#i still have pictures of my ex in my frames on my wall

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking. 

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side. 

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics. 

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction. 

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk. 

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?” 

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately. 

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?” 

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you. 

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk. 

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there. 

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is. 

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge. 

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt. 

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple. 

He smiles. 

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route. 

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants. 

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is. 

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze  snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to. 

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest. 

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.” 

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him. 

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs. 

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent. 

God, he’s gorgeous. 

You hate him. 

You’ve missed him. 

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can. 

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs. 

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips. 

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.” 

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago. 

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective. 

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?” 

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions. 

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him. 

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace. 

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time. 

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.” 

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying. 

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch. 

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs. 

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did. 

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work. 

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk. 

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. 

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes. 

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for my sixteenth birthday because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything. 

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t. 

“I know,” he murmurs. 

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly. 

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses. 

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights * mv1

since your breakup, max hadn’t thought of you. until he stumbled home by himself in the middle of the night.

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: honestly just heartbreak all around

notes: i started writing this when i found out my ex-boyfriend was dating someone new, and now here i am 💀 and i fear i am on my phone once more; i will credit the gif in the morning when i get to school

(next)

the lock clicks as max turns his key, the sound echoing in the eerily empty hallway behind him. he turns the knob and was greeted by his empty apartment.

max hasn’t been home in almost 2 weeks. the races and his media commitments, topped by other projects just made it so rare to find the time to come home. but that’s not the only reason he’s avoiding the confinements of these four walls.

he flips the switch in the entryway, slipping his shoes off. immediately, he notices the vast difference in the way his apartment looks — how strangely lifeless it feels.

he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is and it takes him a second to realise.

you’d emptied his apartment of your belongings.

the breakup happened in the 2 weeks he was away from home. it actually took place a night before his race. he’d grown tired of it too, the neverending misunderstandings and the fights.

so he let you walk away; you hopped on a flight back home.

he hasn’t exactly had the time to think about you since then. you’d only texted him once: two days ago to tell him that victoria will be the one with the cats until he comes back. he’d only replied with a simple ‘okay, thank you’.

he didn’t really know what to say either. he stared at your text message for 5 minutes before daniel called him over to start filming a promotional shoot. that was all he could come up with.

max walks further into the apartment you’d once shared. his eyes are darting all over the place, taking mental notes of spots that look different from the way he had left it.

the framed picture of you with the cats is gone, your magazines on the coffee table, the bowl of your collection of scrunchies as a ‘conversation-starter’ centrepiece — it’s all gone.

his apartment didn’t even feel like home. all of the things that made it feel like home just isn’t in here anymore.

max turns his body, taking a glance at the entryway. even your house slippers aren’t where they usually are. it’s as if you were never even here.

he takes a walk further in, glancing at the sofa. it seems so lifeless now without the teddy bear you brought in, and the blanket that you insisted was only for the living room.

he admits he misses the teddy bear. though, he was opposed to the idea at first, claiming that it’s taking up precious space that you could both be maximising together. it proved a lot more useful when he found himself hugging it when he’s on the sofa watching a show with you.

the remotes for all the appliances are no longer scattered over the furniture mysteriously. they are all lined up neatly on the edge of the coffee table, grouped accordingly. you hated arranging the console remotes for the simple fact that you were too lazy to reach forward an inch to start playing.

and it finally hits him, that in the moment of pride, and simply protecting his peace at the moment, he has now lost you.

for good, it seems.

max drops himself on the couch. he’s still looking around, desperately wishing that this was some cruel dream he’s in. he will wake up with you by his side, your hair in his face with his arm draped lazily around your body. he will wake up and you are still his, and he is yours.

he can only sigh. audbily, at the predicament he has found himself in. at the time, it didn’t occur to him to fight for you; to ask you to stay. he didn’t have it in him to ask you to find reason within yourself to change your mind.

then he hears a soft meow, followed by sounds of pitter patter against the floor of the apartment. before he knew it, the couch dips ever so slightly and then there’s jimmy climbing onto his lap to greet him.

then he hears actual footsteps, slippers dragging against the floor. he turns his head slightly, his one hand patting the feline’s head, and meets victoria’s eyes.

“max?”

“victoria.”

a set of lights by the windows are turned on, granting him a look at his younger sister. she’s standing by the door of the guest bedroom with a jacket hanging loosely around her shoulders.

she has a frown on her face, and a look that screamed she didn’t know what to say to him.

and then his heart breaks. instead of walking through those apartment doors hand in hand with you, giggling from the high you’d get from the bar in his private jet, he is sitting her all by himself. met by his younger sister, who would be gone by morning to go back to her family.

max can only smile sadly at her. he shrugs. “we broke up.”

“i know,” she answers softly, nodding understandingly. she approaches him cautiously with her arms slightly held up. “i’m sorry.”

“me too.”

max scrambles from his position and gladly takes in the hug that she’s offered him. he suddenly feels so small, his heart aching in his chest and his throat closing up. he feels the tears in his eyes as he hugs his younger sister slightly tighter.

she rubs her back up and down, hugging him even tighter when she feels his chest stagger slightly. now he’s sniffling and hands are moving up to his face to wipe the tears falling from his eyes.

“give it time,” victoria whispers, swaying slightly in an attempt to comfort the driver. “i promise everything will fall back into place. slowly, but surely.”

max sighs deeply. “i don’t know why i didn’t stop her from walking away.”

she pulls away from the hug, then tugs his hands towards the couch when he chases her embrace. she leans back, pulling max in for a tighter — and slightly more comfortable — hug.

“i know it sucks now,” she rests her cheek on the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder empathetically. “but let things sort itself out. it will be okay.”

there, in his sister’s arms, he cried for the first time since your breakup. he had been so busy that he hadn’t been able to process the whole situation at all.

the way you had shot daggers at him through your eyes that night, how he snapped at you when he noticed and how the fight had erupted from something barely of significance.

it was just over a cup of coffee — how you had made it with 2 sugars instead of 3.

from there, the topics of contention had evolved into something bigger. in the haze of both of your anger, past arguments were brought up and new ones were created just in that night.

then both of you grew tired. you ended up next to him on the couch of his driver’s room in silence. and you said, “i can’t do this anymore, max.”

and he had said to you, “i’m tired.”

but what he should’ve said was: “i’m sure we can find a way through this.”

but that’s not what he said to you. he stayed silent when you brought it up: “i think we need to break up.”

frankly, he didn’t really know what to say. at first, he was dumbfounded at what you said. never did he think, that when you first start dating, that a breakup would ever present itself.

max told himself, about 4 months into the relationship that there’s absolutely no way he’d end up with anybody else except you.

now, it seems he’s going to have to go through all of this by himself. start the whole thing all over again, unless something changes.

#oh #i like it! #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke f1

[orchidsangel]

Recently imagined Jason and y/n, his ex, meeting again after a few years. Still obviously caring about each other. Eating cake alone at the apartment and awaiting the New Year together. Not wanting to say that this is the least lonely, however sad-looking, night they've experienced since they split up.

(jumping off a cliff bc i missed the glaring "new year" part of this and was like "i'll get to this later" so sorry beloved, also this got more angsty than i intended.)

Exes to lovers with Jason is always in the back of my mind somewhere, eating away at my sanity. Just the idea that he loved you so hard he had to let you go, knowing the life he lived wasn't suitable for you. You told him you didn't mind, that he was so important to you that you could put aside the constant worry that would sit in your stomach like a rock every time he was off being Red Hood. You said it was fine, but he saw the way bags appeared under your eyes after too many nights of staying up for him, how you forgot to eat when he went too long without contacting you, and how the tears would slip past your lashes when you were patching him up.

At the end of it all, you had begged him to stay, telling him over and over how much you loved him. It killed him to tell you that that was the reason why it was ending, because you loved him too hard, and you were neglecting yourself because of it. He was sick, wondering if he'd made the wrong decision, wondering if this would only make things worse for you. So, despite the fresh ache in his heart, he still watched out for you, determined to make sure you thrived without him, and thrive you did.

It felt like it had been ages since the last time he saw you that couldn't be mistaken for stalking. Watching you from rooftops and alleyways, rushing fights to make sure he could see if you got home safely and intervene if there were any threats. It became routine for him to hang up his helmet at night once he knew you were safe in the confines of the apartment you once shared. What wasn't routine was you knocking on his apartment door at exactly eleven forty-seven pm on New Year's Eve with a sad-looking store-bought cake in your hands and an even sadder look on your face.

"I know we're not together anymore, but…"

Splitting a whole cake between the two of you on New Year's Eve instead of having a typical dinner had been your tradition for years. Jason took it very seriously, planning the cake in advance for weeks, testing different flavors, even going as far as calling you once in the middle of a fight, asking if you preferred chantilly or sponge. It was stupid to most people you told, but to you and Jason, it was the perfect way to end the year. Now, you stand before him, holding a cake that could never compare to the decadent black forest cake he had made the last time you'd spent New Year's together.

You look down at the cake and then back up at him, the familiar gleam of water in your eyes. He takes the container in one hand and uses the other to pull the door open more so you can come in. It had been a while since you'd been there last, but everything was the same. A wall with an extensive collection of weapons, a stack of books that only collected dust when he was gone for long periods of time, and a framed picture of Jason and Bruce from his robin days.

"How'd you know where to find me?"

"Lucky guess."

Not a lucky guess, the first place you'd told him you loved him.

He roots around a drawer, pulling out two forks and handing one to you. Silence hangs in the air, several year's worth of unspoken feelings lingering with nowhere to go but up. he pops the lid off the container and gestures for you to take the first bite, another tradition that came with his hours of cake-making; he'd always insist on you having the first taste so you could give feedback and you only ever had positive things to say. Now, the weak taste of vanilla paired with a dry crumb, and your mouth turns downward into a frown.

"I don't think it's that bad."

"You'll eat anything."

"True."

No, it wasn't that bad. In fact, before you'd met Jason, this was something you probably would've treated yourself to when life decided to be good to you, but he had spoiled you, given you so much more than you even knew was out there, and it wasn't all material.

Three minutes to New Year's now, and approximately six bites taken out of the cake, five from Jason, and you're ready to part ways again with you leaving him this time. There's still time to make a run for it and ring in the new year without the baggage of your ex hanging over you; there's still time to pretend your world wasn't shattered when he left.

"Why are you here? Why not spend New Year's with your friends?"

"Friends?"

"The people I always see you with when I-"

"Watch me?"

"Am on patrol."

"Right."

"Why aren't you with them?"

"Not friends, coworkers."

"You're with them all the time."

"Workplace comradery."

"So, friends."

Thirty seconds now, and the words you still haven't said are on the tip of your tongue and in the back of your mind, egging you on to admit the feelings you've been sitting on for what feels like forever. He beats you to it.

"Please come back to me."

"I'm not the one who left."

Fireworks go off outside, signifying the beginning of a new year, and you and Jason stand across from each other. Physically, only the kitchen island stands between you two, but emotionally, you're still miles apart. You can't hear in his words how much he needs you back in his life, how hard it is for him every night to not climb in through your window and find his spot in the bed you'd shared like he'd done so many times before; and he can't hear in your words how the wound he left in your heart never healed, how it never even started to, and how through him leaving, you found out that time doesn't heal all things.

#☆ messages from friends ☆ #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd angst #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood angst #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #red hood fic #red hood imagine #jason todd i’ll love you forever

[intelligentbees]

“I still hate you,” Tony mutters, voice shaky and entirely unconvinced while his hand expertly unbuckles the clasps of the uniform he designed so carefully, months and months and months ago.

“I know,” Steve responds gruffly. His beard scratches Tony’s jaw as those perfect teeth run down the thin skin of his neck, trace his jugular. His hands are rough iron clamps against each side of Tony’s beautifully tailored Versace two-piece. The fabric will be ruined beyond repair in less than ten minutes - Tony could bet his fortune on it.

They’ve played this stupid game before. Every time, Tony swears it’ll be the last.

Steve hitches him up onto the kitchen counter of the ridiculous New Jersey safehouse, and Tony goes willingly, yanking Steve into the open spread of his legs. This is the closest Steve’s gotten to New York since he first read those damned accords. The closest he can get to home is some 1965-styled kitchenette with pictures of old-timey adverts lining the walls and a microwave that’d probably irradiate you if you went near it.

It’s wrong- all of it. But there’s no changing it. Steve made his choice long ago, and Tony hates him for it. He should remember that. He should tell Steve that again.

“Fuck, God, Steve,” is what comes out instead, breathed against the other man’s mouth. Tony’s whole body is hot, taught, desperate, and he tugs the top half of Steve’s uniform off his torso. Steve spray painted over the colours- the whole thing is dark now, void of any trace of what it used to be. Tony hates that too.

“Tony,” Steve says, like there’s more to it- a name at the beginning of a sentence which never comes out. He clasps his teeth over Tony’s bottom lip, pushes his hands under Tony’s rapidly-wrinkling shirt and brushes his thumbs over each nipple, rubbing quick circles. The movement pulls another noise from Tony’s throat.

Fuck- the man knows him.

Steve steadies himself for a moment to catch his breath, nose brushing against Tony’s. Tony tries not to look into his eyes, whenever they do this. He’s never been good at seeing Steve’s soul - the one he never tries to hide, to mask. He’s not like Tony, you see. Everything he does, he does earnestly and from the heart.

The decision he made to leave with Bucky - to keep the culprit of Tony’s parents’ deaths a secret from him - they’d both come from that same heart. Hence, no eye contact. Tony has no desire to see how truly insignificant the space he takes up in Steve’s soul was.

Except now.

He does it without meaning to- just catching sight of those infuriating baby blues as he leans in for another messy kiss. Error number 1.

Error number 2 is not shutting his damn eyes and grabbing Steve’s dick like he normally does.

And error number 3 is the worst. Error number 3 is when he catches sight of Steve’s suddenly agonised expression, doesn’t ignore it, and instead asks “what?” Thus inviting conversation. They don’t come here for that. They come here to fuck eachother’s brains out for a night and then keep playing their cat-and-mouse chase across the globe as if anyone in a position of authority actually fucking believes it.

Steve goes perfectly still for a moment. Then he swallows. “This… this really makes you miserable, doesn’t it.”

He doesn’t frame it like a question.

Tony looks up at him, breathing hard. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not looking ecstatic while getting groped by my ex boyfriend in a place that’s decked out like a prop house in a nuclear testing site. Would you prefer for me to giggle jovially while you fuck me amongst the dust and cobwebs?”

They’d used to have sex that was so full of love. This is how Tony always talks to Steve, now.

Steve shakes his head, a minute, grieving little thing. Tony feels the man’s breath skating across his face- feels the warmth of his bare chest, his shoulders, pressing against Tony.

“I thought…” he begins, then trails off for a moment as Tony skirts his hands down his chest, unlatches his belt. “I thought this made you happy. At least a little bit, even if you didn’t admit it. But it doesn’t. ”

Of course it doesn’t. But it’s all I have left of you.

“You think I’m coming here to find happiness? Jesus Steve. I’m coming here for tension relief,” Tony says, because he just can’t be truthful- he did his best when they were together, he really did, and it all failed anyway. Besides: Steve was never as truthful as Tony had always so fervently believed him to be either. “How about we both just stop talking and get down to that part.”

He gets his hands all the way to Steve’s boxers before Steve stops him- a gentle yet utterly unmoving grip. When Tony looks up at him again, Steve shakes his head. He’s grey in the face- if Tony didn’t know better now, he’d even say heartbroken.

“Tony, I…” Steve’s struggling for the words and he looks so beautiful, so so beautiful, just the same as the very first time Tony laid eyes on his photograph in the SHIELD folder he’d hacked his way into. “I didn’t realise you felt that way. Or maybe I did, but just didn’t want to acknowledge it because I was selfish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t do this with you. To you.” Steve steps away jerkily, half his body lagging while the other half pulls, as if warring with his own system. His pale skin is patchy, covered in faint marks where Tony has grabbed him. “I thought we were both doing this for enjoyment, but you’re not, and so I can’t. It’s cruel.”

Tony realises what Steve is implying here. His heart - what’s left of the poor thing anyway - convulses in panic, and he stumbles off the counter. “I’m not a fucking dog,” he snaps, “I make my own choices.”

“You don’t even look at me,” Steve’s voice breaks then. “I wished more than anything that you’d look at me. But I just saw it, then, when you did.”

“Saw what?”

They’re facing off against one another now - it’s like they can’t stop themselves. They have to be on either side of the argument, they can never just agree, no matter how hard they both want to. Tony hates and hates and hates.

“Your eyes don’t lie to me, Tony.” Steve’s voice is soft, and he says it like that alone is enough. “Your mouth does. And you don’t want this.”

“See, do you see what you’re doing here, again?” Tony steps forward, smashes his finger against the place where the star used to sit proudly on Steve’s chest. “You’re making an executive decision about how I feel, as to what I need, when you don’t have that right. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!”

“But you never do what’s best for you!” Steve’s hands flail helplessly. “You do what’s best for everyone else, or what you think you deserve, and you never think about how it’s going to hurt—“

“I DESERVED TO KNOW MY PARENTS WERE MURDERED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Tony was supposed to be making his way to an orgasm right about now - instead he suddenly feels so angry he can hardly breathe. Fucking typical. He just had to go and open his mouth, didn’t he?

He glares at the man who tore his heart out over a year ago. Steve looks back, his expression shattered. Tony feels angrier still when he realises that he’s never going to be able to see this person in front of him and not love him. He’s trying so hard, right now, and he can’t. Even after all this. He can’t find it in him.

“Just fuck me,” Tony says, and it comes out more exhausted than demanding.

Steve shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Right. Steve’s made up his mind about what’s best for tony. Again. Was it ever going to go any other way?

Sometimes, the tiredness goes so deep that Tony starts to feel it in his bones. His therapist says it’s psychosomatic- that bones don’t actually creak and groan like wooden doors in abandoned houses. Tony begs to differ.

“If we stop now, this is the last time you’ll ever see me,” he says, hoping, even now, that maybe something will change. That maybe for once, Steve will just put him first.

It’s a pipe dream. Tony comes to that realisation as soon as Steve shakes his head. Stupid.

“Maybe that’s for the best.” Steve’s voice is hoarse. Like each word is painful. Tony wishes that were true - in reality, he doesn’t doubt Steve is just wary of the fight his words will bring - the argument that’ll erupt out of Tony’s mouth in response.

But Tony’s done fighting. It’s a losing battle. Always has been.

He looks at Steve. Nods.

He walks out of the door without another word.

#stevetony #Steve Rogers #tony stark #i hate civil war passionately and yet I am obsessed with writing about their fucked up little dynamic #yesssss boy. hate eachother!!! love eachother!!! blur those goddamn lines!!! #die in one another’s arms and then finally see everything you should’ve done differently with the clarity that only comes when you know #the opportunity to fix it is gone for good!!!!!!!!!!! #anyways

[formulakatya]

TWO WORLDS | MICK SCHUMACHER

“it’s astronomy, we’re two worlds apart”

not my gif :)

summary: where you and mick are childhood best friends and grew up in racing together, and yet mick made it to formula one with nothing but love and admiration from everyone and you left the sport with nothing but scars

pairing: mick schumacher x ex driver!reader

notes: i’m probably going to make a part 2, loosely based off ‘astronomy’ by conan gray and that one line from ‘daylight’ by david kushner, unedited (sorry)

warnings: a little angsty but it kinda gets better, slight talks about mental health issues and struggles, slight implications of struggles with eating, slight implications of self-destructive behaviours

—

switzerland always held a special place in your heart. it was your home country after all, having grown up in geneva. and despite having moved to england for university, you still made a point to come back ever so often to visit your family and friends— and most importantly, spend time with your dogs.

and, with christmas just around the corner, it was no surprise that you were back, happy to carry out the christmas traditions you’ve always loved. which was precisely why you were in your childhood bedroom.

sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in the memories and nostalgia which never failed to wash over you every time you stepped into room as you glanced around, each object in your room giving you reminders and memories of the past. each flag and poster on your wall had a specific sentiment attached to it, as did the picture frames and polaroids.

the red ferrari flag that hung on your wall served as the most important reminder of your past woes in racing— it’s iconic prancing horse staring at you almost in mockery for your failure in achieving your dreams whilst the very same people you competed with had, or were at least on their way to achieving.

glancing to your bedside table, you let out a sigh upon seeing the picture frame, picking it up and clearing the dust away. the frame was old, so was the picture inside of it, yet, you still remember it like it all happened yesterday.

“micky!” you exclaimed, glad to see your best friend again, letting out a smile. “how are you? how was italy?”

“it was so fun! i got you a gift as well! i’ll give it to you when you come over later!” he smiled, “i got to visit maranello and the ferrari museum! it was so cool!”

“lucky…” you pouted, “i really want to race for ferrari one day! i’ll get to formula one, race for ferrari and win 10 championships! i’ll beat your dad’s record!”

“not if i do it first,” he let out a laugh, “we’ll both get to formula 1 and we’ll be teammates in ferrari!”

“and we’ll be the best duo on the grid!”

“obviously.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at the picture frame next to your bed, the memories with your ex-best friend coming back to you. the thought of all the plans you had made with each other, from travelling over the world together when you’d grow up to getting to the pinnacle of motorsport and driving next to each other.

both of you had big dreams, for yourselves and for each other, and yet you two had fallen out.

of course you still sent him congratulatory messages whenever he would have a good race and he would still occasionally text you to check up on you, but other than that, there was nothing.

you had went from best friends to almost strangers.

sometimes you find yourself reminiscing about the past and couldn’t help but wonder if he was still the person you remembered him being. and sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel jealous.

you two had gone down the same path— starting your karting journey at the same track, going up to formula 4 at the same time, going to formula 3 together with the same team— and yet he had made it to formula 1 and you were left with nothing but with a mix of memories and a wound that would never stop bleeding.

of course, you had some regrets in leaving the sport, but at the end of the day, you would probably have more regrets in staying in it. it was the fact that you could do it but didn’t and the regret and guilt would haunt you forever. but, at the same time, you were glad that you had stopped.

good memories had been made; the feeling of adrenaline as you battled wheel-to-wheel, the joy being on the top step and the thrill of simply racing would be something you would miss forever.

but the bad had overrode the good.

watching what you ate to make sure you could be as light as you could be just to cut down times for each sector. the constant feeling of never being good enough and expectations for you that were always twice as high as everyone’s. the guilt that would follow you everyday if you didn’t train until you felt like collapsing.

everything you did was for love. everything you did was for victory. everything you did was for excellence. everything you did destroyed yourself inside out.

hearing a knock on the door, your reverie had been broke as you put the picture back in its original place, getting up to open the door. freezing the minute you heard the familiar voices from downstairs, you hesitated for a while before putting your hand on the door knob.

“hi, (y/n)!” the german smiled, “your mum told me to get you for dinner and then we can do some baking!”

it was as if you were kids again the way he had greeted you, and if you had to be honest, your heart ached at the strong possibly your relationship would never return to that.

“don’t tell me you forgot who i was.”

“never, mick,” you couldn’t help but smile as he brought you into a hug. “how could i?”

for that split second, it felt as if you guys were as close as before. unfortunately, your brain was quick to take over your heart as you made your way down.

you hated how your heart would still skip a beat whenever you saw him, you hated how he always made you smile and you hated how you couldn’t help but long for his company.

“hi,” you smiled, taking your seat at the table which was opposite mick’s, taking a look of the food in front of you.

“how have you been, (y/n)? it’s been so long!” corinna smiled, “how’s your engineering degree going?”

“wait, you’re doing an engineering degree?” mick asked, looking to see if anyone was as surprised. “what happened to racing? i thought you were going to elms?”

forcing a smile, you let out a small chuckle, “yeah, i’m doing an engineering degree.”

“oh…okay.”

the dinner table was filled with laughter and chatter, the awkwardness long forgotten as everyone cracked jokes and caught up with one another. your spirits lifted as you talked to gina as you caught each other and talked about horse riding.

that was at least until your dad had asked mick about formula 1.

“…yeah, formula 1’s been going great, i can’t wait to join ferrari next season…”

as much as you tried to sit through the entire conversation as everyone joined in, you simply couldn’t take it anymore as everything came back to you along with all sorts of emotions. averting your eyes to the garden, you were quick to excuse yourself from the dinner table.

sitting outside, away from the sight of anyone, the emotions came like a tidal wave and it wasn’t too long until you found yourself crying silently— out of misery and sadness for your failed dreams with a side of jealousy and anger at yourself.

“(y/n)?”

“go away, mick,” you let out a sigh, recognising his voice.

“what’s wrong? you can tell me,” he comforted, taking a seat next to you.

“you wouldn’t get it.”

“just tell me.”

putting his arm around you, mick pulled you closer to him. “please, just tell me, i hate seeing you like this. i know we haven’t talked in a while, and we’re probably not as close as we were but please tell me.”

letting out a sigh, you wiped your tears. “it’s just…it’s just unfair. god, it’s so stupid.”

it didn’t take a while for mick to pick up on what you were upset about as he quickly put the pieces together, “i’m sorry i didn’t notice what was going on back then. i failed to look out for you. i should’ve realised and been there for you.”

“it wasn’t your responsibility anyways, mick.”

“when you love someone, it’s your responsibility.”

#f1 fic #f1 fiction #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fic #mick schumacher angst #mick schumacher blurb #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic recc #f1 fic rec

[lou-struck]

Fuel to the Fire

Kyojuro Rengoku x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 4

Modern Au!

WC:1.6k

~You love getting the mail during the holidays but when you receive a letter you have no interest in looking at, your boyfriend has a solution. 

Warnings: Reader has a shit ex boyfriend, Guess who?, mentions of past relationship trauma, fear of abandonment, a bit of crying but its all good, happy ending.

Your fingers furiously dance across your keyboard as you search through your laptop. Your work is having a party at the end of the week to celebrate the holiday season, and they chose to do a Secret Santa gift exchange amongst the coworkers. 

When the time came for you to pick your Secret Santa out of the hat, you chose one of your friends from the other department. Immediately, you knew what you had to get for them. 

They are really into your city’s local music scene, so you wanted to throw in two tickets to see a new band they are interested in before they leave to go on tour. You are on the venue’s website, but when you go to buy the tickets, you realize they don’t actually go on sale until tomorrow.

With a frown, you shut your laptop, sliding it under the couch, hoping you’ll remember to get them tomorrow. 

As you wallow in your poor timing, the front door opens with enthusiasm. The chilly outside air clashes with the heat from the small flames that are dying out in your fireplace as your Fiance Kyojuro Rengoku walks in, “I’m home,” he declares happily, greeting the familiar walls you painted together with a big smile. The world around you seems to brighten up as if he had just pulled the sun from the cloudy sky and placed it in the center of your living room. His smile is infectious, and you find yourself returning it with one just as gleeful.

When his gaze of gold and Crimson lands on you, the look of pure, energetic joy becomes impossibly more so in a way that can make you feel like the only person in the world. “Guess what?” he asks, practically bounding towards you, his arms full of what you can only assume to be teaching materials. 

How is it possible to smile so much from simply seeing another person? Your cheeks hurt just a bit, but it’s well worth it. “What is it?” 

“Dinner is on its way,” he cheers. Setting the bumble of parchment down on the table to give you his full attention. “I ordered some food from that new place across from the school, and I heard from my students that it’s going to be Tasty.”

You can’t help the snort you make at his enthusiasm. To Kyojuro, any food that hits his plate is tasty, but still, your mouth waters at the prospect of an easy meal with your partner after a long day. “Thank you for ordering,” you say gratefully, wrapping your arms around his incredibly warm frame. 

It’s strange that no matter the temperature, he always runs hot. 

‘Probably because he is.’ you shamelessly think to yourself as he loosens his flame-patterned tie and unbuttons the top button from his off-white dress shirt. On anyone else, the combination could look strange, but with him and his two-toned golden and red hair, it looks natural.

“Guess what else I brought?” he grins, gesturing down to the pile of parchment he had abandoned in favor of giving you a squeeze. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they are not teaching materials at all; it’s a large stack of stamped envelopes.

“Are these all Christmas cards?” you ask excitedly, bending down and examining the pile more closely. There must be dozens of them here.

This year in particular, you and Kyojuro have been sent Christmas cards from practically everyone in your lives. It has gotten to the point that your small little mailbox has to be emptied daily. You have quite the collection of cards and love seeing pictures of your friends, family members, coworkers, and, of course, their pets. All the cheesy family-style photos fill your hearts with so much joy that the two of you have made a routine of opening them up together. 

Your fridge is completely covered in the cards, but you are sure there is room for more. Somewhere.

He laughs aloud, sensing your excitement. It has been a few days since you guys have had the time to go through all the cards, so there is a lot to catch up on. “I look forward to spending this time with you. I’ll go shower, and then we can look through them all together.”

 “Sounds perfect, Kyo, I’ll go grab the others and make us some tea.” you hum as he disappears down the hallway.

The gentle drumming of the showerhead can be heard down the hallway as you wander throughout your home, putting a kettle of water on the stove, toss a few logs on the dying fire, and pull out the large stacks of mail from the past few days to join with today’s haul. 

While it is true you have received an enormous amount of Christmas cards, you see other types of mail littered in the stack. Magazines, coupon sheets, bills. So you take it upon yourself to sort through the package before Kyojuro gets out of the shower. 

The large bushel of papers rests next to you on the couch as you begin to sort the mail into piles. One for junk mail and advertisements, one for bills and statements, one for coupons you would actually use, one for catalogs and magazines, and one much larger one for all your christmas cards. 

You listen to the wood crack in the fireplace as you peacefully read the labels on the various envelopes before you notice a single envelope with just your name printed on the front. You freeze, recognizing the return address belonging to your no-good-ex-boyfriend.

The same ex-boyfriend who cheated on you, repeatedly lied about it, and ran off to start some kind of cult.

Why would he be contacting you?

You have no love in your heart for that man. The best thing he ever did for you was break up with you so you could meet Kyojuro. 

The one who healed your battered heart with his genuine smiles and unconditional love.

Your mind’s going a million miles a minute as you worriedly wonder what you should do with this letter. 

You are so caught up with what to do with this damn letter you don’t notice Kyojuro come back into the room. His long hair is still damp from the shower as he comes to stand directly in front of you. “Our takeout is twenty minutes away~” he cuts himself off, and his usual relaxed smile drops when he sees the look of distress on your features. “What’s wrong, Fireball?”

What if he gets mad when he sees the letter and assumes the worst?

You drop your hand holding the letter quickly, guiltily, and look up at his with big eyes. “It’s nothing.” 

His features soften as he comes to sit next to you, not too close so that you can have your space until you can tell him what is bothering you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.” his hand comes toward yours, and you tense up, believing he is going for the letter, but when it comes to rest gently on top of your own, your heart begins to beat again. 

‘He is kind,’ the voice in your head says to you. ‘He loves you and deserves the truth.’ 

With a deep breath, you show him the envelope. “It’s from him,” you say shakily. “I don’t know what he wants, but all I know is I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Kyojuro looks at you with nothing but gentleness and love in his eyes. “Do you want to open it?”

You shake your head quickly. You really don’t. Even holding this damn letter causes your skin to tingle and itch from stress. “I want nothing to do with him.” 

He nods supportively. “Would you want to get rid of it?” He waits for your nod before gently taking the envelope from your hand. 

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” you say softly, thinking back to years of gaslighting and guilt trips from relationships past. “I was worried you would think I was trying to communicate with him.”

There is a flash of pain in his eyes as he reaches out for you. But from the way he holds you against his beating heart, you know that the pain he feels is for you. “y/n, there is nothing in this world you could do to make me think any less of you. You are the spark that sets my heart ablaze.”

“That’s pretty hot, Kyo.” You sniffle quietly, your heart healed enough for you to make a pun. Even if no one else would laugh at your weak pun, Kyojuro’s laughter makes it seem like pure comedic genius. 

He hums and pulls a bit away from you, a gleam of inspiration in his gaze. “You have given me a wonderful Idea. Are you sure you want me to get rid of this letter?” he holds up the envelope with his usual bright smile as if it was as insignificant as junk mail.

“Yes, let’s toss it.” you giggle. 

“I have a better Idea,” he steps towards the fireplace and unceremoniously tosses the letter into the flames. They devour its new fuel, fluttering around the bricks in wild tendrils before dying down to their previous size mere seconds later.

As if it never existed in the first place...

Your eyes watch the last few scraps turn to dust, and you feel free.

“Just what I thought,” he laughs, placing his hands proudly on his hips in a little power pose. “Fire beats paper every time.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#demon slayer #kny rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #Rengoku #x reader

[brokenjere]

bad in the bones (c.f) (part 1)

an: ok, i think i finally am happy with at least this first part! I've been working on this fic for weeks now, trying to perfect it and be happy with it but it just was not coming together nicely at all but finally, i think i did it. i hope you guys like it, i teased it a little bit a while ago so lmk when you guys think!!

synopsis: after an earth-shattering breakup, yn joins her cousin Belly for their summer trip to Cousins beach.

catch up here

Two months ago, I was throwing t-shirts across my bedroom, tears streaming down my face, screaming at the love of my life. Josh was leaning against my closed door, his arms crossed over his chest and his head hanging low. “I just think we should see other people,” he said to me. See other people. Ha. What a freaking cop-out. 

“Just tell me you don’t love me,” I yelled at him. I threw his ACDC shirt that found its home inside of me closet. It was one of those mass-produced t-shirts from Target. I bet he had never even heard an ACDC song before. He was fake like that, it was one of his least desirable traits. 

“I do love you, but we’re about to go to college and I think we need to, I don’t know, spread out wings.” I scoffed and slammed the closet door shut, the framed photos of us I had hanging on the wall shook from the pressure. I grabbed it, looking down at our smiling faces and I threw it in the trash. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “Seriously.” 

Josh didn’t stay long after that, probably would rather be seeing other people than being screamed at by his girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, of three years. We spent all of high school together but somehow, college was just too much. I think he just didn’t want to go to Columbia together like we planned and never applied like he told me and needed a cheap excuse to get out of it. 

I went to prom stag and alone with only my best friend, Mallory, on my arm but she had her own date. Lucy. Lucy was the picture-perfect girlfriend. I bet she wouldn’t lie to Mallory or break up with her a few weeks before prom and graduation and the end of their high school experience. I bet Lucy would have at least waited until after. Not that I wanted Mallory to be dumped. I was bitter, sure, but she was still my best friend. 

Graduation didn’t treat me much better, either. My mom didn’t even bother to show up which would probably bother any normal kid but I was used to my mom never being home. At least this time, she was away at work with an actual excuse. I hated that I watched Josh shift in his seat down the row from me. I hate that my heart still fluttered when I watched him walk the stage and flip over his tassel and smile at the camera and I hated that I wanted to see his parents photo dump of the day. He had good parents. Solid ones that showed up. 

My aunt Laurel showed up, though. Mostly because Steven was graduating, too, but I like to think she wanted to watch me walk the stage as well. She clapped really loud and stood up and hooted and hollered and I couldn’t help but laugh at her and my younger cousin, Belly. They made me feel happy and whole and complete. I didn’t even glance in Josh’s direction. 

The four of us went to get ice cream after, Steven and I in our caps and gown and Belly in her little summery dress and Laurel, always too dressed up for the occasion. “We did it,” Steven sighed as he sat down next to me at a little table outside of the ice cream shop. “Thank god.” I laughed and we cheered our spoons together and dug into our ice cream. That was when Laurel asked me to join them on their annual summer trip to Cousins beach right smack dab in the middle of Cape Cod. 

“Your mother will be gone most of the summer anyway, and we don’t want you to be alone,” Laurel said, reaching out and grabbing my hand over the table. I knew she meant well but what was I? A pity case now that I was dumped, borrowed, and bruised? If Josh never left, I bet she wouldn’t be asking me this. “Come with us, it’ll be fun. It’s Steven’s and Conrad’s last summer before they go off to college, too. What do you say?” 

I looked over at Belly. My Belly. While Mallory was my best friend, Belly was like my sister. My mom was always the bad sister. The flaky sister. The one that left her kid alone all weekend while she ran off with her new boytoy of the month. She wasn’t always that way, though. My parents got divorced when I was a freshman in high school and I hadn’t seen my dad since. I was too young to be let in on what was a disaster of a marriage, but judging by my mom’s early mid-life crisis, it was probably bad. They got married too young. Had me too young. Maybe if me and Josh stayed together, I’d have ended up like her, too. 

I spent a lot of time with Belly growing up. Even though she was a year younger than me, it never felt like she was that much younger. There were moments, like when I got my period and her eyes widened when I told her. I ended up having to confide in Aunt Laurel because Belly got queasy at the thought of blood but at least I was able to give her a tampon when she got hers in the middle of gym class in the 6th grade. 

Her face lit up while Laurel waited for my answer. Steven shrugged, not really caring too much if I said yes or no. I think secretly he wanted me to agree because he caught my eye at the last second and gave me a micro-nod that maybe no one else would have noticed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do it,” I finally conceded. Belly clapped and hugged me over the table. My tassels dipped into my hot fudge and I laughed as Belly profusely apologized, handing me napkins to wipe it off. “It’s fine, Bells. Not like I’m ever gonna wear it again.” 

She turned red and looked back in her ice cream and Laurel squeezed my hand once again. “We leave next week, okay? I’ll pick you up.” 

That’s how I ended up here, in the Conklin’s station wagon, listening to Belly’s music and bad signing and holding on for dear life as Steven drives. “I can’t believe you let him drive,” I whisper to Laurel as we sit in the backseat. She laughs and waves me off. 

“Belly turn that down,” she tells her daughter. “We’re almost at the gas station.” Belly does as her mom says and Steven listens to her directions on how to get to the gas station. Belly explained to me earlier that every year they stop at this same gas station, stock up on snacks for the last half hour of the drive and get all the essentials that you can’t get in the small, fancy town of Cousins. “Cousins is for the rich,” she said to me. 

The first person I meet in Cousin’s is a gas station employee who looks far too old to be working at a gas station and certainly not rich. He checks out Belly and I as we grab our Diet Coke and Cheetos, his eyebrows churning up in interest.

He looks like he belongs in the city, not the beaches of Cape Cod. Maybe he’s a summer kid, like the rest of them. Neither my mom nor Laurel grew up particularly wealthy. My mom got lucky marrying my dad, who was a coding genius and got a fantastic job right out of college and was able to provide anything and everything we needed or the first fifteen years of my life. When Mom realized the marriage was going down the toilet, she got her own job that took up too much of her time and when she finally had enough saved, we left. The Conklins weren’t Cape Cod rich, either, Laurel just got lucky by finding her person in Susannah Fisher who was Cape Cod rich. 

Belly looks like she recognizes him maybe just a little and says, “he lives a few houses down from Susannah’s. The boys hang out with him every once in a while.”

I eye him up from the chip isle as he counted money behind the register. I guess he wasn’t that ugly but he surely wasn’t my type. My type was tall boys with floppy hair and terrible personalities. Apparently. “Are you guys friends?” I ask her. She shakes her head and looks at me with disgust, her nose crinkled up so far her blackheads were popping out. I laugh. 

“No. Maybe Jeremiah and Conrad consider him a friend but he’s always been kind of weird around me,” she says. “I never really fully fit in with the boys, especially not now that they’re older.” 

Her life in Cousins has always been something Belly kept mostly to herself. She tells me stories here and there and I hear from her a couple of times over the summer but other than that, it was strictly for her and the boys. Just the way she liked it. I feel guilty for crashing their party but how can I say no when Belly was looking at me with all that hope. 

“Well, he’s eyeing you up now,” I tell her. She glances over at the boy behind the counter and blushes a little. “Is that a little red I see, Conklin?” 

“No,” she insists, shaking her head as she grabs a bag of Cheetos. “Let’s go.” 

We walk up to the counter and set all our stuff down. The boy's name tag reads Jumper. That’s a stupid name. He smiles at us and says, “Belly, you’re back.” It was a statement, not a question. Belly’s back. The world is right. 

She nods and he looks over at me. “That’s my cousin, YN.” Belly tells him as she fiddles with her fingers, eager for him to get the transaction over with. 

“You guys should come to my bonfire tonight. You know the one, Belly. The first of the season.” He looks at her and she looks down at the counter and I interject. 

“We’ll be there.” Her head shoots up to look at me just as Laurel comes up behind us. She grabs Belly’s ponytail and twirls it around her finger as she deposits a mound of snacks on the counter. Chips. Soda. Candy. “Did you pay?” She asks, looking at the counter. We shake our heads and Jumper starts scanning. Everyone is quiet while Laurel is around. 

When we go to leave, he says, “see you guys later.”

“What’s later?” Laurel asks once we’re outside. 

“Nothing,” Belly tells her quickly. Quick enough to dismiss her but not quick enough to make her less curious. Laurel doesn’t say anything, though. 

She hands us the snacks she bought and tells us she’s going to run to the bathroom and once we’re alone I tell her, “yes, yes, oh my god, yes we should go” but she keeps waving me off because Isobel Conklin is not a partier. 

She is a quiet, keeps to herself, too scared of her own body, heart, and soul, kind of girl. She is my opposite and that's why I love her. 

She is the good to my wickedness, the sunshine to my rainy day, the angel sitting on my shoulder. She’s all the things that my mother hoped I would be and all the things she resents that I am not. 

She sits in the front seat and I sit in the back while we wait for her brother.. She pulls down the visor and looks at herself in the mirror. I lean forward and say, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Nobody has hit on me before like that.” 

“What do you mean? You’re hot.” 

“I guess he’s never hit on me like that before,” she clarifies. He meaning Jumper. “Not that I want him to.”

“Because you’re waiting for Conrad Fisher, right?” I laugh as she blushes again. I grab the band that’s holding her ponytail in place and pull it out of her hair, letting her long brown hair cascade her shoulders. I shake it out for her and then say, “you’ll get him this year.” 

Anyone that knows Belly Conklin knows that Conrad Fisher is the man of her dreams. I’ve never met him, but Belly talks about him like he’s the sun. Like he created the entire solar system just for her to look at. It made me want to know him. I wanted someone to create a solar system for me, too. Josh never created anything for me, let alone the entire universe. 

Once Steven gets in the car, he starts driving again. Belly and I sing at the top of our lungs to the bad radio tunes. Steven can’t turn the radio down quiet enough. The quieter it goes, the louder we get. Laurel just laughs next to me in the back and I use my Coke bottle as a microphone, handing it over to her to sing. She just laughs harder and shakes her head so I take it back. 

It feels like only minutes until we’re at the ocean. I can smell it through the window and taste it in the air. I hope that it’ll be enough to drown out all my darkness. 

The second, third, and fourth people I meet in Cousin’s are the Fishers. The infamous Fishers. Susannah, Laurel’s best friend from college, and her two boys: Conrad and Jeremiah. It was like meeting a figment of my imagination. All the stories Belly has told me throughout the years finally have faces. 

Susannah is a lot prettier than in the photos I’ve seen. She has a smile that made my core feel warmer than the East Coast sun and she hugged me so tight I felt like I was gonna burst open. She’s nothing like my mother described her: snotty, stuck up, spoiled, rotting my sister to her core. 

All my life, she has talked about Susannah as if she was the plague. Stay away from her, she warned whenever I brought her up. I always thought she was the prettiest woman I have ever seen. Her blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, and gorgeous smile. Laurel would tell me and Belly stories about her whenever I slept over and Belly used to talk about her with more admiration than she talked about her own mother. I think my mom was just jealous. That her sister had a person that wasn’t her. That her person was fun and exciting and had more money than my mom and Laurel ever grew up with. That my mom never found her person. 

Jeremiah is blonde, like his mom. A curly, blonde mop on the top of his head with a freckled smile and bright blue eyes. He twirls Belly around in a hug, happy to see her just like everyone else. When he sees me, he smiles like he has known me his entire life and gives me a hug. “Belly’s told me so much about you,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“Really?” I ask, peaking over at Belly. She shrugs as if she was being caught. I thought it was sweet she talked about me when I wasn’t around. 

“Of course!” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and brings me over to where Steven was standing. While Jeremiah and Steven talk about throwing Belly in the pool, another boy who I assume is Conrad, walks into the driveway. 

Belly is immediately enthralled with him, as am I. He’s tall. His dark brown hair flops over his eyes and he uses one hand to push it out of his line of sight. He stops when he sees her and then I have to look away because Steven is talking to me. “What?” I ask.

“Are you gonna help us with the Belly flop?” He asks, looking at me expectedly. I nod, not really understanding what they were saying until all three boys were grabbing Belly by her flailing limbs and carrying her to the backyard. I followed, half laughing and half gawking at the house I’d be staying at for the summer. 

The house is big, and white, and has a huge front porch. The windows are massive and the backyard has a giant pool that Belly was about to get tossed into. I run my fingers along the lounge chairs on the patio, the metal warming my skin. The splash in front of me hit my face and I wipe it with the back of my hand and laugh as Belly pretends to have hurt her ankle in the water. I can see the smirk on her face from over here but Conrad must think she’s serious because he reaches his hand down to her and as she grabs it, she pulls him into the pool making another splash of water. As they struggle under the water, Jeremiah and Steven lose interest and talk amongst themselves, slowly walking away. “Wait,” I say, making Steven turn around. “Show me around?” They both smile and nod and I follow them inside. 

Susannah lets me pick whatever room I want. There are at least three spare bedrooms not in use and I grab the one with the nicest view of the backyard and ocean. I can hear the waves crashing through the open window. I unpack my bags, tossing them all in the big white dresser on the opposite side of the room. The mirror on top was bigger than necessary and more clear than my own eyes and suddenly, I see how dark the circles under my eyes were. I don’t even remember when the last time I slept through the night was. Most of them I spent staying up, crying and wallowing in my own self pity which is an embarrassing thing to admit which is why I never told anyone. I tell Mallory: I’m fine, screw him I’m over it. I hope he sleeps with every girl in the city and finds what he’s looking for. Truthfully, I hope he’s so miserable and alone that he crawls all the way to Cousins beach on his hands and knees and begs for me back just so I can tell him no.

 I almost want to crawl into the bed, soft as a cloud, and sleep until the sun comes up and the birds chirp. Instead, I head downstairs where Laurel, Susannah, and Belly are in the kitchen. Susannah is drying Belly’s hair with a towel at the kitchen island and Laurel is unpacking the groceries we picked up on the way there. 

“Laurel, your girls are gonna give all of Cousins a run for their money,” Susannah says. “They’re both so beautiful.” I smile and take a seat next to Belly at the island. “They both look just like you.” Susannah smooths down my hair with one of her hands and smiles at me, winking. 

Laurel smiles at both of us and comes over to me, kisses the top of my head, and then twirls her finger through Belly’s wet hair. “Don’t let that get to their head,” Laurel says. I see her wink at Susannah as she brushes her fingers through Belly’s hair. 

“Do you have enough groceries there, Laur?” Susannah teases. I look at all the food that Laurel unpacked already and the full bag she has sitting on the counter still. We kind of went a little crazy in the grocery store, grabbing all the sweets we could find and throwing them in the cart. Belly told me her mom never says no on their annual Cousins shopping spree. It was true, Laurel bought every single thing we put in the cart. 

“It’s not like your little fancy market in town has Diet Coke,” Laurel says as she puts the two cases we got into the fridge. 

“We’ll get some good muffins in the morning,” Susannah says. “I’ll send Connie to town.” The good muffins I had heard about. Belly boasted about them every summer, sending me artistically crafted photos of them before she devoured them a few seconds later. “They are the best muffins in the world,” Belly always told me. 

There were a lot of traditions that happened over the summers that would all be brand new to me and part of that makes me feel left out as if I was the odd man out, tagging along for a little adventure while this was their life. I never had the good muffins. I didn’t know what movie Belly and the moms watched every year on the first night. I didn’t know there was the first night of summer bonfire. But all these details were their normal and I sank into the chair, trying to disappear.

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher one shot #conrad fisher rec #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp imagine #tsitp conrad #the summer i turned pretty imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader

[jeonqkooks]

supernova | jjk (02)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

"When the stars align, I'll meet you then."

Another Life - Surf Mesa ft. FLETCHER, Josh Golden

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: idol au, exes to lovers, fluff if you squint??, angst !! with a happy ending thank fuck, not very edited bc this is me we're talking about!!

word count: 5.3k

note: ahhh so the supernova people can speak lmao this is my only fic where the characters have only had approximately 2 lines of dialogue 🥴 anyway i can't believe supernova has ended up here!! from what was supposed to be an angsty as hell oneshot, she's blossomed into - well, whatever this is bc i don't wanna spoil anything :')

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When the bakery owner – Jiwon is her name, as you’ve come to learn – informed you that she would be closing the place in a month, you could not help but sink.

One month. It feels like a countdown to your ending all over again.

You didn’t tell her that the reason you stayed loyal to the humble pastry shop wasn’t because of their impeccable treats, though they were certainly a huge plus.

You didn’t tell her that this place had become a safe haven for you, somewhere you could always seek refuge in whenever the world became a little too much to handle and all you needed was to reminisce on happier days.

When the smell of cherries on danishes oddly meant apricots and the universe. When stars weren’t just luminous spheroids made of hydrogen and helium but were housed in a pair of dark brown orbs, twinkling even in the presence of the sun. When home was not an apartment with four walls, scattered with crooked picture frames but a person with a bunny smile and a permanent tiger lily on his arm. When love was everything you needed and that was enough to conquer anything at all.

“It’s not easy closing this chapter of my life, but hopefully I’ll be moving onto bigger and better things!” she had told you with a bright smile on her face, eyes crinkling with sheer excitement for happier days in the future, oblivious to the way your poorly bandaged heart started to bleed again.

Your friends, family, and even this middle aged woman who is practically a stranger to you, have carried on with their lives. They’ve all moved onto new chapters, perhaps even onto new books altogether but you’re still here, rooted to the spot on the same page even after all this time. A novel that no one wants to read anymore, tucked away in a corner of a dusty old shelf, hidden from the light of day. Sealed away to be forgotten…

What a terribly lonely place it is.

You tried to mimic that cheery smile and offered her your kindest sentiments – wishing her good luck with her future endeavors, hoping that she will succeed in whatever chooses to do next – but it’s sad that you know you didn’t mean them, not really.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. All rational thoughts were out the window the second that Jiwon announced the imminent closure of your most treasured place.

The tapestry gets pulled apart at the seams. Another puzzle piece that will inevitably chip away until the perfect picture of you and him will revert back to the blank canvas it once was.

What will you move onto?

You didn’t talk to Jungkook for months after your worlds shattered, not until the boys achieved yet another milestone that you had to text him congratulations. There were, of course, many things to be considered before you finally had the courage to send that one simple line.

Thank you, he had replied then, we all miss you.

You were thankful that he opted for a neutral “we”.

Even after that first message, the texts only came every time a birthday or a major holiday rolled around, or whenever something happened in either of your lives that was monumental enough to revisit the perpetually fresh wound of your break to share your excitement for the other’s successes. Mostly Jungkook’s, and mostly because half of his life was on the news anyway. You, on the other hand, never took the initiative to share anything significant in your own life, not unless he asked.

There’s this thing he always did that you think might have been deliberate, but you couldn’t really be sure; maybe you’d have to ask him in another life.

It’s silly to mull over messaging etiquette like you were a teenage detective and your crush’s texting pattern was the single greatest casefile you would ever solve, but he never leaves you on read.  He never lets you be the one to send a message last. Even after you both have bidded your goodnights and there is no more small talk to be had. Even when the last thing you sent is a mere lol in response to a stupid comment he made after goodbye, he would still tack on at least a smiley face afterward.

Jungkook could easily chalk it up to his hectic schedule and leave your messages to hang in the dead space of your phone, but he doesn’t though, and you never know how to feel about that.

Sometimes, you’re curious if he’s found someone else yet – a new love to take your place and be everything that you couldn’t be for him – and feel your heart twisting in your chest at the possibility that maybe he has. You’re in no position to care about this; you forfeited the right when you asked him to let you go, but nonetheless the human mind is a funny paradox, and the heart is full of nostalgia.

On nights where you’re brave enough to welcome that familiar ache with open arms, you entertain this possibility. It always starts with a woman, faceless but undoubtedly beautiful beyond words. You want her to be kind, you want her to be gentle, you want her to hold his hand while he’s sleeping and kiss his cheek when he wakes up. You want him to be loved and to be happy regardless of who it’s with, and regardless of how much you wish it could be with you instead.

No matter how much the mere thought of it kills you, you hope she fills his heart with so much joy that he forgets the pain of your departure. You’ve always known that eventually, he’ll have to forget all about you.

Jungkook is the sun to your foolish dying Icarus. You were truly in over your head to think that you could ever fit into his world.

Somewhere down the line, you hope there will only be happiness, and smiles so big that they make his cheeks hurt. It’s the kind of happiness that you had with him, where every moment felt like being on cloud nine and where his name was synonymous with every single wonderful thing that you could ever imagine.

It still does – and it forever will, no matter how hard you try to burn him from your daily routine and fail miserably every single day – but even then, it’s colored with shades of melancholy, every letter tinted blue.

Jungkook means the same thing as love, happiness, complete and utter euphoria, your safest haven. Holding hands with a loved one. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a crisp autumn morning. The magical first snowfall of the season. Feeling the sun shining on your face.

And Jungkook means the same thing as sadness, regret, your greatest heartache, your sweetest downfall… The sudden pang of grief that hits you right in the center of your chest when you pass by a familiar street or hear a bittersweet tune. 

It’s hard to comprehend that a person can single-handedly rewrite your entire vocabulary, but he has managed to change you in ways beyond this too. 

It took you a while to familiarize yourself with what life was like before Jungkook. You forced yourself to do things that you usually wouldn’t, just so the discomfort of doing things you hated could overshadow the discomfort of missing him.

Black coffee at 9AM had to taste more bitter than not receiving a good morning text, one that’s littered with smiley faces and kisses.

Morning runs and the burning sensation in your limbs had to ache more than coming home to an empty apartment and crawling into an empty bed, knowing that he’s somewhere out there in the same city, only a drive away from you.

Over time, you got used to it.

Over time, you got used to the absence of him.

In this new life of yours, nothing looks and feels the same as it once was. Colors have all desaturated, though not by much but it’s still enough to throw you just enough off balance. Some days, everything is completely black and white.

Black and white, save for the golden key around your neck. The key to the box of memories he gave you that you still have, tucked away in a soft corner at home.

All of your what if’s, your could’ve been’s, your maybe’s… they all lead back to him. There’s no other solution to this equation; it’s just him. 

Jungkook has altered the very foundation of your life, wedged in between every crevice of your being, left pieces of himself in every facet of your world. Even when he’s gone, his presence still lingers, sometimes like a ghost, sometimes like the remnants of a tattoo you can never fully get rid of. 

Oftentimes, in instances where you don’t have the luxury of being distracted by work, by the hustle and bustle of the city, by just about anything at all, you ruminate on that decision. The one decision that broke two hearts. The one decision that’s still killing you inside.

You aren’t someone who tends to dwell on their past actions, because what’s done is done. No amount of regret or overanalyzing can change what has happened. Life is sometimes cruel like that, and the only thing to do is accept it and move on, learn from your mistakes and try to do better next time.

But Jungkook isn’t a mistake. He isn’t a lesson that you needed to learn because neither of you did anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to love him, and it wasn’t wrong to leave him either.

Perhaps, the only thing you’re guilty of is getting the timing wrong.

You wonder if you should message him now, to tell him that where your love first bloomed will soon be gone. You wonder if he still remembers this place, if it still holds the same meaning to him as it does to you.

It’s terrible if it doesn’t, and it’s terrible if it does.

Before you know it, the end is here.

As you enter the bakery for the last time, your nostrils are instantly filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked goods. Jiwon smiles warmly at you from behind the counter when you give her a small wave. The other patrons here move on with their day as usual, paying no attention to you, like they don’t even care that this is the final moment all of you would be spending here.

You grab a pair of tongs and a small tray as you browse through the selection of pastries, looking for your favorite cherry danishes to pair with the hot chocolate that you’ll order at the counter. You pick up a cinnamon roll and a few macarons too, to take home with you afterward.

You hope, in vain, that Jiwon sees it in the way you’re just a beat slower than normal, drawing things out as much as you can, as if it would somehow make her change her mind and keep this place open. Let you live in this bubble for just a while longer.

It’s the finality of leaving. It’s the finality of being left.

Somewhere behind you, the doorbell chimes, announcing a new customer. You don’t notice the person’s sigh of relief as they escape the cold into the nicely heated shelter of the shop, nor the way they take a couple steps and then stop for a minute before their feet continue to carry them to where you are. You don’t care about any of it, until…

A soft voice revives your heart.

“I hear apricot danishes are much better.”

As cliché as it sounds, you freeze. You almost drop everything in your hands, having been rendered immobile while life goes on around you. Chatter continues like nothing has changed. To the people in this bakery, nothing really has changed. They’re sipping on their lattes and catching up with friends over shared blueberry muffins and banana breads, exchanging mundane tidbits in their daily lives and smiling, laughing, drunk on the cozy atmosphere in this wonderful little haven.

“Oh,” you breathe, paralyzed by the many paradoxical emotions running through you at once. Shock, joy, resentment, relief, sorrow… Even though all of it only comes out in the form of a starstruck Hi, but you have a feeling that he understands.

Your voice is small, timid, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he isn’t someone you once knew better than the back of your hand.

His chocolate eyes lock on yours, and he graces you with a warm smile. You’ve missed the simple quirk of his lips. “Hi,” he parrots.

The bell chimes again, and a couple of strangers filter in. You move along to not hold up the line.

“How– what are you– what are you doing here?” you stutter, heart in your throat just at the sight of him. You try and fail at not thinking about the universe bringing him back to you. Because it’s not. This isn’t a cosmic realignment. You two just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and if you were alone right now, you would probably cry.

“I heard they were closing,” Jungkook answers easily. When you look confused, a silent question dancing on the tip of your tongue – How on earth would you know that? – that you don’t know if you should voice, he supplies, “I saw the announcement a couple weeks ago. I still stop by whenever I have time. ”

He puts a hand on your back as if on instinct, when a woman almost bumps into you on her way out. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright.

You clear your throat and inhale. “Oh, you do? I’m here almost every other day. Funny how we never ran into each other.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it?” he agrees, smiling at you fondly. It’s a little bittersweet too. “We must have kept missing each other.”

Your mind goes to a dangerous place before you could stop it. Your stupid brain digs into the hidden layers of meaning that might not even be there at all.

We kept missing each other.

I kept missing you.

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you gloss over his words, only returning his smile albeit tightly, and continue to move on. Jungkook grabs a tray like you did some 15 minutes ago, and picks a similar danish, foregoing the apricot ones that you tricked him into getting a long time ago, just so you would be able to get your favorites. The cherry danishes that you both have on your individual trays are the last ones. How symbolically cruel.

He hides half his face in the thick wool scarf he’s wearing as you step closer to the counter. When you ask him if the danish is the only thing he’s getting, he nods; and when you tell that you’ll buy him a drink to go with it, he refuses and says he’ll get both of yours, because lord knows he has the money. But you never once gave in, never let him buy you things that you are more than capable of paying for yourself. You don’t this time either, so he relents.

In the end, you pay for the pastries and two hot chocolates, one with extra marshmallows. Once you have your goods, you wonder if he would bid you goodbye and leave, go back to his busy life that demands him to be on the go 25/8. 

If you head outside right now, you two would probably part ways. But you came here today with the intention of burning every little detail of the bakery into your brain for one last time. Having Jungkook here isn’t going to derail your plan. You could pretend that things are fine for now, but then what? You’ve already lost him; you won’t let this place slip through your fingers so easily too.

You head to a spot in the corner where barely anyone can see you but you can observe everything, and to your surprise, he wordlessly follows you. If you were a little braver, you would throw him a cheeky I didn’t invite you to join, even though that’s all you want.

You both take a seat at the small table and talk about your lives and everything that happened in each other’s absence. Like you’re just old friends, catching up after forever apart. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, to see if he would mention a new lover and inevitably ask if there’s anyone special in your life too, but he never does.

It’s been years since you last saw him, and a while since he stepped a little further away from the spotlight that he once called home. Jungkook is still so caring – the occasional texts have already told you as much, and you wonder if it’s because he’s talking to you or if it’s just in his nature to be kind to everyone around him.

The cherries taste sweeter today, and the hot chocolate too. But the aftertaste is painful, knowing that your unexpected and limited time is running out.

At one point, you just sit in silence, watching the people leave. You notice that every time a customer exits, Jiwon’s gaze would linger on the door. You feel like you should’ve brought her something today, like a small houseplant or a bouquet of flowers, as a thank you or a goodbye present. After all, this place has been there for you a lot these past few years.

You try to take in as much as you can. How the wooden table feels under your hands. How the bell sounds when it chimes. How the printed logo on the takeaway cup feels when you brush your fingers over it. Their incredible recipes that always make you feel like you’re taking a bite of heaven. All the photos on the wall of Jiwon and her staff throughout the decade that this bakery has been on this street corner. You can still pinpoint the exact spot you stood at when you first saw Jungkook.

You want this to last a little longer, but you don’t know if you should ask. You want to be selfish just this once and drown yourself in his presence, because this might very well be the last time. 

When the danishes are gone and the beverages are nearly finished, he asks if you have a minute to spare, to walk around and enjoy the last bits of sun for the day.

“Okay,” you say and watch his face light up. A smile graces his lips again and you suppress the shiver that tries to run up your spine. You can still read him so easily. He wants this as much as you do, and it’s absolutely devastating. Just two people who love each other and a casket full of things unsaid.

Once you’ve collected your things and gone outside, leaving behind your second home for good, Jungkook tips his head somewhere to the right with a question in his eyes, and you know what it means instantly. 

You head down a small, hidden street filled with quaint houses that you both used to love. You haven’t been down this road in forever; it feels surreal that the first time you revisit it in ages is with him, and on today of all days. Cosmic realignment.

No. Stop that.

The two of you walk alone down the narrow street, save for the few times that a student in uniform walks by, eyes glued to their phone as they head home after school, or an older woman hurrying past with her bags full of groceries. He lets his arm brush against yours as you stroll and marvel at the way the colors of the sky reflect in the old windows, shifting from blue, to purple, to pink all in a matter of minutes. Ribbons of clouds unravel in the same way you do.

Eventually, you end up at a small park by the riverfront when cement turns into grass. There’s more people here; people walking their dogs, parents and children enjoying hot snacks on nearby benches, couples with their hands in each other’s coat pockets, trying to stay warm. You’re envious of the last ones that most.

Jungkook must have seen you watching them, because his knuckles touch yours tentatively and a long forgotten habit kicks in. When you instinctively pull back and mutter a quick Sorry, it hurts two hearts at once. 

Back then, every time that he let you go when there was someone else around, someone who wasn’t privy to knowing about you, you would apologize even though it wasn’t your fault that you were a secret. He would always lightly scold you, telling you that you had nothing to be sorry about, but he could never remedy this. It wasn’t possible back then, and Jungkook never found a way to not make you feel like a problem to be dealt with when all you wanted was to hold his hand.

No one is even looking now, but you guess it’s just muscle memory, even after all this time.

You clutch the paper bag holding the pastries, feeling awkward that you just jerked back like he had burnt you. Eyeing an empty bench, you ask if he wants to sit down. As you cross the short distance over there, you realize that it isn’t big enough for you to comfortably put some space between your bodies. The regret is almost immediate.

You sit down next to him with your thighs touching. He’s close enough that you can spot a fallen eyelash on his cheek, but your hands remain in your lap, busying themselves with smoothing over your bag of treats, fighting the urge to brush your fingers against his face.

You focus on the river in front of you and how the water paints a shimmering picture of the setting sun. On the other side of the bank, cars faintly honk at one another as traffic piles on, a cacophony of noises seemingly so far away from your little bubble right here. You feel Jungkook’s eyes on the side of your face, but you don’t dare look at him.

All the times that you have spent, caged in the solitude of your bedroom, wanting to call him and knowing that he would be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He would be there, and he would hold you until the sun rises, until you stop shaking and crying, until everything feels like it’s going to be okay again even though you both know it isn’t.

Because missing him comes in waves. And why more often than not, you want nights to last longer and days shorter, you want the sun to sink under the horizon faster so darkness can embrace the sky. Because when the stars come out, it feels like being wrapped in his warm embrace again, feels like staring into those twinkling eyes again, feels like he’s right there with you as if you don’t carry him in your heart everywhere you go. You started dreading summers and relished in harsh, long winters – it’s ironic how the cold can make you feel such warmth.

Jungkook is right next to you, and you still miss him.

Some say watching the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice is the most beautiful sight one can ever hope to witness. Others say the most wonderful experience is to take in a sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence, with a glass of wine in hand.

Jungkook has done it all – Rome, Paris, London, all the most marvelous cities to have ever existed. He’s been all over the world and witnessed the endless beauty that it has to offer, but you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s seen by far. 

Here, holding a bag of baked goods and leaning against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. The wandering sun casts a golden glow upon your profile, though he would think that you look ethereal regardless.

It’s a sight that he’s too familiar with. He’s seen it many times in his dreams, but the last time he got to have you like this was years ago. 

“Do you ever…” Jungkook starts and then stops for a bit, like he’s deciding if he should go through with the question. “Do you ever wonder… what could’ve been… with us?”

All the damn time.

“Do you?” you ask instead, eyes still on the water, how it ripples when the wind blows. The cold nips at your skin, making you shiver.

“Every single day,” he answers earnestly, like you had expected him to. “You’re not someone I can forget about that easily.”

Some kid throws a pebble into the river. Your heart, like the pebble, sinks to the bottom. The sun sets eventually, to give the sky to the moon. 

You don’t know what to say to him next, so you just hum softly. One of your hands rubs absentmindedly between your collarbones, where the key rests under your sweater. You trace the outline of it over the fabric, hoping to soothe the ache you feel.

Jungkook continues, saying something that you wish he hadn’t.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes well up and your chest feels impossibly tight. It’s getting dark now, but the moon is starting to peek through. There’s not a lot of stars tonight, though you can never really see them in the city anyway. You want to tell him to stop, to tell him that neither of you can take this anymore because wasn’t it enough the first time around? It doesn’t matter if you still love each other. It doesn’t matter that you’re both a little older and wiser, and have thicker skin now to weather heavier storms, because the world hasn’t changed. It’s still rooting for your demise at every turn.

But… all that comes out of your mouth is this, cracking foolishly at every syllable: “I’ve missed you too.” I’m missing you right now.

Jungkook nods slowly, mostly to himself. It’s so cold now without the sun, and especially when you’re sitting right by the waterfront. The wind is so cruel, picking up speed when it knows you just want to reach out for his warmth. You want to go home.

“What if we give it another try?”

A tear escapes. You lick your dry lips. “You know we can’t,” you tell him.

“Why not?” he asks, a sense of urgency in his voice now. “I love you. I’m still in love with you, and I know you feel the same way. Don’t even lie to me.”

You frown, not even bothering to wipe the moisture from your face. “Because love is not enough! I don’t fit into your life. It’s never going to work. We’ll just end up here again.”

You feel his shoulders sag against yours, and when he speaks next, his voice is considerably more quiet, deflated, “You are my life. I haven’t been myself ever since you left.”

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whisper. “You have your dreams. I’ll always get in the way of that.”

Jungkook twists the rings on his fingers, a nervous tick. The conversation pauses, and you think now is probably a good time to just get up and leave. You’ll get nowhere arguing with him about this. It’s been a long day.

You will your legs to stand, already thinking if you should walk a safe distance away from him and call an Uber there, but he tugs at your coat, standing up too.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing is fucking worth it if there’s no you. Why do my dreams matter if you aren’t there? I regret letting you go all the time. I regret always putting my dreams before you.” Jungkook stops to chuckle bitterly before stepping closer. His eyes, filled with all the resolution in the world, pin you to the spot. “I was too stupid to think that I could have it all. But I would leave everything behind if you’re willing to give this another go.”

You’re only aware that you’re crying because he reaches up to wipe the tears away.

“You don’t mean that,” you say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll let everything go if you say yes.”

You utter the same words as you did back then. “You’ll resent me one day.”

“No,” Jungkook says, water pooling in his own eyes as he tells you, “I won’t. Because I’m with you. I’m still with you.”

He takes one of your hands, timidly at first, lacing your fingers together, and your eyes widen slightly, blinking at his face in surprise. You’re looking at him, really looking at him, maybe for the first time today.

And… he’s here.

He’s still the same Jungkook you knew.

His eyes are still the stars. His smile is still the sun.

There’s no love lost here, only found.

He looks so sure of himself, like he believes so ardently in you and him that it makes you want to believe too. That things will work out this time around, that you will never have to lose each other ever again.

Stop, is what you would tell him if this were a phone call, or a text message, where you don’t have to feel his skin on yours or look into his eyes, so full of conviction, or be able to clearly hear every cadence of his voice as he promises you a future where you don’t have to hurt.

It’s what you would say if you were capable of thinking with your head right now.

But in the end, all you have is a heart that loves him.

“Okay,” you say, and Jungkook actually does cry. You wipe at each other’s faces with freezing hands, not caring that people might think you’re a couple of weirdos, crying in the middle of a park in the cold. You notice that the wind has calmed, like it’s stopping to watch how the story unfolds.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, with the weight of the world no longer on his shoulders.

You think back to the start of your relationship, when a silent question arose in a bout of insecurity. It’s a question that would cross anybody’s mind when they’re merely mortal, a speck of dust compared to the entire Milky Way. 

You could have anyone. Anyone at all. Why is it still me?

You didn’t have the courage to voice it aloud, but he understood. It’s funny how he always understands the thoughts in your head that you never have the strength to speak into the universe. Jungkook took your hand then too, just like how he’s doing it right now. He turned your head to look at him, into those starry eyes that he made sure you knew shone just for you.

He utters the same sentiment that he did way back when. The last time you heard it, the statement – however true it might have been – was merely a bandaid over gaping wounds. It had appeased you in the moment and managed to calm your raging sea of anxiety and heartache for a split second, but you saw how that turned out to be. You both know that ending all too well.

This time, for some holy reason, his words feel just right as they nestle within your ribcage and settle next to your heart. The meaning behind his simple declaration holds you together and patches up the parts of you that were shattered long ago – infinitely small pieces of your heart and soul – into a mosaic worthy of being loved and adored by him.

Jungkook is the sun, yes, and Jungkook is the moon. He brings light and love into your life just by existing. He breathes, and your world is better for it, endlessly so.

Jungkook is, and always will be, your entire universe.

Cosmic realignment.

I want you, is what he tells you. I’ve always wanted only you.

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 12.11.22]

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines #btshoneyhive #btswritingcafe #bangtanbathhouse #btscarnivalnet #clubzerooclock #52hertz #fic: supernova

[abbatoirablaze]

Ex Wive's Club, Chapter 19

Word Count:  1.8k

Warnings: smut/unprotected sex, manipulation, angst.

Ransom’s eyes fluttered shut as he buried himself to he hilt in his ex-wife’s core, “Jess…oh, god…Jess…fuck…feels like home, baby…so fucking good!”

Her nails dug into his perfectly toned biceps and her back arched, pressing her chest against his.  The couple felt breathless in one another’s arms.  Ransom groaned against his partner’s ear, “I love you baby!”

“Hugh…”

“God, it sounds so sexy when you moan my name…do it again,” he whimpered, “baby…do it again…please!”  

“Right there!” she begged as he bucked his hips heavily. She moaned loudly once more as he repeated his actions, “HUGH!”

“Say my name again,” he begged, thrusting into her once more, “say it again, baby!”

“Hugh!” she moaned a little bit louder, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, “HUGH!”

“God, baby…I’m gonna cum…”

“You know where to cum,” she growled, nipping along his neck.  She made her way up to his ear, nibbling on his lobe and his hips stuttered, “it’s all yours, Hugh…”

“JESS!”

“Cum in me, daddy!”

Ransom’s pace picked up, and soon he was thrusting so hard into her, the headboard was slamming into the wall. 

“Gonna cum in you,” he promised as he started the journey of his high, “gonna fill that pretty little pussy up with every bit of me…just like she deserves.”

“Cum for me, Hugh!”

He roared as he came, slamming his hips with stuttered thrusts before finally coming to a quick stop.  His breathing was heavy as he propped himself up above her on his elbows, his cock keeping her plugged up.

“I love you, Jess.”

“I love you!” she whimpered in response, pulling him into a searing kiss.

Ransom gasped, shocked at her response to it all, and she took the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth.  He moaned, reacting with his own tongue as his hips slowly worked into a new, tantalizing rhythm.

“I missed you so much, Jess…”

“I missed you too, Hugh…”

“Don’t le-“

But their moment was quickly interrupted by a door harshly opening. 

Ransom snapped to attention, pulling out of Jess, before falling to the floor.  In his haste, he’d managed to pull the covers off as well, leaving Jess naked before her ex-mother in law. 

Linda looked unamused as she placed her attention on the dresser just to the right of the door.  She adjusted the picture that had fallen over, “I thought the two of you would like to know that Lily invited your first wife here…she…is downstairs…with the rest of the family.”

Ransom paled, “Wh-what?”

“Do me a favor, Ransom,” Linda sniffed, still showing no acknowledgment to their current predicament, “take your clothing and get dressed in the next room…I have to talk to Jessica…”

“Eat shit, Linda!” Ransom growled. 

Linda’s eyes met his as he stood, grabbing his clothes in the process.  Jess attempted to cover up with the sheets, but when she realized it was still attached to the bed, she settled on covering her frame with a few pillows. 

“Ransom…get out…”

“Now hold on here,” he spat, glaring at his mother, “I don’t know what the fuck you think-“

“Hugh…get out…”

Ransom froze, his attention turning towards Jess, “baby?”

“I-I want to see what she wants!” Jess said curiously as she looked at him, “you’re not planning on killing me, are you?”

“If I wanted you gone, I wouldn’t do it where the family is downstairs,” she scoffed, “you would have been gone long ago, Jessica.” 

Ransom’s focus turned back to his mother momentarily, before he looked to the door, “I-I’ll be right next door…in the next room.”

“You’ll go downstairs after you finish getting dressed!” Linda said impatiently as she opened the door once more.  Ransom didn’t have a chance to respond before Linda had shut the door again, this time locking it.  Jess felt the anxiety rising in the pit of her stomach.

“Wh-what is it that you want, Linda?”

“To talk…officially,” she said simply.  Linda turned her attention towards the rest of the room, running her fingers along the surfaces, as though she was checking them for dust, “you know that I never thought much of you…right?  Never agreed with my son’s choice in marrying you…I mean you seduced him, and as a minor…bore two of his children…”

“You know…if anyone ever told you that you’re great with empathy, you need to call bullshit on them,” she said uncomfortably, fidgeting in her spot, “did you want to talk to me just to point out the fact that Ransom and I didn’t work out…I know that we weren’t exactly quiet-”

“Ransom’s never ‘worked out’ with anyone,” she shrugged, cutting her former daughter-in-law off while finally taking a seat on the edge of the bed, “he never connects with anyone…or at least, not until you…”

Jess’ brow furrowed, “okay…cut to the chase, Linda, because you’re losing me.”

Linda lifted her chin, turning her attention towards the younger woman as her hands went across her lap, “I’ve seen my son transform into a nearly new person…and it was all because of you.  And Evan.  And Rose.  You and your children made him a different man…a better man…I hadn’t seen that version of Hugh since before he was a teenager…”

“Linda-“

“Hugh and I were close once,” she admitted solemnly, cutting her off once more, “back when he was a child…it was like he worshipped the ground I walked on.  I’m sure he never told you about how close we once were.  He always likes to act as though we were in different universes.  But we weren’t.  When he was a child, he was my everything…Richard had never wanted children…and before him, I never thought I did either.  Hugh was the best accident that ever happened to me.”

“I-“

“He’s nothing like Richard,” she repeated, finally glancing back at her former daughter in law, “he may like to act like he is…tough and emotionless.  Calculating and callous…but deep down, my sweet boy was still there all along.  I’d just written him off because he and I drifted apart…because he presented to much like my good for nothing husband.  But Hugh is a good man…he-he was truly broken up when you two split up….I know that he never stopped loving you.”

“Hugh cheated on me Linda…”

“Lily drugged him…she admitted it to me the other day when she was asking for my help in getting custody of her daughter,” Linda sighed, finally admitting the truth out loud, “she’s been staying with me since her and that new boyfriend split…and she told me that she had to ‘cut out the cancer,’ from our family…said that she’s been working on it for years.  First you…then Curtis-her now ex-husband.”

“I-I remember Curtis…he was one of our teachers…”

“My point is that once she told me, it made me see everything clearly….the reasons for Hugh being the way he was…how he continued to be upset even after it all ended…none of it was his choice,” she replied, “Lily drugged her father…and coaxed her mother into sleeping with him again, in hopes that it’d break the two of you up, and get them back together…”

“W-why are you telling me this?” she asked, “you hate me, Linda…”

“What I hate is people I cannot trust,” she said with a shake of her head, “liars who use my family for their own personal gain.  As a parent, we must do what is best for our children…and you’ve always tried to do best by yours.  As a mother, I can see that.  I appreciate that.  I know how you raised Evan on your own for the first few years…With Lily it was spare the rod and spoil the child.  Hugh loves her in his own ways…but she’s only ever wanted to use him.  Even after you gave birth to my grandson, you kept your high road.  I see my son in Evan every time he’s around.  I see him when he was a sweet-natured child.  You’re smart in not letting him see any of my siblings, or using our family’s wealth.”

“But Harlan-“

“My father was making sure that you were okay…he sees the good in people often before others do…and I see now that he was right in doing so…” she admitted, “I may have misjudged you once, Jessica…but I will not do the same again.  Nor will I let my son slip back to the person that he was before he met you.  I’ve decided that it’s time I stopped standing idly by, waiting for you lot to sort yourselves out.  I’ve done my part to ensure that my great-granddaughter is taken care of, and now it’s your turn, sweetheart.”

Linda got up and smoothed out the designer skirt she wore. 

“Wh-why now though?”

Linda gave her another smile, “because…you make my son the best that he can be.  I already told you that.  There is no more ulterior motives here.  So, get your clothes back on and come down to the family party…because if anyone belongs here, it’s you.”

“C-can you maybe have some towels sent up?” she asked nervously.  She bit her lip and looked back to the fact that she was using pillows to hold some sense of modesty to herself.

Linda scoffed, “No.  What you’re going to do is throw on your clothes and do as I said.  You’re going to come down those stairs, and show off the fact that my son, despite the desperate attempts of his daughter and first ex-wife, only wants you.  And you’re going to put that self-righteous little cunt in her place and kick her out of my father’s home…because like I said, darling.  She’s not part of the family.  You are.  And that is what a Thrombey woman does, despite having to carry my sorry ass husband’s name.  You and my Hugh are Thrombey’s at heart.  Just like myself.  Show it!”

Jess watched the confident, self-assured woman as her heels clicked against the hardwood.  She reached for the door, but stopped and turned when she heard Jess calling for her.

“Hey Linda?”

“Yes darling…”

“I never thought I’d be saying this…but thank you…Linda…”

Linda gave her a soft smile, the tiniest smug look glinting through, “how many times have I told you these past few minutes…you’re family…call me mom.  And who knows…maybe if you start doing it, my son will get back to a point where he does the same.”

“T-thank you, mom…”

Linda’s smile returned as she turned once more, reaching for the door, “and when you’re done kicking that whore out of my father’s house…you better have my son proposing to you before the end of the year…like I said…he’s a better man when he’s with you.”

“Yes ma’am…”

“Oh…and if this happens to be the third child you just cooked up with my son at the family estate…I expect the child to be named after me…the world needs more Linda Drysdales…”

“The world most certainly does…” she chuckled to herself as Linda left the room.

Chapter 20

Tag List:  @Cjand10, @huntress-artemiss, @lohnes16, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @teambarnes72, @elbell20-blog, @sebsgirl71479, @prokey16

#ex wives club #knives out au #knives out #soft ransom #ransom smut #ransom drysdale #chris evans characters

[silverflamedqueen]

Stages of Regret( Chapter 2)

After a disastrous Christmas party. Nesta Archeron decided to leave behind her old life, to start anew. Now a year and a half later. Her past has come back to haunt her.

Having Cassian in her space felt strange. Yet she didn't mind it. Part of her welcomed it. Nesta had almost forgotten how broad his frame was. When he almost didn't fit through her front door. She snorted at the sight of him sidestepping to get inside. Earning her a look.“ Why is your door hobbit sized?” Nesta shrugged. “ It’s a normal-sized door. Have you ever considered that you’re not normal?” No response after that.  As he started to take in her apartment.

   She watched as Cassian took in the small space she called home. He examined the pictures on the fridge. Glanced at the pictures hung on the wall. One, in particular, intrigued him. A gift from him to her. Back when they dated. Was he surprised she still had it?

Moving on he observed the brightly colored toys littering the common room floor. Looked suspiciously at the atrocious popcorn ceiling. His narrowed gaze told her that he didn't care for the sloppily patched up spots.  They were few. But, they admittedly weren't small. 

A few more minutes passed. Yet, no words were spoken. They didn't need to be. Nesta already figured out what was on his mind. It’d only be a matter of time before he voiced his disapproval of her living space, of their living space. 

     As far as apartments went, it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t the best though. There had been minor issues here and there. But, overall, not any horrible issues. They weren't in a bad area either. It also was the only one Nesta could afford at the time. Renewal had come months back. A lease that she resigned despite having the funds to upgrade. She enjoyed the company too much to move. Gwyn and Emerie made the place a home. They had become her family. Eventually, however, as her child grew. More space would be required. But, for now, this was fine. She’d cross that bridge when the time came.

   Her apartment was nothing compared to Cassian’s though. The building he lived in belonged to Rhysand’s mother. As he was her adopted son. He paid a reasonable rent, for a well above-average apartment. She’d even go as far as to call it luxury.  Many times he’d asked her to move in with him. Which was met with the same answer every time. No. She refused to live under Rhysands roof. No doubt he’d expect something from her. Constantly throw the fact that she lived there in her face. Whenever she displeased him. The most she had in that building was a drawer in Cassian's room. Which Cassian promised to not tell a soul about. Lest he wished to incur her wrath.  Often she wondered what happened to that drawer. It housed some of her favorite t-shirts. One of them had been a merch shirt from the gym Cassian owned. It was the softest shirt she ever owned. 

   Now that she thought about it. Cassian also had problems with her last apartment. He’d bought her extra locks for her door. He was a worrier, that's for sure. In the three years that they dated. The man fussed over her like a mother hen. Constantly making sure she ate that day or asking if she needed him to change her oil. She doubted anything had changed. No matter how much she had snipped at him about it. The behavior never ceased. If anything he found it amusing. He fussed then, and he would fuss now. It would just be over a different girl. 

“ How did you know where I lived?” she asked, breaking the silence. Cassian made his way to the couch. Plopping down,  making a strange face as he did. “ A buddy of mine owns a club not too far from here. I ended up bringing Az along.” He shifted, pulling a wadded-up blanket out from beneath him. “ Imagine my surprise when I saw my missing ex-girlfriend on the pole. We followed you here afterward.” There had been no judgment in his tone. 

“ How did you know what door I was in?” The child in her arms squealed.  Drawing Cassian's gaze onto her. “ Found a package on the doorstep, pure dumb luck I suppose.” She had taken a few steps forward. When Cassian spoke again.

  “What’s our daughter's name?” Nesta didn’t miss the pain in his tone. Nor did she miss the anger lurking underneath, no doubt directed toward her, rightfully so. “ Her name is Evie,” she responded, walking even closer to him. “ Evangeline’s her full name. It’s just a mouthful.” He stared at her in shock. His mouth agape. As if he wanted to say something. His eyes spoke for him though. She knew the importance of that name. It’s why she chose it. “Do you want to hold her?” 

  He stood silently, gently taking Evie from her arms and tucking her onto his side. Cassian stared at the little girl. A smile taking over his face. The first one she’d seen from him today. “ Hey, beautiful.” he cooed. Fatherhood suited him already. She knew it would, he was just the type.

  Reaching out her hand in response. Evie began patting his shoulder. A move Nesta knew all too well. Before she could warn him, that little hand had grabbed a fist full of Cassian’s hair. Pulling it towards her. Pain flashed across Cassian's features. As his head was yanked forward. Yet the softness never left. Maybe he didn’t want to spook her or make a bad first impression. ” I forgot to mention. She likes to grab hair.” Nesta couldn't hold back the small grin that no doubt showed.

  A ghost of a smirk danced across Cassian’s face.” You and she have that in common.” He froze for a second. Realizing what he had just said. Nesta ignored the comment. Cassian seemed to ignore it too. So easily he fell into that old banter. Nesta cleared her throat. “ You accept her here. Yet outside parentage seemed to be questioned.”

“ I never questioned her. I just didn't know what to say. Besides,”  He turned to look at her.” You're many things Nesta, a liar isn't one of them.” He began to pace around the room. Adding a light bounce to his step. His hair still captive in Evie’s hand. He’d have to pry those fingers off, hope she got distracted, or cut the hair. If he wanted it back.  “ Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I just going to get a surprise at my doorstep in eighteen years?”

  Nesta swallowed her shame. “ I had every intention of letting you know. I went to your door. But, when I knocked-” she paused “Morrigan answered, and reminded me of what a waste of space I was. Then slammed the door in my face. When I asked to see you.” 

Nesta now made her way to the small kitchen table. Putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. Being so close to him again. Was already starting to affect her. she could feel his warmth. Not only that, but, seeing him interact with their daughter. Made her hate herself more than she already did.  She also dared not say what she wanted to. Dare not say how she’d drive by his complex to tell him, and beg him for forgiveness. One day she did have the courage to go in. She’d just given birth a few weeks prior. The door code hadn’t been changed, much to her surprise. However, the sight of Rhysand had her turning tail and rushing back to the car. After that, she didn’t return. So afraid of another run in.

 Cassian shook his head. “ Mor wouldn't do that. Not in my own home. I told her multiple times that you were welcome there. It must’ve been a misunderstanding.” Nesta scoffed, Of course, that was his response. “ She would, and she did. Ask her the next time you see her. Also,-” She caught his eye. Her voice now laced with ice “ What happened to I’m not a liar? I should’ve known you’d doubt me. Where your friends were concerned. You always did. '' Standing up, she strode over to where he stood. Where Evie now squirmed in his grasp. “ She wants down.” 

  Nesta plucked her out of Cassian’s arms. Overpowering any resistance he put up. Disbelief evident on his face. After being put down. A beeline was made toward her toys, unsurprisingly.

 Nesta turned back to Cassian. Her anger bubbling up from the depths. Like a monster being awoken from slumber. But, before she could speak he ground out.” You had other ways to tell me. I had a phone. You could’ve called, or texted. Anything would've been better than running, and completely vanishing off the face of the earth.”  He sighed, as he ran his hands through his hair. The bun now fully out of its elastic. Courtesy of Miss Evie Archeron.

 Rage simmered behind his eyes. But, he kept his tone low. “ Do you know how long we looked for you? Everyone was worried sick. Your phone was disconnected, you broke your lease, and quit your job. You didn't exist anymore. All because of an offhand comment.”

“ That’s what everyone seemed to want at the Christmas party, you included. I doubt anyone was worried when I vanished though.” Nesta laughed. “Everyone loved Morrigan’s idea. I just made it a reality. All of you should be thanking me. Mean, nasty Nesta was no longer an issue.” Shaking her head, she marched to the kitchen. Intent on busying herself. It helped when thoughts ran rampant in her head. Cassian followed closely behind, his steps heavy.  “ That’s not what she meant. I gave her a warning for it too, regardless. Don't drag her, or the others into this. This-'' He motioned between them” is about you and I”

  Nesta sneered “ What did she mean then? Please tell me what other interpretation there was. You’re taking her side. Just like you always have.” Taking a deep breath. She bent down and opened the dishwasher, calmly grabbing plates, and putting them in the cabinets above. Her hands began to shake. A telltale sign she was stressed. Cassian must’ve noticed too. He always looked at her hands. When he couldn't figure her out.

He breathed and took a step back. His hands held up in surrender. “ I’m not taking sides here. I’m trying to understand. I want to understand, Nesta, that's it.”

“ Silence is still taking sides” The dishes now abandoned. She leaned over the counter. Peering over at Evie playing with her blocks. Blissfully unaware of the discourse. Without even looking at him, Nesta muttered “ I think you should leave. We can continue this another day. When she isn’t here. I don’t want to fight in front of our daughter, please.” Today she would surrender. 

 Any fight left his voice at the word please. “ Okay. Before I go though. Where’s your restroom?”

 She pointed him to the hallway. This whole thing was a mess. One of her own doing. The only thing stronger than her anger now was her fear. What would the others think? What would they say? She vanished from their lives. Cut all ties, and moved to the opposite side of town. Became an exotic dancer, and had a baby. Whose existence she kept from the father. A man who would’ve loved to be a part of everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Nesta heard their taunts already. They made her want to crawl in a ball. To just not exist.  She shook away the voices. But, they’d be back. Of that, she was certain.

  Cassian appeared out of the hallway. Making his way to Evie. Crouched on one knee. He began to coo once more.“ Hey Gorgeous, I’m gonna go now. You be a good girl for your mom ok.” her only response was a smile. He ruffled the small tuft of honey brown hair atop her head. Eliciting a joyful laugh. “ I’ll see you soon.”

  He met Nesta back in the kitchen. A somber look on his face. One of pity. He didn’t have that before. She hated it. Wanted it to go away. “I need your new number”. Nesta had almost forgotten to give it to him. Taking his phone from his hand, she entered her number. Returning it once she was done. With nothing else left to say. He made his way to the door.

  But, just as his hand touched the knob. A plea flew from her mouth, quick and desperate. “ Please don’t tell anyone else about this yet. Tell Az to keep it to himself too.” He stared ahead blankly, then nodded. He turned to her. That same somber look. She wanted to scratch it off. “ You have my word. I’ll give you some time. But, I won't hide this forever.” His gaze fell on Evie. Then back to Nesta. “I want her to know her family. I want-” he stopped himself. “ We’ll figure this out.” With the click of the lock. He was gone. And she was alone with her thoughts once more.

#nessian angst #nessian #nesta archeron #acotar #acosf #nesta x cassian #nessian baby

[willowser]

Ex husband bkg has a pic from one of ur first dates in his drawer

Ex husband bkg who remembers how flustered he used to get when he first realized he had a crush on you, and he still feels that way around you sometimes

Ex husband bkg who rages internally whenever he sees u w some other guy

Ex husband bkg who clutches on to his blankets at night whenever the thoughts of u get to him, breath speeding up

He was drunk one night , kiri taking him out bc he needs to have “some fun” . He’s actually starting to loosen up b4 denkis drunk ass comes up to him and starts talking to him abt u. He says “u lost her , if I were u id never get over it”

And he knows he’ll never get over you

SAD.

he absolutely does have a very worn photo of you in his drawer. i actually almost posted this a little while ago, but you take down half of your photos, like to split them, when you get divorced, but one day you come over to his house for whatever reason and wind up on his bedroom and see that he's just put them all back up LOL every last one, in the same spot you had them in, like you never left. he cannot stand to see empty spots on the walls or drawers or stare at empty frames, so he just. won't do it. also has photos of you on his phone still. a lot of them are family photos, or of you and your son, but he still has pictures of just you, from another lifetime.

and i absolutely think seeing those photos makes him feel the same way he did when you first sent them. when you were first dating and would send him selfies and his whole face would get red and he would just lay in bed and look at them, his blanket up around his face because he's EMBARRASSED that he's so flustered just from a photo of you !!! and i think he looks at them now and can still feel that embarrassment in his gut, because he's still so into you, but then the reality sets in 🥺

he's probably SICK looking at your wedding photos, the small little one you had. imagines you in that spot with someone else because he's a masochist and gets so angry he has to go for a walk LOL lest he blow his whole house down. but he does think about that night 🥺 and then it kind of spirals, into all the other nights you spent together 🥺 the night your son was born 🥺

AND OH MY GOD DENKI. i imagine katsuki maybe loosens up some, maybe has a drink or two and manages to get himself out of his wallowing pit, and denki probably tries to get him to make a move on someone, but that immediately puts him back down LOL he does not want to make a move on anyone. they'll never be you, that's just a fact. and denki sees the immediate change in his attitude and throws an arm around him—which gets thrown off LOL— and he's all, "yeah, man, i don't know if i could do it either."

#this was all so sad friend !!!! #denki is trying his best but 🥺 he knows it's gotta hurt kacchan 🥺 #they all do 🥺 #of all people to have and then lose someone 🥺 #deku is probably just as heartbroken LOL #cw children #✿ willow writes #✿ ask willow #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: dad bakugou #✿ theme: ex husband bakugou

[xaphrin]

Will you finish the vampire Damian fic?

Well, actually....

- - -

Damian looked around the small diner, taking in the eclectic decor with a curious expression. Not that she blamed him, a hole-in-the-wall place like this probably wasn’t his usual fare. Raven smirked at him from behind her coffee cup, watching as his eyes darted from wall to wall, taking in the kitschy decor. Above the diner counter, there was a framed picture of the Virgin Mary hanging next to a picture of JFK, both of them staring condescendingly at the couple in the booth by the window. His lips twisted a little before he glanced back at her, obviously waiting for her to say something.

She took a long sip of coffee, letting him stew in silence and his own thoughts as a kind of half-punishment. There was something almost satisfying about watching him try to piece together her life since she’d left. It was a world he had been a part of for so long, and now he seemingly knew nothing about her. Damian was going to have to learn about who she was all over again, and he had no one to blame but himself. 

"You look overwhelmed.”

"No, not really. I just never took you for a greasy diner person." 

He finally looked back at her, and Raven watched as his features softened just a fraction. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he reached for his own coffee, taking a slow sip. Raven watched as bright, morning light slid over his verdant, green eyes. It was disgusting how beautiful he was, and she felt an old, familiar shiver slide down her spine. It was the same shiver she felt every time they had a moment alone together in the tower. Every half-smile he sent her, every soft-spoken affirmation, every casual touch - that fluttering shiver he gave her was still there after all those years. 

And it frustrated her to no end. She wanted to be angry at him, and he deserved her ire after everything that had happened between them. But… seeing him again, hearing his low voice, watching the way he looked at her… it made her want to forget the things that happened all those years ago. She wanted to forgive him.

"So…"

She glanced at Damian and watched as the sun lit up his warm, olive skin. Her heart turned over and she took a small, calming breath, sipping on her coffee. “So?” 

“What’s next?”

“Well, we’ll need to go to Bialyia first to get a few supplies, and then we’ll need to go to Markovia and track down your… ah, sire?” She shrugged and shook her head. “The spell is easy enough to cast, but we need to find whoever you fought and force their consent to allow you to turn you back. And you can’t… eat anything until we do that.”

Damian gave her a flat stare. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Based on how long we’ll be gone, it’s going to be pushing the limits of your strength of will.” Raven took another bite. “And… I’m going to need to reach out to Constantine.” The name tasted like bile in her mouth. “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t sound so happy about that.” Damian lifted an eyebrow. “You always complain about him, what is it between you two.” He glanced across the table at her, leveling a dark stare. “Another friend? One who stays over?”

“No!” Raven made a face and reeled back from him. “Gods, no. Constantine is not allowed in my apartment - ever. Our history is… complicated. He took me in for a bit after I left the tower, helped mentor me and control parts of my demon. But… now some people think that we work together, and…” She sighed, remembering that while Constantine was generally an asshole, he did have a heart and he had taken care of her. “He leaves scorched earth wherever he goes.”

“Ah… scorched earth. I get it.” Damian stared at her still. “I’ve heard, and not just from you.”

“That’s pretty common. Constantine wants to try to protect the world, but he’s adept at making bad decisions, and honestly he’s kind of a dick to everyone he meets, so I have to tread lightly wherever I go. I’m never sure who he’s pissed off… or who he’s slept with. I swear that man has an ex’s list a mile long.”

Damian chuckled and Raven realized how much she missed that sound. There was something musical about it - a slow rumble of notes that sounded like far-off thunder. Her heart ached as she remembered their time together at the tower, before things had gotten complicated. She remembered laying on the roof and looking at the stars. Part of her wondered if they would have been anything outside of friends, but now was not the time to question that. 

Although, she wasn't sure exactly when the right time would be to question it. Maybe never. 

The silence consumed them for a while. Raven could feel his thoughts start to spiral out of control, and she reached over and tapped the back of his hand with her own. He jerked and looked over at her, his eyes narrowing. 

“What?”

“You’re lost in your own thoughts over there.” 

“Just… thinking.”

“About?” 

“You… actually. Thinking about what happened to you after the tower.” He was so blunt about it, that it made Raven look over at him, her eyes wide. 

“You’re thinking about that? Now?”

“Yes.” Damian shifted, unsure of what to say next. “I’m wondering what your life was like, after the tower. What I should have done to prevent you from leaving.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Damian, but I’m fine. Constantine took me in for a bit, and I tutored under him and a very reluctant Zatanna. After John drove me nuts for nearly two years I left, and then opened my shop. It’s all very cut and dry.” 

“I should have… I should have been there for you.” Damian sighed as if defeated. “I should have listened better."

“You listened as well as you could at the time, and you’re here admitting to your mistakes. Baby steps, Damian. You don’t need leaps and bounds to heal what’s happened between us, just a little time and some patience.” Raven stared at him with a half-smile before glancing away. “But, I appreciate the sentiment.”

#damirae #vampire au #👉😎👉 #surprise! #i was hoping to have it done by Halloween but uh... #here we are

[whatisreggieshortfor]

Episode One- The Swimmer, The Banker, The Chef

@bypine’s OC Chrys.

Narrator voice: “It was nine am. The sun was shining. The AC was up.

And three guys found themselves crammed in the back of a panel van together.”

The video clicked on before they could even introduce themselves to each other. “Uh, hey there, boys!” A girl with caramel skin and short black hair appeared there almost drowning in her oversized grey sweater, self conscious smile lighting up her face, “My name is Chrys. I’m a surgical nurse, I’m 27, and I’ll be snooping through your rooms today!” She giggled to herself, “They gave me ‘spy tools’ for the occasion. Gloves to check for dust, a black light- which I might just leave in the case-“ she wrinkled her nose, “And tongs? I guess in case I think something is too gross to touch. Here’s hoping I don’t need them!”

“Oh, man, I wonder who will be first. Levi, by the way.” He extended his right hand to the two of them, his left reaching up to scratch at his head.

“Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jasper.”

“Jake.” He nodded at them, arms crossing over his chest. “What made you guys sign up for this?”

“Thought it would be a laugh.” Jasper shrugged, “But if I get a date with her it might be worth it.”

Levi chuckled with a nod, “It was a dare on my end. My teammates always say that if I can’t smolder at a girl then she won’t be into me.” Jake frowned at that. Sure, he hadn’t signed up himself. Tim and Rohan did it for him. But he didn’t think these were good attitudes to go into this with. “Oh!” Levi pointed at the screen, “Looks like she’s at my place first.”

“Okay!” Chrys cheered to herself as she walked through the front door, “This place looks…very clean. Are you a neat freak?” She wondered aloud, wandering through. She grabbed the remote to the tv, scrolling through his DVR. “A lot of sports. An athlete? Or just a fanatic?”

“Bit of both.” Levi chuckled.

Chrys trailed herself down the hallway, cameraman never far behind, before she stopped outside the open door of his bedroom, “I just…I go in? Seems a little rude.” Someone off screen must have said something, because then she was walking in, peering around at the walls, “This room is just covered in frames.” Eyes wide, she leaned closer to one of them, “Olympic Qualifier…so you are an athlete.” He had his team jacket framed up on the wall, but she barely glanced at it, “Seems like something that takes a lot of time and focus. We probably wouldn’t get much time together.”

Levi sighed, “Yeah, I get that one a lot.”

“Could be worse, mate. Least she knows you got a good physique from all that training.” Jasper offered. Jake nodded, but just from watching her he didn’t think she cared about that. Not with way her left hand was twirling the black ring peeking out of her sweater sleeve as it sat on her right middle finger whenever her hands were empty.

“Oh, what is this?” She was holding his speedo up to the camera with the tongs, clearly trying not to laugh, “I get cutting down water resistance, but I’ve never understood why they literally only cover the bits.” She did the process of wiping the gloves on things, the tops of the frames coming back dusty, “Good thing they gave me gloves. I don’t need to deal with hives today.” She flipped through his closet, humming at the plain clothes, “We have a similar style. So that’s cool.”

Jasper glanced between the three of them, “Do none of us have prints?”

Jake shrugged, “I meet with investors at the restaurant too much. I need plain clothes so I can take my coat off.”

Chrys cringed as she pulled the black light from the case, moving toward the bed, “Okay, let’s do this.” She picked up a pillow, only to stop short.

“No! Oh, bollocks, I forgot that was there.” Levi buried his head in his hands.

“Oh, uhhhh, they were supposed to take all the pictures out of the house.” She held up a picture of Levi and his ex girlfriend, her proudly kissing his cheek, “I hope this isn’t your girlfriend? Kind of messed up to sign up for the show if you’re still with her.”

Jake’s jaw dropped open, “Mate-“

“No, no, no. It isn’t like that. It’s my ex. I’ve been trying to actually throw the damn thing away but I just-“

“You still kept it.” Jasper shook his head, “Not liking your odds now.”

“I suppose we are on to the next home now!” Chrys chirped at the camera, the short strands of her hair swishing with the movement as she bounced out the door.

Jasper groaned as the screen showed her in front of his place. He knew all the flat surfaces looked like a mess, he had work papers everywhere. And unknown to the two boys beside him, he was panicking over some very real things he knew were in his bedroom that he only just thought he probably should’ve taken down. Jake patted him on the shoulder, complimenting the exterior of the flat as they watch Chrys make her way to the door.

“Okay guys!” She grinned shyly, “House number two.” She walked through the living room, commenting on how sparse it was, “My living room looks just the same. No need for much when you live on your own, right?” She found an office, files piled everywhere, “Whoa,” eyes wide, she gently shut the door again, “I don’t know if those are private so I’ll just leave them be.”

Jasper was thankful for that. They contained customer information that he was not allowed to share.

Eventually she found his bedroom, and he refused to look at the screen or either boy beside him as she opened the door. Mouth agape, she stared at the walls covered in band posters. “We’ve got…*NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, New Kids on the Block, One Direction? Mate, how old are you?” She squatted down next to his stereo, flipping through the cases, “I didn’t even know people still bought CDs. You really like boy bands, huh? Boys in Motion, Five Seconds of Summer, Big Time Rush. Not all bad choices, but do you have any music that…ya know, isn’t a boy band?” She found a collage on the wall, pictures missing from it that she assumed had his face, while other pictures were of the concerts attached to the ticket stubs stuck beside them. She moved to the closet next, mostly dress shirts, but with quite a few shirts from the concert sellers thrown in, “You really run with a passion, huh?” She giggled as her fingertips trailed over the sleeves. “Okay, I think it’s time to head to number three, what do you think boys?”

Jasper blew out a puff of air, face buried in his hands. Levi spoke up first with a shit eating grin, “Boy bands, huh?”

Jake wasn’t pleased, “Mate, you shouldn’t be judging someone’s room when you had a photo of your ex literally under your pillow.” Levi scowled, but Jasper just offered Jake a grateful fist bump.

When Chrys got to Jake’s flat, he was nervous. Everything he’d seen about her already- he knew she was amazing, knew he liked her. But she had to like him based on his room. And he knew there wasn’t much there.

“Okay! Home number three.” Chrys almost skipped into the house, getting more comfortable with wandering around a strangers home, she flipped through his DVR like she had at Levi’s, finding a lot of Gordon Ramsey’s shows, “I love watching Kitchen Nightmares! Gordon is bloody good talent. Does this mean you like to cook?” She seemed to toss around an idea in her head, venturing past his bedroom at first into his kitchen. She opened the fridge, eyes lighting up at the fresh ingredients, “You do cook! That’s mighty impressive for a bloke.”

“Ain’t you a chef?” Levi asked, turning to look at Jake.

“Head chef, got my own restaurant. Certificate from culinary school is hung there, so she won’t find it at home.” Jake watched her carefully through the screen as the cameraman followed her to his room.

“The walls are so pretty.” She smiled, gaze drifting across the deep blue walls before landing on his bookshelf, “What do we have here? Cooking, cooking, poetry? Are you a romantic at heart, Number Three? I bet you’re the kind of guy that recites poetry to his girlfriend.” Jake felt his face burn, but couldn’t care as she continued, “I can get behind that, honestly. I love sweet gestures like that.” She kept moving, with more pep in her step than had been there before, opening his closet she pulled out one of his chef’s coats. “Oh, you don’t just like to cook! Wow, that’s great. Really.” She smiled softly, like it was just to herself before flipping through the other clothes, “This jumper is so soft. Makes me want to steal it from you.” She giggled.

Jasper leaned over to Levi, “I’m not liking either of our odds at this point.” Levi nodded in agreement.

“Whelp, boys, I think that’s all for now. I guess I’ll be meeting you soon!”

Next thing the boys knew, they were being led into a building and into Chrys’s flat. Levi let out a whistle, “Pretty empty in here.” He commented, there was really only the basics in furniture, scarce decorations hung on the walls.

“What flag is this?” Jasper pointed up into the wall.

Levi rolled his eyes, “Philippines.”

“What about this one?” Levi stared at it, eyes narrowing as he tried to place.

Jake turned to look from where he’d been looking at her bookshelf, distracting himself from the volumes of novels, “That’s the ace flag, boys.” When they stared at him blankly, he clarified, “You know, asexual? Didn’t you see her ring?”

“A ring is a ring, mate.” Levi rolled his eyes.

Jake just shook his head.

It didn’t take long before the three of them were sat on the couch, watching as the door opened and Chrys waved at them from beneath her long sleeve. “Hey guys! It’s nice to, ya know, actually meet you.” Jake chuckled to himself. She was adorable.

“Hey, good to meet you, too.” Levi gave her a hug that she seemed to almost shrink away from, so after Jasper did the same thing, Jake just offered her a nod in greeting that she seemed grateful for.

“Well…let’s get to it, shall we? I have to eliminate one person right away, so…” she took a deep breath, and Jake realized she was probably worried about hurting someone’s feelings right off the bat, “Room number one.” She looked right at Levi, which made sense with what she’d found, “I’m sorry, you seem like a very driven person, working hard enough to make it to the Olympics, but you still have what I assume is a picture of your ex. It doesn’t seem like you’re ready to move on.”

“I understand. It was good to meet you.” The swimmer gave her a kiss on the cheek before disappearing out the door.

“Okay…” she was twisting her ring again, “The second one I will eliminate is…room number two. I think it’s sweet that you have such a love for music, but I’m not sure our tastes wouldn’t clash. It doesn’t seem like you branch out very far.” Her gaze jumped between them, clearly unsure who she was rejecting, but Jasper gracefully nodded his head, offering her a handshake before he left the same way Levi did. She smiled shyly over at the last remaining boy, “I guess that makes you the chef.”

“Indeed it does.” He chuckled, “I’m Jake. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, too. So…about the date…”

“I was hoping you’d let me cook for you?” He smiled, “And you were right. I do tend to write poetry for my girlfriend. Maybe when we get there I’ll have some inspiration.”

#litg #litg season 1 #old mtv #mtv room raiders #litg jake #litg levi #litg jasper

[soleilnomoon]

Hello there. New follower here... I just saw your Law fic for your 555 milestone event and it was amazing. The next work of yours I read was also amazing. Your writing is superb and I can't wait to read your other works.

I wanted to congratulate you on 555+ followers, so, congrats! The event you put together looks like a lot of fun; I would like to make a request for it, but when I click on the rules link it brings me to your home page, so apologies if I'm doing it wrong. Call me out if I've done something incorrectly.

Could I please order a parfait, lollipop, and glazed donut with caramel and Poppy seeds with either Trafalgar Law or Suguru Geto (idk if you write for the latter, but either one is great). Thank you kindly for considering and congrats again :)

hi & welcome! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ꕤ i'm rly happy you enjoy my work, i'm always striving to write immersive pieces for everyone to engage with! i chose geto for this one, since i haven't written a fic for him yet, so i hope i did him justice 😊 thanks so much for requesting 💛 also i meant to say this like last week, but thank you for letting me know about my rules link. i'm such an old-school tumblr user, i forget most ppl use the app so those links work best on desktop but i fixed everything now (i think lmao) but no you're fine! i had so much fun writing this.

3.3k words (i know, i got carried away), fem reader, smut + hurt/comfort, nsfw, 18+, mdni; reader has an established friendship w. geto (through gojo, ofc); very angsty, idk what came over me but that's the life of a writer yk; there's fluff if you ignore all the angst and drama in the beginning; reader is feisty but geto is in2 it; feat. a bit of blood (not too much), brief mention of masturbation, a crummy ex-bf, alcohol, and balcony sex -- gojo sort of makes an appearance but not really.

“you are terrifying and strange and beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love.” — warsan shire

a small vinyl record player sits in the back corner of your living room, a melancholic song on repeat, permeating the air, suffocating you to no end. the record keeps skipping, but you can’t be bothered to change it. crushed rose petals sit in the palm of your hand, your fist still clenched tightly, your nails tearing through the petals, a musky, sweet scent wafting in the air — but you don’t think about any of that. you’d torn at the roses as soon as you got inside of your apartment; your left hand is cut from the thorns, the blood dried, the wound barely noticeable, while your right ripped the rose off each stem.  fury sits in the pit of your stomach, bubbling menacingly as you continue to stare at the deep wine stain on the fluffy white rug in your living room.

a bottle of wine lays next to your feet, cold and solitary — like me, you tell yourself bitterly; you’ve yet to pick it up, fearing you’ll cause more damage by throwing it at the wall and knocking off the picture frames that hang neatly. you clench your teeth so hard your jaw aches, but you don’t feel it — how can you, when just hours prior you were told, very publicly, that you’re an insensitive, unfeeling, bitch.

your throat is raw from how much you yelled after that, your eyes sting from unshed tears — if you cry, he wins; if you cry, you’ll come off as weak; if you cry, then it means you cared more than you said you did. you made sure to laugh in his face loudly, to strategically flip your blown out hair over your shoulder, to smirk at his date before stealing a chocolate covered strawberry off her plate — fiancée, you remind yourself for the tenth time — before strutting off.

each step you took hurt more than the last, but you walked with confidence, your head held high, and took a cab back home. the roses were a gift from an admirer — the anonymous kind, someone who clearly knows you but you don’t know them. you feel bad for destroying them, feel bad for knocking over the wine after having a few glasses, and feel bad that you’re sitting alone, filled with emptiness and regret.

you grab your phone and call gojo satoru — a good friend with bad timing and even worse tact — it rings for a long time before going to voicemail; his voice is saccharine, annoyingly coy, and overall obnoxious. for some reason, it pisses you off. your anger comes to a boiling point and you lash out.

“first of all, you’re the absolute worst,” you say loudly, the words like ash on your tongue, guilt plaguing you as you glance around the room, eying the picture frames and various trinkets you collected with him over the year. you know it’s not gojo’s fault, he was looking out for you — he kept telling you to open your eyes, you just didn’t want to listen. you didn’t want to acknowledge that your boyfriend — now, ex-boyfriend — was cheating; but that’s not the story, now, is it?

he swore to you that you were his one and only, pledged his love more times than you could count, only to find out that you were actually the other woman in this equation — mistress, really — and you had no fucking idea. the truth sits in your chest, expands and then clamps tightly around your rib cage making it hard to breathe.

“you were right, satoru. so damn right, i’m so stupid, god.” you hang up after that, toss your phone onto the coffee table and stand up to stretch your legs. the rose petals fall from your hand and you sigh loudly, eyes glancing around at the mess you’ve made.

your heels lay abandoned by the front door and as you walk over to pick them up, the doorbell rings — loudly. a sigh coasts out of your mouth, and you call out, “i’m coming, damn!” because whoever’s at the door keeps ringing the damn bell. you forgot to lock the door earlier, so you yank it open, a scowl on your face, ready to curse whoever is interrupting your saturday night pityfest. when you realize who the stranger is, surprise takes hold of your face.

“suguru?” you blink, and blink, and blink. “what are you doing here?” any residual anger you have slowly seeps out of you in his presence. you’re not sure why, but he’s always had such a calming effect on you — something gojo likes to jokingly say is just the universe bringing two halves of a soul back together — you grip the door handle tightly, the memory of that conversation knocking into your chest repeatedly, a warmth spreading that you desperately try to snuff out.

“the one and only,” he says lightly, lips tilting upward in a slow, knowing smile. “you seem…,” he glances down at your left hand, notices the dried blood and frowns at the sight. “you need to clean that properly.” you open your mouth to tell him that it’s fine, that you’ll deal with it later, but geto is already making his way inside your apartment so you simply close the door behind him and lock it afterward.

you’re not sure why he rang the doorbell when both he and gojo have keys — in case of emergencies, gojo had said with a mischievous grin, twirling the key ring around his finger after he made the copies; you reluctantly let it slide, and while gojo tends to misuse the key, geto doesn’t — but you don’t question it. you rarely do when it comes to him. “it’s fine, really.” you’re the opposite of fine, but you do your best to put a brave face on, following after geto with light steps. “i’m capable of cleaning a tiny cut,” you huff when he ignores your words, moving swiftly into the bathroom as he rustles around the cabinet for your first aid kit.

“i’m well aware of your capabilities,” he glances over his shoulder at you before grabbing the small kit, “but everyone needs help every so often, right?” he doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead he motions for you to have a seat on the bathroom counter. you narrow your eyes but your night already spiraled hours ago, so you don’t see the harm in obliging him. geto takes a step back to give you room but crowds your space as soon as you hop on the counter. again, you realize, you can’t breathe; your face heats up and you swallow back a retort, unable to string words together properly as you shift to make yourself more comfortable.

geto is as unbothered as always, leaning forward to study you for a minute, dark eyes locked onto yours — expansive, startlingly clear despite, yet still elusive; you find yourself falling into them, drowning in its depths, perpetually shrouded in mystery — before blinking and releasing his invisible hold on you. inhaling deeply, you close your eyes and try to will your heart to stop beating so damn fast.

it’s not healthy, the way you easily allow him into your space, how quickly you’ve forgotten all your misfortunes; when his lips ghost along the curve of your ear, a shiver falls onto your spine, rippling and causing you to swallow hard. geto’s voice comes out softly, but his words ring in your ears loud enough to sober you up completely, stoking a small fire that you keep hidden deep inside of you, an infuriating ache traveling through you. “good girl, now let me see that hand.” he grins as you stumble over your words, fingers gently holding your hand as he checks for anything out of the ordinary. “care to explain?” he opens the kit and grabs an antiseptic wipe to clean off the blood.

your silence speaks volumes, but geto is patient, allowing you the space to speak your truth freely. you barely feel the sting when he presses down a little harder than necessary, but your lips part and words spill out of your mouth without restriction. “i…” you try your best to remember why exactly you grabbed the roses by the stem like that, “i was pissed off and the roses were right there.” geto clicks his tongue at you but doesn’t offer any scathing or chastising remarks.

“they were from satoru, actually,” he says while cleaning your wound; he’s gotten the blood off and brings your hand to the sink and holds it under running water. “he might be a little sad to know you destroyed them.” although, geto’s smile says otherwise; it’s hilarious to him. he told gojo not to get you the roses, but his best friend is wont to do as he pleases whenever his whims pass over him; gojo insisted that roses would make you feel better, but he knew if he signed the card, you’d throw them out immediately.

he was right.

“oh,” you look down at your hand, the one that ripped the petals to shreds, “not a big deal then.” your callous remark has geto’s shoulders shaking as he attempts to hold back a laugh; you eye him warily, but your lips twitch and you find yourself laughing right with him. it feels nice — freeing, even — and as he dries off your hand, you watch him work with precise, yet graceful movements. he handles you delicately, as if you’re too fragile for someone like him to touch, but you want to tell him that you can handle whatever it is he throws your way. the words die on your tongue, you swallow back your courage and allow cowardice to take over.

it only takes a few minutes, but he’s carefully applied ointment to your wound before wrapping it. you look at his handiwork, smiling to yourself as he washes his hands. “thanks.” your voice is quieter than usual, which has geto glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes. “i mean it, thank you.” his sudden presence was a welcomed sight.

“you’re welcome,” he takes a step back to really look at you, “satoru told me about…well, you know, so i came to check on you.” which was mostly the truth; he also just needed to see for himself if you were actually trying to get over your ex, or if you were going to go back to him just like you’ve done in the past.

“are you leaving already?” your question startles him and he does his best not to look too surprised.

“do you want me to?”

balling your hands into fists, you decide to take the plunge — to say the one thing you’ve been meaning to say since he stepped foot into your apartment. with a shake of your head, you look up at him, voice steady as you answer him. “no. stay.”

after ordering takeout and opening yet another bottle of wine, you both eat and drink your fill, laughing at various things — bad jokes, the terrible stain on your rug, the voicemail you left on gojo’s phone — and given how cool the weather was, you tug on his hand and lead him out to your balcony. you tell him the gritty truth — about how your ex tricked you, about how you caught him at your favorite restaurant, about how you knew something was off but didn’t want to admit it. he listens to all of that without much commentary, until he sees you grab the railing tightly.

it’s purely instinctual, he tells himself, the compulsion that suddenly takes hold of him; he wraps his arms around you snugly while standing behind you, his face nestled on the crook of your neck. you sigh and lean into his touch, and slowly let go of the railing. geto brushes his lips against the length of your neck before kissing it tentatively. a soft whimper slips out of your mouth when he kisses your neck again — and then again, and again. something tells you that you should slow things down, but you’re tired of thinking rationally, tired of doing things the “proper” way, tired of letting fate have its way with you.

the night sky is clear, the stars gleaming brightly; you attempt to find a familiar constellation but fail when you feel geto’s tongue flick against your skin. another shiver traipses down your back and he chuckles before pulling away. “i’ll tell you a story about the stars,” he says out of the blue, reaching a hand to point to a spot off to the right. he’s quite the animated orator, captivating you with his words — making you laugh at certain parts, although the story ends a little sadly. you ask him how he knows so much, and he tells you, candidly, that stars were the one constant he had in his life as a child.

you’re not sure why, but that revelation makes you turn around in his arms and lean forward; when you press your lips against his and kiss him, you feel like your heart will lunge out of your chest. he moves his lips against yours, slowly, at first, taking his time to taste you before slipping his tongue into your mouth. the kiss transforms quickly, going from exploratory to fervent, his tongue stroking yours hotly. your mind grows hazy with desire as your body arches against his, fingers clinging onto his shirt with need. you moan against his lips when his hand slides lower and he grabs your ass; already you can feel his cock press against you through his pants, goosebumps traveling down your arms as your hips eagerly rub against his.

a small — very, very small — voice in the back of his mind tells him that he should stop before it’s too late, that he shouldn’t indulge in a rebound-fuck, but he knows if he doesn’t see this through now, he might not ever have the chance again. little does he know, you were fully planning on seeking him out anyway, infinitely liking his company to everyone else’s in your life.

without thinking too much about it, geto picks you up, your dress riding up your thighs as your legs wrap around his waist. he groans into your mouth, pushes you against the wall and presses his stiff cock against your aching pussy. your hips jerk forward, a dampness you pointedly ignored earlier coming back in full force, reminding you of how much you want this. you pepper kisses along his sharp jaw, teeth nipping at the skin on his neck, your name a sinful whisper that tumbles off of his lips with ease. in between heated tongue kisses, you tell him about how much you need to feel him inside of you; he’d be a terrible friend if he didn’t fulfill that request for you, especially because he’s spent one too many nights angrily fisting his cock to the thought of you.

he unzips his pants and pulls his cock free, breathing uneven when he feels you rub your clothed pussy against it. he’s pretty sure he can cum just from that stimulation alone but knows it wouldn’t do to finish that early. normally, he has much more patience than this, but he’s found himself at his limit tonight, doesn’t flinch when he rips through your lace panties, his fingers stroke the folds of your pussy and you yelp at the contact. “d-don’t tease me,” you pant, arousal dripping along your slit, “please, suguru, i need you.” the urgency in your voice has him rubbing the thick head of his cock against your pussy, your hips bucking against him roughly.

geto chuckles at your impatience, although he’s not much better, angling his cock and inching his way inside of you without giving it a second thought. you moan loudly, fully aware that if your neighbors were to step out onto their balconies, they’d hear you; but you don’t care. all you want — all you need, rather — is him. this. the feeling of fullness finds you quickly, his hips snapping forward as he buries his cock into your tight cunt. you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on the dark strands as he kisses you again — sloppy and with tongue, his teeth trapping your bottom lip between them. the wall is hard, but you don’t care; you squeeze your legs, plush thighs pressing against him, driving him to pull back and snap his hips again, slamming his cock into deeply.

you’ve never been the religious sort, but you’d gladly pray to whatever altar built in geto suguru’s honor; the way his hips pound against yours mercilessly has you rolling your eyes back, as if you weren’t on the brink of tears over your loser of an ex a few hours earlier, making you forget all of your anger and sadness. he’s annoyed at how lackluster his imagination is — because there’s no way he could ever conjure up something as warm or tight as your pussy, the way it wraps around his length snugly, your arousal coating his cock with each thrust. he knows there’s no way you both can go back to just being friends after this, but he’s not worried about that. yet.

“fuck,” he rasps, voice low and husky, your hips rolling to meet his, stirring up an intense feeling — half fueled by mania and what he perceived to be unrequited feelings — that washes over him completely. he’s never felt this out of sorts, but everything with you is unpredictable. he’s not sure what it is, but he can never get enough of you, made only worse by the tantalizing way your pussy clenches around him. you tug on his hair roughly, almost as if to say yes. harder. faster. more, more, more.

his pace picks up, his strokes turning rough and feverish, his balls heavy as they slap against your ass. you cry out his name, yank on his hair again when he bites down on your neck, legs trembling as you try to hold out for as long as you can. he fucks you like you’ve always been his, like he wants to erase all the others from your memory; you gladly take each of his thrusts, enjoying the brief bouts of pain mixed with pleasure. if you’re honest, your ex never fucked you like this — like you mattered. a tear rolls down your cheek, one that geto licks away, making you shudder and kiss him tenderly in response. you can hardly breathe, but you somehow find a way, clinging onto the man before you as he powers into you — possessive, brutish, and addicting.

“ah, suguru, i’m—” your cunt clenches around him enough to push him over the edge.

“go on,” he coos, kissing you over and over again, both of your lips swollen, “cum for me.” it’s all the instruction you need, your walls — soft and plush, gummy-like and a little treacherous — tighten and you buck your hips wildly, panting as you call out his name, loud enough you’re sure everyone in your apartment building can hear you. and you don’t really care; you realized this half-way through, that you’re so much more at ease, more like yourself whenever he’s around, so you let down your walls and give in a little. geto follows you shortly, his thrusts getting sloppy as he grinds his hips against yours, making you moan again, his lips latching onto your neck as he licks and kisses the skin there. his cum is hot and thick inside of your pussy, some of it spilling out once his hips finally slow down. you lean your head back against the wall, holding onto geto weakly, and laugh at how absurd your life has become.

“what’s so funny?” he asks once he catches his breath, amusement flitting across his face as he watches you.

“nothing,” you say, a small smile tugging on your lips, “just… i know my neighbors are probably so pissed at me right now.” you know you’ll hear about it tomorrow morning, but you don’t really care about that. you lean press your forehead against his and kiss him again, slowly and with purpose, hoping that geto will decide to stay around a little longer and tell you another story about the stars.

#i finally finished omg #ty for being patient #fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk x y/n #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto smut #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭 #northbluecrew

[myravenclawbookworld]

Marauders at Remus' birthday singing along to Taylor swifts paper rings.

*beat starts to play*

Sirius coming down the stairs to the boys dormitories, singing into a hairbrush: The moon is high Like your friends were the night that we first met, Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet, Now I've read all of the books beside your bed... *Points at Remus whose sitting in front of the fire*

Sirius: The wine is cold Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street Cat and mouse for a month or two or three Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe.

*other marauders and lily, Marlene, dorcas and Mary join in a line behind Sirius*

Sirius: Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night.

People behind Sirius: (Oh!)

Sirius: Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright

Everyone shouting at the top of their lungs: Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life (One, two, one two three four!)

Remus slapping forehead and rolling eyes: oh here we go.

Sirius walking over to Remus hairbrush still in hand: I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want

people behind Sirius sticking their heads out: In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams

Sirius: Oh, you're the one I want

Sirius pulling Remus up: In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool When you jumped in first, I went in too I'm with you even if it makes me blue... Which takes me back To the color that we painted your brother's wall Honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws 0We wouldn't be standing here so tall, so

Everyone behind Sirius, circle Remus saying: Kiss you once 'cause I know you had a long night (Oh!) Kiss you twice 'cause it's gonna be alright Three times 'cause you waited your whole life

Whole common room: One, two, one two three four!

McGonagall comes into room to stop the party. Takes one look at Sirius, shakes her head and leaves.

Sirius not noticing McGonagall: I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want

Whole common room having joined in by now: In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams Oh, you're the one I want

Sirius: I want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy.

Sirius with everyone else: want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

Lily grabbing hairbrush off Sirius and pointing at james: Uh huh I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right You're the one I want I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh Darling,

Everyone: you're the one I want

Sirius pulling out another hairbrush.

Sirius and illy: I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want

Everyone: In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams You're the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, and all my dreams Oh, you're the one I want

You're the one I want, one I want

You're the one I want, one I want

*Sirius and Remus kiss*

*Everyone applause*

#remus #fun #harry potter #textpost #books & libraries #sirius black #birthday #party #marauders #era #Remus lupin #lily #Marlene #mary #dorcas meadowes #wolfstar #jilly #Taylor swift #paper rings #lover #Spotify

[cosmic-cheeto]

(There's not much of an ending but I thought it would be nice to write being friends with Colin Creevey)

"Potter! Can I get a picture?" You ask, holding up a camera to Harry's face, trying to get a good angle before he's even answered.

"That camera belongs to that Creevey kid, doesn't it?" Ron says, "Why do you have it?"

"No reason... Harry?" You look at Harry, giving the best pleading look you can.

"Fin-"

You snap a few pictures before he can even finish and rush away.

"Thanks, Potter!" You yell behind you.

When you find Colin, he looks excited. "Did you get it?" He looks at the camera, as you promised to get a better picture than the ones he'd been taking.

"It's a bit better, don't you think?" You ask, figuring it's not the best you could have done.

"It's great! Thanks, y/n!" The first year smiles at you. With the camera still in hand, you quickly take a picture of the smiling boy.

"That's going up on my wall for sure!" You say, looking at it.

"What? Did you take a picture of me?!" Colin freaks out, trying to see the camera. You hold it above your head but give it back a few seconds after he reaches for it.

You aren't entirely sure why, but you start to catch Colin taking pictures of you when you're minding your own business, mainly reading or studying.

One night, when you are walking with Colin, he stops to show you something in the viewfinder of his camera. You never get to see what he was looking at.

You wake up near the end of the school year, June, apparently. As you listen to the story of what happened that year, you can't help thinking it was more unbelievable than anything you had heard in your previous year in the wizarding world. But you did get to open Christmas presents and birthday presents on the same day.

On the last day of school, you and Colin make promises to keep in touch over summer with your owls.

~~~

The next year, you listen while Colin rants about Harry and how he hopes they catch Sirius Black before he gets hurt. He suffers through your rants about how cool the new DADA teacher is.

"How did he even get out of Azkaban? Isn't that place supposed to be impossible to escape?"

"I found a picture of him when he was a student here... no you can't see it! But he didn't look half bad..."

Like the year before, the first couple months of school, Colin was almost taking as many pictures of you as he was of Harry Potter.

On Christmas, you got an owl from Colin while you were with your family. You opened it and finally found out why he had taken so many pictures of you. It was a book of most of the pictures, and one was framed, the picture of him smiling that you had taken the year before.

There were pictures of you reading, studying, one or two of you in the middle of throwing something at the camera (you weren't always in the mood for a hyper kid to come up and take pictures of you). Some were taken by Denis of both you and Colin, you remembered most of these. Needless to say, you loved your gift.

When you returned to Hogwarts, the framed picture took it's place on your nightstand and you hugged Colin tight the first chance you got.

"Thanks, Colin. I love it!"

Your gift to him was a small kit for developing photos, so he could do it easily at school and wouldn't have to wait for school breaks.

This lead to the both of you sitting on the floor of the boys dorm making a collage of the famous Harry Potter. Since it wasn't too difficult to develop the photos, you even drew a heart on some of the really nice pictures Colin had.

~~~

It was some time in your fourth year that everyone seemed to be dating, or at least fancy someone. You somehow found yourself discussing guys.

"Cedric is cute," One of the girls said.

"Yeah, I guess so," You agreed, along with the rest of the group.

"Yeah... but don't you already have a boyfriend?" One of the others asked you. If you did, this was definitely news to you.

"What are you talking about?" You ask, trying to sound a little less confused than you were.

"Oh, what's-his-name... Creevey?"

This makes you laugh and the girls look at you funny.

"Colin's like my little brother!" You explain, still finding the comment hilarious.

You started to find it a little less funny when the Yule Ball starts to come up, and you hear a cute boy in the Gryffindor common room talk about who he was taking.

"Ginny and I are just going as friends," He said, "I would have asked y/n to come with me but I think she's dating Creevey..."

"What's wrong, y/n?" Colin said, seeing you sit in the corner of the common room.

"Everyone thinks we're dating, I'll never get a date to the Yule Ball..."

Colin frowns at you, and tries to comfort you until you ask to be left alone.

The next day, Cedric Diggory came up to you.

"Hey, y/n... I heard what happened with Creevey, I guess you'll be needing a date to the Yule Ball? If it's not too soon..."

You had no idea what he was talking about, but Creevey must have done something, so you accepted the invitation and went to find your friend.

"Colin! What on earth did you do!" You yell down the hall when you spot him.

"I might have tossed around the idea that I cheated on you... act mad for a couple weeks and we can say you decided to continue being my friend." He said, smiling though he had a black eye.

"And what's with the eye?" You ask, concerned.

"People aren't fond of cheaters." He said dismissively. You hug him happily, thanking him a few more times before leaving for your next class.

#harry potter #cedric diggory #fluff #hp fandom #colin creevey #being friends with colin creevey #harry potter fandom