hard and I’m so sick of trying.”

Something like alarm bells pulse through his veins and in a panic-stricken moment he grabs for your wrists (leaving bruises you will later ignore, because by now you have ignored every other warning sign), holds you away from him like you could burn him (hurt him, by means he has only just begun to understand). You don’t seem to grasp the depths of it, just a bare glimpse of the animal fear that had gripped him for a second, and try, immediately, to diffuse it as best as you can.

“Jesus don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean that, I mean… you know?” But there’s that tired look of defeat on you again, like even complaining takes too much effort, as you gesture at your own body (soft, so soft and comfortable in his arms he suddenly wishes he’d had thought to hold you again instead). “Eat right, exercise, work, study, don’t forget to create shit to stay sane… And it feels like none of it truly matters. Like I’m fighting all the time, just fighting against the weight of my own unimportance… my deep, profound smallness… ideas like everyone else, dreams like everyone else, nothing new, nothing relevant… just waves and waves of remembering how fucking unremarkable I truly am…”

He finds it so surprising he laughs at you. Doesn’t even let you process the hurt before he’s barreling on.

“You’re such a silly goose! Of course you feel like that!” And he’s become so used to the comfort of your understanding and lack of judgment that he doesn’t even think to cushion the blow. “You’re all just so insignificant. Just mud really. It’s so hard to find any of you that matter.”

And he’s not looking at your face, because he’s too busy looking at his hands on your arms and wondering how the soft give of your flesh would feel without his gloves. He’s not thinking of your face, or the bitter grimace of betrayal in it, and that is what saves you both, that there is no premeditation to what he says to you next. It comes out raw and true.

“But you matter. You matter to me. That makes you more important than anyone else.”

***

“Please tell me that you’re fucking him,” your roommate says wheeling her chair into the elevator, finally, at long last repaired and miraculously functional for the last couple of weeks. Management seemed to have gotten competent at something. “Sex makes it normal. Sex is nuts and still pretty dumb but understandable at least!”

You walk in behind her and spend the rest of the way to your apartment trying to explain how it isn’t like that with you and Homelander. You’re friends. You have lunch together every day because it’s nice. You talk about your life and his idiot politics because it’s fun to rile him up. You’ve shown him your drawings cause he asked (cause he’s the first guy in a long time who has shown any interest in them, watched you watercolor intently while he rambles on about himself and whatever petty drama is going on in the Seven, winced when you use too much pigment and clicked his tongue in surprise when you recover by using tissue paper, like it’s a soccer match or something).

Not like that at all… but somehow so much better.

You throw your stuff on your ratty old couch and turn on American Hero both because your roommate likes it and because if you don’t, Homelander will be sulking about it the whole week. God knows how long you spent coaching his atrocious Spanish accent and you intend to spend even more time making fun of his bad attempt to welcome Supersonic into the Seven. (Try not to think about his promise to you. Try not to make it personal and sappy and meaningful that his stupid Mexican ass in his stupid Puerto Rican costume got chosen.)

“God, wish they’d let Queen Maeve host American Hero at some point. She’d be killer at it… You know,” your roommate says from the kitchen while she’s making popcorn. “Sex would be better than you being friendzoned by fucking Homelander.”

“That’s not what—”

“Oh come on! Even you’ve got to be wondering when he’s officially gonna ask you out!”

You say nothing because you’ve got nothing to say. Because you’ve wondered about it and you hate that you have. And you also know how unfair it is. Because his ex-girlfriend (the fucking nazi) just killed herself a few weeks ago. And he was here having a panic attack about it. Because you’re not sure you want it yourself. He still scares you sometimes and you don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you could live with. He’s hurt you before… it gets easy to forget but somehow you haven’t quite managed to. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes you google whether you’re a mandatory reporter in the state of New York. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes your heart ache for him, your alarm bell blair, makes you want to ask him are you happy? Do you want to live like this? You don’t have to… But that’s not the sort of thing a girl who just met him can ask. Especially a girl who is still unsure of what you are to each other or whether she can be anything to him at all.

After all, watching Starlight on TV, blonde and perfect, you wonder how she can stand the terror of being looked at all the time. And that’s what him asking you out would mean. Being looked at all the goddamn time. And no matter how much weight you lose or how many times you go to work or university in roller skates instead of taking the bus, how many YWCA yoga classes you take… you know you’re not the kind of girl people like to look at all the time. Beautiful, angry men who fall out of the sky don’t date frizzy-haired, over-educated, pudgy nobodies. And if they do, people tend not to like it.

Still, he said you mattered. He said it with no hesitation. He meant it.

“I think… we’re taking it slow,” you admit to your roommate and to yourself as you take the bowl of popcorn from her. She looks surprised for a second and then smiles at you and you find yourself smiling back as you settle down to watch the end.

“I get it but,” she says in mock exasperation. “It’s glacial and I want my Queen Maeve VIP passes now.”

You both burst out laughing so hard that you almost miss it. His shit-eating grin that you can never admit you love so much. His dumb red gloved hand that you’ve held in your own before, sneaking around Starlight’s shoulder. She’s my girl now. Come again, you want to ask. Because you don’t quite understand. Because you must have heard wrong. Can’t keep it a secret anymore.

In love.

Your roommate stares at you and it’s not the almost immediate fury and shout of fucking Homelight my ass! that gets you. It’s not the immediate speculation from the voice over, or Homelander kissing Starlight on the lips while your roommate screams motherfucker! at the screen. All of that you could have withstood, maybe not with grace or civility but at least without falling apart. But it’s that brief yet still too long moment of utter pity on your roommate’s face when she looks at you, that makes you stand up without a word and lock yourself in your room, while she knocks on your door and says things you don’t understand about you being a thousand times better than him. Being well rid of him. Fuck him. You’ll be fine

I used to think love could give me significance, back when I dated, you had told him once and he had made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon and told you unequivocally, what bullshit that was. Love does nothing. Love fixes nothing. You either matter or you don’t. You’re important or you’re a nobody.

And yet, it seemed just a few short days ago he’d said you mattered. Homelander had looked directly at you, no trace of guile in his stupid face, just fond exasperation. As if you had been silly to ask, silly to doubt it for a second. You matter to me.

Not enough. Apparently not enough.

***

He should’ve known it from the very first shitty excuse. He’d been focusing on the important things, hadn’t had time for whatever fucking bullshit had made you start acting so weird. He just didn’t have any time for this. He’d needed you there for him through this difficult time and suddenly you were…

Gone. Unavailable. Busy.

First it had been ridiculous errands that couldn’t have been important in any way. He’d gotten Ashley to install fucking washing machines in your building and left a Vought credit card with you in spite of your fucking tiresome protests because he was sick of you being at the goddamn library consulting books you could just fucking buy, wasting your time talking to god knows who, stupid excuses like you were drawing at the library with friends. Who fucking goes to the library to draw? (And who the fuck would go hang out with friends when they had Homelander as an option?)

Then, it was missing lunch at work. Lots of customers. Something about summer and people having more time to browse while shopping and needing to make more sales because you were saving up for the semester.

He’d put his foot down with that. He’d fucking had enough. Because you’d said it without looking at him, your pulse racing, your palms sweating and he had known, known instantly that you were lying. Like everyone lied to him. Struggled to hide the hurt it caused him and cornered you in the back of the store instead, slammed his hand right besides your face making the concrete crack and told you (because he could, because he should, because what he had said to Starlight had been true, if all he could have from you was fear then fear it would be) that you could figure it out with that fucking asshole manager of yours or he would figure it out for you.

And his stomach burned when he’d seen you fight to hold back tears while you nodded stupidly at him. Because you hadn’t held back tears in front of him in ages. Because he’d suddenly wanted to grab you and shake you until you’d cry and let him hold you through it the way it was supposed to work.

You never missed lunch again.

And suddenly it’s not enough. Because you’re not there. You look out into the sky when you should be looking at him. You sound distracted and irritable when you should be fucking glad. You were always so fucking glad to see him. And he wants to toss you aside, fine by him if you want to be like this. You can rot for all he cares.

Except your silences taste like tears. Like the moist, fragile quality of your brown eyes looking at him when you think he doesn’t notice. It’s nothing like the acrid taste of Madelyn’s nervous deception, or the adrenaline spiked rush of Stormfront’s passionate delusions. It’s sharp and bitter and full of sleepless nights.

He knows because he’s gone to your room when you are not there. To catch the smell of the sour-sweet cortisol of your insomnia. Had considered breaking your things in a rage, uprooting your plants, throwing your books into the harbor. (Can’t bring himself to lay hands on you again and this would be the next best thing) But all he manages is to lose himself in the telltale aroma of salt on your pillows. Where you’d laid together. Where you’d said he was your hero. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with you. Suspects it’s these friends you keep having to see, their offensive scent all over your unmade bed. Confusing and alien, too many fucking people in your life that have no business taking up what should be HIS time. Sometimes your goddamn roommate, sometimes some unknown man, or a girl, caked cheap makeup and peroxide and hair spray. Not your smell, oatmeal soap and clean sweat…

He burrows into the pillows and thinks of tearing your sheets to pieces. Would serve you right. He should incinerate the whole bed and everything in it and—

Oh. Oh.

He pushes himself off the bed like it burns him, because he hadn’t expected this, has no framework to place it in. It doesn’t belong here, with you. Because underneath all the extraneous scents, and the other more familiar ones, the dust, the damp earth of your plants and the parchmenty sharpness of your books, there’s the thick, tangy smell of your sex. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I mean you’re a red-blooded Ame— woman. It’s only natural you should— He shifts uncomfortably on your bed, over-conscious of the knowledge that you’d rubbed one out in the same bed where you sometimes lay down to watch a movie (one of his movies) with him.

He doesn’t move towards it, not really. Just lays back down on your bed and breathes deeply. He tries to think of nothing, indulging in not even the slightest movement. Almost smiles before the intrusion of the sudden, furious thought that your fun might have been not entirely solitary makes him clench his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaks ominously. You fucking invite so many fucking assholes to this bed it might be hiding in the smell of one of them. (It would explain it, would clear up everything, a reason for your distance that would be simple to fix) He should put a stop to it. No more friends. No more library. No more conversational French meetups. No more Central Park or roller skating to occupy your time. Just your job. Just the important part. Just him.

And he is suddenly, surprisingly, furiously hard, still breathing deeply of you. Cheap shampoo, corner-store deodorant, cotton panties and thick, potent female arousal… but no bitter scent of male cum anywhere in the cacophony of your bed’s smells.

Not yet anyway.

You must have been thinking about him when you did this. Of course. Of course. Your crush was painfully transparent, even if he hadn’t had the telltale spike of your heartbeat every time you saw him. So stupid of you. So silly and earnest, to want the impossible fantasy of your hero. He was almost sorry for you, because it must have been so difficult to see him day in and day out, not knowing what to say or do, wanting him…

And he finds himself facedown on your unmade bed, hands grabbing handfuls of your sheets, because it’s either that or touch himself, and he will be damned if he capitulates in this, like he’s done with everything else around you. He’s so hard it hurts. Erection sandwiched painfully between his body and the soft give of your mattress. A sudden, crystal clear image pops up in his head: your soft, thick thighs and one of your sweet little hands between them. And he’s grinding against the bed, almost without meaning too, almost without permission from his brain, because his face is shoved against what had been the wet spot of your bed and he holds his jaw shut so tightly it’s nearly painful, lest he be tempted to sneak a taste.

The smell is enough, more than enough, as he lets his hips go, imagining you whispering Homelander, Homelander against your bed. You’d sob like he’d heard you sob before, maybe cry a little, but happily this time. Ecstatic transported like that day at the lake. You, soaked in his arms, soaked in more ways than one, smiling at him.

He’s cumming, long and drawn out, with each snap of his hips against your mattress, pounding against it, eyes scrunched shut as if in pain, barely a gasp behind clenched teeth, erection pressed so hard against the bed it almost hurts. He’ll think about it later. It’s enough for the moment, enough to dissipate it all.

He very nearly forgives you.

He’s still laying on your bed when you come back home, still breathing heavily, head blissfully blank, the squelching mess of his own cum inside his suit making him feel so dirty and ashamed he’s already beginning to sport a brand new stiffy. He should’ve heard you come in all the way from the elevator landing. He had, if he was honest with himself. But had also found himself stuck in defiant paralysis, half of him ready to bolt, half of him willing to be caught sprawled on your bed, hand shoved down his pants, just to make you responsible for whatever this was. There was something terribly appealing about you, inattentive, absentee traitor that you were, having to get home and watch him jerk off where you had. Not being able to look away. Not being able to lie about it. Not being able to leave him.

But he does neither.

And when he hears you open your bedroom’s door and call to someone behind you “I’ll be right there! Let me just leave my things!” he is immediately overcome by a raging irritation that does nothing to alleviate the embarrassment of his still lingering arousal. Some fucking library you had to go to! The fucking sort of library that answers “Sure!” in a sweet baritone…

Two things register first. You’re wearing the Homelander branded varsity jacket he got you and your hair is green. Not even fucking blue or red, fucking deep emerald green, clashing gloriously with the colors on your jacket, freshly dyed apparently, lovingly curled for once instead of your usual frizzy mess. He hates it on sight. Hates it because you did not consult him on it. Because you hadn’t thought about him at all when deciding to do something so stupid looking. You had probably been thinking about whoever was on the other side of your ratty, disgusting apartment. Oh he’s going to let him and you know. Oh you’ve gotten yourself in so much trouble…

Except you also look so miserable and exhausted he could swear you’re about to drop.

“… hey,” you say uncertainly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He doesn’t want to think of this, of the fluttering of your tired pulse, and the dryness of your tightly-held lips. He refuses to feel sorry for you. You should be the one begging his forgiveness.

“Weeeell,” he barrels on with a strained, too-wide smile. “You did fucking tell me to drop whenever. Maybe you shoulda thought to put a schedule to that, huh? Maybe when you’re not entertaining. Who’s your fucking friend?”

He hates that you step back. He hates that you don’t even look scared, not really. He smells the tears before they drop from your eyes, before you hang your head in unbearable pain, holding your own sweet arms to your stomach like that can keep your insides from spilling out.

“I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. Please leave.”

And that does hit him like a gut punch, like the physical blow he has never experienced. He reaches for the comforting rage and finds nothing but gaping emptiness. Because nothing you say or do ever sounds right to him. You never give him the right cue cards, the well known scripts… you never let him do what he knows. Homelander may have expected rejection but not this open, wounded mourning. Not you grabbing hold of a wall to lower yourself on the floor while you can’t stop looking at him like he’s the one that has dismissed you. Like you can’t stand to tear your eyes off him now that he’s here.

Fuck you. And your easy tears. And that look of betrayal that should have belonged to him.

“You? YOU?! You can’t do THIS anymore?! And what is THIS exactly, missy? Huh? What kind of fucking performing monkey do you think I am to you? Think that you can have me here whenever you want and out the door when it’s not to your fucking convenience? Oh no, no you don’t. You don’t get to tell me when to fucking go–”

And it takes the bottom out from under him when you choke back “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Because your pulse is racing and you are afraid. He can see it in the tension of your shoulders and every time you flinch when he shouts. But when you bury your face in your hands, it’s more of those awful, gulping tears and more I’m sorries that he somehow believes you mean.

“I can’t be your friend anymore. I just can’t.”

He had not known this would hurt as it did. He thought he’d known the worst of it when Ryan had walked away from him. When Stormfront had left him when he most needed her. When Madelyn had lied to him. He didn’t know how the truth could hurt so much worse. The truth that all the others had neglected to speak to him, at least you have the guts to say it to his face. He’d always thought he’d have enough pride to face it head on, hadn’t known he would have to bite back bile and the thin, reedy pleading boy he somehow still harbored inside him. Please. I’ll be better. I’ll be good. Please don’t do this.

“I can’t stand it…” You get formal when you’re in pain, like you forget the casual ease of your adopted language and country. Like you want as much distance between the two of you. “I can’t stand looking at you. I’ve tried… I’ve tried so hard…”

And he’s the one who can’t look at you, nauseous and adrift, hands almost curling into fists, almost reaching for your shoulders so he can shake some sense into you, so he can tear you in two before he lets you keep hurting him like this. And he does, he does grab a handful of each fleshy shoulder, fights his own grimace of pain and the part of himself that has every right to demand he bang your head against your bedroom wall until you’ll stop talking, stop leaving, just stop.

You don’t know. He wants so badly to tell you, to show you how close to destruction you are, how little you matter, how easy you would be to snuff out. But whatever it is that is going through your silly little head, it makes you reach back to him, touch his face once and then recoil like he could burn you (he can and he will), like he disgusts you, like he—

“I can’t stand having to look at you and not have you. Please leave. I can’t be your friend when I feel like this about you.”

#homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #pygmalion homelander #my writing #the boys #the boys season 3 #the boys fanfic

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

Something To Hold On To

Another night is spent in your half empty bed, staring out of the window, unable to sleep. Watching. Waiting. Desperate. The events that led you to this agonising repetition haunt you, ghosts of the past preventing your present from ever seeing a future, because it is unchanging now.

Denise’s death snapped something in Daryl, you knew it from the moment he got back that day, but you had never thought in a million years that anything would have the power to push him away from you. From your perspective, the death of a loved one brings you closer to the rest of the people you love, because it reminds you to cherish every moment with them, but for Daryl...it was different. You followed him all the way to the gate that day, trying to persuade him not to go out there because you knew what he could be risking. Usually, you were the one person guaranteed to get through to him, it had been that way since the farm, when the group found out where Sophia had been all that time. You were the only one that Daryl couldnt snap at, for some reason he had restraint around you. But that day at the gate, he lost it.

“The hell ya think yer doin’? You dont own me, I aint yers, who were we tryin’ to kid thinkin’ any of this was worth it?! Im better off by my damn self, ya don’ get a say in what I do, aint the boss of me. Run back to yer house, yer garden, an’ block out reality like ya usually do! Never should’a let this go on fer so long.”

Daryl was in your face, throwing his arms up in big theatrical gestures, bringing the attention of everyone who happened to be around. You stood there broken in front of him, unable to say a word; what was there to say after hearing that? With a final scoff, he got on his bike, and he was gone.

The next and last time you saw him was at the lineup. Despite everything that he’d said to break your heart, you couldnt keep your eyes off of him, seeing him in such a state and not being able to go to him was the most painful thing you’d ever experienced. After Abraham, you were staring at Daryl for strength, to keep yourself together, to prevent you from looking at what was left of your friend. Obviously, an egotistical prick like Negan didnt take kindly to you refusing to look at him.

“Well, it looks like we’ve got a couple of lovers in our midst! ‘Scuse me darlin’, would you mind paying me a little attention? I did just brutally kill this poor ginger after all, the least you could do is admire my work!” Negan’s voice was almost flirtatious, in the most sadistic way, but when you continued to refuse him, he shoved his barbed-wire-bound bat in your face and yelled. “Take a damn look!”

And you got the surprise of your life. Daryl leapt to his feet, swinging at Negan and landing a hard punch to his jaw before he was held down. You cried out, trembling feverishly, thinking that Negan was going to kill Daryl for that, but instead he took Glenn. That, you couldnt look away from. The devastation in Daryl’s eyes told you that he blamed himself for Glenn’s death, and you would have done anything to reassure him, but then he was taken.

And every night since, you have been like this. Lying awake and staring out the window at the Alexandria gate, waiting for it to magically open and reveal Daryl, safe and sound. Trying to sleep with your paranoia over what was happening to him, whether he was even still alive, was an impossible feat in itself. But that combined with trying to decode Daryl’s actions, from brutally ending your relationship because he didnt want you anymore, to risking his own life just because a very threatening man was talking to you. Of course, you know Daryl is a kind man, he loves deep and cares so much more than he lets on, it isnt out of character for him to defend you after ending things with you. But, over the years Daryl has gotten a lot more level-headed, and in a situation like that, he could usually be trusted to hold it together better than pretty much anyone else; he’s an expert at bottling things up, after all. The fact that he lashed out like that, you’d only have expected a reaction of that ferocity from him being in love with you still, which completely counterbalanced what he’d said earlier that day. If he did still love you, why would he say such horrible things? None of it made sense, all you want to do is talk to him and find out what he meant, you need to see him, and you dont know how far away that day will be, if it’s even possible.

Night’s without Daryl are difficult, but you have some things to make the days a little easier. Rick keeps a close eye on you, knowing that what Daryl said really messed you up and that regardless, being without him is hard on you. He regularly asks you to join him in completing various tasks, or even to just watch Judith because it gives you something to distract yourself from it all. It was when you were distracted that the other things came into play.

Judith is sitting in your lap, listening to you intently as you read her a story. She’s just had her morning feed and is due for a name anytime now, reading to her always helps her drift off without a fuss.

“The prince found the sleeping princess, and he leant down to give her a kiss-“

And then, you are gone.

It was late, and you had promised yourself you were going to stay awake until Daryl had returned from the run. He could be gone until tomorrow morning, you didnt care, you were stubborn enough to stick it out. Or, so you thought. As the sun rose and Daryl crept through the front door, he found you passed out on the stairs. He laughed quietly to himself, but couldnt help feeling guilty at putting you in that position by being home late. As gently as he could, Daryl lifted you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs bridal style. He carefully laid you down in the bed you shared, kicking his shoes off before crawling in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir awake.

“You’re home!” Your sleepily slurred whispers were joyous, a welcome sound to Daryl’s own tired ears.

“Yeah I am, now get some rest, got the day off tomorrow.” Daryl mumbled.

You gasped and turned over to snuggle into his chest. “A whole day to makeout like teenagers?”

Daryl scoffed, blushing and burying his face in the pillow, making you laugh.

When you come back to yourself, Judith is asleep in your arms, and the tears you hadnt realised were rolling down your cheeks have started falling onto her little head. You’re quick to gently dry her head with the blanket around her, and then you wipe your own eyes with your hand.

Later, when Rick comes to take Judith and you’re jogging down the porch steps of the Grimes house, you happen to glance down the street. For maybe half a second, the perfect vision of Daryl standing in the distance, waving at you, stops you dead in your tracks. Tears fill your eyes, and by the time you’ve cleared them, he’s gone. Rick watches from the window as you wipe your eyes and hurry down the street in the opposite direction to your house, where you’d just told him you were going. You have to walk the long way round to avoid heading towards the place you’d just seen Daryl standing. Wherever he appears, that’s always the way.

Flashbacks and visions of him get you through the day, and as painful as they are, they make you feel something, they give you fleeting moments of joy until reality returns to you. Blocking out reality, that’s what Daryl said you did, but you’d never truly done that until now. At night, no flashbacks or visions ever came, and every night is eerily silent. Numb, empty, cold no matter how many blankets you wrap around yourself.

The one time you decided to distract yourself by leaving Alexandria to go on a supply run, Negan happened to show up, and he brought Daryl with him. Apparently, Negan asked Rick where you were, and Daryl looked up from the ground to watch Rick’s face as he answered.

“She left on a supply run this morning, she probably wont be back for a few days.” Rick said, holding Daryl’s gaze for just a moment so that Daryl knew two things: one, he was telling the truth, and two, you were alive.

“Well that is a shame, I brought Daryl here just for her!” Negan sighed dramatically, and then continued to go about his asshole business.

Ever since, you have stayed within the walls of Alexandria. You know that if you had been there that day, you would’ve lost your mind seeing Daryl, and probably gotten yourself in trouble for not being able to keep it together. But having the knowledge of it happening when you werent here, knowing it could happen again, however unlikely that may be, you have prepared yourself.

It’s been too long, you refused to count the days because with every one that passed it would feel like you were even further away from Daryl. At least now you know that Negan is keeping Daryl alive. Torturing him, yes, but keeping him alive.

When Rick asks you to come with him and a group to the Hilltop, you’re hesitant, wanting to stay at Alexandria just in case Negan comes back. You will gladly bargain your life for Daryl’s safe return home, and Rick knows that, which is exactly why he persuades you to come with him to the Hilltop. It takes a lot of persuasion, mainly bringing up the fact that one of your closest friends, Maggie, would love to see you. Rick will proudly admit to guilt-tripping you if it means he avoided you offering your life up to Negan.

The gates of the Hilltop open before you, and you’re already itching to go back to Alexandria, paranoid that Negan is back there with Daryl. The group follows Rick through the gates, and for a moment you’re occupied by your thoughts, until Rosita nudges you and gestures for you to head inside the walls. Maggie embraces Rick, and when Rick pulls away, he looks to his right and his eyes fill with tears. You follow his gaze. In a fraction of a second, your vision is blurred, and you’ve collapsed to your knees, in silent, sobbing hysterics. Maggie, Rosita and Tara are quick to huddle around you, offering you comforting words that you cant even hear. Your hands cover your face as you sob into them, you cant see or hear anything, but you can feel a pair of familiar eyes burning into you from afar.

Tara lets go of you to join Rick and Michonne in hugging him, welcoming him back.

Rick glances at everyone else, all of them having a good idea of what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth. “Let’s head inside, they need to catchup.”

You feel the comforting arms leave you, and you lower your shaking hands from your face, wiping your eyes and slowly rising to your feet. It takes all the strength you have left to lift your head, to meet his eyes. Daryl. His name sets you on fire, goosebumps rippling all over your skin, your throat suddenly dry and heart pounding against your ribs.

He looks awkward, uncomfortable, like he’s holding back from something. You know him too well. You cross your arms over your chest and slowly walk over to him.

And despite everything, you manage to smile at him. “You’re really back?” You ask, voice somewhat hoarse from all the crying you’ve just done.

Daryl nods, not saying anything.

“I dont know what happened to you, but I am so, so sorry.” You tell him, your sincerity laced in every syllable, almost bringing yourself back to tears at the thought of what he could have gone through.

Daryl nods again.

You take a deep breath, preparing to say the words you’ve been planning. “And I want you to know that I’ve come to terms with everything, regarding us no longer being, well, us...and I get it, things change and dont always work out-“ You nod to yourself while avoiding his eyes, as though still trying to convince yourself. “-but I want you to know that I can put it all behind me, and I will.” You meet his eyes. “Because more than anything, I want to be here for you, for whatever you need.”

Daryl shakes his head, finally finding the courage to speak. “Stupidest thing I ever did.”

For a brief moment, the sound of his voice leaves you breathless, but you quickly regain control of yourself.

“What was?” You ask.

“Everythin’ I said to ya that day, I was fuckin’ stupid, an’ wrong.” Daryl admits, shaking his head again, angry at himself.

“Y-You were?” You stammer out, unable to believe what you’re hearing and in desperate need of an explanation.

Daryl stares into your eyes for a few seconds, and you can almost see him taking in the sight of you to beat himself over the head with, to relive this guilt and torture himself further.

He glances down at his shoes. “Thought I had the strength t’ push ya away, t’ try and protect you, but I realised that there aint nobody that’d try as hard as me to keep ya safe.” Daryl looks back up at you, holding your gaze, not shy about admitting his last sentiment. “I’d die fer you.”

Your eyes start filling with fresh tears of an entirely different meaning. “Daryl...”

Daryl shrugs you off, avoiding your eyes because he knows you can see right through him; you know how hard it is for him to talk about his feelings, but he’ll do it for you. “I know i’s too late, I took too damn long realisin’ what was good fer me. For all I know ya could’ve moved on already, but I wouldnt be able to live with myself if I didnt tell ya the truth.”

Then, you smile, and Daryl cant avoid looking at you any longer. The sight of your genuine smile has been his favourite memory to cling to in that cell, the one view he couldnt wait to see again, even if it was never directed at him after what he’d done. You take the single step necessary to stand toe to toe with him, and you ever so slowly lift your hands to cup his face. Daryl breathes a sigh of relief, his eyes immediately closing as he relaxes into your touch, instinctively, even after all this time.

“How could I ever move on from the man I’d die for?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #x reader #the walking dead #twd #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #Spotify

[spookydicks]

We already know that this cast is SUPER talented, but the last two weeks REALLY SHOWS THAT.

Just last week, the cast were portraying a completely different set of characters. And this week, they easily reverted back to their old character from c2. Not only are is the energy different, but the physicality is different as well. LETS LOOK CLOSER SHALL WE???

Marisha:

Of course we’re starting with my current gorl. It’s me, we’re talking about here. Now Laudna, laudna laudna laudna. She’s kind, theatrical, eccentric, is definitely a theatre kid, a creative outcast, easygoing and excitable. “Fun scary” of you will. Marisha is a genius at truly becoming her character. Laudna’s wide eyes, creepy yet cute smiles, witchy hands, playing with her hair, crafting, etc…. only adds to that. Of course there’s the voice. The transatlantic accent that plays in my head rent free. The voice that changes pitch based on her mood and of course who can forget the sing songy way she says things…….. BEAU on the other hand is blunt, sarcastic, “a simple girl with simple needs”, cynical, and a self professed “asshole.” Her deeper voice, the way she sits, and her mannerisms emphasize this personality.

Laura:

Next up, everyone’s favorite anxious southern horse girl and sugar loving leetle bloo tiefling. Imogen is always holding herself back. She’s introverted, sold spoken, and considerate (as in not wanting to hear anyone’s thoughts without consent). This shows in her body language. She slouches (??) into herself, making herself smaller, but isn’t afraid to let it all out. Her southern accent links with this as well. On the other, jester is the embodiment of chaotic cuteness. Her Eastern European accent varies in pitch as she speaks, emphasizing this. Her body language is bright to go along with what she says, same thing with using her hands.

Travis:

From having the party braincell to being part of the shenanigans. Our favorite captain is direct, cool, and rational, uses his leadership qualities in his body language and voice (both southern and the irl voice), as in when he stopped the fluffernutter plan. Then, CHETNEY, our favorite semi horny werewolf man, is a bit of a grumpy and stubborn old man who’s also a wild card. His voice is just like a gnome version of Carl Fredrickson from Up. And we love that.

Sam:

Now onto Sam’s characters: Veth and FCG. Veth is extremely motherly to her party and ti her family, but is also one third of the chaos crew and is incredibly eccentric. That shoes in her body language, such as being all jumpy when she first met Twiggy amongst other things, and in the voice, being higher pitched and semi British(??). FCG on the other hand, is kinda like a complete 180. He’s overly kind, helpful and a therapist, even if he’s still learning how to be said therapist. They’re trying y’all. Voice wise, of course he’s got that Jack Mcbrsyer southern accent. Like, to someone he doesn’t like, they’d definitely be like “bless your heart” passive aggressively you can’t tell me otherwise

Ashley:

Oh Ashley. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley. You finally get to show the chaos. For Yasha, she’s way more into herself and thinks before she says anything. Also having half of the parties new cell doesn’t hurt either. The voice Ashley uses for Yasha is deep but also soft to show the softer, more domestic and calmer parts of her. While Fearne is no thoughts, head empty only chaos. She says what she wants, no matter how awkward it may be. She has no filter. “Sleep if for the dead. Oops.”, anyone? Fearne’s voice is as if a Disney princess wasn’t so Disney.

Liam: Now onto Caleb and Orym. Our favorite little guy has the braincells in the group. He’s responsible, level headed and the defacto “straight man”. Orym’s voice is pretty similar to Liam’s own, but the character still comes across in the acting. The most obvious examples are all the times where he acts out that he’s a little guy. (Breaking the sandwiches into quarters, curling up on fearne’s legs, etc).

Caleb, is the opposite. He’s withdrawn, has a whole lot of mental health issues, self loathing, etc), reserved, and the definition of an introvert. This goes into his voice and mannerisms. He speaks very quietly in a German accent and fades into the background in some scenes, for lack of a better word.

Taliesin: Now Ashton and Cadences. *We don’t really know a lot about Kingsley’s personality but my point still stands using Cad* Out of These two are TOTAL OPPOSITES. Ashton’s “cranky “ and “unpleasant”. They care for the rest of the hells in his own way. That comes across in the body language and voice as it to say “I don’t really give a shit”. that’s probably phrased weirdly but you get what I mean. Our favorite firbolg uncle on the other hand, is kind, laid back, blunt, dedicated, and is indeed the “mom” friend of the group. This comes through in the mannurisms Voice wise, Taliesin adds a bit of a gravel(?) to the voice that I can’t help but love.

This might just my theatre kid/actor brain but this cast is just. so talented omg

#critical role #cr laudna #imogen temult #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #fearne calloway #orym of the air ashari #fjord stone #ashton greymoore #chetney pock o'pea #veth brenatto #yasha nydoorin #fresh cut grass #cadeuces clay #kingsley tealeaf

[violetstarcatcher]

Invisible String - Jake Kiszka P2

Chapter Two - Rose In A Fisted Glove

WC: 3,807k

Warnings: Anger, jealousy, (possessiveness if you squint idk)

~~~~

"O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" Josh theatrically read from his paper while holding his hand to his heart. 

"What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?" Gigi read back to Josh with just as much enthusiasm and looked up at him from her script. He quickly read his line in his head and walked up to her, brushing her face lightly with his hand and stood closely looking down at her.

Gigi scrunched her nose and pushed his hand from her face. "Get away weirdo." She scolded. "This is the balcony scene, remember? Romeo wouldn't have been able to reach her."

"Right. Sorry. I got carried away." He scratched the back of his head and backed away. Gigi sighed and looked at him with paper still in hand. "Now read your line. From over there." 

Josh cleared his throat and raised his hand getting back into character. "The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine." He read, speaking softly but still projecting his voice. 

"I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again." Gigi said tenderly looking at Josh trying to pretend she were in love with him. It was a little odd for her but she tried as best as her now twelve year old self would let her.

"Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?" He said without looking down at his paper. "How is he so good at this?" Gigi thought frustratedly. She studied his face as he looked at her. If she hadn't known any better, she would have really thought that he was in love with her. The way his body moved with what he was saying and how his eyes rested on her amazed yet confused her. She had only seen grown ups look at each other like that. "How does he know how to do that?" She was always in awe of her best friend. One could tell he loved the art of literature and performing in the way he practiced and delivered his lines. Gigi loved play acting, but she knew she could never love it as much as Josh did. 

"But to be frank, and give it thee again." She continued. "And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My love is... wait..." she paused as she tried to remember the line. "My bounty is... as deep... no, wait. My bounty is as boundless as.. um... the deep...?" Gigi filled her lungs and let out a frustrated groan. "Josh can we please take a break? We've been at this for hours and I'm tired." 

Josh sighed. "Yeah, let's take a break. You were doing good though." He smiled. "I'm sorry, Joshy. We'll do more later I promise." He grinned at her and pat her head. "It's okay Gigi, thanks for doing it with me anyway." He took her paper from her and tossed it to the floor along with his own. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he lead her out of the living room and into the kitchen. Karen turned from the counter to greet them as they sat down on the bar stools by the island. "Taking a break?" She asked them with a smile. "Yeah. Gigi kept messing up her lines." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. 

"Hey!" Gigi protested and smacked him in the back of the head. "Ow, Gigi! What was that for?!" He yelped as he rubbed his head where she hit him. "I was not always messing up my lines! You kept touching me and you aren't supposed to!" She looked over at Karen. "We were doing the balcony scene where Romeo is talking to Juliet while she's up on the balcony and he's on the ground below her and Josh kept trying to touch me. That's not supposed to happen. It's his fault I messed up my line. He messed me up first." She huffed glaring at Josh. He looked at her frown and returned it with a cheeky grin and a giggle. "Joshhh" she groaned and she laid her head on the counter to conceal her smile. He poked her side and she couldn't contain her laughter. Karen looked between the two children and shook her head laughing. "You both are ridiculous. It sounded fantastic, I think. But why aren't you spending more time on your actual lines?"

Josh and Gigi, now in the 7th and 8th grades, were a part of their school's theater production. For the last two years her and Josh had been cast as leads in middle school theater. The year before they had been cast as Jafar and Iago the parrot in Aladdin, and this year they were Willy Wonka and Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

"Because mom," he began and hooked an arm around Gigi's neck, "When we get to high school, I'm going to convince the theater directors to do West Side Story and me and Gigi are going to be Tony and Maria." Gigi laughed as he so confidently told his mom what they both wanted. They had talked about it for so long, and knew the whole film by heart. "Well then why are you practicing with the original Romeo and Juliet instead of the actual script for it?" She inquired of them. "Josh thinks that if we practice the Shakespeare version, we'll have a really high chance in getting the leads in the less poetic version. But he keeps mixing the two because he keeps trying to touch me." She laughed and push his arm off of her.

"It was an accident Gigi! Let it gooo" he half laughed and groaned. "You don't 'accidentally' touch someones face, Josh." She laughed and got close to his face, scrunching up her nose. They were both laughing at each other now and Josh pushed her face away. "See?!" Gigi squealed. "You're still doing it!"

"Greta!" He laughed and put his head in his hands. She heard her whole name and she knew Josh knew she hated it when he called her that. Still laughing she lifted up her left foot and used it to push Josh. He grabbed on to the counter but the legs of the chair came out from under him and he landed hard on the ground. They both laughed even harder than before. Gigi wiped some tears off of her eyes as they were both doubled over in hysterics. Josh laid on the floor, Gigi sat in her chair, and water filled their eyes. She got up to help Josh off the floor but he pulled her down right next to him. They weren't even sure what was so funny anymore but every time they made eye contact they laughed even harder. 

Karen even began laughing at the two children as they could hardly breathe. She loved that they were still so close even at fourteen and twelve. She had always loved their relationship and thought it was very good for the both of them. Even though Josh was a twin, everywhere they went together is was 'Gigi and Josh' this, 'Josh and Gigi' that. No one could really picture one without the other. But Gigi would never take Jake's place. They were brothers and nothing could come between that. What Gigi and Josh had was strong, but it was nothing compared to what Jake and Josh had.

Gigi laid her head on Josh's chest and they both held their stomachs as the laughter continued. They heard the front door open and Gigi lifted her head to look up at who had come in. It was Jake, carrying his backpack in one hand and a guitar case in the other. Jake laughed at the sight of his brother and friend on the ground in tears next to a fallen bar stool. He started to kick the snow off of his boots from the snow outside when Marjorie made her way through the door behind Jake. She picked up Jake from after school band practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays on her way back home because the last bus home left before band practice ended. 

Jake stepped off the mud rug onto the hardwood floor and quickly slipped from the water still on his boot, which sent him, the guitar case, and his backpack crashing to the ground. Gigi and Josh both saw him fall and collapsed into another fit of laughter. They held onto each other and laughed as Marjorie helped a very embarrassed Jake off the ground. He took his shoes off, took his backpack and guitar from Marjorie and quietly walked up the stairs. Josh kept laughing and Gigi stood from the floor. She held her hand out to Josh and he gladly took it and stood up next to her. She wiped her eyes and told him she would be back. 

With that, Gigi walked out to the hallway and up the stairs. When she got to the top she carefully looked around to see if there were any doors open. None of them were, so she continued down the hallway, passed the baby pictures of the Kiszka children, the restroom, Sammy's room, Ronnie's room, and finally the door across from the music room. She knocked softly on the door with three little taps. "Come in." She barely heard as it was muffled through the door. She turned the door knob and slowly pushed the door open. There sat Jake, on the bed barefoot, with his guitar in his hands. He had the tuner clipped to the strings on the headstock and was lightly plucking the high E string while turning the knob. Gigi cleared her throat and he looked up at her.

"Oh, hey Greta." He said quietly as he took the tuner off and set the guitar propped on the side of his twin bed. "I thought you were Mom." Gigi nodded without saying anything. They kept eye contact for a little while before Jake looked down at his hands. She walked over to him and sat on the edge of the small bed. 

"What was wrong with the guitar?" She asked knowing that guitar was really good at keeping in tune. "It knocked out of tune when I fell." He spoke softly still. Gigi looked at his face and immediately realized that he was a little upset. She furrowed her eyebrows and moved closer to him. "What happened, Jakey?" He took his eyes away from his hands to look at her. He stared at her concerned face and wondered how she knew he was upset. He hadn't had the best day at school or band practice and to make matters worse, he had embarrassed himself by falling and messed up his guitar as soon as he got home. He sighed knowing he wouldn't be able to lie to her. 

"I just had a bad day at school, is all." Gigi just blinked in response and he knew she wanted him to continue. He looked back down at his hands and continued. "I got a B on the math test today..." Gigi folded her arms. "A B isn't that bad, Jake. Josh has done much worse, you know that." Jake nodded. "I know. But I feel like I could have done better. Then at lunch Michael ran into me and spilt his drink on my white shirt. Then, at band practice Mr. Kramer called me out and said I wasn't playing the song right. And I knew I wasn't playing the song right, but he only gave me a few days to learn it." He sighed. "But I heard you play it only yesterday and it sounded perfect! I sang to it just fine!" Gigi countered. "I know I played it fine yesterday but I always play things better with you singing. I get nervous and stuff and I mess up..." Jake got quiet towards the end of his statement and his cheeks got flushed. Gigi let out a quiet sigh and smiled. She liked knowing Jake played his best when she was there. "I wish you were in band." Jake spoke just above a whisper. "I want to be in band too Jakey, but I'm-.."

"In theater." He cut her off. "With Josh. I know." Gigi frowned at the frustration and jealousy in his voice and the disappointment of his face. "You do everything with Josh..." 

Gigi got up on the bed and crawled her way over to where Jake sat, his legs hanging off the edge. She stood on her knees behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I just wanna get to be on stage and play with you for once. But you're always with Josh..." Gigi rested her chin on his shoulder and he leaned his head into hers. "I didn't know Jake... I would have done something about it had you told me before."

"I would have, but you're always practicing with Josh, or auditioning for a play together, and you always somehow get cast together every single time." Gigi sighed knowing he was right. She was always with Josh. They had always performed together. The only audience her and Jake had played for was each other and Sammy, on occasion. She'd always wanted to play with Jake in front of people, but her practices and musicals with Josh took up most of her time. She loved musicals, but it was definitely more of Josh's thing than hers. Especially the acting part of it. Josh loved acting. And in his love for it, he had turned Gigi into quite the little actress. And while she loved being with Josh and doing all the musicals they could, she'd always wondered what it would be like to play her guitar and sing with Jake on a stage. She felt selfish for dreaming about performing without Josh, but also felt selfish for staying with Josh when she knew Jake wanted to perform with her too.

Suddenly, Jake pulled her arms away, interrupting her thoughts. He turned around to face her, sitting criss crossed in front of her. "I've just had a thought, Greta." He said. "What if we... I dunno..." he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Start a... band or something?" He asked while looking down at his hands. "Because Josh could be in it too. And you guys won't have to stop performing together and then we get to play together too. I... I can make Sammy play bass, I think he knows enough to be able to and he's getting better. Oh, and for drums there's a guy at school in my grade. His name is Kyle and he's not bad. You and I can be on guitar and..." Gigi slowly tuned out the sound of his voice. She thought about what he was saying. 

"If we started a band, me, Jake, Joshy, and Sammy would all be in it. I don't know Kyle, but Jake seems to. We have all the pieces to start a band... but what if Josh says he doesn't want to?" Gigi thought in her head. "But that makes no sense. If I asked Josh to be in a band, he would do it even if he didn't want to. Wouldn't he? It sounds like so much fun being in a band with the three of them. We could play in all the restaurants in town, and the little coffee shops, and the nursing home, and everywhere else. I think we should do it." Gigi decided in her head. "I wanna do it. We're gonna do it."

"...guess it might take a little convincing to get them all on board, but think about it Gigi! It would be so f-.." Gigi covered his mouth with her hand. He looked down at her hand with crossed eyes then back up at her, confusion written all over his face. She took her hand off his mouth. "Why'd you do th-.."

"Hush, Jacob." She said. She looked around the room then back at him keeping eye contact. "Give me your hand." She told him. "W...What..?" He asked still confused. "I said, give me your hand."  Without asking why, he took her hand in his. She quickly pulled him up off the bed and ran towards the door. She ran through the doorway, passed all the doors in the hallway, down the stairs and to the kitchen dragging a clumsy Jake behind her by the hand. 

"Josh?" Gigi called out looking around the room. "Josh?" She yelled a little louder. "Joshua?!" She dragged him out towards the backdoor. "Josh, where are you?!" She screamed out the door. "Maybe he's in the garage?" Jake suggested, not really sure what Gigi was doing. She pulled him back into the kitchen in between the counter and the island and into the mud room leading to the garage. She opened the door and looked around. Sitting at the little work bench was Sammy messing around with his dad's tools trying to fix his bird feeder that a squirrel had broken earlier this morning before school. "Hey Sammy, have you seen Josh?" Sammy looked up from his project. He squinted his eyes at her and Jake, taking turns looking back and forth between the two. "Nope." Was all he said, popping the 'p' at the end before looking back down at his birdhouse. "Oh, okay thanks." She said and started pushing Jake back through the door. Before the door shut, she peaked her head through and said, "Oh and by the way, you're in a band now. You're playing the bass for it, okay? Okay." With that she pulled her head out of the crack of the door and shut it, leaving a very confused Sam staring at the closed garage door.

They made their way back into the kitchen and looked around. "Where could he be?" Gigi huffed. 

"We could look-.."

"JOSHUA MICHAEL KISZKA! WHERE ARE YOU?!" She shouted at the top of her lungs. Jake squinted his eyes at her sudden outburst. But it seemed to have worked as they heard footsteps running down the stairs. "Gigi? Gigi, where are you? Are you okay?" Josh called out as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Gigi pulled Jake by the hand towards the stairs. They were met with a very concerned Josh which turned into confusion when he saw Gigi holding Jake's hand with both of hers. 

"What... what's going on?" Josh asked, the caution and concern obvious in his voice. "We're starting a band Josh. We want you to be in it." Gigi said smiling. Jake looked down at the girl holding onto his hand and arm. He was sure he was blushing. He was so excited and relieved that Gigi actually wanted to be in a band with him. Part of him thought Gigi would just tell him no and keep doing plays with Josh. He'd wanted to ask her for a long time, and he'd already convinced Kyle to do drums. He knew he had to ask Gigi first, because she was the only one Josh would say yes to.

"What do you mean a band?" He asked. "You know, a band! We can play all our favorite songs at different places together! Sammy is gonna play bass, me and Jake will play guitar, you and I can sing, and Kevin can play the drums for us!"

"Who's Kevin?" 

"She means Kyle" Jake answered.

"Oh, got it." Josh nodded.

"Come on, Josh! It'll be so fun! And that way we can perform with Jake and Sam too instead of it just being us all the time." Jake beamed down at Gigi with a huge smile. Josh looked back and forth between Jake and Gigi a few times looking deep in thought. 

"No." He said plainly and pushed passed them into the kitchen. Gigi's face and shoulders fell and her hands slipped away from Jake. "What do you mean no?" Gigi asked quietly. "I mean no." Josh said while opening the fridge without bothering to look at either of them. "But-.."

"No 'buts' Gigi. I said no. We already do musicals together and that's enough."

"Josh, I want to be in a band. But I don't want to do it without you."

"Then don't do it." He said looking up at her then back down to the apple he was cutting. 

Gigi turned around to look at Jake, who stood there in complete surprise at what his brother's answer was. He never told Gigi no. If Gigi wanted to do something, Josh was right there ready to do it with her and managed to match her enthusiasm every time. It was the same way vice versa. Jake immediately saw the sadness on her face. "Sorry Jake. I can't.." She said barely above a whisper. Josh stopped what he was doing to watch Gigi walk away. He felt bad telling her he wouldn't do it. He actually wanted to be in a band and thought it was a great idea. It was just the fact that it had been Gigi and Jake's idea. He didn't want to be jealous of them making plans without him, and he probably wouldn't have been if Gigi hadn't been holding onto Jake the way that she was. And the way that Jake had been looking at Gigi made him sick to him stomach. Gigi was his best friend, not Jake's. If he was being honest he was just scared Jake would take Gigi from him, and that was his worst fear. 

He felt horrible as Gigi walked towards the front door, undoubtedly to walk to her house just down the road, where Karen and her mother were presently. He was just getting ready to stop her when Jake grabbed her arm. 

"Wait a second, Greta." He said to her. Josh flinched when he heard her name. That was another thing about her and Jake's relationship that bothered him. Jake was the only one that she allowed to call her Greta. And he hated that. "Josh, you can't tell her no." Jake said to his brother. He just stared back at him. "She always does everything with you and she never wants to do anything without you. She really wants to do this Josh, but she won't do it without you. If you asked her to be in a play she didn't want to do, she'd still do it. Heck, if you asked her to do anything with you that she didn't want to do she'd still do it, and you know she would!" He told him starting to raise his voice but kept a soft grip on Gigi's hand. "So you can't tell her no because she'd do it for you. Now stop being a pain in the ass because you're in this damn band whether you like it or not."

#gvf fanfiction #gvf imagine #gvf smut #jake gvf #josh gvf #greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fic #greta van fluff #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner

[goblinmatriarch]

Flufftober 2022: day 2

“Bollocks,” Trent says, putting down his tea.

Ted glances over at him from where he is helping Georgie pour pancake batter into the pan, but quickly returns his focus to the small child and the hot stove.

“Everything alright?” he asks, then, “Oh, wait, no, that’s too much– Georgie, just…alright, well that will be the mega-pancake then, won’t it?”

Trent allows himself a grin at Ted’s helpless tone, then recalls that it’s this kind of distracted soppiness that has caused him to muck up his schedule for the day.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I forgot my father was coming in town today. He wants to take Georgie to the Natural History Museum, which means I need to collect her from school instead of the childminder, so I can bring her to meet him.”

“Well that sounds fun,” Ted says cheerfully. He nudges Georgie. “Doesn’t it, Georg-erina Ballerina.”

Georgie scowls up at him. “My name is Georgiana, not George-erina,” she says, shoving her hands on her hips.

Ted’s hand flies to his chest, but he’s still holding the spatula, so he thwacks himself in the side of the face with it as he says, “Sincere apologies, Georgiana Baller-ana.”

Georgie giggles at the slapstick comedy, but she is still Trent’s child. “Baller-ana isn’t a word,” she says, in a ‘well, actually’ kind of tone that makes Trent’s heart swell.

Trent watches them for a moment. He had rolled his eyes at Ted’s insistence on a hearty breakfast every morning, but Georgie seems to enjoy it, and Trent has to admit, he has far more energy now that he’s started consuming something besides tea before 11am.

He’s forgotten the problem again in mooning over the two of them, and if that isn’t the problem itself in a nutshell…

“It is nice, but I forgot and scheduled a meeting this afternoon. It’s fine, I can just–”

“I’ll do it.”

Trent pauses, his mug of tea still held in midair. Ted looks over his shoulder at Trent and flushes. “I don’t have to. I mean, I would understand if—” He straightens and turns to fully face Trent. “I can see why that might not be the best solution.” He swallows awkwardly, spatula still clutched in his fist, and Trent’s heart squeezes. “Probably gonna want to have a conversation with your dad before I go all Greg Focker.”

Trent furrows his eyebrows, and Ted clarifies, “Meet the Parents.” 

Trent laughs. “Funnily enough, I missed that one.”

“What?” Ted jokes, back on safer ground. “You weren’t lined up at the movies for the premiere? It seems right up your alley!”

“I have had the conversation, though.”

Ted is helping Georgie flip the mega-pancake, so he distractedly says, “The conversation about Meet the Parents? Oh!” He turns abruptly as he takes in Trent’s meaning. Georgie squeals in outrage, and the mega-pancake loses all structural integrity, the gooey batter top of it sliding off into the pan, causing the cooked bottom to break in half and fall on top of it.

“Ted!” She wails. “You ruined it!”

“Now, Georgie, there ain’t no such thing as a ruined pancake!” Ted says, turning back to the pan with one last look at Trent. “It’ll still taste good, and,” he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “we can just cover it in berries and syrup.”

Georgie giggles, mollified, and Ted turns back to Trent, who smiles and says, “Georgie mentioned you to my parents the week you gave her those biscuits, and then again after the fete, and...” He blushes slightly but forces himself to admit, “By the time I told them we were dating, it was…not a surprise.”

Ted grins hugely, one of those slow grins that crinkles up his eyes and twitches his mustache and creates a hopeful, vulnerable warmth deep in Trent’s belly.

Trent smiles dopily back at him for a moment, then Georgie exasperatedly shouts, “Te-ed! The mega-pancake will burn!”

Ted jumps theatrically and says, “Well, goodness gracious, we can’t have that!” and everything is just as it was before, except then Ted casually adds, “So then what d’you reckon? Should I bring Georgie to meet her Granddad?” 

And Trent smiles and easily agrees.

@flufftober

#flufftober2022 #day 2 #flufftober day 2 #ted lasso #coach independent #trent x ted #ficlet #domesticity #established relationship #but like still new though #pancakes #prompt: you've told your parents?

[hawkinshell-fire]

TITLE

Eddie "The Freak" Munson

SUMMARY

Y/N just moved to Hawkins. Its the middle of the school year and almost spring break. You're not expected to find friends as you never fit in.

WORD COUNT : 858

Chapter Two: The Cafeteria

"Excuse me malady," you hear a deep scruffy voice say behind you. You turn around. There was a tall dark haired man, and you say man because he looks at least two years older than normal high school boys, his hair is long and styled in a mullet. His eyes were an almost honey brown color. He's wearing a black sabbath tee shirt and white washed jeans. The jeans have chains hanging from the loops.

"I'm sorry I'm just standing in your way aren't I?" You ask stepping aside.

"Don't be sorry dear," he says flashing you a big toothy smile, " names Eddie, Eddie Munson," bowing as he says so.

He is very strange. You think to yourself.

" Well hello my names Y/N," You reply to him.

You hear a short pudgy boy up ahead say, " Come on Eddie,"

"One moment," Eddie replies back half yelling across the cafeteria.

He looks back down at you, " Are you looking for somewhere to sit?"

You look back down at the clothes he's wearing. Realizing it's pretty similar to yours. Maybe you will find friends in your first two days here at Hawkins.

"Um, Yeah, if you don't mind actually," you say back to him awkwardly.

"Well then follow me," he replies as he's walking away.

You follow him with your brown bag, as Eddie practically skips to the table where the pudgy kid and a couple of others were sitting. He pulls out a chair for you as you sit.

"My friends this is Y/N, she's new here," he gestures to you, " lets make her feel welcome."

You swear you see him wink at the others. The others start introducing themselves. The younger kids were Dustin the pudgy looking one and Mike who didn't really talk to you much. Then there is Gareth, who looked like he was always scowling, and Jeff. After all of the introductions every picks up their conversations they were having before you and Eddie showed up. You keep your head down eating silently. Just listening in on their conversations until you hear Eddie saying your name.

"So do you play DnD at all?" He asks you.

" Oh um not really I've never ever really heard of it,' you reply.

He dramatically grabs at his heart as is if he was having a heart attack. " Oh, how you break my heart, never heard of Dungeons and Dragons!" he yells putting a hand up to his forehead.

" I'm sorry," you giggle a little at his theatrics.

" No worry dear, it's fine," As he pretends to faint almost falling backwards out of his chair.

"Watch it you freak," a boy in a lettermen jacket says.

Eddie hisses at him as the boy walks past.

Dustin chimes in at this time, " Well even if you don't play DnD, you could always come watch one of our campaigns. We have one tomorrow," He says talking super fast.

"Well I don't really have anything else to do so why not? As long as it's okay with everyone else," You accept the invitation looking at Eddie for approval.

"Well, what say ye," as he gestures around the table.

There were multiple yeas and why nots. Hmm maybe this school won't be too bad. You've already made friends. Granted none of them are girl friends but, Hey they're nice people. Your mom would be happy when you tell her.

_________________________________________________

After lunch all of your other classes go by quickly. You see Robin one more time and a guy named Steve who says he's Robin's friend. You also see Gareth in one of your classes but he doesn't talk to you. He almost seemed shy.

At the end of the day you see Eddie standing by the van that pulled into the school parking lot like an idiot.

Hmm makes sense, you think to yourself. You pass Eddie and he gives you a little wave. You wave back. You make your way to the sidewalk. Putting on your headphones. Listening to one of your favorite songs. Before you know it you're at your door. Even before opening it you hear your mom. It sounds like she's digging around looking for something. You pull open the door and she looks at you.

" Oh good! Do you know where I put the pans?" she asks seeming as though she's out of breath.

You scan the room quickly, " I don't know mom, maybe in the box labeled pans," you say pointing, laughing a little.

She huffs, " So tell me darling how was your first day?"

" Well mom, it was actually pretty nice," you tell her. " I actually met a couple of people they invited me to watch them play some sort of game tomorrow."

"Oh how lovely! Are you happy you went now! See I told you!" She says gleaming.

"Yeah mom I guess so," you say as you walk upstairs.

You change out of your school clothes. Then go help your mom make dinner.

**************

A/N I use pudgy as a way to describe Dustin in a cute baby faced way. In no way am I trying to be mean. I love Dustin!!!!!

[vi-trying-to-survive]

Hello! I’ve been reading your Doctor Strange fics for a while and so far I have loved every single one!!! And so, I have finally decided to reach out a request a fanfiction :) I was hoping, if you feel up for it, a super angsty Stephen Strange x female reader??? Like she’s dies in his arms- I know dramatic but I am one for theatrics ;) anyways, like, maybe while she’s dying he’s thinking back on a whole bunch of domestic little moments of them as a couple- like early mornings with her on the counter as he makes breakfast or late nights watching movies on the couch??? And when he snaps back to reality it’s just her reassuring him that’s he’s going to be okay, not as concerned for herself as she is for him? Feel free to take complete creative liberties with this :) I’m not super picky and am sure I will love whatever you write! Thank you so much, I can’t wait to see what you do with this <3

Shattered Glass

Stephen Strange x f! Reader

Warnings: Super super angsty with death :') , but there's fluff mixed up in there too

Summary: After the battle, Stephen finds a wounded (Y/N) on the ground and tries to think of a way to save her but fails.

A/N: I hope you guys like this 💖💖💖 !! Honestly though I loved this writing idea but it is very angsty :') But if you like my writing, feel free to leave a request, I love doing them :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stephen bit his bottom lip tightly, hoping to prevent the tremble that began as he took in her weak figure, her soft, delicate skin was splattered with copper colored liquid, lips turning a pale, sickly blue, as he watched the deep crimson stain in her lower stomach grow in size, dying her dirt-covered suit so that it resembled the same deep wine that she loved so much. Ripping off the bottom of his tunic, he pressed the material against her wound, the doctor in him racing for a solution without success, as some of the scarlet liquid quickly took control of it, reaching his scarred hands, staining them, making him notice the warm, salty trails that streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto her chest. Tilting his head up to the dull, grey sky, he began to blink rapidly, a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling down, a form of denial perhaps, which availed to nothing as they only grew more tormented and vigorous, like waves of a heartbroken storm.

His soft sobs, made her heart ache, numbing the dull pain that was increasing, enveloping her body, as she reached a dusty hand out to cup his cheek, "Darling, it- it's ok", gaining his attention so that he tilted his head down to gaze at her again, voice frail and fractured as she spoke, "Just- just look into- into my eyes", forcing the tears that threatened to spill over her face down, when she took in his broken expression.

As he continued to stare at her, he could've sworn that he heard his heart crack, like glass, amidst all the shouts and sorrow that boomed across the expanse, her braided hair had come loose, spreading wildly around her head, like a crown that was sticky and knotted in certain areas, her sparkling eyes were now dull and foggy, like she wasn't entirely there, even as she forced a painful smile on her face, she still looked ethereal to him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steadied his voice, trying to urge the edges of his lips to curve upwards into a smile, for her, but they seemed to have a plan of their own, appearing more as a grimace, stammering out, "(Y/N), I- I can- can fix this-", using a free hand to grab hers, rubbing gentle circles into her icy, skin with his calloused fingers, "Just- I need- Just stay awake- please", his gentle voice almost breaking as the words came out.

His voice snapped her back to reality as her mind began to drift into the endless empty space, using her little strength to squeeze his palm that was intertwined in hers, "It'll be ok Stephen", frowning at the worried look that reflected through his eyes at her, struggling to speak as she tried to keep herself from straying away from him, ignoring the temptation of peace that lingered in the back of her head if she simply let go, hoping to calm his racing heart before that, "Do you- um- do you remember what my favorite part of the day is ?".

Pressing his lips together into a narrow, very fake and forced smile, he pushed down the pang of agony that flowed through his body, with each thump from his heart, wishing that he was the one in her arms, instead of this, knowing that it would be infinitely less painful than the current situation, "I- What ?", lying to himself that if he keeping her talking would give him time to think of a way to save her.

Her expression softened slightly, eyes turning to the sun for a moment, as if she was moving back in time, a flashback within her own mind, before turning back to him, the words streaming from her lips easily, "Movie nights with you", fixating her gaze back on him, filled with affection and adoration as she did, distracting his panic-stricken mind for a second as he thought back to the comforting memory along with her ----

"Stephen, if you aren't here in the next five seconds", she exclaimed from where she lay snuggled into the fluffy, silky covers of their bed, feet tucked into each other, the neon lights from the television screen reflecting onto her face, as she peered through the open door frame, expecting her sorcerer to walk through soon, "I'm going to watch this movie without you", hoping her threat would urge him to walk faster.

However, she found that her lips curved upwards into an excited grin as he walked in, balancing the large, shiny, cream colored bowl in his arms, filled to the brim, with golden, buttered, salty popcorn, playfully rolling his eyes at her earlier statement, "I think you can wait a little longer", handing the bowl into her outstretched arms, "especially for popcorn". He lifted the covers, making her hiss softly, as he tucked himself under it too, smirking as he felt her press her body into his, tangling her legs up with his, arms snaking around his waist, clutching softly. She hummed contently when one of his hands reflexively settled on her legs, enjoying the warmth he brought, as he lovingly rubbing the exposed skin, while the other steadied the bowl of popcorn between their intertwined frames, careful not to dirty the fresh sheets, as she reached for the remote, clicking the start button.

After half an hour, (Y/N) found the room strangely silent, Stephen's usual sarcastic comments not filling the space, making her giggle uncontrollably until her body was sore and she had almost fallen of the edge of the bed, close to an injury, turning her head to gaze at the man in question. She bit her lips hard, to stifle the laugh that grew in her throat when she was took in the sight of her boyfriend next to her, head tilted back in an extremely unattractive angle, mouth agape slightly, a trail of drool tracking down his chin, as he leaned slightly more towards her frame. Without tearing her eyes from him, she stuck her hand out behind her, aimlessly grabbing around the bedside table, searching for the cool, surface of her phone, her mischievous grin growing at her success. Tapping at the bright screen, she positioned the smartphone strategically in front of the sleeping sorcerer, clicking the button, snickering at the golden opportunity she was presented with. Unfortunately for her, she let out a high-pitched yelp, startling the man before her, forgetting that her flash was on, the sudden brightness in the once darkened room shocking her, making her jump back slightly. Composing herself, she tightened her grip on the slim, rectangle object in her hands, having played out similar situations multiple times, knowing that she had to defend this thing like her life depended on it if she wanted to keep this picture, soon to become the crowning jewel in her collection of pictures of the great sorcerer supreme, sitting back up only to be met with a knife-like glare. Sending him a sheepish smile, she promptly shoved herself of the bed, falling on the floor, making her groan in pain slightly before running out the room, giggling as she called out, "Love, I'm so sorry but this is so worth it", her voice filling the empty corridors.

Stephen remained amongst the tussled covers of the bed, sighing exasperatedly to himself, flopping down to the other side of the bed, creating a loud thumping sound, as the sounds of her footsteps grew quiet, too tired to chase after the woman, opting to yell from where he lay, enveloped comfortably in warmth, "You are so lucky that I'm in love with you".

---- A small trickle of joy flowed through him, making the edges of him mouth curl upwards into a small smile, promptly morphing into regret, thinking about how he should have chased after her, the bounding laughter, bouncing off the ancient walls of the sanctum they called home, relished in the brilliant luminance of delight and happiness that she radiated, like the sun of his world, where he existed only to revolve around her. Bringing himself back to the melancholy of the situation, he focused his attention back on the woman who was using his arms as support as she gazed into his eyes longingly, so full of devotion and love for him. He had-, has-, correcting his inner voice sternly, always loved the way she loved, so intense and passionate, throwing her whole being into it, the emotion practically seeping out of her, filling his own heart, once darkened in despair from his accident, making his head spin and turn giddy, like she was a drug that brought such extreme ecstasy, helping him find the light in his life again.

Trying to project strength in his voice, he fixated his gaze on her, using his hand to tuck away a strand of hair covering the front of her face, "Do you- um- Do you remember the first time I made you breakfast", attempting to discreetly wipe away the tears that stained his cheeks, which mixed with the dirt on his face, creating smudges of grey and brown across his cheeks. When no response came he felt his breath hitch in his throat, gently tapping her cheek, making her eyes flutter aimlessly around their surroundings for a while before landing on him, giving him a feeble grin, as she stuttered out, "How could I forget", she giggled a little, before wincing in pain as her hand shot out to clutch her side, still keeping the amused expression as she recalled the chaotic event ---

Light streamed into the spacious room, shining into the woman's eyes, stirring her from sleep, to which she responded by groaning, flopping over to her other side, digging her face deeper into the comforting, fluffy pillow, moving an arm around the bed, searching for the man that should have been next to her, with no avail, met only with edges of the silky duvet covers. She huffed annoyed, sticking her head up slightly, blinking a few times to get rid of the sleep in her eyes, as the room surrounding her slowly came into focus, her mouth curling into a frown when she took in the empty space next to her, sighing as she swung her feet out of the bed, planting them on the ground, "Why does he have to be such an early riser ?".

Pulling on a pair of short that were tossed haphazardly on the velvety chair in the corner of the room, she raised a hand to cover her yawn as she walked out of the door, walking slowly, still recovering from her slumber. Her footsteps echoed through the empty space, as she padded along the dark, hardwood panels that made the floor, reaching a hand to steady herself on the banister as she continued down the stairs, groaning quietly to herself, "Why are there so many stairs here ?", wrapping her arms around her frame when she had made it to the bottom, feeling the cold chill of December's morning caress the skin of her exposed skin.

As she turned another corner, she found that she was unconsciously making her way to the kitchen, calling out as she moved, eyes scanning the space around her, "Stephen", looking for her sorcerer, desperately still wanting to curl up next to his body, to steal some of the warmth that his body seemed to always radiate, "Stephen, Where are you ?".

Seconds later, she was able to answer her own question, leaning against the wall, watching the man struggle to make breakfast, frowning over his phone, so absorbed in his task that he was oblivious to her presence, multi-tasking as his eyes occasionally drifted to the iron-cast pan that sizzled dangerously at his side, yelping in pain when a tiny drop of oil jumped from the heated surface onto his forearm, making him jerk backwards, sending the object a glare as he turned the heat down. She gripped tightly at her sides, watching his actions, silently debating on whether she should come to his rescue or not, deciding to wait a little longer, wondering how the situation would play out if she let it.

He turned to his left, where a two plates sat, holding matching breakfast items, eggs, hash-browns and what she assumed was meant to be toast, her confusion arising from the fact that they more so seemed to resemble squares of charcoal, dark as the night sky. Groaning in frustration, "I'm a neurologist and a sorcerer", he gave the reflective, clean, white plates a furious look, eyebrows furrowed together, his lips forming a scowl the longer he looked at it, "Why is this hard ?".

Her eyes drifted towards the toaster that was nestled in the corner of the counter, quickly taking note of the settings, as she moved closer to the man, her steps alerting him, as his head spun around to face, giving a sheepish smile, as she curled her arms around his waist, nuzzling her face closer into the crook of his neck, placing a delicate kiss on the exposed skin, before tilting her head to lean comfortably on his shoulder, as she spoke gently into his ear, "Maybe cause you didn't check the heat settings, darling". Giggling as she watched his eyes move to the offending toaster, to which he turned around so that they were chest to chest, pulling her closer to him, in search of comfort, sighing contently when she began to sway their intertwined frames leisurely, gratefully smiling up at him, "I know what you were trying to do, and thank you". He pulled back slightly, lowering his head from where it was nestled on the top of hers, sighing in defeat, “I really didn’t think it was going to be this hard”, earning an amused grin from her, trying but failing to suppress the smile that began to bloom on his face too.

Trailing her fingers down the side of his face, moving to cup his cheek, running her thumb up and down the flushed skin, as she tilted his head down to meet hers, making their lips connect, instinctively moving in sync with each other, his grip on her waist tightening, in an attempt to tug her closer toward him. Breaking the kiss, she rested her forehead against his, the only sound between the being their soft pants, until the most unpleasant smell floated through the air till it reached her nose, causing her to tear herself from him, shrieking as her hands flailed out, in reach of the soot colored pan, “The bacon-“, tossing it onto the heat mat, conveniently sat next to the stove, “we forgot about the bacon”. He stared at her, as she wiped her palms messily on the edges of her shirt, before resting them on her hips, giving him an apologetic look which promptly morphed into confusion, when the growing laughter in his throat finally escaped into the space around them. Contagious enough to make her join him, she stepped into his comforting embrace, nestling her face against his chest, enjoying the ridiculousness of the situation with him.

--- She coughed thickly, transferring her back to the non-ideal situation, her hand instantly rising to cover her mouth, revealing dark, wine-colored streaks across the skin, making her heart leap in fear, only worsening when she watched Stephen's face contort with concern. Promptly wiping her palms against the material of her suit, she stammered out, fighting the burning pain that was spreading throughout her skin and body, voice almost become a wispy sound of the breeze that blew past them, "I-I'm fine- Stephen", grimacing slightly as she spoke.

He felt that warm liquid stream down his face again, to pre-occupied to wipe them away as they continued down his cheeks, creating an upsetting salty taste in his mouth as some strayed from their original path, making his lips curve into a frown, exclaiming, "No- No- You're not fine", bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from her, more angry and upset in himself than her, "I need to save you". He should be able to save her, he has to, he needed her.

Feeling a roughened palm trail his cheek, he uncovered his eyes, fixating them on the frail woman before him, the soft smile that was spread across her face making his heart pound even more frantically at the thought of losing her. Thumbing away his tears, she brushed her fingers along his cheek, making him sigh defeatedly, knowing the words that would eventually spill from her lips, the thought alone enough to shatter his heart to pieces. "I can't be saved, and it's not your fault", she almost whispered out, feeling the wetness of her own tears, pouring across her bloodied skin, hot and agonized, the true reality it finally washing over her "You- You'll move on ... eventually, you'll learn- learn to live without me". She bit the inside of her cheek tightly, teeth pushing aggressively at the tender surface, stopping the intense sobs that she thought would overcome her. How could she leave the man she loved like this, not by choice, but they were at a dead-end now.

Using a finger he tilted her face up, so that they gazed directly into each others eyes, as he stumbled upon his words, "If- If- I had known that-", feeling the weight of his emotions crumbling down on him, struggling to hold it up, to keep himself strong for her.

Sensing the regret and guilt, running through him, she grabbed his scarred hand, twisting their fingers together, squeezing softly, feeling more like a brush than anything else, but still managed to catch his attention, "There was only one way for us to win", her words wobbly and unsteady, but the sureness in her voice was unwavering, "This is not your fault", bringing a a very slight ease to him.

Feeling herself consciousness grow more distant, drifting into the unknown, she clutched onto him tighter, the agonizing burning that coursed and tore at her body getting stronger, eyes shifting left and right nervously, searching for an impossible relief. Noticing her sudden change in demeanor, he leaned closer toward to her frame, their faces only a few centimeters apart, noses touching, perfectly nestled next to each other, "I'll be fine, let go", finally connecting their lips, for a passionate, slow, desperate kiss, a silent, final 'I love you', moving in sync, their tears creating a salty taste in their mouths.

Breaking the kiss, he positioned his hands on her hair, gently stroking and untangling the knots that had formed in the heat of battle, watching as her eyes fluttered, the light that glittered in them being reduced to a dim spark and eventually nothing, as her chest stopped rising up and down. No longer able to control the emotion, he let it take control of him, the tears falling down freely, blurring his sight, so that everything around him was a muddy mix of colors, only swiping his hand across them to focus on her body, before raising a hand to tenderly close her eyelids. Holding her body close to him, he wrapped his arms delicately around her waist, already missing the way her hands used to instantly intertwine behind his neck, face nestled into the crook of his neck, placing soft kisses on the warm skin, only increasing the strength of his sobs, comparing how she now felt ice-cold and had gone pale, all the life poured out of her, like a broken porcelain doll in his lap. Leaning in, still cradling her, he softly placed his lips on her forehead, rocking her back and forth gently, his tears staining her skin, dampening the spots on her face where hers had already dried. He continued to hold her close to him, wishing he could still go back in time, and put himself in her place, feeling his heart crack slowly before shattering into jagged pieces of glass, clattering onto the ground, echoing in the emptiness of himself, feeling that a part of him died along with her.

Word Count: 3362

- also @thefluffypan I hope I brought your idea to life and that you like it :) -

#stephen strange oneshot #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange fanfiction #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x ofc #stephen strange fic #stephen strange fluff #benedict cabbagepatch #benedict cucumber #benedict cumberbatch #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange headcanon #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange marvel #doctor strange #dr strange imagine #dr strange fanfiction #dr strange fluff #dr strange x you #dr strange x reader #doctor strange x you #doctor strange smut #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange fluff #dr strange smut #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #marvel headcanons #marvel imagine

[biconderoga]

Part 1: Here

Scenario: The death of Itadori hung over Y/N’s head at every waking moment. The circumstances were shrouded with mystery, and Y/N couldn’t do anything but carry on with a heavy heart. Minor Spoilers ⚠️ (Just briefly mentions the way Itadori was revealed to the first years).

Word Count: 2,069!! (My longest piece to date-)

“It’s me! The dearly departed Itadori!”

Megumi liked to think he could take a joke. He could handle teasing on his behalf. Gojou was relentless in that field, so it wasn’t a foreign experience for him. Years of dealing with the blindfolded sorcerer taught him to deal with sometimes tasteless jokes.

But this…this was the most distasteful joke he had ever seen. It left an incredibly bad taste in his mouth. He would rather chug curdled milk than deal with the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. His so called dead comrade was wheeled in by Gojou, and surprise surprise! He was alive and well.

Megumi closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a very deep breath. He opened his eyes again, and glared at Itadori. Itadori, sensing the tense atmosphere, feebly made jazz hands in hopes of alleviating the mood.

It did not work.

“So, um,” Itadori rubbed the back of his neck, and continued in a quiet rushed tone, “Sorry about not telling you I was alive and all...”

Nobara’s eye twitched at his apology while Megumi turned around to join the second years. The shikigami user didn’t have time to deal with this. The Goodwill Event currently took priority. Perhaps after it was done, Megumi could properly wrap his head around Itadori’s revival.

He didn’t know what to feel. If anything, he felt anger. Anger on Y/N’s behalf. How would she feel about Itadori’s return? She didn’t know how he died, and would especially not understand the fact he was alive. Megumi was not one for strong emotions, but the swelling of anger in his chest was too great to ignore.

“Oh? What’s got you so pissy, Megumi?” Maki leaned against the wall as she placed her head on the back of her hand, “You seem upset. Shouldn’t you be a bit more relieved about Itadori?”

Megumi silently huffed, “It’s nothing.”

Nobara, who was marginal to Maki, rolled her eyes, “Always so secretive.”

“You know you don’t have to keep visiting me…”

Megumi merely nodded at Y/N’s statement, “I know, but it’s only fair that I check up on you.”

Y/N groaned at his statement, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to babysit me. I may have been Itadori’s girlfriend, but I’m not nearly as rash as he was.”

He nodded once again. Megumi himself didn’t understand why he habitually returned to Y/N’s residence. She didn’t properly know him, and if anything she most likely associated him with Itadori’s death. He wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was just being polite. She easily could’ve been putting up a facade as she silently seethed on the inside.

“You can say you hate me,” Megumi paused as he chose his next words, “You can kick me out if you want. I know you probably blame me for Itadori’s death, I know I blame myself.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Megumi ended his miniature spiel. She shook her head before she firmly placed her hands onto his shoulders, “We haven’t known each other for long, but Itadori did tell me you were strong. I’m not sure where your strength lies, but I do know it’s not your fault. Itadori’s stupid mistakes don’t have anything to do with you. If anything, I hate myself for not asking him more questions,” She lowly whistled, “and I would be lying if I said I didn’t blame Itadori. He was always doing the most, and never took a break.”

Itadori was right, Megumi did like Y/N. Despite the fact she knew absolutely nothing about the circumstances of his death, Y/N was still able to continue forward. She was hurting, but she still took her time to confirm her faith in Megumi.

“Before he…” The sorcerer paused and swallowed thickly, “…died. Itadori told me I would like you.”

Y/N weakly laughed, “And do you?”

“You’re nice…” Megumi smiled, “Itadori got lucky.”

With the goodwill event said and done, Megumi found himself back in his dorm. His blinds were shut, and he was curled beneath his covers as he nursed a headache. No matter the occasion, Megumi found himself injured…

A quiet knock resounded throughout his room followed with a weak, “Hello?”

Megumi shifted under his covers and huffed, “Who is it?”

Silence was heard before the voice mumbled,“Itadori.”

‘Ah,’ Megumi thought, ‘He’s alive’ Following all of the hustle and bustle of the festival, Itadori’s miraculous revival was the last thing on his mind. Megumi processed his answer. He liked his lips before he uttered a, “Come in.”

Itadori entered the room and stood awkwardly by the entrance. He rubbed the back of his head, before gathering the courage to speak. “I heard you made everyone the meatballs I taught you how to cook…”

“Yeah,” Megumi sat up, “Everyone liked it.” The black haired male scratched his head. Itadori was usually a straightforward and happy-go-lucky person, this tense small talk was beneath him. “What do you need Itadori?”

“Ah! Well-you seem distant? Are you still mad at me?”

Megumi shrugged and feigned indifference, “I was never mad. I’m just not used to dead people being revived.”

“Oh, true!” Itadori visibly calmed, “Well if your not mad, can I ask you something?”

Now there was the Itadori that Megumi knew, blunt and straight to the point. The male raised his eyebrow, a silent indicator for Itadori to continue.

“So um…about Y/N…” The vessel fiddled with his hands, “She’s probably real mad I went M.I.A without telling her. Especially, after going a two months without contact! Can you be my excuse? Like we can say we were on a surprise field trip in the middle of the country.”

Megumi sighed at Itadori’s rambling. It seemed to be an ongoing trend that he was the bearer of bad news. First, it was Itadori’s death to Y/N. And now, it was the fact Y/N now thought Itadori was dead. What was first an act of kindness on Megumi’s part was now a huge problem for Itadori.

“So whaddya say?”

“She thinks you’re dead,” Came Megumi’s blunt reply, “If you’re ever going to talk to her again, she deserves the truth. She isn’t going to blindly trust you after thinking you were dead. It’s the least she deserves.”

Itadori’s eyes widened into saucers, “Who told her? Gojou-sensei said no one would—“ He threw himself to the floor and rolled back and forth, “He said since she was a regular person no one would bother telling herrrrr.”

As Itadori continued his senseless bemoaning, Megumi took in a deep breath. The black-haired male rose from his bed and approached Itadori. He gently kicked his side (in a silent hope that it would shut him up) before he spoke, “I did.”

“You did? I thought you hated doing that type of thing.”

“I do,” Megumi rolled his eyes, “But it isn’t fair that she would’ve been waiting for a dead person to call her.”

“But I’m not dead!”

Megumi’s vein nearly popped out of his forehead, “Well I didn’t know dumbass!”

“Can you pass me the ginger paste?”

The male nodded as he foraged through Y/N’s fridge. Once found, he tossed it to her. The girl fumbled to catch it, and playfully glared at Megumi when she did.

“Did Itadori teach you how to make the meatballs?” Megumi queried, “He taught me how.”

“Yeah right, it was me who taught him.” Y/N kneaded the meat in the bowl, “He failed to mention that didn’t he?”

The stutter of the subway cart knocked Megumi out of his thoughts. To his right was Itadori, who appeared to be contemplating something. They exited the cart, and like many times before, they started on the familiar route to Y/N’s residence.

This current predicament eerily mirrored his first meeting with Y/N. Except this time, Megumi brought good news instead of bad news. Hopefully Y/N would take it well and not blow up in anger. She had every right to be angry, but Megumi had an inkling she would hear them out.

“Should I surprise her like I surprised you and Kugisaki?” Itadori pumped his fist, “She’ll probably swoon and fall into my arms! It’ll be super romantic!”

Megumi deadpanned, “I don’t think she’ll appreciate that.” Was Itadori truly that dense? Didn’t he see how Nobara reacted to his revival? He could only imagine how his actual girlfriend would react, “Didn’t you see how Kugisaki reacted?”

“True…” Itadori pouted and placed his hands on his hips, “She looked like this, and she kept glaring when I spoke.”

“I wonder why…” Megumi rolled his eyes at Itadori’s theatrics.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suppose I should break it to her…” He ruffled his black locks, “Then when she’s ready you can come in.”

“Alright…”

With a nod, Itadori walked out of view. Megumi took a deep breath, before he knocked on the door.

“Where do you keep running off to? The second years keep nagging me whenever you skip training.” Nobara crossed her arms, while she tapped her foot on the ground as she waited for Megumi’s answer.

“To visit Y/N,” Came his short answer, “After I told her about Itadori’s death we exchanged numbers and kept in contact.”

“Oh…” Kugisaki murmured, “Tell her we should meet up sometime. Maki’s the only girl I’ve talked to on a regular basis,” She pinched her nose, “There’s too much testosterone here.”

“So…what is that you need?”

“Uh, can we sit down?”

“Right, ok...”

Megumi awkwardly trailed behind Y/N as she led him to her couch. He tugged at his uniform’s collar. Was his uniform always so stuffy? No, it was just the nerves. Megumi was at a lost about how to break the news. He wished it was as simple as watching a YouTube video titled ‘How to tell a girl their boyfriend isn’t dead!’. But alas, here he was, with a choked up expression painted on his face.

“What is it Megumi? You’re freaking me out.”

“Itadori isn’t dead.” Megumi truly needed to practice on his execution. His forward way of speaking could easily rub someone the wrong way. The poor guy couldn’t help it! His nerves always loosened his mouth. It wasn’t normal to just vomit information like that. His execution was so poor that he couldn’t help but internally cringe.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re joking. This has to be a sick joke.” She leaned back onto her couch, “Then again you’re not really one for jokes.”

Megumi slightly recoiled from her subtle insult. It may have been nothing malicious on Y/N’s part, but Megumi was still irked. He could tell a joke! Instead of pursuing the matter any further, he kept his mouth shut. It was inappropriate to complain now.

“I found out a couple of days ago. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with school.” He started, “It would’ve been unfair of me to just tell you over the phone.”

“C-can I see him?” Y/N mumbled, “Is he here now?”

He nodded, “I’ll grab him for you.”

Within minutes, Itadori is ushered into Y/N’s living room. Megumi quietly excused himself as he was not keen on being caught up in a couple’s quarrel.

Itadori was uncharacteristically silent as he witnessed the tears falling from his partner’s eyes. Itadori’s arm slightly raised out to her, but he ultimately faltered. He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he was unsure if the situation called for it.

“Y/N please don’t cry—“

“Two months.” Y/N hiccuped, “Two months I thought you were dead. I got no explanation. I didn’t even get to see your body.” She tugged down her sleeve to wipe her eyes, “Megumi was the only person I could talk to. He couldn’t give me a reason, but he respected me enough to tell me.”

“I’ll explain everything to you, I swear.”

“You’re an asshole for this…you tell me you transferred to some fancy school, and then you die! This isn’t some drama Itadori, you better not have joined some cult!” As her tangent ended, Y/N stumbled over to Itadori and threw her arms around him, “Please trust me, tell me everything from the beginning.”

Itadori tightly returned the hug, and littered kisses on her forehead. Once done, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“So you did join a cult.”

“Y/N I swear it’s not like that-“

#imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #itadori imagine #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #jjk sukuna #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #Itadori angst #megumi x reader #gojou satoru #jjk yuuji #jjk megumi #jjk nobara

[nationalharryleague]

Saturday Morning

Summary: Y/N and Harry spend a lovely Saturday in bed. 

Genre: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF and a “Two for the Show” extra!! 

Word Count: 2.5K!

A/N: Two for the Show is by far my favorite and the most popular fic I’ve ever written and I just missed my babies so much I had to write an extra for them!! I owe my heart to my loves S @tobesolonely​ and Nat @harrystylescherry​ for reading this for me and reassuring me when I needed it!! I am very rusty so please be nice! You can find more of my writing in my masterlist and I really want to hear what you have to say about this one!!! Also hi soph <3 @theharriediaries

**Read Two for the Show first**

***

Saturday mornings had always been Y/N’s favorite.

When she was little, she always woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon coming from the kitchen up the hall (courtesy of her father being an early riser who always got a bit bored in the mornings). As she got older, she spent them sleeping in and trying to recharge from long days at school, basking in whatever peace she could get before exiting her room into the chaos of her loving--but crowded--household. When she got to college, Saturday mornings were reserved for dealing with hangovers, and once she moved to LA and her career began to take off, it was the only time she had for herself in her busy schedule.

Her love for Saturdays had only grown since she had moved in with Harry.

They always woke up slowly, basking in the quiet of their bedroom and the soft glow created by the light that streamed through the small crack in their blackout curtains. The pair were often a tangle of limbs by the morning, pressed together as close as they possibly could get, both of them feeling at their most relaxed when they could feel their partner’s heartbeat against their own. Sometimes someone woke up with an elbow to the ribs, but most of the time Y/N’s cheek was pressed up against Harry’s shoulder, her face buried into his neck, with his arm draped around her waist and tightly holding her to him like she might roll away in the middle of the night.

That morning she woke up to Harry’s curls tickling her nose. He had been growing them out slightly, letting them fall to a middle part that gently flicked out at the bottom. It reminded her of when he had hosted SNL a few years prior and she adored it. It was just the right length to sink her fingers into and hold on to him. But she did not appreciate it pulling her out of her beauty sleep.

She had wiggled away from the wispy hairs, trying to get her face away from the tickling strands when she felt Harry’s hands clamp down on her waist, refusing to let his girl slip away from his grasp.

“Stay,” he rasped, clearly still half asleep and mumbling in a way she knew no one else could have understood. “You’re warm.”

“I’m not leaving,” she murmured, maneuvering her way onto her other side and pressing her back against his chest. “Just adjusting.”

“But I like holding you that way.”

“Hold me this way.”

“Yes, sir,” he smirked against the back of her neck, delicately placing a few kisses to her skin while he was there. “You just wanted to be the little spoon.”

A sleepy but mischievous smile crawled onto her lips as she snuggled further into her pillow, eyes still closed in hopes of keeping the day away just a little bit longer. “Maybe I did. What are you going to do about it?”

The second his hands moved to her waist she knew what was about to happen. A squeal left her lips as his fingers began to move rapidly at her sides, pulling loud and boisterous laughter from her chest. Sleep was a dream of the past now, but she was sure she wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

When Harry was gone--either on tour, work trips, or the occasional solo visit to see his family--she missed him like crazy. She still remembers the empty heartache she felt when he had gone on the next leg of the tour without her when they were still brand new. She had to be in LA for her now exploding career (thanks Harry), but daily phone calls and incessant texting could only do so much when the person she was quickly falling in love with--for real this time--was on another continent. By some miracle, she had made him feel the same way about her as she did him through a screen.

She always felt like he had taken a piece of her with him when he was gone. He did if you counted the small hidden tattoo of her first initial that had found its way onto his ribs after their (actual) two year anniversary.

The feeling of missing him never left when he was gone. She imagined he felt the same whenever she was on tours or work trips of her own.

While her body fought against his tickling touch, her heart melted into it. These moments, on (usually) quiet saturday mornings, meant the world to her. This was a time that was just theirs, belonging to no one else but them. Their joy and love took place in private, as privacy became something the couple had been increasingly possessive of as of late.

Harry’s loud and giddy laughter behind her sounded like a perfect melody and she could feel his chest heaving against her back as he rolled onto his back and brought her with him. Their comforter was now tangled around them, wrapping the pair together in a way neither of them could move with Y/N’s thrashing. He finally ended his torture when she whezed out between giggles that she was going to pee herself.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” he relented, letting his hands leave her sides to reach them across his stomach and hold her body tightly on top of his. “We both know how you pee your pants.”

“Harry Edward Styles, it happened one time three years ago after nearly an entire bottle of tequila! How long are you going to hold onto that and bring it up?”

“Until it’s not funny anymore,” he snickered.

“You know what’s also funny? When you got so sloshed you were crawling under tables at the BRITs. Or that time that you got so drunk that you sent  Jeff a dick pic by accident because you thought you were sending it to me. Or that other time-”

“That’s enough!” he announced, playfully clamping a hand down over her mouth, and releasing her mouth and a disgusted ‘blegh’ when she ran her tongue up his palm.

“Behave Styles,” she teased as she inched her way up his body, resting her head on his shoulder and snaking her fingers up into his hair, giving it a gentle tug as a warning.

“You know I like it when you pull my hair like that, so how about you behave, Styles?”

“That’s Y/L/N-Styles to you,” she teased, but she couldn’t fend off the giant grin that found its way to her lips at the mention of their still very recent nuptials.

The wedding had been small, very small, with only their immediate families and best friends in attendance. While their relationship had started in (and for) the focus of the public eye, they both decided their wedding was going to be just between them and those that mattered most. They didn’t wear their rings in public and no magazines had leaked or published that they were married yet. The day that it became public information was inevitable, but at the moment, the two relished in their little secret.

She felt a swell of love within her as she thought about her husband, sliding out of his grip and onto the bed beside him so she could finally see his face. His eyes were always a little puffy in the morning, a sight shadow of stubble decorating his cheeks if he had shaved the morning prior, but his tired smile was always the same. His pink lips lazily perked up to the left, his deep dimple appearing as if to say ‘good morning,’ and his two front teeth that always reminded her of an adorable bunny made their first appearance of the day. His smile usually disappeared quickly though, morphing into a pout and asking for a kiss.

How could she ever say no?

She settled a hand onto his bare chest and propped herself up to reach her lips to his. Their mouths moved with a well practiced gentle love and passion for each other, Harry’s hands coming to rest on her heating cheeks. She moved herself over him, settling her knees on either side of hips, never breaking their lips apart.

Kissing him was her favorite activity and with five years of practice, they were really good at it by now, but the swirling electricity that always appeared never failed to bring a flush to her cheeks. She could never get used to him. He was intoxicating and she never wanted to sober up.

Their moment was interrupted by a loud grumble coming from Harry’s stomach and Y/N pulled her lips from his and threw her head back with a loud belly laugh she just couldn’t contain.

“You good?” she teased down at him, lightly poking at his bare stomach right below her favorite butterfly.

His cheeks flushed slightly as he dramatically hung his head and flashed his best puppy-dog eyes at her with a silent plea to feed him. “I think I’m hungry.”

“You can be hungry but I’m not getting out of bed to make you breakfast.”

“Well, I’m not getting out of bed either,” his eyebrow quirked. “Aren’t you hungry? Don’t you want your morning coffee that you say I don’t make right?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment. “I’m willing to risk shitty coffee if I get to stay in this bed.”

“I will do anything you want other than getting out of this bed right now.”

“Anything?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow and a curious lilt in her voice. She was quickly answered with an eager knod. He obviously thought this was some sort of sexual request by the smirk that rose to his face. “You have to clean the litter box until I decide I’ve been properly paid back for your veggie omelet and tea.” His face fell.

“That’s your job!”

“Exactly why I don’t want to do it.”

“I’ll do literally anything else.”

“My one offer. Take it or leave it?”

“Leave it,” he said with a theatrical pout and crossed his arms over his chest. She was momentarily distracted by the way his tattoos moved over his muscular and tan arms for a moment, but shook herself from the thought and steeled herself in her stubbornness.

The two shared an intense look for a moment, both of them deciding whether or not they would press the issue further. With a sigh and slight roll of her eyes, she stuck out her hand towards him.

“We go on ‘shoot’ and none of your ‘best two out of three’ bullshit.”

As childish as it felt, Rock, Paper, Scissors had become their way of negotiating most of their disagreements over the years. It was a lighthearted game of chance, and while it sometimes led to a few minutes of frustration for the losing party, it worked for them and stopped arguments before they could happen. Interviewers often thought it was a joke when they answered the usual “secrets to a happy relationship” question, but it couldn’t be more truthful.

“Fine, we play by your rules.”

Their fists dropped down to their opposite palms three times, before both called “shoot.” She had gone for rock. Harry had gone for paper.

A loud combination of a whine and a groan left her lips and she dramatically let her body fall off of his and back onto her side of the bed.

“Fair is fair, my love,” he playfully taunted. “I would like my veggie omelette and I’m thinking I could go for some green tea this morning.”

“I will be getting you back for this,” she grumbled as she began to drag herself off the bed and away from it’s cozy warmth. She slipped his go to Columbia black hoodie over her head and took a pouty deep breath. It would have been more dramatic but she was distracted by how good the sweatshirt smelled. It smelled like home.

“I love you so so much,” he defended, opening his arms wide to grab her for one last kiss before she ventured down to the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled against his lips. “I love you too.”

She sulked out of their bedroom towards their kitchen (not before Harry swatted at her butt that was barely covered by the sweatshirt) and began to hold up her end of their deal. The cold tile nipped at her toes as she made them both omelettes and bopped along to the music she had instructed their Alexa to play. She fixed herself a morning coffee (that Harry really did always screw up somehow) and rummaged through their cabinet until she found her husband’s special order of green tea.

“Come get your breakfast, princess,” she shouted up the stairs when she was finished and after pausing her music.

“No breakfast in bed?”

“You are not getting eggs on our new--very expensive--sheets. Come down here and give me another kiss.”

She heard a whine of “fine” come from their bedroom followed by the padding of feet. Harry appeared at the top of the stairs moments later, rubbing at his eyes like a sleepy child and she just wanted to pull him into her arms and run her fingers through his hair until he fell back asleep. He pecked her lips softly when he reached the bottom of the stairs, but killed it when he called her a “breakfast tyrant.”

Y/N followed him back into the kitchen and watched him plop his still sleepy body into one of the high chairs at their kitchen island in front of his plate and his favorite mug that read “Coffee has a rough time in our house. It gets mugged every single morning!” She hooked an arm around his shoulders and slid herself onto his lap, sipping on her coffee as she waited for his opinion on his breakfast.

“It’s always better when you make it,” he smiled at her and pressed an eggy kiss to her cheek.

“You always say that,” she smirked back at him, only causing his smile to grow. “Oh, I almost forgot. Alexa, resume music.” He gave her a faux frustrated stare as he recognized what song she had been playing.

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time, 'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style!” rang out from the small speaker on their counter and she laughed so hard she would have slipped off his lap if his arm wasn’t wrapped firmly around her waist.

“How long are you going to hold onto that and bring it up?”

“Until it’s not funny anymore,” she used his own words from this morning against him with a cheeky smile.

“You are so lucky I love you so much.”

“And I love you more,” she mumbled against his lips, bringing her smirk with her into their kiss.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!! If you enjoyed this you can support a broke college kid here :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #nationalharryleague #mine #one direction #one direction fanfic

[lucytara]

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt. 

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

--

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

--

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

--

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

--

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

--

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

--

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

--

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

--

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

--

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

--

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

--

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

  Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

--

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

--

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

--

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

#Anonymous #bumbleby #rwby fic prompts #rwby fic

[valdomarx]

A Marriage of Convenience

Octoberfest romcom tropes day 1: fake dating

Jaskier pushed his ale aside and broke the wax seal on the letter. As he read the contents, his face pinched into a frown.

“Anything important?” Geralt asked, glancing up from his soup. 

Jaskier chewed his lower lip. “Not really. It’s from my family.” He took a breath. “They’re going to disinherit me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing, thank you very much! But it’s my 35th birthday next month, and the stipulations of the Lettenhove family will are quite clear. If the oldest son isn’t married by the age of 35, inheritance passes to the next married cousin.”

“Very keen on weddings in Lettenhove, are they?”

“Rather less keen on unmarried bachelors, actually.”

Geralt grunted. “That’s too bad. I imagine a viscount’s fortune could have come in handy for you.”

“Oh, I don’t care about the money.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just,” he sighed. “I have younger sisters who rely on me for support. If the inheritance goes to cousin Edward, he’ll turn them out without a penny to their names.”

“That’s unkind.”

“It is.” Jaskier slumped. He was glad to have left Lettenhove and its court intrigues behind, but the thought of his sisters being at the mercy of his greedy cousin was unconscionable. He knew too well all the terrible things that could befall a woman alone in the world.

“This will,” Geralt said, stirring his soup absentmindedly, “does it have any rules about who you have to marry?”

“No. Any old wedding will do. But it’s not like I’m going to find anyone willing to tie themselves to me in the next month.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll marry you.”

Jaskier choked on his ale. “You?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” he broke off and mopped the sweat from his brow. Because I’ve been in love with you for decades. Because I’ve fantasised about you saying this in a million different ways. Because having to pretend it’s real is going to break my heart.

Geralt reached over the table and patted his hand. “It’ll just be pretend,” he said, as if that were in any way reassuring. “This is a problem easily solved. Let me help you.”

Jaskier sagged. This was going to be a disaster.

-

“This is going to be a disaster!” Jaskier paced anxiously around their room. “There are so many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

Geralt sat on the bed counting bundles of herbs. “It’ll be fine.” He was infuriatingly calm. “We’ll head to Lettenhove, have a quick wedding, get your family off your back, and be on our way. It’ll only take a few days.”

“But,” Jaskier kept pacing. “We’ll have to. You know. We’ll have to do couple things. There are certain… expectations of a newly married pair.”

Geralt got to his feet and placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, stopping his anxious traipsing. “We’ll manage. Can’t be any worse than fighting drowners.”

Jaskier looked into amber eyes and felt his heart turn over in his chest. “Everyone will expect us to be holding hands, and kissing, and gods know what else. And you can’t do that.” He sighed. “You don’t even like men.”

Geralt leaned in closer, close enough that strands of his silver hair tickled Jaskier’s cheek. “I like men just fine,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then Jaskier did something terribly foolish. His body moved before his mind, his feet stepping closer, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck. He kissed him, hard, and to his astonishment Geralt kissed him back hungrily, lips parting to allow Jaskier to taste him fully, tongue exploring, hands roaming, and by the time they broke apart Jaskier was flushed and breathing hard.

“See?” Geralt said, his deep voice sending a shiver up his spine. “We can do this.”

-

Jaskier wrote to his family to tell them the good news, and he and Geralt wasted no time in heading off to Lettenhove. The journey was long but nothing they were unused to. They traveled by day, slept under the stars by night, and Geralt even picked up a few quick contracts to help pay their way.

It was comfortable, and normal, and Jaskier could almost forget about what he was about to put himself through.

At least, until they reached the outskirts of Lettenhove and they heard the whoosh of an incoming portal. The ground shook, the air rippled, and through the rent in reality stepped Yennefer, terrifying and beautiful as ever.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at them. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a snarky reply as she swept past him and went to Geralt. He stood back and watched the two of them, powerful and dazzling together, each other’s equals in capability and composure.

He had never had a chance in this competition, he thought bitterly. He would be pretending with Geralt, while she had his heart for real.

Jaskier was left at camp while Geralt and Yennefer went off to do... whatever it was they did together. (He could guess what that was.) He spent a cold, lonely night with no one but Roach for company, berating himself for feeling so hurt by something he knew from the beginning was nothing but a ruse.

-

With their arrival in Lettenhove proper, there was nothing to do but face his family. The brightest spot of his day was walking into the estate and having his sisters squeal and jump on him just as they had done as children.

He stopped laughing and caught his breath long enough to introduce them. “Essi and Priscilla, this is Geralt.” My husband to be, he thought, and something twisted inside him at that. “Geralt, these are my troublesome sisters.”

Essi dipped her head and Priscilla performed a theatrical bow. “We were wondering if Jaskier would ever settle down,” Essi said with a sly smile.

“But seeing how handsome you are, I can’t blame him!” Priscilla replied, and the two of them broke into fits of giggles. 

Geralt, for his part, took them with good humour. Where Jaskier had been expecting him to be dour, he smiled indulgently and took each of their hands in turn and pressed a kiss to their knuckles, resulting in another uproar of giggling.

“Thank you for that,” Jaskier said quietly as they made their way to the room waiting for them.

Geralt inclined his head. “Have to make a good impression on the future in-laws,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking upward in amusement. 

The rest of his family were predictable as clockwork. Cousin Edward was sour, his father was distant, and his mother was simply relieved to see him married off as was proper. Geralt sat through all of it with more patience and good grace than Jaskier would have thought him capable of.

-

The day of the wedding itself passed in a blur. With such short notice the ceremony was terribly paired down by noble standards, but still, there was the formal breakfast, the dressing in formal garments, the journey to the temple outside of the city, the clamour of priestesses and officials and his family, the exchanging of rings, the reading of texts, and of course the formal dinner.

Jaskier barely remembered any of it. Looking back, the only thing that stuck out in his mind was the feeling of Geralt’s hand clasping his own during the handfasting. And the way that, whenever he was feeling overwhelmed over the course of the day, Geralt’s hand would find his own and give a comforting squeeze. 

-

Finally the ceremonies were complete and they were left in peace in their chambers, the two of them alone for the first time all day. Geralt’s hair had been braided into two slim plaits running either side of his face, though by now they were starting to become mussed. He’d even put on a shirt of dark blue silk as opposed to his standard uniform of all black. The effect was quite stunning.

As the door closed, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped and he breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

Geralt cupped one cheek tenderly. “You good?”

Jaskier exhaled, letting the anxiety and stress of the day slowly unwind. He looked into Geralt’s warm eyes and felt, for once, safe and unjudged. “I’m good.”

Geralt brought their lips together, soft as could be, and Jaskier’s knees shook. He grabbed Geralt’s forearms to hold himself upright and, desperate for some sort of control, some sort of meaning, he pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. 

This was a bad idea, he was aware, but Geralt felt so good in his arms. He ran his hands through silky silver hair like he’d always wanted to, he pressed himself close to that muscled chest he’d spent more time than he should have admiring, and he moaned unrestrainedly when Geralt picked him up, locking his legs around his waist.

This was a terrible idea, he knew, but Geralt carried him over to the bed with firm, confident steps, and the temptation to touch, to hold, to kiss was overwhelming. This would only lead to heartache, but he was weak in the face of love, as always. 

Geralt laid him out and took him apart with soft lips and careful fingers and a wicked tongue, and it was everything he’d been dreaming of for years, and yet so much more intense than anything he could have imagined. Geralt was dazzling beneath him, warm amber eyes and pale scarred flesh, beautiful and kind and more than he could possibly deserve.

-

Nuptial celebrations in Lettenhove were mercifully brief, and with the ceremony completed and recorded to the satisfaction of the genealogists, they were free to depart.

There were, however, some customs which could not be avoided.

“You’ll be honeymooning nearby?” Jaskier’s mother asked, with the understanding that this was not a question.

“Actually, we thought -”

“They’ll be staying in my cottage, won’t you?” Priscilla interjected. She’d availed herself of her position, such as it was, to secure a tiny ramshackle cottage on the Kerack coast. It wasn’t opulent but it was, thankfully, far from prying eyes.

Jaskier gave her a tiny nod of thanks and she winked.

“A cottage?” His mother’s lip turned up in distaste. “How quaint.”

“And there’s ever so much to pack, so we must be on our way -” he excused himself with a bow, tugging Geralt behind him.

Out of the view of their parents, Priscilla and Essi set upon him with hugs and kisses, thanked him for saving them from the horrors of cousin Edward, and packed up an obscene quantity of cheeses and wine to take with them.

By the time they departed the estate, Jaskier was even smiling.

-

It was quiet and calm on the coast. The cottage overlooked the sea, rolling and tempestuous, and had just enough space for a kitchen, a bed, and a bath. They had everything they needed, even a stable for Roach outside.

Even though it was only for a few days, Jaskier imagined Geralt would be bored and unhappy, feeling trapped in a place so small. But he seemed content: riding along the coastline in the morning, brushing Roach out, going fishing in the afternoon, preparing the catch for their evening meal.

Jaskier showed him his favourite spices and how to prepare the fish with butter to make it rich and indulgent, and in the quiet moments he wrote poetry or simply sat on the battered chair on the porch of the cottage and watched the waves.

Geralt returned to the cottage with a net bulging with fish and a smile on his face. He’d been doing that more recently, Jaskier had noticed, smiling in a way that seemed natural and unforced. He even left his armour and swords in the cottage and waded down to the sea in just his trousers and shirtsleeves, disarmingly casual.

It was comfortable, almost domestic. 

And it was a torment, showing Jaskier a tiny glimpse of a life he’d never have.

-

Their last night on the coast, Geralt cooked the remainder of their provisions into a feast, poured the best wine they had, and set a fire in the hearth. He piled up blankets and pillows, laid down their warmest furs, and pulled Jaskier into his arms in front of the flames.

“Thank you,” he said, dotting kisses in a line up Jaskier’s neck, “for taking such good care of me.”

Jaskier fidgeted unhappily. “You’re the one doing me a favour,” he reminded him. That seemed important to remember. This was a favour from a friend, nothing more.

Geralt hummed against his neck, the vibrations rippling against his skin. “I can see some advantages to me,” he murmured, continuing his line of kisses up Jaskier’s jaw and toward his lips.

Jaskier, stupidly, allowed Geralt to turn him around, hands delicate around his waist, allowed him to bring their lips together. He allowed a kiss, soft at first, and then another, more intense, moaning into Geralt’s mouth. 

“Can I interest you in an early night?” Geralt purred in his ear, and everything in Jaskier’s body said yes, and everything in his mind said no.

Eventually, his mind won out and he pushed Geralt away. 

“No,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry, Geralt, but this was a terrible mistake.”

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Geralt’s sad expression. He was hit by the urge to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Hey,” Geralt’s voice was so soft behind him. “It’s okay, Jaskier. Whatever it is. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I won’t do it again.”

Jaskier deflated. He turned to face Geralt, watery eyes and all. “That’s not the problem. I don’t want you to stop. I want this to be real.”

Geralt stood carefully still. “What do you mean, real?”

Jaskier took a breath, tried to imagine how to explain himself, how to convey what he felt. “I’m in love with you!” he snapped in the end. Not his most eloquent work, but perhaps his most honest.

Geralt tilted his head. “I know,” he said. He looked down at the ring on his finger. “Isn’t that the point?”

“The point?” Jaskier exploded. “The point!” He couldn’t stop himself from waving his arms as he ranted. “Oh, sure, I’m certain that the ideal marriage is between one person who’s hopelessly in love and one person who’s indifferent and besotted with another. I’m sure Yennefer will be delighted when she hears about this whole situation.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m in love with Yennefer?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

He paused, obviously weighing his words. “That night when she visited us outside Lettenhove, she wasn’t surprised by the news. She told me congratulations, and that it had taken long enough. I think she knew long before I did that I wasn’t in love with her, not really. My heart already belonged to another.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean… You and her, you’re not...”

Geralt shook his head. “What she most wants is something I can’t give her.”

“And you?” Jaskier asked, dreading the answer.

Geralt took his hand. “What I most want,” he stroked his thumb over the ring around Jaskier’s finger, “is something I already have.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt. It was almost too much. It was overwhelming. “You really love me?”

Geralt smiled softly. “I really do.”

Jaskier threw himself into Geralt’s lap, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. “Tell me again,” he said, because he was needy.

“I love you,” Geralt said, kissing down the side of his face. “I love you,” he said, lacing their fingers together against the furs. “I love you,” he said, their bodies moving together, finally free to feel with the intensity they had been hiding for so long, their scents mingling together with the fresh salt tang of the sea.

-

The sun shone brightly and the wind whipped their hair as they packed up Roach the next morning. Jaskier paused to admire the view one last time: The rolling waves, the steep cliffs, the shingled beach. 

Geralt slipped his arms around his waist from behind and dropped a kiss just beneath his ear. 

“What does our life look like now?” Jaskier asked, eyes on the waves.

He felt Geralt’s smile against his hair. “Much the same as before,” he said. “With perhaps a few improvements.”

Jaskier turned then and kissed him fully, no need to hold himself back, taking Geralt’s hand and running his fingers over the ring there.

“Ready to head back to the Path?” 

Geralt smiled, and Jaskier would never tire of that. “Ready if you are,” he said with softness in his eyes, “husband.”

#this just in: i am secretly soft #squeezing this in before midnight #geraskier #lesdemonium #thank you for the prompt inspo!! #octoberfest #the witcher #my writing

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part I

Summary: When Will asks him to pick Michael up from school, Spencer may or may not develop a schoolboy crush on the kindergarten teacher.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: Here she is! I’m not sure exactly what it is about Spencer Reid x teacher!reader, but it is my most requested fic topic, and I am happy to oblige! This is the first in a multi-part series. Weird is Good also takes place in this verse. Any teacher!reader requests will be folded into this verse as well, so feel free to continue sending me those!

Series Masterlist

Click here for the story mentioned, read by everybody’s fave Michelle Obama.

———

“A strong geographical profile is one of the most important pieces of the overall behavioral profile; it significantly narrows the area the team has to cover, allows for law enforcement teams to prioritize and maximize limited resources, and helps focus the investigation in conjunction with the other elements of the profile. And that wraps our section on building geographical profiles!” Spencer smiled at the faces in front of him, gesturing to the board. “The information we covered today will make up a significant portion of your midterm, so make sure to review it before next week. See you all next Thursday!”

As his students began packing up their things, Spencer’s phone rang from inside his bag. When he retrieved the phone and saw Will’s name on the caller ID, his brow furrowed in concern. “Will— everything ok?”

“Hey, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured him. “I’m sorry to ask, but JJ’s on a case, and my partner and I just finished our last call clear on the other side of the city. Henry’s got soccer practice, but Michael’s gotta be picked up in about— well, shit, right about now. Would you mind picking him up and bringing him ‘round to the house?”

Spencer looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started up the aisle out of the lecture hall. “Yeah, of course! It’s over by the Naval Observatory, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. If you pull ‘round the parking lot, they usually come out the side door. His teacher’s real sweet, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll let her know you’re picking him up.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Spencer pushed open the door and made his way down the hall.

“You’re the best,” Will drawled. “I’ll only be about half an hour.”

…

When Spencer pulled the baby blue Volvo into the parking lot of the school, he saw Michael and Ms. Y/L/N sitting on the steps of school. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, looking down at a book laying across their laps. Her legs were stretched out straight and she pointed down to the page, saying something that made Michael throw his little head back in a laugh that floated in through the open window of the car. Spencer grinned at the familiar sound as he pulled around the carpool loop.

When he recovered from the giggles, Michael caught sight of the car and waved his hand excitedly at Spencer. Ms. Y/L/N looked up and gave a wave as well, albeit a little less vigorous. She closed the book and turned her torso slightly to unzip Michael’s backpack and drop the book into it.

Spencer put the car in park, stepped out, and walked around the car to meet the two of them. Michael was already up and running, throwing himself at Spencer’s legs and hugging them tightly. He leaned down to return the hug. “Hey, buddy! How was school?”

“It was amazing,” Michael gushed, pulling out of the hug to gesture wildly. “We learned how to write the zzz sound, and now we know all the sounds! Oh, and then we used blocks in math, and that was so fun, because Ms. Y/L/N let us build with them when we were done counting. Oh, and then we learned about frogs, and they are so cool. Did you know that frogs have night vision? Oh, and Ms. Y/L/N said I could borrow my favorite book from the classroom library! She read it to me already while we were waiting for you, but maybe you could read it to me, too? I can read some of the words but not all of them yet, so I still need some help.”

Spencer smiled widely at him. “Wow, that does sound like an amazing day. I did know that about frogs, actually! And of course, I’d love to read with you.”

“The book’s called Giraffe Problems, and it’s about this giraffe named Edward who doesn’t like his neck.” Michael looked at Ms. Y/L/N. “What’s the turtle’s name again?”

“Cyrus,” Ms. Y/L/N reminded him.

“Right, Cyrus.” He looked at Spencer. “See, that one is tricky because c’s don’t usually make the sss sound, but sometimes they do. Ms. Y/L/N’s teaching me about it, even though she said it’s kinda hard for kindergarten.”

“Because you’ve got a big, powerful brain, right?” she said, tapping her temple and winking at Michael. “I’m Ms. Y/L/N, by the way. You must be the infamous uncle Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then she smiled at him and his big, powerful brain melted inside of his skull.

Michael continued talking, and Spencer briefly wondered if this is how people felt when he rambled. Michael lost his attention immediately, because all he could do was stare at Ms. Y/L/N. Her eyes glinted with humor as he chattered on. She followed his expressive motions with well-timed nods and mhmms, a skill she’d no doubt honed through years of indulging kindergarten babbling. She met Spencer’s eyes every so often, only a slight eyebrow raise indicating her amusement. Her hair had been tied back, but soft pieces had come loose throughout the day, falling into her face and around her shoulders. Up close, he could see that the print of her collared a-line dress was hundreds of green frogs. On her feet were a pair of beat up, low top converse, and Spencer thought he could physically feel the crush branding the chambers of his heart. He was jolted out of his thoughts by Michael’s hand tugging on his pant leg, and he looked down to see him looking up expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” Spencer asked him.

“I said,” Michael repeated with a sigh, “can we look up the author and see if he has any other books?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Of course, buddy.”

“Jory John has lots of amazing books,” Ms. Y/L/N confirmed. “You’ll love the series he wrote with Pete Oswald.” She smiled at the pair of them before checking her watch. “I’ve gotta go pack up, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” She winked at Spencer, and he almost swallowed his tongue. “It was nice meeting you, uncle Spencer.” She waved again and then turned up the stairs to disappear into the building.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and then turned to Michael. “Well. All right, are you ready to go home?”

…

They were settled into the car and halfway home before Michael finally needed to take a breath. Spencer capitalized on the break in conversation.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N seems pretty cool,” Spencer hedged.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Michael confirmed with a nod. “On Fridays she lets us put on the smocks and paint. And she has really good story voices. Oh, and she also has these really cool blocks that stick together—magnet blocks. And when I fell off the jungle gym and got a big scrape, she gave me a Paw Patrol bandaid! And she gives great hugs.”

“Good story voices, huh?” Spencer met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Better than mine?”

Michael tilted his head in deep thought. “Hmmmm. It’s pretty close. Your wizard voice is good, but she does accents.”

Spencer blew out a dramatic breath. “Guess I’m going to have to up my game.”

“You’re gonna have to practice a lot, because Ms. Y/L/N reads to us every day.” Michael raised his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Hey!” Spencer looked incredulous. “I read every day, too!”

“Yeah, but do you read with story voices every day?” Michael clarified.

Spencer sighed. “Well, I guess not.”

“It’s okay, uncle Spencer,” Michael soothed. “You can’t be the best at everything.”

“So they are better than mine?”

Michael pressed his lips together, and Spencer almost laughed at how much he looked like JJ. “... maybe.”

…

A trail of shoes and school supplies led to the couch, where Spencer and Michael sat shoulder to shoulder. They were on their second read of Giraffe Problems. Spencer took a long, dramatic breath before launching into Cyrus’ banana speech, and Michael burst into a fit of giggles. With his best theatrical voice, Spencer read down the page. “Yet, day after day, I’ve felt like such a fool as I stretched my neck toward those greedy branches, only to be limited by my own physical shortcomings.” He flipped the page and changed his tone. “You… want a banana from a tree?” He looked at Michael and said, quickly and in a low voice, “That’s what I said, yes.” Michael wheezed out another laugh.

Spencer finished the story, Michael mouthing the words along with him. When they reached the last page, Spencer softly closed the book and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s a pretty great story.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Ms. Y/L/N said she likes it because it reminds us that we gotta love ourselves and our bodies for how they are.”

Spencer nodded. “Absolutely. We’re all different, and that’s what makes us special.”

“Yeah. I just really like when he’s wearing all the scarves.” Michael burst into another fit of laughter, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh with him.

The front door opened, and Will was smiling as he stepped over the threshold. “I could hear y’all laughing all the way down the sidewalk.”

“Daddy!” Michael jumped up from the couch, and Will bent to scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. It sure sounds like you and uncle Spencer had fun, though.” He shot Spencer a wide smile.

“We read Giraffe Problems. Can we read it again later?” Michael asked.

“Sure thing. We can read it before bedtime.” Will set him down, furrowing his brow. “Wait, Giraffe Problems? Is that a new one?”

Michael shook his head. “Ms. Y/L/N let me borrow it from the library. I have to give it back in two weeks.”

“Man, Michael, you really lucked out, huh?” Will posited. “Ms. Y/L/N is so good to you.”

“Jeez, everybody’s saying that today,” Michael sighed. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N is amazing, we all know this.”

“All right, sass monster. I didn’t know uncle Spencer thought she was amazing, too.” Will grinned. “We gotta go pick up Henry in a few minutes. I’ll get you a snack, and you can pick up your things?” He gestured to the mess of shoes and school supplies in the foyer.

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “That’s probably my fault. We were just so excited to read the book.”

“Ah yeah, I know how he gets.” Will crossed to the kitchen. “A one track mind, that one. Thanks again for picking him up today.”

Spencer stood from the couch and followed, hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s no problem at all! I can do it any time.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother y—”

“It’s not a bother!” Spencer schooled his voice back into a normal register at Will’s raised eyebrow. “It—It’s not a bother at all. I, um— I have a lot of free time when I’m on sabbatical. Especially since I’m only teaching one course this semester. Plus, I love seeing the boys.”

“I’ll remember that.” Will smiled. “So… Ms. Y/L/N’s amazing, huh?”

Spencer just knew that his cheeks were as red as the apple Will was cutting up. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah, she was— she was really nice.”

“She’s not bad looking, either,” Will supplied. When Spencer’s mouth fell open, Will continued, “What? JJ thinks so, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t even look, because I know that’s a lie.”

Spencer sputtered, “I— well, I—”

“Daddy, can we get an ice-cream on the way home?” Michael interrupted, completely unfazed.

Will laughed. “Saved by the bell, uncle Spencer. Yeah, buddy, we can get ice-cream.”

…

“It’s not weird to look her up. I just want to know more about the person who’s educating my godson,” Spencer tried to reassure himself as he pulled up the school’s website. He scrolled to find the teacher pages, a little smile crossing his face when he saw Ms. Y/L/N’s picture— white ruffled shirt, red bow, and black hat. A perfect tribute to Mary Poppins.

He dropped his smile. “She barely said five sentences to you, and you didn’t say anything back.” His eyes wandered over the links on the side, landing on the About Me section. “But she did say she’d heard a lot about you, so it’s only fair that you get to know a little about her.” Against his better judgment, he clicked the page link. A photo of Ms. Y/L/N— grinning and holding a very distraught-looking black cat— popped up on the screen, and Spencer laughed aloud.

I grew up on a farm outside of Fayetteville, NC before moving to Boston to complete my undergraduate degree. I moved to DC to earn my Master’s in Early Childhood Education, and I have been teaching here for 8 years! I love working with young learners, because children grow so much in their foundational years. Watching a child have a lightbulb moment is one of my greatest joys. When I'm not in the classroom, I love to read, travel, play scrabble, and spend time with my cat Roald (pronounced Roo-all)!

Spencer scrolled through the pictures of Ms. Y/L/N and her students. There were pictures in their “smocks,” which Spencer discovered were really just old t-shirts. There was one of her in the middle of some very animated story telling, and another of a field trip to the zoo. In each one, the smiles beamed out through the computer screen in a digital portrait of unbridled joy, contagious even over the waves of the internet. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the tab labeled Teaching Philosophy.

I believe that every child is an extraordinary and essential piece of our classroom puzzle. In order to nurture the unique individuality of each of my students, I work hard to make our classroom a safe, positive, and supportive community where students are given the space to express themselves. Our classroom culture is also one of kindness and creativity, where each individual is valued and celebrated for who they are!

Spencer swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat as he thought back on his own school career. While his teachers had always appreciated his intelligence, he honestly couldn’t recall a moment where he had felt valued for just… being himself. The majority of his time in school had been spent unsuccessfully fending off bullies, completing other students’ homework, or being gawked at like some sort of alien. He was grateful that Michael would hopefully never go through anything like what he’d experienced; at least not while Ms. Y/L/N was around.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned back in the desk chair to pull it out. He swiped it open to read the incoming text.

JJ: So......... you like Ms. Y/L/N, huh? 😉😉😉

Spencer: What?! Did Will tell you that? I didn’t say that.

JJ: Some things you don’t have to say out loud, Spence.

———

Tags: @spacedikut

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