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mothhball · 1 month

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five-finger discount

Pairing | Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blackmail, sex on camera, brief edging, creampie, cheating, cursing, Moth pretends to know anything about movies

Summary | You’ve been trying to make easy money, but you’re not as subtle as you thought. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way.

Words | 4.4k

Notes | FINALLY DONE. and vaguely inspired by 70s porn haha

MINORS DNI

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – THRILLER AISLE – DAY

“No, it's not. That's not what she said. Someone is in trouble. Something bad is happening!” squawks a woman from the running TV in the background while your fingers trace over the backs of the VHS as you walk past the shelves.

1 PM on a Wednesday certainly is no rush hour at Gumshoe Video. Even the most annoying film bros don't come here at this time of day to flaunt their knowledge of the craft and subsequent absence of social skills. You're in the clear, pretending to deeply think about your choice in entertainment for the end of the day, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you spot the business owner, entranced by the film that he put on to pass the time, and you can see his plush lips silently mouthing along to the dialog. Cute. And easy to trick.

It's not your first time here. No, you made sure to become familiar with the place over the course of months now, learning where each genre and title has been sorted into its rightful place.

Certain old VHS-tapes can sell for a small fortune online, and for every tape you rent, you take one for free with the plan of selling it to the highest bidder. Currently, you have a stack at home, waiting for you to finally stop procrastinating and open up that damn eBay account.

Your pinky catches on a specific tape. 'A History of Violence', currently estimated to lure an additional 199 bucks into your greedy bank account. Quietly, you pull out the film, leaving a gaping hole in the neatly sorted row as you slip it into your purse.

With nimble hands, you try to rearrange the tapes to make the missing VHS a little less obvious, but in your haste, a few of them escape your clammy grasp and clutter to the ground. A head of silky brunette hair whips around, and you're met with pretty blue eyes as the store owner turns to face you.

You let out a giggle, trying to sound as vapid and innocuous as possible. You’re in character now. The persona you chose? An unassuming, ditzy little thing that’s hot enough to distract him, but stupid enough as to not get suspected of any wrong-doings. You’d say you’re a good actress. A fantastic one, even.

"Sorry," you purr, batting your eyelashes at him. "I'm a little clumsy today." You're already bending over to pick up the tapes when he makes his way over to lend a helping hand, and you make sure to show off your cleavage in an intentionally accidental way. You know he’s into you. You’ve been seeing the heat in his gaze for weeks now, along with the occasional crack in his voice and an almost endearing desire to impress you. It’s his biggest weakness and the reason your plan has been working flawlessly until now.

"Hey, hey, no worries. Uh, gravity wins sometimes. Don't sweat it," he grins at you, brushing his fingers against yours as the two of you work together to put everything back into place.

"What exactly were you looking for anyway?" he suddenly asks, breaking your focus for a second.

"Uh, Moonstruck," you mutter, completely on autopilot. The store owner nods, pursing his lips as he mulls over your answer. You’re aware of your blunder before he even answers.

"Moonstruck? Then you're in the wrong section. You know, with how often you come here, I thought you got the hang of our layout by now." Fuck, he’s got you. Play dumb. Play dumb!

Your poker face almost cracks, but you keep your composure. Or at least you try to. "Huh? Oh - I... right. God, I'm just all over the place today." You giggle again, relieved by the way his grin seems to soften. Hook, line and sinker. He may think he’s detective Sam Spade from ‘The Maltese Falcon’, but you’re Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Or he’s Batman and you’re Catwoman. Or – well, it doesn’t matter. Baseline is, you’re snatching tapes right from underneath his nose while he’s too busy fantasizing about what’s underneath your clothes.

The store owner speaks up again, lazily rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the shelf, and his free hand wanders and gestures around a bit as if he’s trying to figure out which pose would look the coolest and most effortless.

“Right. Actually, that wasn’t really fair of me.” You tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly which prompts him to elaborate. “Some of our tapes went missing. Y’know, some of the oldies and goldies? That’s why I didn’t stock Moonstruck this week.”

Your lips part in surprise, but all you can reply with is a soft ‘oh’. The store owner shrugs, leaning in towards you. There’s something conspiratory about his expression which makes your stomach churn a little. “Yeah. But I do still have it. It’s just in my office.”

There’s a beat of silence as you mull over the unspoken offer. Your plan is built on the one tape you always rent for cheap. No one would think you’re stealing if you’re actually paying for something, right? Despite this, you wonder if you should call it a day and head home with the stolen film hidden in your purse. Alibi be damned.

“I… That’s great. Uh, actually, I was just about to –“ he cuts you off with a casual wave of his hand, and the grin on his face widens once more.

“Don’t worry. I’ll even give you a discount. Just follow me.”

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – NEIL LEWIS’ PRIVATE OFFICE – DAY

The private office of Neil Lewis, cinephile and pop culture enthusiast, is decorated with a distinct Film Noir charm, lovingly empathized by leather chairs and a checkered floor. Not to mention the letters on the door. He calls himself a private investigator. A joking title that makes you palms sweat ever so slightly. You notice that he set up a small camera on his desk, but he brushes it off as a regular procedure.

"So... Moonstruck,” he starts, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you do. “Great pick. Just curious - Why did you go for that one?" The question makes you pause for a second.

"The... the cover spoke to me,” you casually lie, trying to sound somewhat cute, but it doesn’t land. Neil’s expression quickly betrays his skepticism, and his lips part while his narrowed gaze wanders around the room for a minute. "Hm. And what about the other one?"

"What do you mean?" Play dumb, play dumb, play – but he’s not letting you off the hook so easily.

"The other tape."

Silence fills the office, and you swear the VHS in your purse is starting to burn a hole right where it’s settled in your lap.

"Which... other tape? I just picked out this one."

"Ohhh, right. Sorry. My bad. Just… Moonstruck." The way he’s saying this makes it seem like he enjoys the taste of the letters on his tongue. You nod, a little too eager to get this conversation over and done with.

"So you won’t mind me looking through your purse?" Neil leans forward in his seat, folding his hands on top of his desk. Your eyes briefly fall onto the little desk name plate that’s undoubtedly just made out of shiny, golden plastic. But it does the job. It intimidates you. At least to a certain degree.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, trying to shrug off the tension. “I… it’s certainly no problem, Mr. Lewis. None at all.”

Neil lets out an apathetic sigh as he rises from his seat, causing the leather to squeak. His steps seem a little too confident for a video rental owner as he moves around the desk to first walk over to the door and lock it. “Neil is fine. I’m not a big fan of… formalities,” he starts, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders. His hands are gentle but firm, causing your body to warm right down to the deepest layers. To make his control over the situation even more apparent, he splays his hands, tracing your collarbone with his middle finger. It’s subtle enough that he could pass it off as a figment of your imagination if you should choose to speak up. But you don’t. You stay quiet, even as he leans down and you can hear the murmur of his voice right next to your ear.

“Open your purse.”

You bite your tongue, slowly opening your purse to find Cher’s face grinning back at you. It’s Moonstruck. In all of its romantic glory, and it makes both you and Neil freeze for a moment. You lick your dry lips, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"That's mine."

"Yours?" You wouldn’t know, but his eyebrow twitches upward at your ridiculous claim.

"Yeah. A... personal copy." Great, now you’re doubling down.

"With my name on it?" Silence, yet again. You could basically hear the dramatic music that the producers of any reality TV shows use in the background of any tense scene. But this isn’t scripted. No, all of this is improvised.

"... what are the odds?" you croak, feeling how your throat goes dry in real time. Neil scoffs in reply, shaking his head, and his grip on your shoulders tightens a tad before he lets go entirely. His expression is stern as he steps in front of you, leaning against the desk and crossing his shapely arms over his chest. For a moment, he’s silent, letting his eyes wander all over your form in a slow, appreciative way that makes your palms get sweaty. “You do know I have to call the police, don’t you?”

“What?” Your breath hitches in your lungs, and you blink a few times, almost in an attempt to shake yourself out of this very strange dream. “This… this is just one tape. Isn’t this kind of excessive?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s one tape today. But you’ve been coming here for weeks.” Your jaw drops, but you can’t seem to come up with an appropriate response. You’ve been had. For the past months, you were convinced that he only saw you as a little piece of eye candy wandering through the store, but he’s been seeing right through you all along. Now you definitely don’t feel like Catwoman anymore. When he notices that you’re not going to say anything, Neil continues.

“Did you really think we don’t have security cameras all over the place? Well, I’ve been watching you the entire time, playing along when you pretended to be all ditzy and cute. It’s not just one instance. It’s a whole case, baby. And you’ll go to jail.” That makes you break out of your stupor, and you can feel your pulse speeding up.

“No- wait, no, no, no. Please, can’t we just talk about this for one second?”

“I don’t bargain with thieves.” He’s smug. Too smug for your liking, considering that he’s threatening you with the loss of your precious, precious freedom.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you plead, fixing him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster in an attempt to appeal to the soft, awkward side of him. And he cracks. At least the tiniest bit.

“Maybe… maybe we can work something out. But I’ll need to search you first. Who knows what else you’re hiding.” He gestures for you to stand, and you get up from your seat, causing the leather cushioning to faintly squeak once again. “Spread your arms. To the side.”

Your expression settles into a pout, but you do as you’re told, much to Neil’s satisfaction. He returns to his previous position behind you and starts by touching your shoulders, slowly trailing his hands down your arms. His fingers leave tingles behind on your skin, and you’re even more aware of how close he’s gotten when you feel his breath on the back of your neck. His cheeky hands continue to wander, making their way down your sides, softly squeezing around your waist before he moves on to your hips. You try to think about it as a TSA search, but it’s a little hard to do when his hands linger for much longer than necessary on your thighs and your calves as he crouches down. Once he’s satisfied, he straightens back up, and you almost think he’s done before he leans in to rasp into your ear.

“You’re gonna have to take your clothes off… so I can search you more thoroughly.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you’re about to protest, but he’s already pulling your top off, tossing it aside before he moves on to your shorts. A sigh escapes him as he pulls them down along with your panties, and he doesn’t give you even a second to recover before he’s gripping and caressing the curves of your body. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he runs his fingers over your hips, feeling how your skin warms beneath his touch. “Take your bra off.”

“What? There’s no way I could be hiding a tape in there –“ In response, Neil lightly pinches your thigh, causing you to jump a little and let out a soft whine. Seems like there’s no way around it. With shaky hands, you reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Neil leans back ever so slightly to give you the space to move. That is, until your tits are exposed, and his body is glued against yours once more. The feeling of his hardening cock pressing up against your ass sends heat into your core, and you instinctively clench your thighs together. Of course, this catches his attention.

“Ah, so you are hiding something.”

He wraps his arms around you, steering the two of you over to the mirror he hung on the wall next to his ridiculous little costume rack. You watch your own flushed expression as his hand slips between your legs to let his fingers trace over your already wet folds. With a groan, you try to avert your eyes before he corrects you with a rough grope of your breast.

“No. Eyes on yourself. I want you to see the guilt on your face while I search you.”

Reluctantly, your eyes return to the mirror, just in time for him to plunge a finger into your velvety pussy. Your lips part, and as much as you’d like to keep quiet, your resolve crumbles immediately when he finds that sweet spot inside of you. Within minutes, the office fills up with the sounds of your pleasure and the obscene squelching of his fingers in your wet cunt. And he’s thorough in his search, quickly working you up from one finger to three, making your toes curl against the checkered floor. For a moment, he drives you up to that delightful edge, only to pull his fingers out of you at the last second.

You don’t have the capacity to complain when he lifts his hand towards the light, showing off his glistening digits. Both of you are entranced by the sight, and Neil lets out a soft wheeze before he licks his fingers clean.

“Yeah, I made up my mind. Get over to the desk and bend over.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you whine, turning your head to give him your biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Well, you should’ve thought about it before you stole from me. Losing those rare tapes was a financial disaster for me. I’m risking this store. And I’m not gonna do it without something in return.” He finishes his sentence with a light smack to your ass which only manages to get you even more riled up. It’s hard to disagree with him when he knows just how to get you going.

Neil drags you back over to the desk, angling the camera in just the right way before he hurriedly tears his clothes off completely. The sight of his urgency makes your chest fill with butterflies, but you still need to protest. You have to!

“I don’t usually do this… what if my boyfriend finds out?”

“That’s one more reason to behave. You wouldn’t want him to see this little clip, right?” he asks, although the question is entirely rhetorical. You’d love to feel guilty, but you can’t bring yourself to it.

His hands run from your shoulders down to your hips, kneading your flesh with the attentiveness of a potter crafting a masterpiece, and he leans over you to place open-mouthed kisses down your spine. You shiver, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle the noises that are threatening to escape your mouth. With a quick movement, Neil reaches under your knee to guide your leg on top of the desk, and you let out a soft sigh when you can feel your arousal rolling down the inside of your thigh as he spreads you open with two fingers.

“You know… nice girls wouldn’t get this wet in situations like these. Then again, you’re a filthy thief, so you’re the furthest thing from a good girl.”

Neil wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so he can latch back onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting while he uses his other hand to guide the tip of his cock against your drooling entrance. His naked skin against yours fills your head with need, and you press up against him a little more to feel him more closely as he slowly pushes inside your velvety cunt. Both of you let out a hiss, and Neil follows it up with a needy whimper as he stills for a moment.

“Fuck… oh fuck,” he breathes, causing your lips to twitch up in subtle amusement. Neil’s hand shakes as he adjusts the camera, making sure to get everything in frame, and in this moment, you clench around him on purpose, causing him to moan right into your ear. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that –”

The slap to your ass is meant to punish you, but it’s doing the exact opposite, and you let him know this by moaning his name. His lips return to your pulse as he pushes his cock deeper into you, stretching you so perfectly that it sends goosebumps over your skin. Or maybe it’s because of his warm breath on your ear. Or his hands diligently kneading your tits. The cocktail of heated touches and sensations is literally making you feel drunk.

“Your cock feels so good,” you whine, causing him to suck in a sharp breath at the praise.

“Yeah?” he chuckles, bottoming out inside of you before he starts to set a slow, sensual rhythm. “You’re such a depraved little slut… getting off on your punishment. If only your boyfriend knew.”

Neil rolls his hips against yours, drawing a moan from both of you that would fit perfectly on the set of a porno. Maybe you’re hamming it up a little to feed his ego. But that isn’t very hard to do when he fills you up so deliciously, making you wetter with every thrust.

You’re already starting to feel breathless when he slowly speeds up, drilling into your dripping pussy with even more fervor. Words are starting to become a little difficult, but you try your best anyway. “You’re better than him. SO much better –“

Your reward is a second smack – aimed at your chest this time.

“You’re damn right I am,” he groans, sucking another hickey into your skin and adding to the little necklace of bruises he’s been placing around your neck. “Suck these for me, will you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but it doesn’t last long when he brings his fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly latch onto his digits, still faintly tasting yourself from earlier. You suck them down to the knuckle, running your tongue in between them in a way that makes him groan and pound your cunt even harder. Once his fingers are sufficiently coated in your saliva, he pulls them free from your lips and reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

The one leg you’ve been standing on threatens to give out immediately, but he holds you up with his other arm, and gently guides your hands into place to better support yourself on the desk. Neil nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing heavily against the shell of your ear.

“If you promise not to steal ever again, I might let you cum on my cock.”

His words are intercepted by quiet grunts and whimpers, and you find yourself agreeing pretty quickly, blabbering out promise after promise.

“I’ll never – never steal again! I swear, I swear, I swear, please! Please, please let me cum –!”

You’re almost not recognizing your own voice due to the desperately needy tone that’s laced through your pleading, but Neil doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really, because you can feel his thrusts picking up in intensity. He rewards your obedience by rubbing your clit a little faster, and you have to bite your knuckle as to not cry out his name. Fuck, it’s only noon and you’re approaching your release at breakneck speed.

“Fuck… I – I’m close,” you breathe, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. His teeth are back in your neck as he kisses and bites at your skin, and his voice sounds strained as he answers you.

“Go ahead… let go for me. If only your boyfriend knew, hm?”

That’s it. Your orgasm rips through you, and you let out a whine as you claw at the surface beneath you. Neil is generous enough to let you ride out your climax, but you can tell how impatient he is when he suddenly pulls out, swallowing heavily.

“On your back.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. It’s a little awkward, but you manage to scramble and reposition yourself, lying back against the desk and looking up at him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Neil is in the same state, licking his lips and swallowing dryly as he guides his cock back into your cunt, aided by his thumb on the base of his length.

“Fuck… how can you still be this tight? Shit, FUCK…” He’s cursing and muttering under his breath, having half a brain to readjust the still rolling camera as to not miss a single second. His hands guide your legs around his waist, and he leans over you, staring at you through blown out pupils that clash against the vibrant intensity of his ocean gaze. His pretty face is red, and sweat beads on his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. Without thinking, you reach up to push it back, causing both of you to still for a second before Neil finds his tone again.

“M’gonna fill you up… and send you back home to your boyfriend with a creampie in that pretty cunt. Alright? Alright.”

You can only nod in response, hearing your own racing heartbeat in your ears along with his continued grunts and moans. His hands on you are gentle, but his thrusts definitely aren’t as he pounds you against the desk. Neil’s hips smack against yours, causing every novelty item around the two of you to tremble along to your feverish rhythm. You tilt your head back but he goes after you, finally capturing your lips in a hungry kiss that he’s been trying to hold back from the entire time. But now that he’s rapidly approaching his own climax, the self-restraint is completely out of the window.

Your tongues clash, and you moan into his mouth when his hands find yours, linking your fingers together. Neil’s lips faintly taste of iced coffee as he licks against your tongue, and your grip on his hands tightens when his movements start to become erratic.

Your lips stay locked the entire time, even as he lets out a guttural groan when he finishes inside of you, thrusting into you a few more times to push it in as deep as possible. Finally, he stills and pulls away from you, unable to resist stealing one last peck from your swollen lips. You’re still breathing heavily as his hands roam over your body once more, relishing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips. Now that he has material on you and you promised not to steal again, he’s gentle. Almost too gentle, and you have to clear your throat to snap him out of it.

Neil catches himself, blinking down at you with soft eyes while he wipes some sweat off his brow. There’s a subtle twitch in his lips that tells you that he’d love to keep touching you, but he’s aware of the setting you’re in. Almost reluctantly, he pulls out of you to let you retrieve your clothes. While you’re getting dressed, he checks the camera and stops the recording before he speaks up.

“You’re free to go, then. You know what happens if I catch you stealing again, right?”

The question prompts you to nod in response, and you mumble out a “yes” as you pull your top back over your head. Once Neil confiscates the VHS from your purse, you’re free to exit the store on trembling legs, cringing a little at the feeling of your combined fluids leaking into your underwear. But God, this heist was worth it.

INT. YOUR PLACE – LIVING ROOM – DAY

As expected, the house is quiet when you get home, and you let out a deep, satisfied sigh as you throw yourself onto the couch to decompress for a moment.

Not even 20 minutes pass until the front door opens, and you hear familiar footsteps. A lazy smile spreads over your face, and you sit up, watching you boyfriend as he kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket over the coat rack on the wall. He makes his way over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, and your vision is filled by ocean eyes and faint freckles. Neil chuckles softly, placing the camera onto the coffee table before he sinks down on the couch next to you and pulls you close. “I’m glad Lucien agreed to take over the rest of the day.” You hum in agreement, closing your eyes when he brushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp.

“I think that was our best one yet.”

FIN.

tags: @ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24 @detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls (couldn't tag) @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411 @ashdrinksoatmilk @luvizuku @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis x you #neil lewis smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #watching the detectives #.moth writes

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gatitties · 5 months

Text

Web of love

─Yandere!Jujutsu Kaisen x fem!reader (platonic)

─Summary: forced to abandon your family and being spit out into a world of curses where everyone seems to gravitate towards you

─Warnings: a little angst¿ obsession, toxic behaviors, yandere stuff

Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

The blank pages: Part One

ok I had a burst of inspiration and I needed to write also need more platonic yanderes for jjk 😔 (I'll probably write another part because I left out many characters and villains… 😈)

SOMETIMES you think that you had to do something very terrible in your old life, something unforgivable and unimaginable to be punished right now, sometimes you think that the easiest thing would be to bang your head against the wall until you are stupid enough to have a caregiver and stop worrying about many things.

You just wanted to help your parents with the family business, being a time of high demand in the hostelry sector, taking advantage of your school holidays, you loved your family very much and helping in the business was the least you could do.

But the moment a group of children come in screaming excitedly and running from one side to the other you lost your nerve, yes, they are kids celebrating a birthday, but so much activity, noise and annoyance made a vein swell on your forehead, you were reaching the limit, but at least there were only a couple of hours left to be able to close and surreptitiously remove the last people with brooms.

You swore you were losing years and hair, that the minutes passed slower and slower as if you were stuck in an endless hour.

"I think if you keep squeezing the tray like that you'll break it, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder, you turned to look at her, she was behind the bar, cleaning with a cloth while she glanced at you from time to time, she certainly knew how to detect when you were losing your temper, after all she saw you have many crises nervous before.

"Sorry, you know I can't stand so much movement and annoying noises, it's exhausting."

"Oh, I think you can go home if you want, you've done enough for today miss."

A new voice joined in, your father made way with a couple of plates, he left them on the bar to place his hands on your shoulders and rub circles on them, calming you with his touch, you smiled in agreement, your mood improving as you heard that you can go home once and for all, they wouldn't have much work at this hour.

"Don't forget the jacket love, it's already night and it's cold outside!"

"I know mom, bye, love you two!"

You shouted as you were already walking through the door, you waved to both of them before walking out onto the lonely streets, luckily your house wasn't too far from the family business. Without wasting time you grabbed your faithful life companions, your headphones, connecting them to your phone to listen to music at a ridiculously high volume. You let music be your final destination, if you ever suffer an accident, at least it'll be listen to something you like.

Moving your head slightly to the rhythm of the sound, looking at the ground as your legs moved on their own, knowing the way back by heart, you concentrated on drowning out the thoughts leaving your mind blank, it wasn't very difficult since you barely had enough active neurons at this time to have too deep thoughts.

"Huh?"

Some mist came out of your mouth when you felt something tiny cling to your leg, confused, you looked down with a blank look and an imperturbable face, you saw like a kind of fairy-bug, a strange thing was sticking to your leg, looking at you with eyes of a kicked dog. Oh yeah, you started seeing these kinds of creatures, monsters, whatever they are, a couple of months ago when you decided to walk into a 'witchcraft' shop just because a bracelet seemed cute to you.

When you wanted to question the old woman who sold it to you ─after checking that you hadn't spent too much time on the Internet to be hallucinating─ she was no longer there, as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth, no one seemed to remember her except of you.

You grimaced, holding the little thing carefully, pushing it away from you as if you had just taken unidentified food out of the sink after having washed the dishes, without hesitation you threw it like it was a snot, you didn't even hear the squeal that came from it as it crashed to the ground because you hadn't turned the music down.

You continued your path, ignoring how more of those monsters began to appear, larger ones, with more or less human shapes, you didn't know if you had reached the point of emotional exhaustion that you no longer cared about those things, or you were so desensitized to certain things that you barely changed your expression.

"Help… help please… my son- oh- it burns…"

Your feet stopped suddenly, almost falling face first to the ground as you felt one of those monsters cling to your arm like an old woman crossing the street with a helper, looking at you with tears flowing down her cheeks, murmuring things you wouldn't understand if you weren't able to read lips, her hand went higher and higher, absorbing your body in a kind of wrestling-like lock-hug.

If you could you would pinch the bridge of your nose, you started to struggle with the woman, she started screaming the further you got away from her, you cursed silently when you couldn't get her off. This was it, the only thing that bothered you about seeing strange things was that they clung to you as if you were some kind of helper or salvation, you are not a saint, you are not a savior, you were nobody, but they kept coming to you like bees to pollen.

"Looks like you need some help"

You turned your head slowly, dramatizing the side eye you gave to that familiar voice, you heard by chance because of the song change and the small silence, but you could feel his presence for miles. Your frown deepened as you saw the albino look at you with a smile, oh, not only did you have to deal with these curses on your own, as if that were not enough, being one of the few people capable of perceiving these things certain people became interested in you. Sorcerers, it was funny, you didn't believe in magic until you saw this albino lunatic exorcise a curse in front of your eyes, even though you were somewhat skeptical, you refused to attend his institute, but they kept showing up to persuade.

"No, I can take care of this."

"Aw sure, go ahead then, I want to see how you do it."

This time you didn't listen to shit, but his shit eating smile told you everything you wanted to know, you started to struggle with the cursed woman again, it didn't work until you started talking to her. You found it was easier if you tried to give comforts to the poor cursed souls, and you had to do it reluctantly on these types of occasions, removing your headphones for greater concentration. You were terrible at comforting people, so it was like an uphill climb to get that curse to leave you alone.

"And that was ten minutes, you could have done it in twenty seconds if you knew how to use cursed energy."

"Just get lost, I already said no."

"We are offering you free knowledge, how can you refuse it?"

"Aren't public schools there for that?"

"There are no exorcization courses that I know of."

You rubbed your face desperately, you didn't want to learn sorcery, you didn't want to get in trouble, you didn't want to have to comfort anyone, you wanted your simple life, helping your parents, studying, getting a decent job. What kind of future would guarantee you knowing how to control that cursed energy? Clearly nothing good.

"I'm going to put it another way… you attract cursed energy, until now you have been lucky enough to find desperate souls in search of comfort, but what will happen when something much worse is stalking you? Something that seeks blood, your blood."

"Then I'll die, isn't it obvious?"

You raised your thumb with a sarcastic smile, you were too tired to continue a conversation, unfortunately Gojo's next words resonated in your head like a scratched record.

"What if they were your parents? They will not be safe by your side, as I said you attract bad energies."

A lump formed in your throat, letting a shaky breath escape your lips, he watched in silence as he had managed to hit your weak spot, your family, it was something you wouldn't change for the world, they were people who would die for you without a second thought, and just like them, you would give your life for them, they showered you with love and affection, the least you could do was protect them from your own problems.

As annoying as it was to give Gojo an affirmative answer, you had to swallow your pride for a greater reason, and just a week later you were already making the move. Covered as a kind of “Erasmus”, your parents were happy that you were going to explore and meet friends on your own, you wanted to tell them that you didn't want to go, that they would refuse to allow that decision, but that wasn't the case.

Then began what seemed like torture for you, as if you had fallen into a spider web and the more you struggled, the more you got caught in the webs. It was strange, everyone there seemed to have knowledge about who you were and where you came from while you were completely uninformed, it felt strange to be greeted so warmly by unknown people, inside you it was stressful to receive such a degree of attention, but you kept your expression unfazed.

You were like an extension of Megumi, only less expressive and definitely more stupid, you had no thoughts beyond your lost eyes staring into space, nothing made you flinch, nothing made you laugh, nothing made you have a hint of emotion that wasn't nervousness or tiredness. And yet the three first-year students, your classmates, could hear how you tried to drown out your nightly sobs, longing for your home and your family, how you secretly laughed lightly when you saw something stupid on your phone. Why didn't you want to share your emotions with them? Weren't they good enough for you?

You don't know what you triggered by strictly trying not to get emotionally close to people who from one day to the next could be in a grave, just because you couldn't stand it, just because you couldn't stand giving up more parts of your little heart to have them break later.

Itadori started to stick to you like a sticker, are you going for a walk? He needs to stretch his legs, do you want to laze around? He too! He is new to this world of curses like you, so he thinks it is better that you help each other in the face of complications and training. The first time he saw how a curse clung to you for comfort it almost gave him a seizure, he would never think he would be able to exorcise something so quickly, it worried him how used you were to being 'attacked' like that constantly and it only increased his worry, he needed to keep you safe from this dangerous world, it was a promise.

Megumi felt sorry, unlike him you had a normal and happy family, people to turn to, a little envious, he wasn't going to lie, but he tried to make you as comfortable as possible, maybe a little too paranoid about your well-being now that you were a novice unwilling to learn, he felt like he was your big brother, he wasn't going to take an eye off you even for a second, you could get hurt or worse and he had already experienced the bitter feeling.

Nobara was persistent that you open up to her, after all girls should be close, maybe she got too obsessed with that phrase when she watched suspiciously as Itadori dragged you to do something stupid ─against your will but without the energy of to refuse─ and you weren't going with her to have a snack or shopping, she felt a pang in her heart, what if she's not there and something happens? She doesn't trust anyone to take care of you, everyone is inept in her eyes.

Gojo proclaimed himself your fake father, no matter how hard he tried, he would in no way replace the real one, but if he wanted to play the family game you would let him if that made him happy. His attitude was the one that bothered you the most because it made you look like a helpless person at his side, he made you look like you needed him to take care of you. You accepted being the weakest link, but you could fight your own battles, especially after discovering some of your abilities, but he wouldn't allow it, you're too adorable to let go.

After some tests, missions and training, they discovered that your cursed energy acted like an antenna, attracting all curses that wanted to be forgiven or sought freedom. You were cursed with the 'gift' of forgiving and freeing from torture curses that wanted to cease to exist, and you acted as a peacemaker on some occasions. Luck was definitely not on your side or it was kicking you for having laughed at so many other people's sorrows on the internet, couldn't you punch? Kicks? Do voodoo? Summon shikigami? No, you had to pat and release cursed souls.

You didn't have enough suffocating attention from the sorcerers that you also had to have that from the curses. You were going to look for the old woman who cursed you the day you entered her store in another life and you were going to sacrifice her in the name of barbatos.

"Hey there you were! We're going out to dinner, are you coming?"

Nobara opened your door without knocking, you didn't stop looking at the ceiling while you lay motionless in your bed, you shook your head slowly in denial, you weren't in the mood, you were never in the mood.

"Don't talk nonsense, there is no way you can stay here alone, come on, come on! Gojo will pay for everyone."

Itadori entered immediately, pulling your wrist to drag you, you slid off the bed like a dead body, looking blankly at the boy who was giving you a puppy dog look, it wasn't that that made you accept, but if you didn't accept you would pass more time arguing with them in a useless way. You had learned to accept your destiny, you had learned to stay still in that web, maybe if you manage not to move you can free yourself, just maybe.

"I'm glad you decided to accept! It is good to have bonding time with your classmates and teacher, it encourages communication."

You nodded, looking absentmindedly at your phone, scrolling through the screen without looking at anything in particular but not wanting to have to look at the albino's expression, he knew you were going to accept, he knew you were going to go with them because they wouldn't give you any other option. He put his arm around your shoulders dragging you towards the car while he chattered things that went in one ear and out the other.

"Will you sit next to me?"

" No way, she will sit with me!"

And the tug of war began between Itadori and Nobara over who you would sit next to, too stubborn to 'share' if you sat in the middle, they would prefer to be the only ones next to you, Megumi on the other hand was the smartest when entering the first, if he sat in the middle he would assure him that you would sit next to him, however, absorbed in the discussion, they did not notice how you moved towards the passenger seat, end of the discussion and the headache, now you just had to rack your brain thinking about how to solve the fight next to who you would sit at while eating without giving anyone the benefit.

Sometimes you think that you had to do something very terrible in your old life, something unforgivable and unimaginable to be punished right now, sometimes you think that the easiest thing would be to bang your head against the wall until you are stupid enough to have a caregiver and stop worrying about many things, now you had four caregivers but no concussion, for now.

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luveline · 6 months

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hi jade! can I make a request for kbd au, maybe one of the girls gets sick or is in the hospital and Steve and r trying to take care of her and the other girls but are worried themselves. pls ignore if you don’t like this love your writing:)))

ty for requesting! ily i hope this is ok ♡ kisses before dinner —you and beth spend some time in the hospital. mom!reader, 1.5k

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

Bethie looks up in your lap with red-rimmed eyes, her eyelids puffy. They look so sore. You bring your hand up to touch her cheek.

“When's everyone coming back?”

You lean back in her hospital bed and pull her against your chest. “Soon, baby. So soon. Are you missing everyone?”

“Yeah. Avery said, um, that she would let me,” —she rubs her little nose into your collar— “sleep in her bed with her when I go home.”

Bethie will be sleeping in your bed for a while so you can keep an eye on her, but you let her believe it because she sounds very eager.

For now, you aren't sure when she'll be going home, but certainly not tonight. She's having trouble breathing at night, and her skin warms yours with the intensity of a space heater. “You're not enjoying our big sleepover?” you ask. Four days and counting, you've slept here every night in chairs slumped over her lap or briefly in the foldout cot beside her.

She was too sick to remember the first two days, but now she's getting better she's realised you're doing something strange together, and she may be poorly, but she seems particularly pleased to have your undivided attention. “I love it!” she says in a rush, prompting a wracking cough into your shirt. You rub her back. “Sorry.”

“If you need to cough, you do it, baby.” You bring a tissue up to her mouth and clean away the spittle. “Don't be sorry. Cough all over me.”

You hold her close. You didn't need Steve to tell you to take care of her to do it, but you can't get the memory of the run up to Beth's hospital stay out of your head.

I think– I think we need to take her to Urgent Care. His sickly terror, but his surety, too. Steve was gonna make whatever decision he needed to and you couldn't have stopped him (and wouldn't want to). By the time you called Robin to watch the others, your girl getting sicker and sicker, Beth couldn't keep her eyes open.

Not you nor Steve nor Beth made it home that night. Steve, squinting with a migraine, had relented in the early morning. You'll stay and I'll go home, he'd said. You wouldn't call it selfish to want to be the one to stay, but it was selfless of him to volunteer to go home. He hasn't once asked you to leave her side. So you look after her for me, too. You have to do double.

“Here, my love,” you murmur, bringing a sippy cup to her lips. Doesn't matter that she's too old for it. “It's just juice, don't worry. No more medicine.”

“I miss daddy,” she says, pushing the cup away.

“I know. He should be here any minute now, yeah? And when he comes he's going to be all worried and bossy about how you're feeling, so let's drink this juice. It'll make your voice less crackly.”

“Is it crackly?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah, babe,” you say with a laugh, “it's like crunchy sugar, you can't hear it?”

“What?” she asks, giggling between little coughs.

You hold her cup to her lips. She values her father's esteem for you, drinking her juice and settling back into your arms just in time for him to arrive. He has yet to be mad at you during this time, but you're sure he'd threaten violence if Bethie wasn't getting all the attention and care that could possibly be given. The first thing he says is, “Hello, my girl, how are you feeling today?”

You try not to rush her out of your arms and into his, but he has company. Steve picks Bethie up from your arms with the same slow hesitance he'd hold a newborn, his lips quick to the top of her head. “Sweetheart,” he says softly, “hello,” before he goes completely silent.

Robin stands behind him with your teeny tiny baby held in her car carrier with both hands, and Avery and Dove toddle in front of them with matching grins. You slink off of the bed and crouch down, nearly knocked on your butt as they rush you.

“I missed you! I missed you so much!” you shower their cheeks with kisses before pulling them in for hugs. Over their heads, you give Robin your best smile. “How's she doing?”

“She misses you. Or she hates me. Either or.”

“You're the best friend in the entire world.” You close your eyes into the cuddling. “She loves you.”

Steve sits down on the side of the bed and rubs Bethie's back, all but covering the short breadth of it with spread fingers stroking up and down. “You look better today,” he says. He speaks softly. You have to strain to understand him. “Did mommy give you a shower? You look sparkly clean.”

Bethie curls into him.

“I missed you,” he says. “I miss you every second you're not home, I can't wait for you to come home.” He looks up at you. You shake your head gently. “But how about this hospital bed, huh? This looks comfy. Can I lie down?”

Steve lays down in the bed with Beth against his chest. He looks super tired, his eyes wrinkled in the corners and his jaw set in pain. Bethie rises up to squish her cheek against his. Steve makes a kiss sound. “Aw, Beth. Love you.”

Dove wants to be on the bed —this is a vaguely new place to her and she's a toddler. She whines until you lift her up, while Robin puts Wren's car seat in a vinyl chair and sets about unclicking her straps.

“Is she feeling better?” Avery asks, holding up her hands.

You walk into her outstretched arms. “She is. Not one hundred percent better, but better. She just needs to stay a little bit longer.”

“How long?”

“What did the doctor say this morning, Beth?” you ask with a smile. “Just one more night for checks. Then hopefully tomorrow we can all go home.”

It takes a while to get everyone settled. Robin sits in one of the chairs and you the other, Wren placed in her car carrier to your left. Avery climbs into your lap, and you find no reason to dissuade her from sprawling backwards, her head under your chin. Steve hugs Beth with a palpable relief about him, though he holds Dove's hand when the smaller girl insists. It's surprisingly peaceful. There's nothing to do but wait for your girl to get better.

“I missed you,” Steve says again, Beth hanging on his every word, “I can't remember the last time you spent so long away from home. Are you and mommy having a good time?”

“My–” Beth struggles for words, her chest giving a weak wheeze, “my voice is funny.”

“You think so?” He brings his legs up, eyes closing as Beth does the same. “Sounds the same to me.”

You can't miss the way he's hugging her. You've never seen him so relieved. It lingers in his every touch, every word he says, even as he makes his silly jokes.

Steve spends at least ten minutes like that laying with them before he looks up. “Ave, you still need the bathroom?”

Avery jolts. “Thanks for reminding me!” She springs up on her feet. “Mom, will you come with me?”

“Sure I will.” You stand with her, giving Wren a quick glance over before sidling up to the side of the bed. Steve looks up at you funny. “Steve?”

“What?”

You lean down to his ear. “Honey, will you stay with Beth tonight? Just so I can see the baby? I can't stand being away from Beth when she's sick, but I'm really worrying about her,” you whisper.

Steve's eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

He's not stupid. He knows what you're doing.

You nod quickly. You could say a lot of things to him —of course I'm sure, you should've stayed two days ago, you've been so good letting me be here with her— but Avery tugs on your hand, winging, and you only have time to touch Beth's back. She'll be in good hands.

Beth is upset to see you go that night, but she missed her dad. Steve hugs each of the girls in turn while Beth lays tucked in bed, even Robin, who laughs and complains about his touchiness and how it gets worse every year. You wait with them in your coat for your turn, sick to your stomach.

“I'll call you before nine,” he promises, squeezing you tightly. “You did such a good job, Y/N.”

“...What, no joke about leaving it to the pro?”

“I'm being thoughtful.” Steve kisses you, hugs you again, kisses you a second time. He can't decide what he's doing. “I love you. I'll see you in the morning.”

You kiss his cheek. It takes you another fifteen minutes to leave, busy making Bethie promises. I'll see you tomorrow, I love you so much, brave girl, your dad's gonna take the best best best care of you ever. And then we're gonna spend the next week in bed so we can stop missing each other so much.

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wingedjellyfishflight · 5 months

Text

A Forgotten Birthday

"How old is y/n then?" The new recruit is always trying to flirt with Soap by asking him gossip and facts about the team.

"Twenty-six." He answers her so easily. It feels like a stab to your heart all over again.

"Twenty-seven." You correct, voice conspicuously devoid of emotion.

"No, your birthday isn't until May, and it's..." His face pales. He whips around to look at you. "We missed it. How did we miss it?" You shrug, not meeting his eyes.

"Some things just aren't important." Your food tastes like sawdust. You give up trying to eat and toss it in the trash on the way out. Maybe hitting the gym will help. No, you know he's going to tell everyone, and you don't want to deal with their pity-filled stares and questions about making it up to you now that they've finally remembered.

Running the trail system near the base is a favorite of yours normally. Today, it isn't relaxing, but anger-inducing. You were on a mission in a forest just like this across the world for your birthday. It was almost two weeks after the day that you got back, and you eagerly waited for the surprise party that Soap, Gaz, and Price always set up for each person's birthday, but... nothing. After three weeks, you gave up all hope for one and steeled yourself to give nothing away. Can't let them see you hurt over a stupid birthday. Can't make the team lose focus or lose your own. You're an adult, after all.

Zoned out, you don't realize how far you have run until it's nearly too dark to see the path. Sitting on a stump, you give in and have a cry about the whole thing. Self-pity taking you over for just a few minutes. Wiping your eyes, you startle when a hand touches your back. You leap up and move to a defensive crouch only to see Ghost's balaclava looming out of the darkness at you.

"Luv, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Just, I don't know. Needed a cry, I guess. Didn't think anyone would see me."

"You certainly didn't see anyone. I've been running behind you for nearly five minutes. I could have been anyone. You need to be more aware of things." Your hurt and confusion turns to anger at the lecture he is spouting off.

"Ya, I guess I do need to be more aware. Clearly, I am the problem." You stomp away from him, starting back to base, muttering to yourself about transfers to other teams who might care more. Ghost wraps his hand around your arm and pulls you to a stop.

"What, I make one comment, and you're just going to quit on us? What is actually going on, pet? Someone piss you off or something? Do I need to knock teeth out?"

"I... everyone forgot," you mumble. Ghost glances around to ensure you're alone and tugs you against his chest, rubbing your back. "I was in the shit and when I got back, nobody remembered my birthday." He freezes, hands cradling you.

"They forgot? How could they forget? Your birthday is always at the beginning of the mission season. I thought you guys had it when I was down range. I was gutted to have missed it. Sent you flowers as a sorry." His grip tightens to an almost painful level, and you grip back, remembering the beautiful bouquet that had been left for you without a note. "We will just have to make Soap and Captain pay for forgetting then." You glance up and see his eyes glimmering at you in the moonlight.

"We should probably find our way home first."

"Home, that sounds good." His phone suddenly goes off, making you jump. "Group text. 'SOS emergency meeting. Do not tell y/n.' They ain't even tryin' to be subtle at this point." He guides the two of you down the path, walking quick and assured. Within minutes, he is getting an avalanche of phone calls and texts to the point that he is tempted to throw it into the woods around you, but you turn it off and slip it into his pocket for him.

"Last time you threw one and broke it, Captain said he would glue the new one to your hand, and I'm pretty sure he was serious." Ghost ruffles your hair.

"That was a private meeting, Luv. How did you hear him say that?"

You scoff. "You'd be lucky if the entire fuckin' base didn't hear him tell you that with how loud he was shouting." He just chuckles and guides you both home. He drops you off at the women's barracks and storms into the team meeting, slamming the door into the wall.

"Finally you show up! We forgot y/n's birthday and we are planning a party to make up for it."

"No. You are not."

"What?! We can't just ignore it. We forgot! It's been months!"

"You're not going to force her to accept a pity party to make you feel better about what you did."

"Ghost, I know you hate parties, but she still deserves to know we care."

"So, show her. Before she makes good on transferring out. But no party. I will handle her party from now on since you fucks can't be trusted to remember." He walks out without another word, the room behind him in chaos.

"Why is he acting like he didn't forget, too?" Gaz asks incredulously.

"Because the bawbag didn't. He sent the mystery flowers that made her cry. It was right after he got back from down range. Can't believe I didn't catch it earlier."

Price stubs out his cigar. "So, no party. And she is thinking about leaving. We really cocked this one up, boys." He stands and walks to the door, pausing on the threshold. "No flowers, no gifts. Make it up to her. And Soap," he turns to look the Scottish man in the eye, "sleep with one eye open. Ghost is absolutely going to make us pay for making her cry." He walks away, no pep in his step, now.

"Cry? How does he know she cried?" Gaz seems baffled by the Captain's surety.

"Course she cried. Everyone does when they are forgotten or abandoned."

"Ghost doesn't, though. We never celebrate his birthday."

"We being the key there, mate. Remember last month when she shoved a new set of gloves and a mask at him? Told him the ones he was wearing were manky as fuck. That was his birthday gift." He runs a hand through his hair. "Anyway, I'm off. Need t'think about how I'm gonna beg forgiveness from both of 'em."

#ghost cod #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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spoilmesweetieforficssake · 1 month

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hi hi hi!! I love your fics so much and i don't know if you're still taking requests but if you are could you write a Melissa x reader where the reader is madly in love with Melissa and everyone kind of knows except for Mel. And when Mel starts flirting with Gary reader starts going on random dates to try and get over Mel, but Mel gets jealous and hates every person that reader tries to date. And their friendship gets all angsty but they of course end up happily together and everyone at Abbott is like "finally took you two long enough"

I feel like saying this has taken forever isn't actually an exaggeration - but better late than never! I hope after all this time that this is at least close to what you were looking for. I admit though, I got a bit indecisive with the ending, so there are actually two and you can pick which you prefer.!

Melissa and Gary are a thing, and you hate it. Worse, you hate that you hate it. You want to be happy for her, you really do, but you can’t help the way your heart clenches painfully every time you hear her talk about what she and Gary are doing together, or apparently the nausea that comes with seeing them together.

Still, you weren’t raised without manners and in love with your friend though you may be, you are Melissa’s friend first and foremost. So you slap on a smile and endure the looks of sympathy from your colleagues.

When you start to distance yourself it’s not because you don’t want to spend time with the redhead, but as an act of self-preservation. Your little Abbott family, who were annoyingly quick to pick up on the fact you were in love with the red head, are also quick to pick up on the shift.

Barb is the first to say something out loud, offering to set you up with a nice girl she knows. It’s unexpected and takes you by surprise. “Thanks, Barb. It’s really sweet of you but I’m not looking for anything serious just now.”

You miss the daggers being aimed at the kindergarten teacher behind your head and in making a break for the coffee machine you also miss the older woman’s raised eyebrow in response to a certain red head.

“So, how many matches did we get?” asks Jacob like it’s some kind of team game, as he comes into the break room to find you on your phone.

It had been games night the night before, but the board game had ended up set aside and Jacob and Janine got you set up on Tinder. Melissa suddenly becomes very interested in your phone screen over your shoulder.

“You really think you need an app to get a date?”

“Well we can’t all have our other halves roll in with our favourite drinks, can we?” you quip, ignoring her jibe. You keep your eyes on your phone, all too aware of the silence that has fallen over the breakroom at your comment.

You jump as Melissa suddenly leans over your shoulder, swiping at your screen.

“She’s too old for you.”

You turn to look at the red head with a raised eyebrow. “Actually, I set the age range myself, so she’d have been just the right age.”

She huffs and you turn back to your phone, and if you swipe with a little more vigour than before, well, it’s certainly not to prove a point.

You manage to set up a couple of dates via the app, but they’re terrible. What you hoped could be a chance to blow of a little steam ends of being up being a few awkward drinks with people who are more interested in their image and talking about themselves than anything else.

Not that you tell that to Melissa. No, as far as she’s aware the string of dates you’ve on have been great.

“Yeah, that’s why you keep going on new ones,” she quips one day.

“I didn’t say I planned on marrying these people,” you huff. “But it’s not illegal to want a little fun!”

Melissa snorts. “You’re not that shallow,” she smirks as she passes you on her way out of the room.

You lay your head on the table, groaning.

“Those dates that bad, huh?”

Your head flies up at the words, eyes wide as you take in Ava pouring a liberal amount of sugar into her coffee. Had she been there the whole time? “They’ve not been great,” you admit. “I don’t tend to well on dates when I’ve never really met the person, never mind barely messaged them,” you admit.

Ava cocks her head to the side. “You let Tweedledumb and Tweedleditzy set up that account, didn’t you?”

You nod, not quite sure where she’s going with this.

“Yeah, you ain’t gonna get dates who just want to do the dirty and not expect breakfast in the morning with something they set up.” She slides into the seat opposite you and holds out her hand. “I can fix that. Gimme your phone.”

She rolls her eyes as you flinch back. “You know what? Forget that stupid app. I’ll get you a date. You’ll love this one. Trust me.”

You’re not entirely convinced you do as she waggles her eyebrows playfully at you, but surely anything has to be better than the dates you’ve recently been on?

You walk in to the bar and for a moment you think that Ava has somehow set you up with Melissa. The red hair catches you attention first, the feminine curves a quick second, but then you realise the hair is not quite the right colour, the curves less pronounced. The description of the outfit matches though so after taking a moment to compose yourself, you make your way over and say hi.

Blue eyes meet yours as she stands and the woman takes a moment to look you up and down as you squirm under the attention. How people can do anything other than blush and stutter under the scrutiny of a beautiful woman you’re not sure. One thing you do know though, is that this woman is indeed beautiful.

“Ava said you might be a little nervous, so got you a drink.”

You thank her, taking a sip only to realise that Ava must have also told the woman what you drank. Your second sip turns more into a gulp as you proceed to down the drink. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Could at least have asked your name before I downed the drink you bought me.”

She smiles at your embarrassment, extending a hand. “Joanne,” she offers. “Jo, if I decide I like you.”

“Here’s hoping,” you smile back, shaking the offered hand.

It’s going well, you realise. The conversation is flowing between you and can’t deny she’s attractive. She seems to like what she sees too if her flirting and casual touches are anything to go by. There’s just one problem. There’s another red head on your mind and you can’t help but compare the two.

Joanne seems to feel your hesitancy. “It’s fine,” she says, her smile turning gentle as she places a hand on your arm. “Ava suggested you might be a little emotionally unavailable, but it’s been a while since I had a date with a cute girl, so I figured what’s the harm?”

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head.

“Don’t be,” smiles the red head. “Look, we’re here, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“You don’t deserve that,” you say, shaking your head.

Joanne merely smirks. “You’re buying the drinks.”

There’s something about her easy manner that puts you at ease. You look up at her, waiting patiently for you to speak. Ava had clearly told her more than your favourite tipple.

“What’s her name?” she asks.

You feel your cheeks heat up. Here you are, sitting on a date with a beautiful, interesting, apparently endlessly patient woman, and she’s asking about her. “Melissa,” you say in all but a whisper.

“Let me guess,” smirks the other woman. “Red head, my kinda age?”

Your blush only deepens.

Joanne chuckles. “Ava ain’t subtle, honey. But you know you gotta move on before your little heart breaks even more.”

The hand that had been resting on your arm moves to cup your cheek as she leans in to kiss you. It’s nice. It’s really nice. And for a moment, you find you’re not thinking about Melissa.

“Well fuck,” sighs Melissa, halting in her steps. She stands, unable to look away as she sees you in the bar, clearly on a date. For a moment, she’s not sure what to do. She had been on her way to your apartment, but she can hardly interrupt your night now. “What a shitty end to a shitty night,” she breathes, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she turns on her heel and heads home, her steps much less determined than they had been.

When Monday rolls around you’re in a better mood than you’ve been in a while. To your surprise, you actually enjoyed Ava’s date. She was good company, and after you were honest with her, it turned out she was also rather good at giving advice. The advice being that you should be the friend you’ve always been to Melissa, after all, it’s not the red head’s fault you fell in love with her. The kissing and light making out was just a bonus, really. A little fun never hurt, after all.

Melissa, however, isn’t quite so bright come Monday. She’s quiet, distracted and when you finally ask what’s wrong at lunch, she just shakes her head and leaves the room. You look to Barb, hoping she’ll take pity and at least cast a little light on the situation.

“She and Gary broke up,” she tells you quietly, her voice low to keep the other’s from hearing.

“Oh,” you breathe. You’re not quite sure what to say to that.

At the end of the day, you look up from your tidying to find Melissa loitering in your doorway. “Hey,” you say by way of greeting. “Barb told me,” you tell her, offering a sad smile. “Sorry to hear.”

She shrugs. “I think I knew it was coming…just, didn’t expect it to happen the way it did.”

You watch as she comes to sit on the edge of your desk. “Saw you out on your date on Saturday. Was actually on my way to yours.”

“Oh,” you say, your cheeks heating up. “Yeah, Ava set me up. She was great but we’re not taking it any further. Or at least, it’s nothing serious.”

“But you looked like you were having a good time, and she…”

You shake your head. “I was…it was…Gary’s an ass by the way, for leaving you,” is what finally comes out.

“Actually, Gary isn’t an ass” she sighs. “Gary called it quits because he asked me if I’d ever say yes if he asked me the question…and I told him I couldn’t.” She drops her gaze, hanging her head. “He knew it wasn’t just my past that meant I couldn’t say yes. He knew my heart wasn’t in it…”

You start putting two and two together and getting dangerously close to four. Gary broke up with Melissa because she wouldn’t say yes to that question. Because her heart wasn’t in it.

“Why did Ava set you up with that woman?” asks Melissa, still not looking up.

Unable to properly see her face, hidden as it is by her hair, you can’t read her expression as you’d like to. Your next words feel important thought. “Ava knows my type.”

Melissa nods, her eyes still on the floor. “Why ain’t you gonna see that woman again?” This time she does look up. “You looked like you were actually enjoying yourself.”

“I was,” you admit. There’s no point lying. She saw you, probably smiling and laughing. “Ava set me up with her because she knew I’d find her attractive. But she also told her I might be a bit hung up on someone else, so that night, when you saw me with her, I was probably talking about you.”

“You were talking about me, with her, while she was kissing you?”

That comment lets you place when Melissa would have walked by. You nod. “When you saw me, that was probably right around the time she told me I should think about moving on if I didn’t want to break my own heart even more.”

Melissa stands and is in front of you before either of you can think. She looks at you for what feels like forever, green eyes searching your face, for what you don’t know. She reaches up to touch your face and you close your eyes on instinct, gasping at the featherlight touch of her lips against yours. Covering the hand on your face with your own, you open your eyes as she pulls back. “I can’t do this if your heart’s not in it.”

“What if it is?”

* Ava

“Well I was gonna ask how you enjoyed my date but I guess I got my answer.”

The pair of you jump at the sound of Ava’s voice.

“About damn time you two got your shit together. If I’d knows all it would take to get you with this spicy white was to put another firecracker in front of you I’d have done it months ago!” She claps her hands excitedly. “Oh this is too good to keep!” She disappears from the doorway, only for her head to pop back around a moment later. “Just no funny business in front of the kids. But what happens in the supply closet stays in the supply closet,” she grins, waggling her eyebrows at the pair of you. With that, she leaves you, the sound of her heels echoing along the hallway.

“Ava!” scolds Melissa, thinking she’s going to have to take disinfectant wipes the next time she ventures into the supply closet. With Ava, there’s no guessing what level of depravity the room has been subjected to.

You know your cheeks are beet red, and you hide your face against Melissa’s shoulder.

“This isn’t exactly how I saw this going,” admits the red head.

Raising your head, you look up at her with hopeful eyes. “But you saw it going somewhere?”

She shrugs. “You seem keen on going on all these dates, how about one with me?”

Biting your lip, you take a moment to just look at her; the slightly shy expression, the twinkle in her eye. Nodding, you lean in to kiss her once more.

“You know I almost didn’t believe her.”

You pull apart to see Barb in the doorway.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Anyone else wanna come and watch?”

A moment later Janine’s head appears around the doorframe, Jacob close behind.

“Seriously?” snaps the red head, hands on her hips.

Ava returns, a wide grin plastered on her face. “They wanted to come and confirm before I collected my winnings.”

“Winnings?” asks Melissa, eyebrow raised and tone bordering on dangerous.

“Hand it over people,” smirks Ava, hand extended.

“Oh hell no!” The red head snaps into action, heading for the group. “You did not bet on me!” She snatches the notes from Ava’s outstretched hand. “You bet on my happiness I’m sure you won’t mind if this goes towards it! Y/N? Let’s go!”

You look at the hand being held out towards you and are quick to hoist your bag onto your shoulder and follow her. You duck your head and blush under everyone’s gaze but can’t help but grin as your hand settles in her own.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” calls Ava.

The group watches you both go, Melissa rolling her eyes at the hollering they let out as she puts a possessive arm around your waist.

* Barb *

If Barb notices that Melissa is unusually reserved as they order their drinks she says nothing of it. Truth be told, she had only suggested the meal to make sure Melissa wasn’t left sitting in the house on her own on a Friday night, or worse, going out to the bars on her own in search of some company for the night.

“There’s something I gotta tell you,” says the red head, setting down the menu wasn’t even reading.

“You’re not getting back together with him, are you?” asks the Kindergarten teacher.

“What? No! No, I…that’s over and it’s for the best,” replies Melissa. “No, the night Gary broke up with me, I ended up going for a walk to clear my head and ended up heading to Y/N’s apartment, except I didn’t quite make it there,” she admits. “I saw her out on that date Ava set her up on.” She sighs, wishing she had waited for their drinks to have arrived. “And it made me feel…”

“Jealous?” Barb ventures.

Melissa looks up, meeting her friend’s eyes. “I guess that covers it, yeah.” Taking a deep breath, she pushes on. “Anyway, I spoke to her on Monday about it…and I might have kissed her.” Admission made, she looks away, pleased to see the waiter arriving with their drinks. She doesn’t even let him put it on the table before she takes it and raises it to her lips. It’s only when she finally sets her cocktail glass down, half empty, that she dares to look at her friend once more.

What she sees is a gentle smile.

“Took you long enough.”

“What?” she asks, a frown creasing her features.

“You have liked that girl since before Gary was even on the scene,” says Barb.

Melisa’s frown only deepens. “Then why did you push me, literally may I add, in his direction?”

At this, Barb’s smile falters. “I hoped it might make you realise how you felt about her.”

The red head lets out a huff, reaching for her glass once more. “Well that went well, didn’t it?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment”, admits the older woman. “But maybe it’s all finally working out in the end?”

Melissa fidgets with her straw. “So you don’t think she’s too young? Too…”

Reaching out, Barb places a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “I think she’s in love with you, and I think you like her, a lot.”

Cheeks pinking, Melissa puts down her glass. “I do. A lot. A helluva lot.”

Knowing it says something in itself the fact the red head isn’t making a joke, but rather admitting how she feels, Barb knows this is the real deal. She knows if this goes South that hearts will be well and truly broken, but she’s seen the two of you together. You work well together. There’s a quiet in you that balances out the boisterousness of Melissa. A steadiness that although she won’t admit it, the red head craves.

“I think you could be good for each other,” she says softly. “And no, I don’t think she’s too anything.”

#melissa x reader #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x reader

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nolita-fairytale · 10 months

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don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter one: june/july

summary: you and carmy plan a wedding like it's the opening of a new restaurant.

warnings: swearing, eventual smut, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov

wc: 3.4k

listen to: let's get married (bleachers cover) - mitski

a/n: the long awaited wedding FIC!! welcome to part four of the 'make my heart surrender' universe (four part series). this takes place a month after the end of 'still into you' but before the carmy as your baby daddy headcanon series (my carmy masterlist is organized chronologically, if you'd like to read in order). anyways, i truly adore writing for these two and feel it important to note that after watching season 2, i've realized this has just become an animal of its own -- its own universe/timeline/entity which also means there AREN'T any SEASON TWO SPOILERS! this chapter was inspired by a conversation from two months ago between me and @carmensberzattos so courtesy of us, enjoy some healthy relationship-future husband!carmy. also don't worry syd will be starring in the next chapter. i missed her too. lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist.

masterlist | part two

"let's just get married, don't wanna walk alone, so let's get married, 'cause we don't wanna walk alone or runaway." (bleachers, let's get married.)

'I just want to be married to you' are the words uttered (first by you, you think, but maybe he said it first, you really can’t remember) that lead you and Carmy to the decision that you should elope. Sooner rather than later, preferably, is what you both agree on. It’s not like you’re planning on having a big wedding anyways. How much work can a civil ceremony at City Hall and a nice dinner party afterwards be to pull off?

Famous last words.

You’re not sure how you’ve gotten from there to here, locked in a heated debate over menu edits with your fiance in the middle of your shared apartment when the sun’s just barely come up, but here you are.

“I’m just saying that we should be open minded and leave room for his artistic integrity!” Carmy passionately argues, winding you up as he makes his case.

“Artistic integrity? Carmy, are you kidding me right now? I-!” you fire back, shaking your head incredulously. “We said we were gonna keep everything chill.”

“It is chill!” he defends, matter-of-factly.

Oh, he’s just looking for a fight.

“There is nothing chill about a parm espuma and it certainly doesn’t belong anywhere near the carbonara!” you scoff, stubbornly. “I mean, the only reason he even brought up the idea of a goddamn espuma in the first place is because he was trying to impress you.”

Carmy’s jaw twitches in response as he grinds his teeth, a display of discomfort at the mere thought.

“He-he was not,” he denies with the kind of conviction of a five year old toddler who's sure as can be.

You shoot him a look.

“Carmen,” you warn him.

Sure it’s a silly thing to fight about, but there’s no malice in this argument. It’s all passion, artistry, and for lack of a better term, foreplay. You let out a sigh, softening before you rise out of your chair.

“Baby, when are you going to admit that you’re kind of a big deal and that people want to impress you?” you level with him, making your way over to your very stubborn and very insistent fiance. You settle down onto his lap, before tucking a stray curl behind his ear as you break, giving the sweetest smile.

He laughs dryly, averting his eyes from you because he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to stand his ground (especially when you’re looking at him like that).

You’re right. And he knows you’re right.

And Carmy’s never been able to resist you for long anyways.

A fox-like grin spreads across your lips and you know you’ve won the argument when you feel a pair of hands snake around your waist.

“Don’t push it,” he warns you, seeing the look on your face as he shakes his head, finally returning his eyes to yours.

You raise an eyebrow, “You like that I push.”

He nods slowly in surrender, his face softening as he asks you:

“You really want to fight about this?”

You shake your head with a laugh.

“No, of course not! Of course, I don’t want to fight about this!” you exhale, sliding your hands over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. “But I do think that your new buddy is trying to impress us and that it may be wise for us to reign him in – clear the air on what it is we’re looking for.”

A beat.

“Don’t get me wrong. Of course, we can leave room for creativity… but I don’t want our wedding party to turn into some pretentious fine dining fancy party.”

“Well, we did meet because of some pretentious fine dining fancy thing,” he points out, giving your hip a squeeze.

You giggle, “How could I forget?”

You shake your head once more, leaning in to press your lips against his. Carmy inhales deeply, enjoying the feel of your lips on his, your arms wrapped around his neck, the weight of your body on his lap.

You indulge him for a moment, deepening the kiss as you feel your future husband relax against you, because you really are happy that Carmy’s made a new friend.

Carmy had met a private chef a few months ago and had been trying to hire him for the restaurant for a while now. Wanting to work for himself, the chef had respectfully declined all advances, but he and Carmy had kept in touch, and it looked as if the relationship could potentially extend outside of the four walls of a kitchen. Since you both agreed that no one from the restaurant should work the party, it had been good timing (making a new friend and the fact that he was a private chef) and the right move for Carmy to ask his new friend to cater the wedding.

“Fine,” you resign yourself, pulling away from the kiss. “Derek can keep the liquid nitrogen but that is as far as it goes.”

Carmy shoots you a look – one that says he’s not quite convinced.

“And I will be more open minded in the spirit of… artistic integrity. But I’m not changing my mind about courses. Family style or bust, baby,” you negotiate, a serious look in your eyes.

Carmy thinks it over for a moment before finally coming to a resolution.

“Deal,” Carmy nods with the same intensity as a ‘yes, chef.’

You nod too, completing the agreement.

“I want it to be real, Carm. I want it to be us,” you reiterate, your voice soft as you make your condition loud and clear.

“I know,” he returns, just as determined and committed to the idea as he is to you.

You’re satisfied with the resolution – even more satisfied with the fact that you’ve come to it together.

“You know…” he starts, something in his voice that you can’t quite make out, unsure if you’re going to like what’s about to come out of his mouth. “... it could be a perfect menu if you just let me-.”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Carmen!” you interrupt, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

You are so not playing this game today.

“You don’t even know what I was-!”

“Yes, I do! You are not catering your own wedding party,” you protest, adamantly.

You know him too well.

He laughs, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair, like he’s in high school again, and you’ve just caught him sneaking back into the house.

“God, I love you! But sometimes you drive me up the wall, Carm,” you groan out of frustration, eliciting another laugh from his chest as you hang your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder this time.

“Such a control freak,” you sigh, against his chest.

“Thought you like it when I take control,” he murmurs, beginning to leave kisses across your exposed skin.

You giggle partially because it tickles, and mostly because of what Carmy’s said.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

You lift your head and Carmy kisses you again, this time savoring the way your lips feel against his for a little while longer – just long enough to remind himself that he wants to have the option to sneak away in the middle of your wedding party to have sex much more than he wants cater to be in control all the time.

Sometimes, he thinks to himself, control is overrated anyways.

Only sometimes.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, letting go of the idea. “I’ll get back to Derek about final menu edits and make sure he knows that while we want him to be creative, we also want to keep it… you know….”

“Chill?” you emphasize.

“Chill,” he confirms.

“Okay. Thank you, baby,” you smile softly, trying your best to enjoy the temporary moment of peace between the two of you. Carm squeezes your hip as you roll your eyes with a sigh, muttering an:

“Oh fuck.”

“What’s up?”

You shake your head again, laughing incredulously before letting out another sigh.

“Just wait till we go through this again with the cake.”

“Fuck!” Carmy shouts towards the ceiling, throwing his head back as you laugh. “Why did we say we wanted to plan a wedding again?”

“Well baby, I don’t think either of us can pass up on a chance to create a menu,” you giggle, leaving a few kisses along his jawline before you make your way up to his nose. “Can you imagine if we decided to have a full-on wedding? That’d be a freaking mess.”

He chuckles, “It’d be like opening another restaurant.”

“Yeah, pass,” you hum, so glad to have dodged that bullet.

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

By the time you and Carmy are even ready to focus on the cake portion of said wedding-dinner-party it’s a month later. You’ve been through half of the bakeries in the city, you think, and something’s just felt off. You’re practically eating your words, as it dawns on you that you’re having the exact same thought as Carmy: that it could just be perfect if you were able to make it yourself.

Then again, you remind yourself that a cake is an entirely different thing versus running a dinner service, so it can’t be that unhinged to have these thoughts, right?

But you and Carmy made an agreement, so in solidarity, you decide it’s only fair for you to make like Tammy Wynette and stand by your man.

You’re grateful for the half day you have today (“Summer Fridays”, as it’s so fondly referred to around your office) – and the fact that you get to work from home. What it means for you is that today you can clock out early and pick up samples from the tenth bakery (okay, so maybe it’s the eleventh but truthfully, you’ve lost count) in the running for your wedding cake.

You change out of your pajamas for the first time today, throwing on a slip dress and one of Carmy’s crisp, white Ralph Lauren button downs – worn layered and open like a cardigan – before you head to the bakery, and then eventually, The Bear.

The restaurant is closed for the afternoon, as they do a shift change over: some stay and take a break, others go home, let the dinner crew come in and take over. It’s different these days and while some days you miss it – the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, the sounds of an ‘all day’ shouted by the expeditor, the careful dance that is working in a kitchen – you remind yourself that you’re enjoying a half day, and that when you’d chosen to leave, you were ready for a change.

After entering The Bear, you make small talk with Gary while he finishes turning over the dining room for dinner, catching up over the flag football league he’s recently joined – one, it seems, to be taken very seriously by all participants. You tell him that you’re here with wedding cake samples, and he’s more than eager to give you some space to set up, because who doesn’t love free cake? Mid-sentence, Gary gestures towards a table for you to set up on, as you begin to unpack your large brown paper bag.

“Well, well. Look who it is,” Marcus calls out, as soon as he sees you. “Heard a rumor you were out here. You brought cake?”

“I brought cake,” you repeat as confirmation, turning to see your dear friend and mentee. “But don’t worry. I’ll be thinking about yours the whole time.”

He snickers, moving in for a hug.

“‘S Good to see you, Chef. How ya been?” he asks, enveloping you in his arms for a tight squeeze.

“Good to see you too, Marcus. I’m good. Had a half day today so… you know, we’ve just been busy with wedding stuff. But what’s going on with you? What’s new?” you answer, turning the focus back onto him.

“Oh you know. The usual. Though, I’ve been workin’ on some new shit for Syd’s new menu when I’m not here,” he answers, a broad smile spreading across his lips as he talks about.

“Jeez, Brooks. I know, Carm’s got ya busy. When the hell do you ever sleep?” you ask, as you shake your head.

“I don’t,” he answers plainly.

And just as you’re about to remind Marcus to get some rest, Sugar comes bursting through the front doors, her rounded belly full on display now that she’s had a chance to tell almost everyone the news of her pregnancy.

“Hey! Sorry I’m running late,” Sugar says, announcing her arrival. “Got tied up running an errand and then I had to stop at the store for Tums. This baby is killing me with the heartburn these days. Fucking christ.”

“Oh, no big deal. I haven’t even seen Carmy yet,” you shrug, as she mutters a surprised ‘oh’ and Marcus mumbles something about going to get Carmy. “It’s good to see you!”

“Yo, Carm!” Marcus shouts, heading back to the kitchen while you and Sugar exchange hellos.

“Awww, it’s good to see you too, sweetie,” she smiles, pulling you in for your second hug of the day.

This is something you miss about working in the kitchen: the camaraderie, the found-family, all the love.

“Wow this is… quite the spread,” Sugar mentions, eyeing the cakes you’ve laid out on the table.

“Yeah… they had a lot of ideas, I guess,” you say with a shrug.

Sugar shoots you an unconvinced look.

“Okay, fine. I had a lot of ideas…” you admit guiltily.

“...aaaand no one is going to do it the way you want it to be done,” Sugar sighs in the middle of your sentence.

“And they were more than willing to play. I couldn’t help myself!” you finish, defending yourself.

“Well, your enthusiasm is one of the many things I love about you, but… yeah, this is a lot,” Sugar grins as she gestures towards the overwhelming amount of cake you’ve just laid out on the table.

Regardless, Sugar really can’t wait to be your sister-in-law.

“Speaking of… I thought this was just a small wedding. It looks like you’re preparing to feed the entire French Army during Marie Antoinette’s reign.”

“Oh it still is – small,” you answer, simply. “I went a little overboard, didn’t I?”

“Why go through all this trouble? You might as well have a small ceremony instead of-,”

“No!” you protest, hearing another voice say the same thing.

“Sugar, we’ve already told you that we don’t want to do anything big!” Carmy adds, as soon as he enters the dining room.

“Hey, babe,” he says, sending you the softest smile as he looks your way.

“Hey you,” you smile in return as he approaches you, giving him a short ‘hello’ peck on the lips.

“Fak attack!” Fak cries out, as he enters the dining room. “Ooooh cake tasting!”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, as Fak is quickly followed by some of the line cooks that have just wrapped up lunch service.

It’s then that you hear Tina’s voice, growling something in Spanish as Richie speaks way too loudly about god knows what, as Ebra follows behind, somehow in the middle of a story that has little to do with whatever Tina and Richie are going on about.

You smile to yourself, because you really do miss this part.

“I told everyone we were doing a cake tasting,” Carmy starts, gesturing towards the rest of the staff as they join you. “That cool?”

“Totally. We have more than enough to share,”

“That’s true,” Sugar says. "And I can't complain because the baby is reeeeaaally craving cake these days."

As everyone at The Bear crowd around the circular dining table where you set up the cake tasting, you all enjoy bites here and there, comparing notes, sharing reactions to each flavor combo.

Earl grey & lemon. A classic red velvet. And of course, you had to get a little weird with the black sesame clementine combination you’d dreamed up with the pastry chef you’d been working with.

“I think my favorite is the black sesame and clementine but I doubt it’s a cake everyone will like. Doesn’t have the crowd appeal we probably should keep in mind,” you murmur to Carmy as the two of you watch his staff go on about the tiramisu-inspired one.

“Well, babe, it’s our wedding! We can do whatever we want,” he encourages you.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, paralyzed with indecision.

“The tiramisu one is good. I’m leaning towards that,” Carmy shares with you, eager to hear your thoughts.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a little too on the nose?” you reply, unsettled and unsure that any of these are right.

“Why don’t you guys just let me make it?” Marcus interjects, asking the question he’s been wondering this entire time.

“I-,” you start, unable to help the fact that your eyes begin to wet with emotion. “Really?”

He laughs, glancing sideways at you.

“Uh yeah. I’m a little offended neither of you did in the first place,” Marcus teases the two of you, though you know there’s some truth to it.

You and Carmy exchange a look that says something along the lines of: ‘oh shit.’

“Well, we didn’t think you’d-,” you stammer, beginning to explain the why behind you and Carmy’s hesitation in the first place.

“We just thought you’d want to- that you should be able to enjoy the party,” Carmy adds, finishing your sentence, his eyes widening as he realizes that you both kinda fucked up.

“Chefs,” he says, looking from you to Carmy once more, with a seriousness in his voice as he rises to his feet. “It would be my honor. And just because I’m makin’ the cake doesn’t mean I won’t be able to enjoy the party. I can do it in the days leading up to it.”

“Oh-, okay, yes! Yes!” you cry, leaping to your feet this time, as if you’re accepting Carmy’s proposal again.

Richie rolls his eyes in response, groaning as he mutters something snarky to Fak, as Marcus pulls you into the biggest bear hug.

“You all are a bunch of saps,” he scoffs, directing this next comment to Marcus this time. “You big softie!”

“Richie!” Sugar hisses, glaring the sharpest daggers from her eyeballs into Richie’s skull.

“Oh fuck off, Richie,” you snort, with a laugh. “You’re just salty because… wait. Carm, you haven’t asked him yet?”

“Babe, I-,” Carmy whines, his eyes wide. “You just ruined the surprise!”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah ‘fuck’ is right,” he pouts, though he can never stay upset with you for too long.

“What the fuck are you guys even talking about?” Richie asks, squinting as he looks between the two of you.

You and Carmy share a knowing look, deciding that now is a better time as ever.

“We want you to be our witness, Cousin. At the courthouse,” Carmy says, a soft intensity in his eyes as he answers Richie’s question.

“Jesus Christ,” Sugar snarks, with an eye roll as she realizes she’ll be stuck with him at the damn courthouse as well.

“Wh-?” Richie begins to ask, looking from Carmy to you, then back to Carmy again, tears welling up in his eyes as he realizes what Carmy’s just said. “You-? Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, in a well-duh kind of tone. “Plus you know I can’t get married without my Ava there.”

“And sign the marriage license and everything?” Richie balks, because he really can’t believe it.

“Yeah,” you reassure him.

“Yeah. I mean, fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!” Richie declares, even more sentimental than Marcus this time. “Shit, Cuz… Hell yeah, I’ll sign the fuck out of that marriage license as your witness.”

Tina snickers, exchanging a look with Sugar, and earning a glare from Richie. He lowers his voice, directing the question towards you this time:

“Oh and uh… cool if Ava still sings “Love Story?” I kinda promised her she could sing a Taylor Swift song as part of my best man speech and she insists that one is about you and Carmy,” Richie asks, looking around suspiciously, afraid of someone else hearing.

“Awwww, Richie. Of course,” you coo, only melting inside a little at the thought.

“What?” Richie snaps, realizing that he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he was.

Sugar snorts in response, earning a laugh from both Tina and Marcus.

It’s Marcus’ turn to roll his eyes at Richie this time.

“What?” Richie repeats, this time with a little more annoyance in his voice.

Sugar smirks, firing back with a:

“Who’s the big softie now, Rick?”

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos #still into you #make my heart surrender #dont want to walk alone

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yourstingrey · 2 months

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“What are you wearing…?”

Description: you forget about laundry day and are forced with the tough decision of going out in your most embarrassing pajamas set in front of a certain Hermes camp counselor

A/N: I haven't written a fic since uh 2019…? So my writing is a bit rusty but I wanted to try to get back into it so hopefully you all don't think this is too bad😭😭😭 The pajamas are inspired from this OW2 character's outfit but obvi changed for the fic! Anywho if you do like this hopefully it'll inspire me to write even more little fics but thank you for reading if you choose to do so and I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night!!

wc:1009

Pairings: Athena!reader x Luke Castellan

Warnings!: fluff pretty much and the reader getting teased

You don't even know how you could have forgotten it was an honest mistake anyone could make but certainly not as embarrassing for everyone else. You had woken up just like any other day yawning not truly ready to get up for the day but at camp half blood unless you're a child of Hypnos sleeping in isn't the smartest.

As you stretch out and then slip your feet into your slippers you finally make that last stumble out of bed. Walking up to my dresser and open up the drawer noticing how barren it is so much so a cartoon mouth might as well fly out. I turned around to march up to my laundry hamper, deciding it better to re-wear something this once than to simply have nothing else until I noticed it was missing from its key spot.

I looked up to see if any of my siblings were in the room and saw my sister, Bea “Hey uh Bea have you seen my laundry hamper? I can't remember where I put it…” I say to her with sleepy confusion laced into my voice “Oh yeah well it's laundry day and you were sleeping for a while so Annabeth decided to take yours and do it for you!” Bea explained, “So all my clothes are in the wash.” “Oh yeah sorry is that a bad thing I mean I can't say I won't judge you if you wanna be those people who don't bathe or anything..” Bea says with an astute tone to her voice and a clear grimace on her face “Um no no it's fine…” I replied under my breath.

I walked back to my drawer deliberating between just going out in my PJs or trying to squeeze into some old t-shirt from my first years at camp. I think we all know what I picked but I did decide if I'm going to wear my PJs out I can still wear my normal shoes, lacing up my sneakers I head out marching my way to the mess hall.

I walk quietly the cold crisp camp air biting at my cheeks while I notice the cold I fail to notice the sound of a certain Hermes boy sneaking up on me before he lightly tugged on one of my braids “Woah woah where are you going girl” Luke said as he stepped in front of me.

“Luke! I hate when you do that my hair takes a while y'know.” Luke irked me to no end yet I couldn't help but enjoy all our tiny arguments. “Hold on. What are you wearing…?”

I look down at my outfit: a basic white sleep tank but then lavender pajama pants with owls and moons scattered about with a matching cardigan on top. “What are you jealous, Castellan?” “Very you think we can get matching sets, hm?” Luke replied with a smirk evident on his face.

“ Ugh Why have you come to pester me Luke” I huff out at him as I shift under his gaze “Just wanted to know if you’re still gonna come to training later” I almost freeze up a little as though it might be small Luke has usually never asked to see if I'm coming or not it's not like its hard for him to get another sparring partner.

“Hmm I don't know.. These are my best fighting clothes. I think they actually might let me beat you this time butttt I already promised Annabeth to sneak out into the strawberry fields with her later..” As I say this I start to continue my walk to the mess hall not letting Luke interrupt my stride.

“Hey wait wait tell her you’ll go on a different day!” Luke jogs back over and starts walking with me “I don't know why you’re being so persistent this time you’ve never acted like this before!” I sass back to him “Oh what I just want to spare with my favorite Athena girl” “Well it's not gonna happen you can spare with me tomorrow okay” my voice holding a teasing tone.

I look at him and scrunch my nose at him as if he were the foul smell you would get if you ventured to the stables. But with that pause in my step, Luke took it to his advantage quickly snagging the owl sleeping mask off of my head and holding it up.

“Well, you'll just have to come by if you want this back then hmm little owl.” With him snatching my eye mask and this newly formed nickname my face glowed a light pink you would think I was a daughter of Aphrodite for a second “Wait what-” Luke already cut me off with a quick peck to my cheek stunning me again and starts to strut off before calling over his shoulder “Okay see you later then my little owl!”

I turn to watch him walk for a mere second before knocking some sense into myself and continuing my walk. I know I shouldn't go. I'm a daughter of Athena, I should be smarter than this but maybe Annabeth could wait a day. It's just fruit… I think I just really need “my sleeping mask” back…

#luke castellan x reader #fluff #luke castellan #luke castellan fic #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff

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twst-drabbles · 2 months

Text

Lilia 12

Summary: You're taking a bath and Lilia decided to come in.

(Just cute Sanctuary Lilia things. Being a little shit. You know the drill with him.)

Today was simply a day filled to the brim with chores. You cleaned out the various baths, removed the fallen tree branches from your backyard after a storm hit, entertained Crowley when he popped over for a unprompted visit, and dragged Crowley back to his house when he passed out in your chair watching the latest soap opera that he somehow remembers all the details of.

And now you're here, taking a bath rather than a shower, because you wanted nothing more than some almost too-hot water to seep right into your joints and muscles. You're not as young as you used to be, but you curse your body nonetheless. Time was a cruel thing that your body was too weak to stand against.

But, this was your only body, so you had no choice but to take care of it, regardless of your feelings towards it. So, all you have to do is just sit back and relax.

However, you're having a hard time doing that, on the account Lilia was standing on the edge of the tub.

"What are you doing here?" You didn't turn around. You liked looking at the sparkly stickers placed on your ceiling.

Lilia tilted his head, not a peep out of him. Even made his eyes glittery and wide, as though his cuteness will be enough for you to give him attention.

It almost worked, unfortunately you're too bothered by the dull pain of strained muscles. You're not annoyed or irritated but a few wrong moves from Lilia could easily get you there.

"Don't do that Lilia, I'm not in the mood." Only then did you close your eyes.

Next thing you knew, you felt a gust of cooler air, the sharp smell of magic, then hot water flowing over your hands.

You opened your eyes to mischievous red ones staring right at you.

No wings, no ears, and neck fluff missing. His arms, entirely human, wrapped around your neck but he didn't get any closer than that.

You frowned. "Lilia, your clothes are getting wet."

You can feel his tights pressing against your thighs, the ruffles of his shorts flowing around in the water, and his large black coat grew heavy and damp with the steam in the air.

"My, my," Lilia leaned dramatically back, hand over his heart, "I come in in all my cutely decorated self, and all you can focus on is the state of my clothes. Are you truly so tired that even your eyes won't let you enjoy my smaller self? I even carefully combed my fluff and everything."

…huh.

You blinked. "Your fluff is nice but I like to take baths alone. You know this. I know this. Why are you actually here?"

You know Lilia to cause a bit of chaos for the sake of entertaining himself, but rarely is he oblivious to your state of being. He should know, or at least figured out that you just want to have a little peace to yourself.

When you made your intentions known, Lilia dropped the dramatics and simply sighed. He removed his arm from your neck and laid his head on the tub. He popped a random bubble as it passed by.

"You've overworked yourself today," he flicked some water onto your shoulder, "I know the feeling of aging bones and muscles. And the need to deny yourself rest because you have to make up for what you've lost or wasted. I just wanted to make sure you didn't collapse while getting out of the tub. It's happened to me, once or twice."

Just to play along, you flicked water back. It landed on his nose, causing him to snort.

"I'm not about to turn to dust, Lilia," you're certainly not as old as he is, "Though, your concern is lovely. But you should still get out of my tub. You're making all the water splash over."

Lilia smiled in the way cats do, eyes thinning. "Only if you let me help you wash up. If not, then I'll just stay right here."

Haa… You know what, alright. You're tired and you just want to get this over with and go to bed.

"Fine, fine. Nothing below the waist though."

"Of course! Let me get my new soaps I found."

Found, huh?

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #diasomnia #lilia #lilia vanrouge #sanctuary au #reader insert

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir."

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit."

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair.

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-"

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?"

"What, now you care?"

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs.

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?"

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like-

"Watch out!"

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him.

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph.

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-"

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time."

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way.

For a second, nobody says anything.

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful."

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!"

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …"

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide.

"I, erm … Dustin."

"I'll stay here with Dustin."

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick.

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids."

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light.

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though."

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee.

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs.

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-"

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-"

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon."

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly.

Dustin sighs and stands.

"Coming, Hop."

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-"

And then it clicks.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says.

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise."

The door clicks shut.

The car glides away.

Eddie buries his face in his palms.

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit."

Eddie groans.

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie ficlet #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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skzstannie · 4 months

Text

“And I’m Willow!”

SKZ-> Han Jisung x single mom! Reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: ~2,100 cw: brief descriptions of the death of a parent, child goes missing (just for a second), 4 year olds can be menaces

summary: you’re outgoing 4 year old daughter turns out to be quite the wingman

A/N: Here’s the Han fic, as promised! Going to make this into a mini series, soooo Parts 2/3 will be out eventually. Give this post some love if you enjoyed it; likes/reblogs and feedback are much appreciated!

Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

"Momma, can we get these please?" your daughter whines, shoving a box of tissues in your face.

You snort, "Now why do you want tissues, Willow?"

"You're always crying over those stupid boys on T.V," she answers, distracted by the little bracelet she has tied around her wrist.

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, mumbling out an apology when the elderly couple next to you glances your way. You quickly make your way out of the aisle, praying your daughter will hold her comments 'til you get to an empty one.

Your daughter is the light of your life. She is always so happy and giggly, and she easily becomes the center of attention every time she walks in a room. You love the way she is so carefree, not caring about what anyone thinks of her. While she may only be four, this is certainly a characteristic you wish you had.

"Willow," you chuckle once you're tucked safely away in an empty aisle, "You can't just say things like that in front of other people."

"Why?"

"Because Mommy gets embarrassed easily."

"Why?"

"Because other people don't need to know about our business."

"Why?"

You stop replying, realizing how silly it looks to be arguing with your four year old daughter, and continue shopping.

You push the cart down the next aisle, Willow still sat comfortably in the seat at the front. Suddenly, you bring the cart to a screeching halt. Your eyes lock on the beautiful man stood in front of you, and it's like everything else around you disappears.

Willow lets out an adorable squeak, exaggeratedly lurching forward from the abrupt stopping of the cart. "What was that for, Mommy?" She pouts, her chubby arms crossing over her chest.

You've forgotten how to breathe, and her question goes in one ear and out the other.

Willow, as inpatient as ever, whips her head around, her eyes finding the man you've been ogling for an inappropriate amount of time.

"Mommy, why are you staring at that man?"

The question brings you back to reality, and your cheeks redden when the man in question looks over at you, a teasing smile on his face.

Completely embarrassed now, you whip the cart around, almost taking it on two wheels, and practically sprint to the next aisle.

"Willow," you hiss quietly, your adrenaline pumping at full speed, "Remember what I said? We don't talk about other people in public. It's rude." You run your fingers through her silky hair, making sure she's taking in and understanding your words.

"But whyyy?"

You huff and take a moment to gather yourself, mindlessly staring off at the seasonings stacked in front of you. It's pointless to answer, knowing exactly what she'll say back almost every time.

You're erratic heartbeat has calmed now, and you continue to go about your shopping, grabbing a bottle of ketchup off the shelf. You look down at your phone, crossing it off your list.

In a house with a toddler, you can never have enough ketchup.

You scroll through your list for a moment, but are quickly interrupted by a small tug at your sweatshirt sleeve.

"Mommy?" her small voice perks up, and you're almost too scared to ask.

"Yes, baby?" You're mind is full of random things she might say, and you mentally prepare for something wild to come out of her mouth.

"I have to use the bathroom," she whispers, apparently gaining an awareness of social cues that she lacked 30 seconds prior.

"Ok, I'll take you." You put your phone back in your pocket and make your way to the bathroom at the back of the store. You leave your cart outside the restroom and take Willow out of it. You lead her into the bigger stall by the hand, locking the door behind you guys. She does her business, and you help her to wash her hands.

Walking out of the bathroom, your brows furrow seeing your cart missing.

"What kind of an asshole takes someone's cart?" you whisper to yourself, your eyes scanning the aisles within sight.

You walk down each aisle, your eyes peering in everyone's carts.

Somewhere around the fifth aisle, your hand reaches down to find Willow's hand, but you're met with nothing but air. Your eyes dart down beside you, and you immediately panic when you're little mini-me is nowhere to be found.

"Oh my God," you whisper, eyes wide as saucers. You race up and down the aisles, searching for your daughter, manners slipping your mind as you bump into people left and right. The aisles are crowded, and you're daughter could be anywhere.

You get to the candy aisle, and you're finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. There your daughter stands, a bag of ripped open M&Ms in hand. Your eyes wander over to the person crouched down next to her, and your pulse quickens once again.

Of course, out of everyone in the whole store, this is who your daughter would go up to.

You stalk over to them, a pink tint once again gracing your cheekbones. As you get closer, your daughter's excited voice falls over your ears.

"And then she started crying when the other guy came back on the T.V," she explains animatedly to the handsome stranger.

"Willow," you say, your tone stern. "You cannot walk away from Mommy in stores." You grab her little hand in yours, pulling her towards you 'til she's in front of you. You crouch down, your eyes level with hers.

Her little expression drops, her bottom lip wobbling. "I'm sorry," she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes.

"It's ok, baby, you just can't wander off like that. Somebody could take you away from Mommy," you explain tenderly, using the sleeves of your sweatshirt to gently dry her cheeks.

"I just wanted some chocolate, and then I saw the pretty man you saw before, and I wanted to be his friend," she tells you innocently. Your attention is brought back to the bag of candy she dropped on the floor and the very handsome stranger picking each up each individual piece.

"Sir," you panic, "You don't have to do that," you quickly take the bag from his hands.

"No no Mommy, it's ok! He's our friend now!"

"Baby, please stop," your eyes remain on the messy floor, all too embarrassed to look at the man. You hurry to pick up all the M&Ms that spilled out of the bag, throwing them back into the package.

"I was just telling him how you thought he was pretty," your jaw drops in shock, "Oh! And how he looks just like the boys you watch on T.V."

The man chuckles, and you gain the courage to look up at him for the first time.

He's even more handsome from up close, if that's even possible, with dark brown hair parted perfectly, the cutest chubby cheeks you've ever seen on a man, and the brightest smile you could possibly imagine.

"I saw her standing here by herself and figured we’d wait here until you found her. She already had the candy before I saw her," he chuckles, bringing his hand to rub at the nape of his neck while his eyes dart between you and Willow.

"I-uh, thank you so much for watching her. We're working on her listening skills, they need a bit of sharpening." The chemistry you feel between the two of you is unfathomable as you ramble on, and your body warms as you feel his gaze on you. "I'm also so sorry for anything she might've told you. She's quite the people-person, and she wants everyone to know everything-" Your daughter cuts you off, an exasperated look covering her freckled face.

"I just thought it was important for him to know you thought he was pretty."

Your face heats up even more, and you bring your hands up to cover your cheeks. "She's trying to kill me."

The man laughs, a fond look taking over his features. "I'm Jisung, it's nice to meet you..." he offers you his hand, a proper greeting finally underway.

"Y/N," you meet his outstretched hand, giving him a firm handshake. He shakes back and delicately pulls you up to your feet with him.

"And I'm Willow!" she yells, jumping up and down, her big doe eyes focused on Jisung.

"Willow is a very beautiful name," he sticks his hand out towards her, and she clumsily takes it in hers, shaking it quickly up and down. "Now, Willow, do you think your mom thinks I'm pretty enough to give me her number?" His attention shifts back to you, and your heart races at the question.

"Huh? What number-" Now it's your turn to interrupt her. You pull her around to face you and gently guide her face into your sweatshirt, effectively cutting her sentence off.

"She just might," you reply, giving him a flirtatious smile.

After exchanging numbers, it's finally time to part ways. He sends you a subtle wink, the feeling of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Bye Mr. Jisung!" Willow says as you practically drag her away.

"Willow, you have to promise me you will not run off like that ever again!" Now out of Jisung's earshot, you freely scold your daughter.

"But Mommy, Mr. Jisung was so nice!" She skips beside you, happiness exuding from every inch of her tiny body.

"I know he was, but you have to stay by Mommy at all times. Promise me you will not run off again," you stop walking, pulling her off to the side of one of the aisles. Your grip on her arm is loose enough to not hurt her, but tight enough to make her know you mean business. "Promise me, Willow."

"I promise, Mommy."

"Ok, good. Now to find that stupid cart."

~ ~ ~

For the remainder of the time you spent at the store, Willow talks your ear off about Jisung. Through the aisles, through the checkout, and even on the car ride home.

"And then, Momma, he told me my bracelet was beautiful. Can you believe it?!" Her words bounce with excitement. "Daddy would've loved Mr. Jisung."

Your heart aches at the mention of her dad. He passed away in an unfortunate car accident a year after she was born. While she may not remember her dad, you have made sure to tell her every single last detail about him.

"Jisung was very nice, wasn't he, baby?" you hum, stopping at a red light.

"Yes! I really like him." You gaze back at her through the rearview mirror. The love you have in your heart for your little girl is an indescribable amount, and you only wish one day she'll truly understand what she means to you.

It's a heavy role having to act as both parental roles, but here you are, making it work day in and day out.

It's hard, but you have to be kind to yourself, reminding yourself that she's happy, healthy, and everything that's good in the world.

"You're a wonderful mom," your husband had told you. You were sat in the rocking chair, feeding your baby girl a warm bottle, and he was sat across from you on the floor, his head resting on your knees.

It's been years now, though, and while he'll always be your first love, it's ok to look for love again, right?

~ ~ ~

"Willow, please stop climbing on the furniture like it's a jungle gym; you're going to get hurt," you tell her from the kitchen, stirring some noodles on the stove.

You hear her hum in agreeance, the T.V turning on seconds later to her favorite cartoon.

You ended up finding your cart earlier at the store. To your dismay, you simply walked out the opposite end of the bathroom, and your cart was only around the corner. You were quick to finish your shopping, wanting to avoid anymore embarrassing interactions.

Spaghetti was the dinner your daughter requested for the night, so you picked up all the ingredients at the store earlier. You have the noodles boiling on one burner, your homemade sauce going on the other, and a couple pieces of garlic bread toasting in the oven.

Your phone dings from the table, and you step away from the stove to tend to it. You scroll through your numerous Instagram messages, your friends all too obsessed with sending you countless reels.

Your cheeks flush at a specific notification hidden among the multitude of social media messages.

from Unknown

Hey Y/N, It's Jisung

I know this may be moving a little quick

But I can't stop thinking about you

Can I take you out this weekend?

Part 2/3 -> coming soon!

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sadesluvr · 4 months

Note

Idk if you can do requests, and I don't know what you into buuuuut~

College student femreader, William as dormitory janitor and reader welcomes her on her room in a lone night

*runs away laughing like Skeletor*

A/N: TY for being patient on this req fill Anon!! I hope you like it! :) Warning: Steve is a bit of a perv in this - Read at your own discretion. Reader is in their early 20’s. Minors DNI.

Cawthon Hall, second floor, Room 113. Steve knew where you lived like the back of his hand. He didn’t frequent that particular block often, but when he did he knew he was always in for a treat. He’d seen you from your window as he cleared the bins early in the morning, sometimes peppy and ready to face the day, and other times sluggish. He didn’t care what state you were in though, just the fact that your thighs were always exposed since you slept in nothing more than an oversized sweatshirt. He’d spent countless nights, or even quickies in his car, jerking himself off to the thought of burying his head between them, and, eventually, grabbing onto them as he fucked you.

You’d seen Steve too. You didn’t really know his name until you’d seen his badge, but you knew he was certainly older, with large rimmed glasses and greying facial hair. His hands were large but veiny, clearly indicating experience and maturity. To be honest, you were rather missing maturity in your life.

Things were going steady with your boyfriend Chad. He was well liked; the head of his fraternity and the football team, and the relationship was fun, but it didn’t really have a destination. You weren't looking to be married anytime soon, but a bit of stability outside of frat parties would’ve been a plus.

“So…I’ll see you later, yeah?” Chad said, stretching as he pulled on his jacket.

“You’re not staying?” you whined, fixing the blankets around yourself. You’d just come off your high (in both ways), and was hoping for a little bit of emotional intimacy. Chad wasn’t distant, just clueless.

“I can’t stay baby,” he said softly, softly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Big game tomorrow. Coach is taking us to the stadium and I gotta be outside my dorm to meet him,”

You huffed, blowing him a small, somewhat sarcastic kiss as you watched him leave. You heard him mutter to someone in the hallway, and whilst you immediately brushed it off, the sound of wood scraping against the wall shook you from your thoughts.

You abruptly opened the door, only to find that Steve was outside, fumbling around with his cart. Your eyes locked, and you could tell that he was undressing what was left of you with his eyes. Pulling the sweater tighter around you, you raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss,” he said with a dorky smile. “Just finishing up my rounds,”

“I haven’t seen you here before…” you said sceptically.

“This is my usual route,” he said affirmatively. “You’re never home so early. Out dancing, I presume,”

“Hm,” you hummed, watching him as he got back to work. “Well, keep it down. I’m trying to sleep,” you said curtly, and now it was the man’s turn to cock a brow. He laughed knowingly, and waved a hand dismissively.

“You of all people should be worried about volume. I’m fairly certain you woke up the entire hall with your screeching,”

Realisation sunk in, and your eyes widened in fear, which Steve seemed to enjoy. Composing yourself, you scoffed.

“Whatever. Just because I’m getting some, and your dick dried up in the 60s,”

“How old do you think I am, young lady?” He chided, setting down his equipment, and inching closer towards you. You hadn’t noticed his full height - over six feet, for certain - and his slightly dirty overalls, a distinct pale yellow colour which for some reason made him more attractive. You stumbled back slightly, retreating into your room, but cocked your head and stared at him, eyes half lidded and slightly red from their high.

He was beginning to grin, and dimples spread across his cheeks.

“Old enough to be a grandpa…” you smirked, watching as he leant against the doorframe, the material of his trousers shifting so that you could see his bulge.

“Oh really?” he laughed. “Well, this grandpa knows that he could fuck you better than that boyfriend of yours,”

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Better not leave me hanging then, hm?”

Steve smirked as he shut your door, blue eyes lighting up as you realised you had no escape. At this time, everyone was either out or sleeping. In short, no one would hear you scream. He took your face in his hands, gazing at you predatorily before he kissed you, groaning as he began to slide his hands up the side of your body, reaching under your shirt to cup your breasts.

“Such a pretty thing,” he muttered. “I’ve been dreaming of what you’d taste like,”

He chuckled when you gasped, your shock swallowed by his never-ending kiss. With a squeeze of your breasts he pulled away and instructed you to get on your knees.

You knelt on the rug beside your bed, licking your lips in anticipation as you watched him zip down his overalls - leaving him in a purple top and boxers - before pulling out his cock. It looked over five inches, with a good length and girth to it. He lazily jerked himself off before running his thick head across your lips, giving you the way to take him in your hands. Holding him still, you swirled your tongue over his tip, holding the taste of his salty precum in your mouth before you swallowed him further.

Steve threw his head back in pleasure, looking down at you through his glasses in admiration. He couldn’t help but begin to pump himself in and out of your mouth, grunting at the way you whimpered as you began to choke and strain your jaw.

“You’re even better at this than I expected,” he hummed. “Looks like your boyfriend has trained you well…”

You moaned at the fact, peering up at the older man through your lashes. He cupped your cheek and steadied himself before fucking into you further, making your eyes water and mouth fill with spit, only making him thrust harder. He was so desperate; so perverted that he hadn’t even given you the chance to suck him off on your own terms.

Soon, your nose became buried in the man’s happy trail, inhaling his musky scent. Spluttering, you pulled away, lips raw and throat suddenly dry as you gasped for air. Steve hummed as he watched you compose yourself, and tutted.

“Oh, too rough am I?” He purred. “Looks like your boyfriend has been too sweet to you. Don’t worry doll, I’ll straighten you out,” he chided. “Spread those legs for me,”

Hastily, you climbed onto the bed, pulling the thin material of your shorts down your legs along with your panties. Just as you began to prop yourself up, Steve drew your legs to the edge of the surface, face lightening up as he took in your wet, desperate pussy.

He licked his lips and adjusted his glasses as he rubbed your thighs, fingertips brushing over your folds before he shoved his face inside of you. He lapped eagerly at your lips, grip firm on your legs as his long, skilful tongue explored you in a way Chad had never done so before.

You moaned as his beard tickled you, your juices coating the strands as he motorboated your cunt.

“You taste better than I thought,” he said, flicking his tongue on your sensitive bud. “So fucking sweet…”

It wasn’t long before you came, practically humping yourself on his face as he cleaned you up. Even between layers of skin and sweat you could feel him smile between your thighs.

Smug bastard.

“It’s my turn, baby,” he grinned, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips before rising to his full height, positioning his pelvis between your legs, wrapping your own around his waist securely. He stared down at you hungrily, and you could tell he was ready to fucking devour you - but found it within him to reluctantly roll on the condom that you’d given him. They were still at the side of your bed from your session with Chad.

Steve pressed his tip against your entrance, but not before rolling it against your sensitive folds teasingly. He chuckled when you whined, body desperate and wanting, and pushed himself inside of you, making sure to sheath himself to the hilt in your wet cunt. You clung onto the sheets at the sensation of Steve’s mature cock filling you up, and the older man was equally as pleased to see (and feel) how your pussy stretched around his dick.

Once you’d taken all of him he began to move himself in and out of you, enamoured in the way your slick juices coated his cock, glistening against the material of the condom.

“How’s it feel to be stretched out?” he said mockingly. “Bet your little boyfriend isn’t as big as me, huh? Fuck, doll, this pussy is just how I imagined…” he rambled, hair clinging to his forehead as his thighs made contact with your own, balls slapping against your pussy. Through your high you couldn't formulate a response, but your mouth remained agape as you whined, biting your lip at the fulfilling pressure. Apparently this was the type of maturity you were looking for - Steve was pleasuring you in ways you hadn’t even known existed.

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” he chuckled, stabilising himself with your own body, angling your hips upright. “Let’s just say that there was an accident with your keys once. I happened to run into a copy, and, well, I may have taken some things that don’t belong to me…”

Your eyes widened, and Steve’s own met your gaze at your nightstand where you kept your panties. He laughed for what felt like the millionth time; this time coming from deep within his chest and running off his tongue like poison.

You hated the way your stomach knotted up at the fact. How long had he been stalking you? Why hadn’t you noticed before?

Biting your lip, Steve placed a large hand down on your stomach as his thrusts got faster and shallower, building himself up to his crescendo as he rocked his hips into you with one last deep push. He let out a guttural groan as he came, eyes shut and shaking as he filled the condom with his hot cum, wishing that it were your raw pussy instead.

Perhaps next time he’d paint himself all over your face.

@lvlymicha @melanie-moonlight-tonight @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl

#florence writes!!#request fill #my asks #william afton smut #william afton x reader #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #fnaf smut #perv! william afton #perv! steve raglan

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 4 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

“Have you completely lost your mind? You can’t be serious!”

Shadowheart paces in front of you; a brooding scowl darkens the delicate features of her face. This is the third argument with her in as many days about you moving back in with Astarion and the obtuse notion that maybe you could help him regain some semblance of his old self.

Gale was due to return home soon, and you’re not looking forward to repeating this argument with him.

“I need to do this, Shadowheart.”

“You most certainly do not! You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

“It’s my fault he’s like this. I let him down in that ritual chamber.”

I should have tried harder to talk him out of it.

“He let you down,” she sneers, “do not allow him to make you think otherwise. Gods, I requested you stay out of trouble, not go barrelling headfirst towards it!”

“Shadowheart,” you gently grasp her arms to halt her ferocious stomping, “look at me.”

She inhales sharply at your touch, and you recognize that look from when Astarion used to touch you before you were this walking corpse.

You drop your grip, “Sorry. I forget how cold I am now.”

Shadowheart grabs your hands, concern furrows her brows and creases her forehead, “It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I know, but I must try. If not for him, then for myself. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why would you agree to such a thing in the first place?”

You sigh, “I think you know why.”

“You’re still in love with him.”

There’s pity in her eyes.

“I’m not sure I will ever not be in love with him.”

Shadowheart scoffs at you, but her voice loses its serrated edge, “Do you think he is still capable of loving you?”

No.

Yes?

No. I cannot allow myself the luxury of that fantasy.

“No… I don’t know, but that’s not what this is about. Astarion would have done the same for me once upon a time.”

“There’s no talking you out of this suicide mission, is there?”

You give her a solemn look and shrug your shoulders. There was nothing anyone could say to put an end to this madness. Your decision had been made that night in the Crimson Palace when you had watched him battle with himself as you clung to him.

“What if this is another carefully orchestrated maneuver to regain control over you?”

You shrug, “Then I am a foolish woman.”

“I would argue that you’ve far surpassed simple foolishness. Good Gods.”

“He doesn’t need to plan such an elaborate ruse if what he wants is simply control. I’m his spawn. He has the ability to control me completely at his whim.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow skeptically, “Is that what this is? Has he compelled you to do this?”

Has he?

“No. He asked for my help, and I gave it freely.”

Did I?

She huffs, her eyes upcast in exasperation, “I will never understand your deluded loyalty to him. Hells, Gale is going to be furious."

Loyalty or love?

“One angry friend at a time, okay?”

She chuckles with an exasperated sigh, “Less angry, more worried.”

“Your style of worry looks a lot like anger.”

She scowls at you, but one side of her mouth is tugged up in a wry half-smile, “I’ve been told that before.”

Shadowheart takes a deep breath and sits down. Her heartbeat starts to slow, and you nearly want to praise the Gods on your knees for it. That thrumming in her chest clamoured in your ears and made your mouth salivate obscenely. It took every ounce of your control to be in such proximity to her without lunging for her neck.

Astarion has been keeping you fed while attempting to teach you how to hunt for yourself, which is the only reason you can bear to be this close to Shadowheart in the first place. Your lessons are not going well, although he seems to find the spectacle of your ungracefulness extremely amusing.

My, my, how the tables have turned.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly returning to that dreadful palace.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I’m not.”

Shadowheart leers at you suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“Not living in the palace was part of my… terms. Astarion purchased another residence.”

Her eyes go wide with surprise, “He agreed to this?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“But you will be staying close by, I hope? When something inevitably goes awry, you can return any time.”

“We will be in the upper city, I believe.”

“The upper city?” Shadowheart giggles, “How very posh.”

“Not my first choice, but would you have expected any different?”

She laughs, “No, I suppose not. He always gravitated towards luxury, like an insect to a flame. When is this happening?”

“Soon. I was hoping Gale might be home before I left so I could tell him myself.”

She winces, “It might be best if I do it.”

“I don’t wish to put that on you. I’ll return to tell him.”

“Perhaps, don’t bring Astarion when you do. Gale may be a gentle soul, but his feelings for you might lead him to do something rather rash.”

His feelings for me... I had hoped those were long put to rest. It seems she knows something I don’t.

You sigh loudly, “I know.”

Your fingers shake as you pack what little things belongings you have. Fear coils tepid and stewing in your chest. Shadowheart is right. Astarion is dangerous. There is no telling what he’s capable of or what he might do to you when you inevitably make him angry.

Replaying your recent interactions with Astarion in your head, you evaluate what seems to provoke him. Every time you’ve disobeyed or challenged him, in some way, shape or form, he loses himself. This realization scares you more than not knowing and opens up many other questions. You know what happens when you make him angry, but what happens when someone else does? His new lover, his “business” partners, whoever and whatever they may be, or anyone else for that matter?

I will undoubtedly upset him. I will not be intimated into being his subordinate, not again.

You’ve landed yourself in a precarious situation, and your life, if you can call it that, hangs in the balance, but you’re not unaccustomed to fighting for your life.

I may have finally thrust myself into a battle I cannot win.

Astarion comes to retrieve you in the early morning to escort you to the place you and he will once again be sharing.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s very… large.”

He chuckles, “Anything would look large to you after living in a bedroom for over a year.”

The manor is bright and airy. Heavy curtains are hung on all the windows but are pulled back to allow the sunlight to flood in. The shining radiance of the daylight you’re not used to hurts your eyes and causes your head to pound. You still fear the sun. Standing in it makes your stomach churn, and your muscles quiver.

This will take some adjusting to.

Nervously, you walk around the ground floor to familiarize yourself with your new lodgings while Astarion trails behind you.

Entering the large kitchen makes you wonder. In the time you had lived with him before, he would do the hunting for you as he did now and then drop you back off at your room and disappear. He had kept you corralled where he wanted you like an animal, and you had never witnessed him eat anything, blood or food.

I will not let myself be controlled like that again - no matter the consequences.

“Do you eat food now?”

“I can dine on both as I see fit, but I won’t if it bothers you.”

I miss food.

“It doesn’t,” you wave at him dismissively, “You can eat or drink whatever you please.”

Astarion gives you a sultry gaze, “Whatever I please?”

You ignore his provocative tone and climb the wide staircase. You peek into a cozy library. It seems Astarion has moved his rather impressive book collection already. The filled shelving reaches up to the high ceiling. The room has only one small window, which is covered to keep the sun’s bleaching rays from deteriorating the texts.

You continue down the long hall, which has multiple bedrooms off of it. You look into all of them curiously.

“Which room is mine?”

“Whichever one you want. There are several; take your pick.”

With all your charisma, you plaster an angelic smile on your face, “I want the biggest one.”

“I… uh-”

He’s still adorable when he’s flustered.

“Relax, Astarion,” you smile at him wryly, “I’m well aware that’s your room.”

“I could be convinced to call it our room.”

What? Nothing has been ours since he ascended unless he was saying candied falsehoods.

“That’s not what this is, is it?”

His eyebrow cocks, “What do you mean?”

“Trying to get me back into your bed?”

“To what end, my dear?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Power. Control. Possession. Pleasure. Take your pick.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

You scold yourself inwardly while running your fingers through your hair. You were still angry with him, of course, but you were letting it get the better of you.

“Sorry. I’m still-”

“Apology accepted,” he halts you with a resigned sigh, “I am angry at myself most days.”

Who is this person?

“I have business I must attend to in the city today.”

Your eyebrow cocks, “Business?”

“Yes.”

“With that terrible woman?”

He chuckles, “No, not today.”

“Something is off with her, Astarion. Be careful.”

“Oh, pet. Your jealousy is utterly adorable, but she’s harmless.”

You pivot swiftly, scowling, and poke your finger into his chest hard, “You will not call me “pet” anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes, I understand,” he looks around anxiously, “it never bothered you before.”

“You mean when you were a spawn?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t own me then. Moreover, you didn’t want to. It became a slight as soon as you thought of me as nothing more than another pretty possession.”

His knows knit together, “I do not wish to own you.”

“You have held it over me on multiple occasions.”

Astarion’s red eyes shift around as if searching his memories, “I have, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Apologies,” he bows shallowly, “I’ll work on it.”

I am sure you will.

“You didn’t bring many things.”

“I don’t have many things anymore. I left it all behind when I left…”

Your words trail off, but Astarion finishes your sentence for you.

“Me.”

You nod, “Yes.”

“I’ll have your belongings brought from the palace.”

What?

Your eyebrows shoot up, “You still have my things?”

There’s no way he kept them all this time.

“Of course, darling. One doesn’t simply throw away perfectly good magical items. It would be a ghastly waste.”

“I figured you would sell it all.”

“I admit, I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m… not sure,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I just never got around to it, I suppose.”

Too busy bedding the trollop.

Ugh.

“How far is your business in the city?”

“Not far,” his brows knit together, “Why?”

You point to the windows, “The sun.”

“Right, of course. We will have to figure out where the limit is.”

“Astarion?”

I need to know.

“Hm?”

“Do you control it?”

“Control what, love?”

“The sun protection. When you sent me away, you eluded that you have the power to grant me that benefit or not. I need to know if this is another thing you can control me with.”

Astarion takes your hand in his, a sincere expression on his face, “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“You might if you get angry enough with me, which you will. It’s a certainty. Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

This does not bode well for me.

Pulling away from him, you step back from the sunlight spilling through the nearby window. You shiver noticeably as you try to swallow the harsh truth that you might very well end up as a pile of ash on these floors one of these days.

Astarion squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Astarion?”

“I just am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs, “It’s the only answer I have for you right now.”

You point at the room furthest from his, “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled then. I will inform you before I depart.”

The room is large, and the heavy curtains are already drawn, suffusing it in darkness. It’s furnished with a generously sized bed, a few wardrobes and several little tables with oil lamps and candles. A pair of plush chairs with a damask patterned fabric sit off to the side of the bed in front of a small stone fireplace with ornately chiselled dragons, vines and fire inlaid with gold and silver.

A small room just off the main holds a wooden tub and glass washbasin. You note there are no mirrors in this room, but you had spotted several throughout the manor.

Not that I need a mirror, but I imagine he can’t get enough of staring at himself now.

Crawling onto the bed, you wrap your arms around your knees and take deep breaths of useless air to try and settle the disquietude sitting heavy in your belly. Being here with him, knowing he was just outside that door and could barge in at any moment, was terrifying. You’ve been desperately trying to hide your fear from him since he came to fetch you this morning.

Shadowheart had tried to talk you out of this again before he had arrived, and you find yourself wishing you weren’t so mulish. You had been adamant with her that this was what needed to be done, but your resolve was wavering, especially with the knowledge that he did have control over your protection from the sun.

Had I known, would I have agreed to this?

Probably. Idiot.

Am I trying to get myself killed?

Maybe.

Rolling over onto your side, your eyes brim with tears. You have not known joy for so long, and you wonder if you simply agreed to this in the hope that he might end that suffering, whether on purpose or by accident. You push yourself into your meditative state to allow yourself some peace.

A knock jolts you from your trance, and for a moment, you panic, looking around the unfamiliar room. You never thought you would miss the smell of Shadowheart. She carried the fragrance of safety but also food. You console yourself with the knowledge that at least your friends are safe from your insatiable hunger.

Slipping off the bed, you unlock and open the door. Astarion is attired grandiosely, and you wonder what business he’s going to, but it’s none of your concern.

He’s so handsome it’s nigh on unlawful.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. The curtains are all drawn. I am unlikely to return until late.”

“Okay,” you look past him and around the dimmed manor, “thank you for letting me know.”

“You will be okay here on your own?”

“I’m not going to go chasing nobles through the streets if that’s what you’re asking.”

He chuckles, “Not what I meant, darling, but thank you for the assurances. I’ll see your delicious self later.”

Once you hear Astarion leave, you take another lap around the manor mentally making note of where all the windows are and inventory of all the exits.

Just in case.

In the kitchen, your eyes fall on a shelf full of extravagant and exotic wines, liquors and spirits.

Can a vampire spawn get drunk?

Fuck it.

Let’s find out.

You pick up whatever bottle your hands land on first, uncork it and gulp it down. You cringe at the taste of bitter, vinegary ash on your tongue. The liquor sits precariously in your stomach, a balmy tingle arising and spreading through your limbs. It’s been forever since you’ve had a drink, quite literally a lifetime.

You could never indulge in such stupidity when living with Shadowheart and Gale. Anything that could alter your mind or dampen your resolve was not a risk you could take, but here, the only person you were endangering was yourself.

An acceptable risk.

Finishing the bottle, you pick up another and take it to the large dining area, sitting at the dark wood table with delicately carved legs. You’re desperate to feel the numbing caress of the spirits as it fuels you with the courage you’re currently missing, even if that courage is nothing but a hoax being played on your dimmed mind.

Time passes by in a blur as you sit there encased in your own self-loathing and morbidity, and old memories you wish you could forget start to surface as the authority you have over yourself slips.

“Wake up, Astarion.”

You reach out but go to jostle him a little to pull him out of his trance, but his hand catches your wrist, and his eyes open in narrow slits.

“My favourite travelling companion, what can I do for you?”

“Keep your voice down, or you will wake the others. Get dressed and meet me at the edge of camp. Bring your weapons and wear your armour.”

Astarion sits up and peers around the camp. The others are all fast asleep in their tents around you. He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused but nods his understanding.

You creep as best you can through the camp away from his tent, but rocks grate harshly under your feet with every step. You stop and look around constantly to be sure you haven’t awoken anyone else.

“Gods, if you keep making that ruckus, you’ll get us both caught.”

Astarion’s sudden appearance by your side makes you jump, and he grabs you before you can clatter to the ground and muffles your breathy shriek with his hand tightly over your mouth. You pull his hand away from your mouth and scowl at him. You keep your voice in the quietest whisper you can.

"Not all of us are imbued with your talents, Rogue.”

“No, Sorceress,” he tuts, “that’s readily apparent. Do you trust me?”

“What are you on about?”

He smirks, “Don’t scream.”

Astarion sweeps your feet out from under you and lifts you effortlessly. He quietly carries you the rest of the way out of camp before setting you back down with a smug half-smile.

“You didn’t have to carry me.”

“Darling, I’m surprised you made it to my tent without waking the others. I heard you coming a mile away.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

He shrugs, “I wanted to see if you were coming to plunge a stake through my ribs.”

“And if I was?”

“Then I would have had to stop that pretty little heart of yours,” he pokes a finger into your chest, “Now, what are you waking me up for in the dead of night? I do need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“I’m going to go take care of the Gur tracking you. I thought you might enjoy the show, and if you care to lend a hand, I wouldn’t say no to the help.”

His eyes widen in surprise, “Why? You ever so vexingly made us walk away from him earlier.”

“Karlach and Wyll are not murderers. I didn’t want to stain their hands with blood against their will.”

“But you are? A murderer, I mean.”

For you, yes.

“Sometimes… sometimes death is necessary, and I’m not afraid to do what’s necessary. I won’t allow him to make a deal with the Hag, hunt you down and take you back to Cazador.”

“How very… sweet.”

“Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like I’m your next meal?”

“A man can dream. Lead on, my dear.”

With only the two of you, the battle with the Gur is fatiguing and arduous. He is well-equipped and trained, but your magic is a draconic firestorm. Astarion took him by surprise, allowing you both to land several attacks before he could recover. You hold back and let Astarion land the killing blow, driving his dagger deep into Gandrel’s chest.

Regardless of your magical prowess, you don’t make it out of the battle unscathed.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. He caught me with an arrow or two.”

Astarion grabs your hands and shoves them hard against your wound, “Keep pressure on it. Hold on.”

He jogs over the Gandrel’s backpack and starts rifling through it. There’s concern inlaid in his features that you haven’t seen.

Well, other than for himself.

He returns to your side quickly and hands you a Potion of Healing, “Drink up. Preferably, before you bleed out.”

You roll your eyes at him but drink the potion happily, which eases some of your discomfort and refuels your body.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Astarion. Really, but you’re injured as well.”

“I’m already dead, my dear. Not to worry, I’ve been in far more dire straits. We are positively bathed in blood. We can’t return to camp like this unless you wish to appraise the others of our nighttime activities.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“There’s a river near that village. We can wash up there before I sneak us back into camp.”

You nod and start toward the river. The night is clear, and the moonlight is enough to light your way without the need for extra magical assistance.

When you arrive at the river, Astarion strips down without hesitation and wades into the running water. The pale light from the moon washes him in an otherworldly brilliance. A gentle breeze stirs his hair and casts frolicking shadows over him.

Gods, he’s beautiful. Mere words can’t do this man justice.

A haughty smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Are you going to join me or just stand there gawking?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. You know I am all for shallow praise.”

You strip off your trousers and blood-soaked robe but hesitate when it comes to your undergarments, feeling suddenly shy as his crimson eyes pour over your body.

“Bashful tonight, are you? You were not so reserved when we were getting lost in each other in the forest.”

A rush of heat washes up to your face at his teasing, and he chuckles. With a deep breath, you calm your flighty nerves, strip down and wade into the river.

“I thought you said one or two arrows caught you.”

You look down at your body and see several wounds marring your flesh where arrows grazed you. There is a rather deep puncture wound in your shoulder where you had to pull one out mid-battle. That one would have lodged itself right into your heart had Astarion not pushed you out of its path at the last second.

“Or three or four. Who’s counting?”

Astarion’s fingers graze over the wounds lightly, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Are you concerned for me or at the waste of my blood?”

He shrugs, “Can it not be both?”

You huff an exasperated sigh and turn away from him, scrubbing the blood off of your hands, arms and body. Astarion’s chest presses up against your back, and his arm wraps around your waist carefully.

His lips ghost over your ear, “Thank you.”

“Drinking the expensive stuff, I see.”

Astarion’s voice nudges you out of your thoughts, and your eyes lazily drift to him leaning in the archway, observing you with an earth-shatteringly handsome smirk.

“I’ll pay you back for it.”

He laughs, “Your tab is running rather high these days - a rug, shirt, and now several bottles of imported liquor.”

“Sell my stuff like you were going to.”

“No, darling. I don’t need coin. Although, if you keep drinking like this, I may have to start picking pockets again.”

Astarion takes a seat at the table with you. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle and takes a long drink. He smells like his familiar self, but there’s a tinge of tangy blood, and it’s not his. He looks on edge, something frightening in his body language, and your throat constricts.

“How was your business meeting or whatever you’re up to?”

“Disappointing. I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.”

It comes out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end, and you fill your body with the weave, tugging on your inherent talents.

“Shall we go and get you some food and continue your lessons?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

He takes another swig from the bottle and sets it on the table. His finger taps the side, making the glass ting sweetly.

“I will change, and we can be on our way.”

“I said not tonight, Astarion.”

“I will not allow you to go hungry. We are going.”

“No!”

With a dark, dangerous growl, Astarion swiftly rises from his chair, grabs you by the throat and slams you hard against the wall. Your head bounces off of it with a loud thud, and stars burst in a spectacular light show behind your eyes.

Your head swims groggily, “Stop, Astar-!”

He increases the pressure on your throat, causing your words to cut off abruptly in a strangled wheeze.

“Or what, sorceress?” he laughs menacingly, “Are you going to burn me again?”

His eyes are once again listless and piercing, and he scowls at you grimly.

This is what I’ve agreed to. This is why I’m here.

I’m an idiot.

His grip on your throat stops you from being able to speak. If you’re going to get through to him this time, you’re going to have to resort to violence. It was something you didn’t want to do because violence seemed to escalate him further, not calm him down, but you can’t do anything pinned to this wall.

Thankfully, since Astarion has been keeping you fed, you’re stronger, relatively clear-headed, except for the liquor, and in control of your body.

Swinging your feet up in a swift motion, you plant them on his stomach and launch him backwards off of you. His grip is ripped away, and you clatter to the floor.

“You ungrateful petulant ingrate!”

“Astarion,” you croak, “I’m begging you. Listen to my voice and come back to me.”

“The Astarion you knew is long dead, pet. I should have let you burn!”

He’s taunting me, trying to provoke me. I have to keep my wits about me.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I… I-”

You’ve got him fumbling. Righting yourself, you launch at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with your legs secured around his hips. You cling to him and bring your lips to his. It feels like kissing a stranger and makes you want to cringe. He’s rigid and tense. His mouth is set in a hard line under yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut and say a small prayer to any God listening, hoping this works. If it doesn’t, you’ve lost before you could even really begin.

You feel the shift in him start as he trembles savagely against you. His hand grabs a handful of your shirt in a tight fist, and he grits his teeth.

You shift your lips away from his and bring them near his ear, “I’ve got you, Astarion. Fight.”

Squeezing closer to him, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. All you can do now is wait and see if he can find his way out of the sadistic purgatory he retreats to when this thing, whatever it may be, takes over his control, compelling him to be this monster.

Your heart aches for him. All Astarion has wanted as long as you’ve known him was not to be a puppet, a slave to someone else’s whims and desires. The promise of power and eternal safety is what made the ritual so appealing to him. What a cruel joke it was to end up a slave to a version of yourself you don’t recognize.

Astarion’s hand snakes up your shirt and slides smoothly over the skin of your back, pulling you closer, “I’m back, little love. You can let go now.”

I don’t want to let go.

Releasing your grip on him, you slide back to the floor and step away, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, but you’re afraid.”

“I have good reason to be.”

He nods, “You do.”

“I need your consent, Astarion.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If this is to continue, I need to know you’re okay with the… physicality. I can’t fight you back. It only drives you further away, and it will end up getting me killed. The only way I’ve been able to break you free from the chains your thoughts hold you with is… well, you know.”

You shift on your feet anxiously with your hands wrapped behind your back while he stares at you.

“Why do you think I would not be comfortable with such an…. arrangement?”

“You know exactly why, Astarion. If this is to continue, I need your assurance that I’m not pushing any boundaries.”

“You have my consent; do what you must, but do not allow me to harm you. Fight me if that’s what must be done. Fight me with everything you have. Don’t hold anything back.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Astarion.”

Even if I could.

The back of his fingers glide tenderly down your cheek, “Do what must be done, my love.”

No.

“Fine.”

He nods, and relief floods the vibrant red sea of his eyes, “If you do not wish to go hunting tonight, that’s fine. If that’s all, I will retire for the night.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“What happens when someone else makes you angry? Someone that’s not me.”

His voice is dark, cold and grim, “They don’t survive.”

Oh… How many people has he killed?

“I… see. Goodnight.”

Astarion doesn’t even look at you as he turns around and retires to his bedroom.

Withdrawing to your room, you lock the door and slide into the empty bed with a dismal sigh. He may not have said it outright, but the urging nature of his voice telling you to “do what must be done” was daunting.

Was he telling me to kill him if I must? Even if I were capable of it, could I do that to him? If it came down to my life or his, whose would I choose?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

You try to pull your trance over your consciousness to blanket it, but it doesn’t come. The events of the night weigh too heavily on your mind. Not only did you have to be wary of upsetting him, but you also had to be wary of anyone else who might aggravate him.

That’s why he smelled like blood tonight… Someone lost their life to his demons.

In truth, the people he was doing “business” with were probably hardly people who deserved to be saved anyway. Regardless, you worry that every time he gives in to these gruesome impulses, he might lose more and more of himself until there are no traces of him remaining.

A very fine mess indeed.

You toss and turn in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Your senses are all heightened and alert. You’re scared to sleep, to leave yourself vulnerable to attack with him so close by. A locked door will not keep him at bay if he decides he no longer wants to participate in this experiment.

“I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

His words surface in your mind. How could he possibly know that? He just admitted that he kills others who provoke him, likely without remorse or thought. He had sounded so resolute when he said it as if it was just a simple matter of fact and not simply conjecture.

He hasn’t killed me yet, I suppose.

You spend the rest of the night flip-flopping around in your bed, lost in thought and unable to find any rest.

You’re still wide awake, sitting in your bed when a knock at your door finally rings through the silence. When you answer it, the sun streams in bright and glorious, and you jump back, a reflexive habit, falling to the floor.

Astarion approaches you with sorrowful eyes, offering you a hand up, “You’re safe, love. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

You take his hand, and he hauls you up on your feet, “It will take some… adjusting to, I think.”

“Your belongings have arrived. Would you like me to have them bring it to your room or leave it downstairs?”

“Are they living or spawn?”

“Living.”

“Leave it downstairs. I can’t be trusted around them. I’ll bring it up myself.”

Astarion bows, “As you wish.”

He disappears out your door to give directions to whoever has been sent to fetch whatever belongings remain at the palace. Soon, you can hear hearts beating heavily with effort, and it sounds like a euphony lullaby. It marks your guts stir with well-known, unslakable sanguine thirst.

Crushing your eyes shut, you dig your nails into your palms harshly, causing shallow wounds that weep blood to give you something else to focus on other than the siren song of the living.

One day without food and I’m already losing it.

Astarion’s hands find yours, and you lurch at the sudden contact, “They’ll be gone soon, darling. Hold onto me.”

You need to anchor yourself on something, anything, and you fold your arms around him and hold on tightly, gripping handfuls of his coat. You put your ear to his chest and try to focus on the sound of his beating heart. His hand rubs your back comfortingly. It feels like forever to you before a voice rises from the staircase.

“Master Ancunin?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve finished.”

“Very good. You may leave.”

“As you say, saer.”

The door shuts, and the beating tune of hearts fades slowly. Your hands finally unclench and stop tugging on his jacket.

“Getting blood all over my clothing again, I see.”

Shit.

“Sorry. I… I wasn-”

A low laugh catches you off guard, “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ve learned not to wear my fine clothing around you. You’re always bleeding on me, burning me, or throwing me across courtyards, after all. Look at me.”

Looking up at him, he brushes your hair back, “You didn’t sleep at all last night. Why?”

“How do you know?”

“I can hear you tossing around in here.”

Shifting away from him, you cast your eyes at the floor, “I’m not used to sleeping at night.”

Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

How does he always know when I’m lying? I’m able to persuade most people, but not him, never him.

“I should get my things.”

“Would you like a hand?”

“No, thank you,” you smirk, “I’m sure Master Ancunin has more important things to do.”

He chuckles, “Cheeky pup, aren’t you? If you need help, you know where to find me.”

You have to make several trips to bring all your old things to your room, stacking boxes and crates in a corner.

I didn’t realize how much I left behind.

Astarion kept all your clothing, robes, quarterstaffs, circlets, and various enchanted rings and necklaces. It takes hours to unpack, sort through it and put it away.

Reaching into a long crate, you pull out the Cazador’s quarterstaff, Woe. You reflexively throw it to the ground, and it clatters on the wooden floor with a loud bang. You shuffle back away from it as fast as you can, as if it were threatening your life by simply existing.

Astarion appears in the open doorway to your bedroom, seemingly out of thin air. He perceives the horror afflicting your expression and looks around as if searching for danger.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out a little too fast, “Everything is fine.”

His eyes search the room and land on the quarterstaff strewn on the floor.

“Quarterstaff troubling you, my dear?”

“Why did we keep this thing?”

“It’s a decent item,” he shrugs, “I’m sure it has its uses.”

Images of Astarion completing the ritual and ascending froth over in your mind.

The red glow of his eyes. The sound of the other spawn and prisoners popping. The maniacal laugh that resounded from him.

You recoil, cringing, “I don’t want it. Get rid of it.”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, “Why? It could be useful.”

“I don’t care how useful it could be. I don’t want it. Sell or destroy it. I couldn’t care less but get rid of it.”

He cocks a brow at you, confused, “If that’s truly what you want. Perhaps I’ll give it to Elowyn.”

“Elowyn?”

“Ah, yes, you don’t know her name.”

The mulberry-haired woman.

A jumbled fusion of betrayal, anger and jealousy rises like bile in your throat, “Don’t you dare, Astarion.”

“Why not? You said you don’t want it, and I have no use for it.”

“She’s dangerous. Something is off about her.”

He giggles, “Jealous, are you? That’s very cute.”

Jealousy does not begin to describe it.

“You never listen to me. I said she’s dangerous!”

“Darling, she’s a mere human. She’s no more of a danger to me than a fly is to carrion.”

“You’re blind if that’s what you truly think, Astarion.”

“Care to elaborate on your analysis of my relationship?”

Relationship? Ouch.

That stings.

“I’m assuming she knows what you are.”

“She knows I’m a vampire. Nothing more.”

“Gods, for someone smart, you’re dull sometimes.”

He laughs, “Am I?”

“Give me the fucking quarterstaff. It’s safer in my hands than it is in hers.”

“No, you said get rid of it. I will oblige your request.”

You cast Telekinesis, ripping it out of his hands, and grasp it. It feels repulsive in your palm, and you shudder, fighting the urge to throw it to the ground.

You level a challenging glare at him, and the intonation of your voice is defiant and harsh, “I said it’s mine.”

You catch his eyes shift again. The telltale sign you’ve irked him in some form, and you wait for the inevitable strike. Astarion grits his teeth, but keeps his eyes open, staring into yours boringly.

“May I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please.”

There’s urgency in his voice, and you watch as his hand balls up into a shaking fist.

He’s trying to fight it himself, but he needs my help.

“Yes.”

Astarion crosses the room quickly, ripping the quarterstaff out of your hands and throwing it to the ground. His lips meet yours with desperation, like you’re the single thing in existence that will keep him afloat.

His hands find your waist and tug you closer to him, crushing himself against you. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re engulfed and consumed by the depraved thoughts swirling through your head.

His kiss turns rougher, more insistent, and you murmur against him. He takes the opportunity, and his tongue slips between your lips. Any rational thought you were capable of is blown away in a supernova of sensation and is replaced by desire and passion alone.

You want him. You want him with everything you have and everything you are so entirely you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything else more in your life.

Astarion grinds into you with a rumbling groan, and you can feel his pulsing erection. He guides your hips and rolls them against himself, eliciting a shuddering pant from you at the exquisite friction against the throbbing in between your thighs.

“Gods, you feel good against me.”

His voice breaks you out of your passion-fuelled delirium, and you push him away, taking several steps back.

“Are you back?”

“Oh yes,” he coos, “I’ve been me for quite some time now.”

“Great. Now, get out.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Look at you; you’re practically vibrating with need, as am I, quite obviously,” his eyes shift towards the bulge in his trousers with a devious grin, “We could assist each other.”

“Go get Elowyn to assist you.”

His brows knit together, “Is that really what you want?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered to you for quite some time, I imagine.”

“What do you want? Name it, and I will make it yours.”

You.

You point at Woe, “I want you to destroy the quarterstaff.”

“What?”

Will he? I’m pushing my luck.

“Destroy it. Snap it in half. You’re strong enough to do that, are you not?”

“Of course, but-” he sputters.

“No, “but,” Astarion. You either do as I ask, or you decline. The choice is yours.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly and shift to the quarterstaff lying where he threw it. He picks it up, inspecting it raptly. His crimson eyes slither up the surface of it while his hands do the same.

With a growl, he easily snaps it in two. A bright flash of light emits as the magical enchantment is released, making that terrible, hideous thing nothing but an inert hunk of useless, gleaming metal.

“A pity,” he pouts, “I do hate to waste perfectly good treasure.”

He actually did it?

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“I aim to please,” he bows shallowly, “Now get ready. The night is almost upon us, and I imagine you’re ravenous.”

In more ways than one.

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs! I plan to keep updating as long as people seem to be enjoying the story.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

#ascended astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion #astarion smut

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luveline · 6 months

Note

hey jade! i loved your vampire!sirius fic it was so cute!! i know it’s not halloween anymore but could you write another one of vampire!sirius with that unphased reader please?

hi lovie!! for u

Sirius pushes you down by the throat, his eyes narrowed and his weight heavy on your stomach. You squirm beneath him, trying to push him off.

"Ow…" You cover his hand. "Not so rough."

"Sorry," he says, hand moving to your shoulder. His apology is genuine, soft as silk, as are his hands where they wander. "I just missed you." He tucks his arm behind your neck and leans in for a hug.

You giggle. "Yeah? Me or my circulatory system?"

"Don't say stuff like that!" He kisses you atop your pulse, the place he so often nibbles. "I missed you."

You grab handfuls of inky hair and hug him back. You can't say you weren't expecting to be taken to bed the moment you got back, but you absolutely thought it would be for a feeding or some weird bloody fun. This is unexpected, but still nice. "You smell nice," you mumble, closing your eyes.

He kisses your neck. His lips travel upward, nothing seductive or smooth about it —this is all clumsy, chaste sweetness, and it's knocking you off kilter. "I don't think you should go away again."

"It was four days."

"Have we been apart four days? Since we met?"

No. You and Sirius have become that irritating weirdo couple that met and immediately fell in love, so to speak. You live in the other's lap, and you have no regrets thus far. It's odd how well you get along, but he's an odd creature, and you're worse if he's to be believed. My little freak never sounded so saccharine.

Even when he pulls up to tower over you and that strange alarm bell in your head begins to ring, your adrenaline spikes, the glint of his sharp fangs and the predatory thinning of his irises activates an innate fight of flight, but in your head? You have no urge to move. It doesn't make any sense. "No," you answer, having almost forgotten. "We haven't."

His cheek is scratchy in your hand. "And look at the consequences. I've been forced to drink from other people and you've taken up a barrage of exciting new boyfriends–"

"Well, I haven't," you say, grinning at him. "You're the only boyfriend for me. I tried, but the supernatural find me so very off-putting. I can't imagine why."

"Oh, you tried?" he asks, dropping his face to dig his nose under your jaw. He kisses you, but you know he's doing that as an afterthought, the nose jabbing his main prerogative.

"Not really." You cup the back of his head. "Are you hungry?"

"Would you stop it? I'm trying to express my love for you and you're desperate to play victim."

"I'm just wondering."

His fang scratches your skin, a graze. The blood it produces wouldn't so much as wet his fingernail, but he licks the wound to seal it and kisses straight up your cheek to the corner of your eye. "Please," he says, relaxing into your hold, "don't go on holiday again. At least for the next century."

"So for the rest of my life?"

Sirius scoffs. "If you think I'd let you die an old crone, you're stupid. You're stuck with me forever." He doesn't sound quite as sweet when he says it like that, a solidness to his declaration that should give you goosebumps. "You belong with me."

It should freak you out. What a strange thing to say. What a weird thing to picture.

"You really don't want me around for my endless buffet?" you ask.

"Don't be stupid. If blood were your most valuable trait I would've drained you the night we met. It's a little bonus for now, and in a few years when you're ready you'll drink some of my blood and be my wife for the rest of time."

You lean back to look at him. "What if I'm ready now?"

He moves to mouth kisses into your soft jaw. "Darling, why rush? You can only get more perfect." He laughs into his kisses, speaks smushed and warm into your skin, "What if I'm ready now?" he repeats, kiss-kiss-kissing. "You aren't scared of anything, are you, my love?"

"I'm certainly not scared of you."

"You might be scared of never eating crisps again though, hmm?"

You think about it. "Alright. In a few years."

"That's my girl."

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months

Text

There is a sort of obsession among a certain kind of car owner with original parts. They want to keep the original engine, no matter how bad things get. They insist upon replacing every busted-ass interior clip, every bit of undertray, the original hood insulation, and even that annoying little spring that flew off into a workshop sometime in the 1970s.

For these folks, "numbers matching" engines are an essential requirement. Any car that's had a new engine thrown into it at the neighbourhood Goodwrench back in the 80s is an abominable, compromised car. They would never do what I do to rebuild a car. My technique is abhorrent to them. What I do is this: I visit the junkyard, find the cheapest motor I think will fit, and then bodge chunks of scrap stolen from the railroad together until it actually fits. Some days, you're lucky if I get an engine of the same make.

All this is to explain why occasionally I have a Soviet tractor engine, or an old mail-truck four-banger, or a small wad of starter motors in an elaborate belt-driven configuration, in the front end of my car. Whatever makes motive power and gets to work: I'm not too picky about "original," because original is what blew up and left the previous owner stranded. I don't owe it anything for being the first one to fuck up.

Now, sure, this does compromise the resale value of my cars a bit. Any collector is going to take a look at a 1978 Plymouth Volare with the approximate mileage of twelve moon missions on it, and decide that the 1976 Slant Six stuck into the engine bay is where all the money leaked out of it. Not at all the old "thin ice" sign that went missing from a nearby lake and is pop-riveted to the floorboard. Not the eight-track player zip-tied into the place where the passenger seat once sat. And certainly, most definitely not, the diesel locomotive turbocharger occupying most of the engine bay.

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angry-geese · 11 months

Text

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything.

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7.

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer.

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it.

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room.

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost.

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say.

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two?

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path.

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!”

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn.

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself.

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying.

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her.

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says.

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable.

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring.

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter.

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him.

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say.

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised.

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet.

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck.

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this.

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable.

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away.

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in.

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself.

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway.

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do.

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments.

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well.

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in.

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt.

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee.

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee.

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger.

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all.

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

#jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #not osha compliant #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #ive kinda forgotten how to tag stuff tbh

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