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#so there's no chance it can be even half as bad as this year has been
t1oui · 1 day
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barty crouch jr. is eleven the first time evan rosier takes his breath away.
he's a second year in barty's house, with warm brown skin and blonde hair and amber eyes that flash gold in the sunlight. he knows regulus. one of barty's dormmates, somehow, and he smiles at barty like he wants to know him, too.
barty is thirteen when he finally figures out what the butterflies in his stomach mean.
they're sitting down at the lake, barty on the grass, soaking up the sun. pandora sits on a blanket next to him, her half of it in the sun, the other half underneath regulus in the shade of a tree. dora's busied herself with making flower crowns, and evan and dorcas are swinging at each other and laughing, both ankle deep in the water of the black lake. evan reaches up to kick water at her, and the silver of his anklet - a thin chain with a silver daisy charm hanging off of it - catches the light.
dorcas ducks away and shoves evan square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps before he finally lands hard on the grass next to barty. it must've hurt, even in the soft green, but instead of wincing, he just turns to barty and grins.
oh, barty thinks. it's so obvious, he thinks.
barty is a fourth year the first time he kisses evan rosier.
it's the first christmas he doesn't go home for. he spends long hours knocking about the castle, staying out past both the regular curfew and the one made later for the break.
"can't sleep, crouch?" evan had asked him, making him jump, polished prefect badge - no doubt pandora's handiwork - sparkling from his collar. and suddenly there was mistletoe and the chance to finally make his fantasies a reality. there was the taste of evan's lips (vanilla) and the smell of his shampoo (cucumber) and the feeling of his arms around barty's waist (intoxicating).
even on that dreary, cold evening, there was hope.
barty is a sixth year when regulus begins going out with james potter.
they're on the train, barty halfway out the window, evan's arms tight around his middle in the fear of him falling, and barty hoots with laughter when regulus jumps into potter's arms. potter's a seventh year like evan. head boy, a gryffindor, and one of pandora's best friends, for some reason.
"leave them be, barty," evan snorts, pulling him back through the window. barty watches him, opening his mouth to speak, only to be swiftly cut off by his boyfriend adding, "we can be as dramatic as we like, but i'm not risking missing this train just so we can kiss in front of it."
barty groans in protest, but by that point regulus has arrived at the door to their compartment with a sheepish-looking james potter in tow, so he decides to annoy them instead.
barty is seventeen the first time he comes to hogwarts without evan, and it makes him feel empty.
he's still got regulus and dorcas, of course, but there's a gaping hole in the group now that the twins have graduated. regulus is quiet without james to bring him out of his shell. dorcas doesn't cheer as hard during quidditch games - ones without regulus in them, of course - without marlene mckinnon there to cheer on. and barty? barty isn't himself without ev there to easy his anxieties.
night after night, barty and regulus curl up in the same bed for nights of bad rest. it gets easier, over time. letters pile up. floo calls happen weekly. and while regulus and dorcas struggle, barty thinks about the future. the one decided by him, and not anyone else.
two days after his eighteenth birthday, barty steps off the hogwarts express for the last time.
regulus and dorcas don't hesitate to sprint past him towards james and marlene, who wait with evan futher down the platform. barty, though, hesitates. gives himself a moment to take a deep breath, smile at evan, and start running.
evan envelopes him in a hug, his arms a reassuring weight around barty.
"you must be tired," he whispers, the hint of a smile in his voice. "eight newts, barty. you're insane."
barty grins into evan's chest. "i missed you too, rosie," he mumbles. he lets out a content sigh he didn't realize he was holding in, and evan hums.
"welcome home, love," he says. "our home."
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tennessoui · 2 days
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Anakin as Obi-Wan's Campaign Manager?? Say more right now please!
correction - anakin (19yo) as obi-wan (35yo)'s nonconsensual campaign manager
here's a bit more! all just set up, i have no idea what i want out of this fic yet word-count wise. structure wise. etc.
The Kenobi thing happens accidentally, honestly. Anakin isn’t even sure how he got into it, but at the end of September, Padmé had mentioned how formative canvassing had been to her own political outlook, how impactful it had been to help out on a campaign, and Anakin had thought—that’s it. I can do that, and then she'll see we have things in common and then she'll fall in love with me. And that night, he’d gone to his apartment and researched upcoming local elections. He’d found the list of people running for the city council, and he’d chosen one at a random. Obi-Wan Kenobi was thirty-five and up for re-election. He’d first been elected four years ago, at thirty-one, one of the youngest city councilmen in the history of Coruscant, running—as far as Anakin could tell—on the issue of city infrastructure and misuse and diversion of funds away from public goods like pothole-less roads to drive on. Even just reading the summary on the guy’s past campaign had been boring as hell, but he’d won, is the thing. He’d won, which means he has a good shot of winning it again, which would make it incredibly easy to help him along. Not many people vote in city council elections—fact. Not many people vote for names they don’t recognize, and they have a higher chance of recognizing an incumbent’s name over a challenger’s—fact. It’s only impressive to canvas for a campaign if the guy you’re canvassing for is elected—fact. So Obi-Wan Kenobi was a safe choice. A stellar choice. Anakin hit the books that weekend, printed out a bunch of blurbs on what the guy’s done—apparently it’s been mostly advocating for filling in potholes on what Anakin would bet his tuition money on is the guy’s commute to work—and hit the streets to drum up support for him. The election is in the middle of November, and today is October 2nd. Half the doors Anakin knocks on remain unopened, a fourth are closed in his face, and the remaining percentage are either not registered to vote or seem lukewarm to the idea of voting in a city council election at all. Three different elderly ladies have asked him if Kenobi is running for president. Hell, next time he’s just going to say yes. —--------- But Ahsoka isn’t wrong. Anakin hates to admit it, but he knows he has to. She’s not wrong. Something needs to change in his strategy because he’s not getting the numbers he needs. Honestly, this whole adventure has made him lose faith in the effectiveness of democracy. Maybe dictatorships aren’t so bad. It’s not like these people are voting anyway. He’s smart enough to keep this observation to himself, of course, but he wonders what could have been so eye-opening about Padmé’s time canvassing when Anakin’s having a hard enough time making this whole thing door-opening.
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bohemiandeer · 18 days
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You know what hits me hard? When 5 to 6 year old children, all the way in Southeast Asia, knows about what's happening in Palestine right now. That children their age is getting bombed, that they're starving to death, that they're getting shot at, and sniped in the head. Because, just this past 2 or so months, I heard some of the little ones in the Kindergarten classes I'm TAing in as an Intern talk about it. Hell, one of the little boys downright said he didn't like Israel, because Israel is bad, because they do scary things. Another was questioning whether Palestine was bad too, because, "why else would they shooting at them?". A little girl in one of my classes doesn't want to finish her food at all, because she wants to save at least half her meat and rice for kids in Palestine, because she heard that, they don't have food. And that's just the ones I remember. Namely the inciting cases before their classmates slowly follow suit. The littles are fricking SCARED. We had to sit these kids down, and tell them that the topic is too mature for them at the moment, that they shouldn't even be concerned because they're KINDERGARTNERS, they're not even old enough to properly understand. The one teacher I was TAing for had to make a class announcement saying that. What gets me is, these are 5 to 6 year olds, the youngest I've worked with in this specific age group is 4. 5 years old on average, and they've already been exposed to the worst horrors genocide has to offer through the news and snippets of conversation among adults and hell, considering how many of them say they like to play games on Mama's phone, or their IPad, even from fricking social media. And the fact that, these literal babies, from all the way in Cambodia, has more empathy in their entire body and soul, than full grown fricking adults have in the nail of their pinky finger, gets me. FFS we as adults could LEARN from them I feel sometimes. I honestly don't know what to feel about it anymore. On the one hand, this is the next generation I'm working with. And if the next generation's default response to a tragedy such as Palestine, is what I've seen come up on occasion so far? Perhaps there's some bloody hope for this world after all. At least in this country. Especially since a majority of them already come from families who survived a genocide. These are the 3rd - 4th generation descendants of those who survived the Khmer Rouge. They've got grandparents at home, who no doubt are more than intimately familiar with what Palestine is going through right now. And it shows.
But on the other, it makes my heart sink because these are CHILDREN, these are LITTLE KIDS, they should be playing with their toys and watching cartoons and talking to their friends about everything from Spiderman to Speakerman to Kuromi and her friends, and be worried about whether or not they can go to playground that day, guranteed they're well behaved, or if Mama remembered to pack in their costume for swimming lessons that week. NOT JUST MY KIDS. But the little ones in Palestine too. They deserve better. They all deserve, so much better. Hell, it's come to the point that whenever I look at my kiddos right now, whether they'd be working in class, playing, doing something as mundane as eating lunch or getting ready for their nap. I think of the children their age in Palestine that didn't even get the chance to survive. I think of the ones whose memories from this age, is nothing but absolute horror and pain, rather than what has slowly become my normal, who never got to experience what my littles do on a daily basis right now.
Children shouldn't even be concerned about "War", about a Genocide. The last thing that should be on a 5 year old's mind, is pain, and suffering, and the worst horrors imaginable ever to be inflicted on a human being. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S INFLICTED, ON OTHER CHILDREN THEIR AGE. And for that alone, the world has failed them. Especially the kids in Palestine who didn't ask for any of this. They just wanted to carry on with life as kids do, the same way as my littles do on a daily basis no doubt, learning, playing, chatting with friends over their favourite cartoons and characters, worrying about whether they'd get to go to the playground or not that day.
I apologize for talking about this on this blog. I know my blog tends to be lighter in feel, a lot more unhinged and light hearted typically. I mean, I'm just a fricking nerd who likes to draw and write, and lurk about her favourite fandoms to consume and support what is shared among other nerds who also like to draw and write. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. About contemplating it, especially since I'll be back on a roll tomorrow, working with my kiddos again after not seeing them for 5 days straight because of Holidays. And, I just had to talk about it. This is something I felt I couldn't keep to myself this time, I don't think my soul'd be able to carry it. I had to talk about it.
FREE PALESTINE. Our children deserve better.
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mochinomnoms · 4 months
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Please share the lewd interspecies romance.
Okay so mostly I have thoughts over the Octavinelle trio, especially the twins 🫣 but i wrote a lil something for most of them! also this was not meant to be so long idk what happened
[tags] - nsfw, AFAB-implied reader, but written gender-neutral, mentions of ruts/heats, breeding, etc
nsfw under read-more, minors DNI!
If you really compare humans to the nonhuman population of Twisted Wonderland, there's are some small physiological differences between species. Fae, surprisingly, don't differ from humans all too much. Land dwellers in general don't have anything too significant, though all of nonhuman species retain aspects of their animal counterparts.
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Most of Savanaclaw goes through some sort of rut/heat during various times in the year, primarily early spring and summer. There's no logical reason for them to retain that aspect of their mating cycle anymore, not for a sentient species that have skills of logic and reasoning. Unfortunately, they didn't get to choose how their evolution worked, and so they have to deal with it in anyway they can.
They get a lot more irritable, they have throbbing headaches, their abdomen hurts, and the scent of their mate is a lot more enticing than normal. Jack probably has it the worst of them, as a wolf beastmen. Not only does he have to deal with a fever-inducing rut that will put him out of commission for a week, afterwards he has to deal with the a/b/o jokes from his classmates too, oh the horror. It is really a horror though when he's able to bend you over his bed, bite marks aligned your neck and back as his dick pounds into you till his knot swells and locks you in for at least an hour. Jack's incredibly embarrassed afterwards, though he manages to be incredibly sweet even after rearranging your guts. Wolf beastmen are one of the most affectionate partners to have with a reputation providing some of the best aftercare for their species. It's most likely to make up for their week-long copulation, stretching and tiring out their sweet little mates. Ooooh, but they'll so very sweet: cleaning up the sticky mess of fluids between your legs with their tongue, careful to not overstimulate you (unless you ask), tending to the mating mark they placed on the back of your neck with soft kisses and licks, and making sure to prop your lower half up to that your chances of taking their seed increases.
Lacking the annual rut/heat that other variants of beastmen have, lion and hyena beastmen are more similar is this regard, as they don't have the same issue of long copulations as wolf beastmen. Neither will initiate sex, rather they'll rely on their mates to do so. Ruggie, in particular, is rather reluctant initiating sex, as male hyenas are typically more submissive, so if you're shy you'll have to get over it. But once you do, Ruggie is ever so happy to service you if you're happy to give him praise. Run your hands through his hair and ears as he eats you out, he'll let out the cutest whimpers and groans as you do. Just, expect to be jellyboned by the time he's done with you, as a hyena he needs to make sure his mate won't snip back at him and you can't exactly do that if your fucked out. While he may not have the same stamina as Jack for week-long fuck session, he has a particularly short refractory period and can have several short sessions in a single night.
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Leona also won't typically initiate sex on his own, it happens very sporadically, and he his the image of the lazy lion. While he never wants to do anything particularly extraneous, who is he to deny you needs? You'll have to do some preparing though, as while the barbs on his dick aren't as bad as they are in his animal variant, they will hurt if you're not wet and pliable enough. Be sure to sit on his face, don't worry you won't suffocate him and it's better you cum a few times first before taking him. Unless you want it to hurt? Once you've cum enough times, you can ride him to your heart's content. He only asks that you don't mention how he rubs his head into the crook of your neck, marking you so that if everyone couldn't tell by the sounds coming from his room, they'd know you're his from his scent. Lions are quite protective with their territory and pride after all.
Merfolk have the most extreme physiological differences between them and...any land dweller really. It comes with the territory of being suited for a completely different environment. They also behave a lot more similarly to their animal counterparts, which can be both delicious and exhausting for their humans.
Moray eels don't have a set time of the year they mate, but rather the water must be warm and plenty of food must be ready to provide to their mate. When the spring time weather above the sea starts transitioning from crisp to blazing, don't be too surprised when the twins start handfeeding you meals and snacks throughout the week, they want to make sure you're happy and full for them, getting you in the mood with a sweet, dizzying underwater dance to initiate until they get the okay from you. What's that 'okay' though? You know that yawning I mentioned before? You'll get your answer from them now, as they take your open mouth yawn as an invitation rather than a sign of tiredness. Floyd, in particular, is ready to drag you into the deep part of the pool before remembering that you need to breathe somehow. Not a problem. He'll keep your pretty head above water. You'll still have trouble breathing as his long tapered tongue worms his way in your mouth. No matter, you'll be gasping for breath as he bullies this cock into your hole, large enough that you can physically feel the bump on your stomach. Morays are awfully fond of wrapping themselves around their mates, seeing as Floyd will do his best to tangle his tail around your body and squeezing you as you squeeze down his dick. He loves the physical contact between you two, and is amused how your nails try to dig into his shoulders seeing as the mucus on his skin makes it near impossible to have a steady grasp. You're completely dependent on Floyd as you drool and cry out for relief from the overstimulation, which is oh so ever exciting.
Jade is equally as cruel when it comes to mating. Unlike the others, merfolk tend to mate with the intention to, well, mate. He prefers you to be soft and pliant for him, as well as wholly depending as you two fuck. So, he'll happily brew you a water-breathing potion so he can actually drag you into the deep, where he found a secluded, warm grotto that will allow him to keep you to himself for hours, but close enough to the surface that he can continuously grab you food to eat between sessions. Not that those sessions will be short either. Like his brother, Jade is content to wrap himself around your body as he cooed honeyed words into your ears about how you'll make a wet, warm, soft hole for breeding. It's not like he'll have to do much either, his dick is prehensile and he can wrap himself around you, swiping kisses and nuzzling into the crook of your very sensitive neck while his thick cock continuously pounds into you with a bruising pace. He's so mean!! He likes seeing you cry from overstimulation too, and Jade will continuously scoot down to clean you up with his tongue, only to claim that too much of his seed was gone and he needed to fill you up again for another few hours. He's truly quite incorrigible, especially when he bites into your neck and shoulders to make his claim on you. Don't worry, most morays' bites aren't venomous, and even if they are, you have him to care for you. You're going to be depending on him in the water anyway, so there's no need to worry about it too much.
Something that neither probably won't mention, probably because they won't realize it's something you should know, is that they can change their sex under the right conditions. If you're ever so inclined in the future to test the waters out, the twins might be so generous to let you eat them out instead.
Of the trio, Azul's the only one with an established mating season, two actually: one in the late spring and the other in the early fall. Respectively, one during finals and the other during orientation. He's already so incredibly stressed, and he has the need to breed too? Downright atrocious. It's wonderful that you're so kind that he can take refuge in you and use you like a new octopot, so tell him how pretty he is and how much you love him and only him, so that you have the privilege fucking his merform. The moment you're entering the water, he'll unconsciously display mating signals by flashing soft lilacs and blues, a beautiful display of his need for you. He's rather large, even bigger than the twins, in his merform, so you'll need preparation as well; have no fear, his tentacles are wrapping and kneading the squishiest parts of you. I mentioned before that he can taste the salt on your skin and pulse through your wrist via his suckers. He can taste the slick from your walls, too, without even having to use his mouth as the suckers massage you from the inside. If you'd like, he technically could give you a full flavor profile afterward, though he'll probably be a bit mortified to do so. The biggest difference is his dick, or lack thereof. Instead of a dick, Azul has a hectocotylus, which is a modified, slightly shorter arm of his with a thicker spade-shaped tip that he can practically rearrange your guts with, with little effort on his part really. Most octo-mer variants will keep their mate at a distance, eons of instinct hard to forget. Azul's variant, though, will keep you close, almost dancing with you in a sweet, sensual twirl as he places sweet kissing and bites on your neck, arms, and chest. Octopi are, in fact, venomous, however, so you will be feeling a bit of a lustful high, paralyzed, and a bit helpless to the whims of a needy octopus. He's quite good at aftercare though, making sure you get an antidote and handfeeding you calorie-rich snacks to energize you back up (again, he's aware that you won't eat him, but instinct dictates that he keeps you full with both food and cum to make you a happy mate).
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*collapses into heap on floor* thoughts....full.....ahahaha breeding kink go burrrrr. i was not meant to write this much and then it escaped me. also i hate tagging
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westernsunshine · 11 months
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Sometimes you’ve just gotta get a migraine in order to have an epiphany
#so you know how i had that phone interview today right? it was for an electrical engineering course that i only half wanted to do#and i was sitting in my bathroom suffering and trying not to throw up and trying to keep my head… on#and i was like. i’m going to need to cancel this interview anyways probably. do i really want to reschedule it?#like girl is there any point in me spending money and years of my life training to do something idk if i even want to do#i’ve done that before (teaching course) and look how THAT turned out. like girl i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending#plus i have a job atm that pays.. not great but okay. and i wouldn’t necessarily say i enjoy it but it’s not like. bad.#i like my coworkers; i get along okay with my manager; it doesn’t stress me out; i don’t really dread going to work#i’m okay at it & my workplace isn’t a far commute. plus i work for a charity so i feel like i’m doing something at least somewhat good#and there might be a permanent (or at least not seasonal like my current contract) job coming up since my work bestie is moving to scotland#which is sad in itself bc like how badly do i want to work there without her. idk yet#but anyway. i think the only reason i wouldn’t necessarily want to work there permanently is i absolutely cannot pay rent on this wage#and i want to move out so badly it makes me look stupid. but like. chances are i wouldn’t have made money as an electrician for YEARS#so i’d still be in the same situation. like literally i might as well stay in this job as long as i can & also get a side gig#like audio transcription or exam invigilation or TA-ing as a temp#i can also just. stay in customer service lol. i’m okay at it!#anyway tl;dr i cancelled the interview because 1) not sure i can talk coherently with haed the size of texas#and 2) do i even want to do this anyway. the answer is mo#*no omg#personal
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hexagonaldecency · 1 year
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Screaming at the void a bit
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theveryworstthing · 2 months
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"Welcome! I'm glad to see that we still have people interested in volunteering. We have 6 positions open this Riverseason, 3 at each of the base camps. After you fill out your paperwork I'll take you to meet the new Companions and we'll see who you connect with!"
every few years after a heavy rainy season the river swells and a lush, high, patch of forest grows around its fattened middle in a matter of days. during this time strange Creatures emerge to nest in the surrounding area, which is seemingly a safer place to rear young than the forest, and then migrate back when the river begins to lower in a few months. neither the creatures nor the Townsfolk know why the forest appears or what exactly is going on with the river but they learned long ago to (mostly) live in peace. 
while the forest makes most people uneasy, some are very eager (maybe too eager) to explore it. this includes some young Creatures who seem equally compelled to Enter. experience says that mixed teams have a better chance or survival (little guy with Powers + person with thumbs and camping supplies is a pretty good combo even if communication can be rough sometimes) and so that is how the scouting trips operate. scouts start at either upriver or downriver base camps just outside the forest and try to follow the river the entire way to avoid getting lost.
it is so easy to get lost.
most people lose sight of the other scouting teams about half a mile in even though they're all following the same river and going in the same direction. best case scenario is that you make new discoveries, map out a few things, and make it out the other side in way more time than it should really take to walk to the other side. worst case is you can't find your way out before the river starts to dry up and you hope the rain is heavy next year. 
pictured above are the little Companions ready to hike in with someone this season. you will only learn their names if you connect with one, but in loose power typing terms we've got:
a prophesy type (omens good and bad. tea leaves, smoke, tiny bones)
a wander type (never settled and never has to be. a shifter of sorts)
a fungal type (more than it seems. eager for friendship)
a celestial type (looking into the void. navigating by starlight)
a dirt type (grounded and persistent. a terror to terrors)
and a sylph type (the air in your lungs. the invisible belief)
which Companion will you choose? what name comes to you when they choose you back? 
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indecisivemuch · 1 month
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Flatline
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Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader
Summary: A certain hospital equipment exposed Luke's feelings for you (funny, fluff, friends to lovers, banter dynamic, minor injuries, happy ending).
Note: I’m sorry if this is not as good as my other works, writers block + being sick has been killing me.
Word count: 2.7k
It was somewhat strange at first to see Luke in normal clothing rather than that bright orange camp shirt that you’ve grown so familiar with. But after spending four days outside of camp and on a quest together, you’ve actually somewhat grown fond of the sight. You could still vividly remember the moment he picked you as his quest companion without an ounce of hesitation. It wasn’t surprising, considering you two have always made a good team, a likely result of training with each other for three years straight. Nevertheless, it warmed your heart that you were his first pick. 
“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting Luke's wound as he sat against a tree and sighed in relief when you realized the cut was not too deep. 
Just a couple of minutes back, you two were walking through the forest and on your way to the nearest bus stop that could take you back to camp. However, the universe must have thought the long journey was not enough of suffering because somehow, you two came across a chimera that managed to claw your arm and Luke in the abdomen. 
“It’s not too bad. I think we can still make it to the last bus if we just quickly wrap your wounds up,” you noted. 
Meanwhile, all Luke could do was watch you. He knew he should be listening, but how could he when you were so attentive to him at that moment? He hungrily took in the way you were taking care of him in such a worried manner as if you were his personal guardian angel. Part of him wanted to soothe your worries, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy it this time because it was for him. 
“Hey, did you hear what I said?” you asked when you didn’t hear a reply. You turned towards Luke, but was quickly caught off guard. 
There was something sincere and sweet about the way he was staring at you. However, somewhere along three years of knowing him, you have concluded that Luke Castellan must have made it one of his life missions to annoy you because he has never passed up on any opportunities for flirty antics just to see you grow flustered. Hence, you ignored how he was gazing at you, though you scowled at yourself internally upon feeling your cheeks warm up. 
“Stop looking at me like that,” you forced out. 
“Like what?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Luke almost chuckled at how you started blushing from just the way he was watching you. Oh, if only you knew. Luke loved getting your attention on him. He would snatch up any chance just to have your eyes on him or to have you care for him. The boy loved just seeing you blush over his little teasings. It was also fascinating to him how you never realized the true intentions behind his actions. Luke knew that half the camp probably knew that he was absolutely dotted on you from the way he was acting like a five-year-old boy chasing after his crush. Though, you always deemed his words and gestures as playful and jokes rather than genuine.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. However, the cheeky grin on his face told you otherwise, and you hit his arm in retaliation. “Ouch, is that the way to treat an injured person?” Luke joked.
“You’re barely injured. The wound is not even that deep.” 
“Well…surely, if it’s not that bad, you can just kiss it better, right?” Your cheeks tinted a more evident shade of pink at his words, and you let out a deep sigh before giving Luke a playful glare. He only smirked at this, and Gods, you found that annoying yet endearing at the same time. Meanwhile, the boy was proudly relishing the idea that he was the cause of the blush that was adorning your cheeks.
“Okay, I say, let’s find somewhere safer, and then I’ll disinfect and wrap your wound up, yeah?” You suggested, purposefully deciding to ignore Luke’s previous words.
“Yes, ma’am.” Luke breathed out. 
However, before you could help Luke up and relocate, two hikers spotted the both of you. It was a middle-aged married couple, and you slightly cursed under your breath. As you predicted, they started panicking at the sight of Luke’s bleeding wound and asked if you both needed help.
“Oh no, we’re fine,” you tried saying, though you could see the husband already calling 911. “Seriously, we have this handled,” you tried to reassure them, reaching out to the husband so he’d put the phone down, but the wife touched one of your shoulders.
“How did this happen?” the over-caring strangers asked.
“It was…a bear,” you settled on saying, grimacing when you realized you were less convincing than you wanted. You hoped the woman would not ask for further elaborations because that would require the impromptu level you were not ready to play at.
“The ambulance should be here soon,” the husband informed while keeping 911 on the line, and you abruptly turned to him. Now, your mind started panicking. You two were meant to keep a low profile.
“What? No, he’s really fine. It’s just a minor injury. Look! He’s practically like he always is. Right, Luke?” You turned back to Luke, hoping he’d attest to your words against these strangers. However, you were caught off-guard by the sight of him with his eyes closed instead. “Luke?” you called again, this time louder. Yet, you were met with the same response - utter silence.
Then came the sound of sirens, and the next thing you knew, you were sitting on a chair next to a hospital bed where Luke was lying still. You’ve been sitting there for two hours, calmly waiting for the boy to wake up after recovering from the initial panic over the thought of something seriously wrong with him. The only noise in the room was from the ticking clock on the opposite wall to you, as well as the occasional sound of magazine pages being turned.
“Y-Y/N…?” The quiet sound of Luke calling out your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from the magazine in your hand. “Where are we?”
“The hospital,” you answered promptly. You watched as the Hermes cabin counselor looked down at the item in your hand, then back up at your face again. 
“Well, you seem awfully calm. Not even worried at all about me?” You almost chuckled at his words, slightly in disbelief that even after getting knocked out, Luke somehow still had the energy to joke.
“Nah, the doctor told me you were going to be fine. Apparently, it was the mild concussion from knocking your head against the tree that made you pass out. Said you’d be up in like three hours or so.” Luke nodded as he remembered the chimera shoving him, causing him to bash his head against a tree. The boy sat up on the hospital bed, and you helped him by adjusting his pillow so he could lean against it.
“So you would have cared otherwise?” He gave you a teasing grin. Things like that had you thinking sometimes if he was just being playfully flirty or if he meant more. Luke does not seem to do this with anybody else at camp. But once again, you ruled out the theory of him having feelings for you in that way. 
“Only because I would not have anybody else to harass if you die,” You poured Luke a glass of water and handed it to him. He only smiled at your witty reply and took a sip of water. However, you took the opportunity to be honest, just so he’d at least know that you do care about him, despite the sarcastic remarks before.
“On a serious note, though… I’m glad you’re okay, Luke,” you sent Luke a sweet smile. Though there it was again — that look. However, for some reason, he didn’t whip up a clever, flirty line to joke around, which made you wonder what was on his mind.
Meanwhile, Luke felt as if his lungs had lost half its capacity. Gods, under the moonlight, you looked ethereal. It made him wonder for a second whether he was in a coma because you felt too good to exist in this ever-so-cruel world. Don’t even get him started on the way you were smiling at him, so sweet like caramel that his eyes were tracing to forever remember. He internally sighed, wondering how many more signs must he give out before you would get that he was genuinely interested in you.
You misinterpreted Luke’s look as one of vulnerability. Your brain theorized that maybe he was shaken from the chimera attack, so you slowly but surely grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. However, you didn’t notice the slight hitch in Luke’s breath as soon as you did this. His eyes almost fluttered shut at how nice it was to have your hand around his. If he could hold your hand every day, he absolutely would. You started rubbing your thumb on his knuckles as well. Oh, to be somebody you found worth worrying about and caring for. Luke thought maybe he did win the lottery after all. He could feel his heart wanting to crack his ribcage open to jump out of—
Unexpectedly, you heard a sudden continuous beeping from one of the equipment nearby and looked at it. Luke followed your gaze, and his face immediately started flushing over the drastic change in the heart monitor’s graphic representation of his heartbeat. The beeping still continued when you looked back at him with evident concern on your face.
“Woah, are you alright?” Luke tried muttering an affirmative answer but froze when you leaned closer and lightly graced his forehead with your hand. The boy gulped while you were cluelessly trying to see if he was coming down with a fever or not — which you assumed he was due to the way his face seemed to have warmed up. However, you were greeted with a normal body temperature and the sound of the heart monitor beeping even faster.
Suddenly, everything clicked. You cast your gaze on Luke again, tilting your head in amusement.
“Am I making you flustered?” Luke’s cheeks flared even more at your words. The Hermes cabin counselor looked away from you, taking his hand out of yours now as he attempted to slow down his heartbeat. However, you immediately took hold of his face and moved it back towards you. A mischievous grin grew on your face as you took in Luke’s blushing. How could you pass up the opportunity to finally torment him and get him flustered, especially when he has been doing the same thing to you for the past years?
Luke watched as you had him wrapped around your fingers both figuratively and literally, smirking as if you knew you had entire control over him. But he knew you only knew the surface level of it because even he doesn’t know the extent to which he would go for you. The only thing he knew was that he was in deep, deep trouble. He knew whatever part of him that was logical would perish as soon as you let him be yours. Yet he did not seem to mind discarding all his senses and submitting to whatever these feelings were.
“Careful there, Castellan, keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to believe you’re secretly obsessed with me.” You were only joking, but the way his eyes fluttered when you said that made you gulp. 
“And what if I tell you I am?” At his words and the sound of his heartbeat speeding up on the heart monitor, you froze. 
It was as if all the clues had come crashing down at once. It finally sunk in for you that perhaps you were wrong this whole time for thinking Luke was not into you. Because now, this hospital room had somehow become a crime scene filled with evidence of his feelings for you - the way he was intensely looking at you with dilated pupils, the uncontrollable speed of his heartbeat that you could feel where your fingers lay near his neck and pulse point, his shallow and nervous breathing, the beeping sound from the heart monitor that would make others think it has gone haywire, and most of all, the earnest and resigned look on his face as if he had already embraced the fact that his feelings for you would not change whether or not they would be reciprocated.
Your hand left his face to brush his dark curls. Your eyes cast down at his lips quickly before looking back up. You noticed the yearning in his eyes and how he copied your actions. 
“...Can I?” Luke uttered breathlessly as if all the air in his lungs had been replaced with pure, relentless wanting. Even as a victim of heavy longing and subjected to desire, Luke still awaited the green light. His eyebrows slightly scrunched as if silently asking for permission, and you knew exactly what he wanted when he glanced down at your lips again. 
One tiny nod from you, and he pulled you in. His hands delicately held the sides of your face as your lips clashed. Almost instantly, Luke felt as if he might flatline soon from the way your kiss was seemingly sending him into a cardiac arrest. He practically melted as you giggled into the kiss when the heart monitor started beeping even more frequently, indicating Luke’s increasingly erratic heartbeat. Something about this moment felt so urgent yet endearing like a long-awaited wish come true.  
Slowly but surely, he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you up onto his hospital bed effortlessly, as if desperately needing you to just be closer to him. You both somewhat laughed at this before you wrapped both arms around his shoulders without breaking the kiss. 
One of your hands started playing with his hair. You were not sure why but you pulled it and almost instantly, Luke had to break away from the kiss as a raspy groan escaped his lips. Your other hand on the side of his face and neck could feel the way it echoed as a hum in his throat, and you gulped at your effect on him.
Luke licked his lips as he stared at you again. He came to the conclusion that after that kiss, you were wrong that he was obsessed with you. Instead, he was everything above that - devoted, fervently fixated, infatuated, an addict who shamelessly wanted and needed you. Gods, maybe he was a madman when it came to you.
Your eyes flickered to the clock nearby and noticed it was 4:41am, realizing there was just enough time for the two of you to leave the hospital and catch the next bus back to camp. That prompted you to whisper, “I think we should leave now. If we do, we’ll be on time for the next bus.” Luke groaned at your words while you hopped off the hospital bed and grabbed your jacket. The boy unhooked himself from the heart monitor, though his eyes lingered on it for a bit while a smile grew on his face. 
“Why the rush?” He asked, grabbing his own jacket before opening the door for you.
“Cause as lovely as that was, I don’t want to make out again in a hospital,” Luke froze before grinning at your words.
“Oh, does that mean it might happen again? Us making out?” He asked, watching as a cheeky smile grew on your face despite you opting to just shrug at his question. You fanned your hand out before him, smiling even more when he put his hand in yours. 
With that, you led him out of the hospital hand in hand while he grinned like a fool behind you.
Honestly, Luke would blindly go anywhere you lead him.
-------------------------
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thebeesatemyknees · 6 months
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141 AND HOW THEY ARE WITH SOMEONE WHO THEY DISCRETELY AND SECRETLY LOVE. LIKE MAYBE NOR A HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP, BUT MORE LIKE BEST FRIENDS AND THEY LOKE READER BUT READER DOESN'T KNOW. IDKK
141 secretly in love with their friend
Word count: 2k || No warnings || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns "you"
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Simon Riley, who always chooses to sit next to you. It’s not even that he lets you sit next to him, no – he goes out of his way to sit next to you. When you’re hanging out in a pub, with him and a bunch of mutual friends (mostly the rest of 141), he lets you choose a seat while he goes to get your drinks. Once he’s back, he places your glass in front of you and tells you to budge up so he can sit next to you. Though, after a few times, it became a routine and you naturally began to make some space for him. Others also know to leave at least one seat beside you empty. If someone forgets, or isn’t privy to this unspoken rule – Simon slaps their shoulder and wordlessly points to a different chair. And so far, no one’s had the balls to tell him no.
He’s a master of dark humour and dad-jokes, and he tells them no matter what reaction he’ll get. He’s used to people rolling their eyes at his puns, but he doesn’t really care. However, with you? It's different. He closely observes your reactions, taking note of things that genuinely make you laugh and things that seem to make you uncomfortable. He catches himself yearning for your reaction, wanting to make you laugh. While in a pub with friends, he keeps telling jokes and adding sarcastic comments, but does it so quietly that only you can hear them. And when he manages to make you laugh, he has a hard time hiding the proud look on his face.
He gives you the “scary dog privilege” and goes out of his way to make it obvious that you’re under his protection. He’s not possessive nor aggressive towards others, but he can stand his ground and you’d have to be absolutely crazy to willingly get on his bad side. So whenever he’s home, he comes with you to all the places you frequent and makes sure all the regulars see that you’ve got a big, scary-looking man at home. They don’t have to know you’re just friends. Honestly, he’d like everyone to think that you’re together. That would keep all the wrong people, all the creeps away from you – that’s what he tells you after not correcting a stranger who commented on you being a cute couple. He then watches your reaction closely, wanting to figure out how you feel about the idea of being together. Whether he has a chance, or should he back off.
If you playfully flirt with him, he smugly reciprocates. As much as he likes puns, he doesn’t use pickup lines, but his witty, flirtatious comments are enough to make your face feel all hot. And he always tells them in the most deadpan manner possible, while looking at you with a half-lidded, almost lazy, look in his eyes. And he doesn’t look away, wanting to see your reaction. To see the smallest twitch of a smile in the corner of your lips. To see you roll your eyes at him or turn away with a blush creeping on your face. He wants to see if you meant it. If you’re willing to take it further.
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John Price, who does a bunch of domestic things with you and for you. He makes your friendship feel as if you’ve been happily married for the past 20 years. He rarely goes back to his own flat, most of the time staying at yours. It started with him popping by for a cuppa or to fix something. Now, however, you go grocery shopping together, he has his own drawer in your wardrobe, you have movie nights that you don’t even have to invite him to. You don’t actually live together, he sometimes stays at his place to keep the sense of normalcy. But then you wake up and find him in your kitchen, sleepily drinking a cup of coffee after letting himself in with the spare key you gave him. Fresh bread lying on the counter next to him, as he scrolls through news on his phone. He greets you and stands up to start preparing breakfast for both of you.
He lets you borrow his clothes. Though, that’s a bit of an understatement. He wants you to wear his clothes. That’s why he started to “accidentally” leave his jumpers and shirts at your place. Once you officially let him have a drawer in your wardrobe, he brings all of his best, most comfortable jumpers, even going as far as spraying them with his cologne, in hopes that you'll find comfort in them while he's deployed. He also keeps an extra jacket in his car, though he only offers it to you if he’s not wearing one himself. He won’t admit it, not even in front of himself, but giving you the jacket he’s been wearing ignites a warm feeling inside his chest.
If you playfully flirt with him, he doesn’t flirt back, suddenly getting more serious instead. He might laugh quietly, but sometimes he looks downright annoyed with your teasing. At least that’s what you think. In reality he’s just worried, overthinking the situation while a sombre feeling sets in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he’s betraying you. Here you are, feeling comfortable and safe enough to joke with him like this, while the only thing he can think of is to make you his.
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Kyle Garrick, who takes you out as often as possible. He organises lots of platonic (please end his misery) dates. If either of you wants to check out a new place or simply go to your regular spots, he immediately calls you. Cafes, arcades, shops, parks, galleries, bookshops. At some point, it might make you think that he doesn’t have that many friends, but no. He just chooses to spend time with you over anyone else. While eating out, you often get into arguments over who’s gonna pay the bill. He jokingly tells you that he needs someone to spend the “military money” on, but he really just wants to see you enjoy yourself properly without worrying about the expenses. To see you, being taken care of. And he’d be so damn happy to be the one to do that.
He’s also very attentive to your likes and dislikes. While walking through shopping centres, he takes note of things you seem to want but end up putting back on the shelf. That being said, he’s the best gift giver. And it’s not just expensive gifts. Honestly, he rarely gets you pricey things, worrying that it might overwhelm you. But he doesn’t stop himself from getting you knick knacks, your favourite snacks, or even simply picking some flowers for you when you go on hikes.
While deployed, he sends you short letters, sometimes adding some local sweets as well. He knows it would be much simpler to just text you or call you, which he does, but he believes that handwritten letters are more meaningful. The first time he tells you that, you roll your eyes at him. He then asks, pretending to be deeply offended, if he should stop sending them since you dislike them so much. No matter your response, he’d be sending them anyway. And if he ever finds out that you kept all of his letters tucked away safely in a box somewhere in your room, he will have a hard time hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.
If you playfully flirt with him, his brain short-circuits. The best he can do is huff a laugh quietly and reply with a simple “alright” as he looks away from you, trying to play it cool. He doesn’t flirt back, simply because he can’t. His face gets all hot, sweat suddenly coating his palms. Did you mean it? Are you teasing him? Did you finally find out about his feelings towards you? His heart is just as frantic as his thoughts. He shakes his head and tries to casually change the topic, which only makes him look more suspicious. You, oblivious to his internal torment, probably interpret his reaction as discomfort, which makes you step back and avoid flirting with him again. This, in turn, leads him to even more panic, worrying that he’s lost his chance, as he tries to bring your conversations back on the more flirtatious track.
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[Sorry to my Scottish readers, you might feel a bit excluded here. Anyway, Johnny still takes you on a fun road trip!]
Johnny MacTavish, who takes you on spontaneous road trips. If you’re not from Scotland, he takes you there to show you his hometown and places he used to go to with his family when he was a kid. He picks you up and drives north but takes an indirect route, stopping at different locations that interest you. You get stuffed with snacks that he prepared for the road and lose both your voice and your hearing from how loudly both of you sing. Throughout the whole trip, he discreetly takes care of you, casually opening the car door for you, making stops so you can stretch your legs, making sure you’re not getting cold. And so, instead of getting to your destination in seven-ish hours, the trip itself takes you two days. You stop midway and find a decent room in a small inn, ending up sharing it together. He keeps his distance, but he has a hard time stopping his eyes from lingering, finding great pleasure in looking at you getting comfortable and ready for bed. His voice gets low and calm while you talk, letting the late hour lead your conversation towards more meaningful, intimate territory. Next day, once you get to his childhood home, he introduces you to his family, and at some point you catch his mum giving him a strange look. When you ask, he tells you he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. However, what you don’t notice is that he turns away while saying it, trying to hide his reddening face from you. You might be oblivious to his feelings, but his mother figured out that her son is head over heels for you the moment you walked into their house. 
He tries to teach you some Scottish phrases. You don’t really use them, worried that it would sound strange next to your regular, very not-Scottish accent. But then one day it slips out of your mouth. Maybe you got annoyed with him, which wouldn’t be surprising considering how often he teases you. The moment the words leave your mouth, a wide grin spreads across his face. He cheers like a lunatic, picking you up and twirling around with you in his arms. [And let me make myself absolutely clear – even if you’re a bigger person – you’re in the air. All you can do is dangle your legs above the ground and hold onto him for your dear life. His muscles are for practical purposes, not just visual.] 
If you playfully flirt with him, he shamelessly flirts back. With one simple comment, you unleash absolute chaos upon yourself. Hopefully you’ve got more pickup lines up your sleeve, cuz you’ll really need them. To this point, he was keeping himself in check, making sure not to overstep any boundaries. But once you flirt with him, it’s a green light, game on – he’s not stopping anytime soon. He’s a very open flirt too. He’ll use the most cheesy pickup lines on you, a wide smile permanently fixed on his face. Seeing him wiggle his eyebrows at you doesn’t even surprise you anymore. He’s also a rather physical person, so you’ll have to get used to him leaning in and playfully bumping your shoulders or knees together, or constantly resting his arm around the back of your chair.
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hypewinter · 9 months
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I got a take on the Danny is Damian's older brother au. He's Damian's brother but he's his adopted brother. So hear me out:
Danny is running away post TUE and he encounters some assassins. For whatever reason they get into a fight and he beats them. This ends up getting back to Ra's who is quite curious about who beat up his most prized assassins effortlessly. After some investigation, he extends an invite for Danny to train under him. On Danny's part, he jumps at the chance to disappear off the face of the earth and have a free place to stay.
Danny ends up being an absolute prodigy. This is him close to being Dan so his morals are much shakier. He doesn't leap at the opportunity to kill, but he's most definitely not above it if need be. Combine that with his ghost powers and personal training by Ra's himself and the guy becomes like the golden standard within the league. So much so to the point where Ra's even names him his heir and adopts him. Though Danny insists he is his adopted grandson and not adopted son.
Flashforward to Damian being born and Ra's obviously wants him to be his new heir. Not that Danny has any problem with this. He's very clearly Ra's favorite considering the things he's allowed to get away with. Like letting targets go, having worldly possessions in his room (TV, gaming console, computer, etc), and even befriending his subordinates (Ra's particularly doesn't like that one but knows Danny will never allow it to become a weakness for him). Even if Danny wasn't the heir, he would still maintain a significant level of authority within the league (again not that he cares about having power as long as there's a roof over his head).
The problem is, Damian can't compete with Danny. After all, who could match up to a highly trained half ghost with dubious morals? Let alone a kid. Too bad Ra's doesn't see it that way. He sees Damian as a failure who will never measure up to Danny. That's why he sends the boy off to live with his father. It's under the excuse that he'll be receiving a different sort of training but in reality, the Demon Head no longer wants anything to do with his biological grandson.
Obviously this turns into quite the complex for Damian. Meanwhile Danny absolutely adores Damian. From the moment he was introduced to the baby he was ecstatic. He'd always wanted to be an older brother. He would constantly be barging into Damian's room to hang out and whenever they'd sparred together, he'd try to let him win. Ra's quickly caught onto that one and put a stop to it immediately though. Basically Danny is Damian's League of Assassins version of Dick. An example of what he's supposed to be that he will always compare himself to (and that also has no idea what personal space is).
Danny loved his little brother so much that he even managed to get a mission to Gotham about a year after Damian had been sent there in order to surprise him with a belated birthday present.
The bats are absolutely shocked with an assassin suddenly charges at Damian and before anyone can react, scoops him into a hug. Damian is screeching bloody murder as he attempts to get Danny to let him go. Danny is just hugging him while saying stuff like "I missed you little brother" and "You've grown so much since I last saw you" all while avoiding knives to the chest.
The bats get shocked x2 because wait.... little brother!? Talia had another child!? And one far older than Damian to boot. Damian is quick to clarify that Danny is adopted while still trying to stab him. Imagine the boy's horror and Danny's delight when he gets invited back to the batcave to speak further.
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you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo
synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.
word count; 6.7k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33
a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.
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in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.
tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.
it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.
indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.
beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.
it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.
a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 
a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 
satoru gojo.
like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.
even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 
(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)
honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.
then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.
and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.
it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.
a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.
when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.
(— and the world wakes up.)
a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.
faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 
it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.
when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.
gojo cracks a grin.
“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 
“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”
a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.
“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.
choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.
“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.
“not staying for breakfast?”
gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.
his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.
”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.
you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”
the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.
(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)
you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.
maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 
“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“
“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”
a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“
“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 
it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.
something about him just feels safe.
“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”
(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)
a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.
gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.
he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.
“well, if you insist.”
he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.
you’re pleasantly surprised.
“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”
“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 
so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.
“got it.”
the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.
the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.
a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 
gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.
you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.
a budding connection.
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the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.
with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.
gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.
today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 
he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 
protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.
he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.
(cute.)
distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 
crashing straight into a lamp post.
”owch!”
it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 
and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 
a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 
for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 
then he starts laughing.
scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.
asshole.
with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.
(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)
”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”
but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.
”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 
he stops trying. laughing, again.
and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.
and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.
he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.
he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.
while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 
searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 
”ah.”
gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —
when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 
one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.
gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.
he looks awfully amused.
(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)
”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.
a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.
stay safe for me, silly.
then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.
and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.
he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”
a moment passes. 
”or do you need me to call shoko?” 
you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.
”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”
gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 
with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.
a touch from the untouchable.
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gojo’s lying on your couch.
he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.
(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)
this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 
he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.
he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.
you think he might be having a rough day.
even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.
then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 
you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.
he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.
you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 
(but you know better now.)
hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.
gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.
a moment passes. agonizingly slow.
before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.
gojo only stares. 
his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.
for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.
— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.
when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 
cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 
a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.
gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 
(a little like a frightened fawn.)
a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 
he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.
nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 
eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.
you’re not a god at all, are you? 
a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.
you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.
one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.
there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 
so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 
one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.
(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)
you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.
and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.
sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.
(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)
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it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.
a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.
and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.
so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.
”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”
”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 
he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”
despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.
and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.
breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.
gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 
”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”
he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.
and your heart softens a little.
because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.
so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.
”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.
”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 
his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”
a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.
”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”
satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.
the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 
a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.
it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.
side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.
(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)
satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 
he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.
you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”
at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”
”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”
satoru blinks.
he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.
then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.
”.. you teasing me?” 
a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”
another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 
but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.
something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.
his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.
and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.
satoru parts his lips.
”right next to you.”
a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.
at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 
for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 
then he’s leaning forward. 
it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.
he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 
and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.
there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.
”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”
the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 
it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 
and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.
sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.
so you know it’ll be fine.
swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.
”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”
he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.
you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.
many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.
and that will be enough.
1K notes · View notes
blushfwul · 4 months
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꒰synopsis: alhaitham has been craving for that one thing that he'd first felt when he'd met you back as a student in the akademiya before. but now that he gets to reunite with you albeit the circumstances, he is willing to take that risk again. all for what he's craving for. ꒱
alhaitham x fem! reader, nsfw, a dash of angst with plot on the side and filthy smut, misunderstandings, struggling with feelings, academic rivalry (but its actually alhaitham who only thinks of that way), some fluff, p → v , sloppy kisses, finger sucking, calls u pet names, creampie, l-bombs, there's a line in which alhaitham uses from romeo & juliet <3 wc: 3.8k
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how quickly time passes.
the seasons even change in a blink of an eye. alhaitham thinks it might be because he's been occupied by his work. if he'd so much receive mora for every single time he hears someone speak from the akademiya that time for them is moving ever so slowly, he only scoffs in his thoughts. they might be feeling that way because they see their work as a chore.
for him, being an acting grand sage wasn't as hard as being the akademiya's scribe. sure, his work time might have been added more than he think it would, juggling his time in his office and relaxing by his own little corner whenever he had the chance to take a break but he could never imagine himself as the one who'd be replacing the role permanently.
as a responsible man himself, whenever someone goes looking for him without an application he simply tells them, "oh, your form isn't ready? not to worry. you can come again on the next working day. my work hours are posted outside the office." some say he still retained his personality back then when he was just a student at the akademiya— obnoxious , prideful , and always hungry for more knowledge.
he could not blame them though, they were all true. if he wasn't studious , he would not be the person he is right now. he's always been the type of man to not give a single care to anyone's opinion about him. he just goes on with his day whenever he happens to hear people gossiping about him.
although there was one person before...
alhaitham dismissed his thoughts right away when his mind flew to the thought of you.
he was supposed to focus on listening to this scholar who has been following him since earlier to present their application. they were walking along the hallways inside the akademiya, before opening the doors leading outside, he was tired of hearing applications that were all half-assed in his opinion.
this scholars need to know that knowledge does not mean that they only take and take from books alone.
he was finally about to dismiss the scholar by his side who was still not done talking when suddenly he hears an all too familiar laughter.
letting his gaze roam around for a moment before it stops at the figure behind the fountain.
someone who has been on his mind lately which he wishes to have been eradicated by his thoughts ever since.
someone who he thinks that rivaled his own intellect.
someone who kaveh teases him about from time to time even now in their age, which he always denies with his own silence.
but now the familiar feeling which he thought he buried inside of him for the past few years had just gone back.
all because he sets his eyes on you again.
ever so radiant with a laugh that made his insides churn, not in a bad way but in a way that made it all too much for him to bear. to not react and to not think of it whenever you tried to get close to him before.
ah yes.. his academic rival back then.
although he was the only who'd ever thought of you that way. alhaitham could still remember the day he'd met you, a transferee in the akademiya, a scholar like him staying up late in the library which he caught you sleeping surrounded by books opened and unopened. he thought how someone could ever sleep in such a place?
he really wasn't nice about it when he woke you up with a tap on your shoulder. but you seemed to think of it as a nice gesture because when you woke up, and your eyes fluttered open to look at his own, your own cheeks got into a tinge that looked like you were caught red-handed, but quickly composed yourself by saying, "thank you so much for waking me up! i might have stayed here a bit longer.." then you smiled bashfully before gathering your things and gave him a quick nod of your head before scrambling towards the exit.
he thought you were a peculiar thing back then. when he saw you the next day, you were formally introduced to the class. how quickly the other scholars flocked to your side. you somehow became someone who others looked up to. not just because of your pretty face.. your smile or even your humor at that. but you were also diligent, kind and even smart. the whole package itself.
alhaitham had finally found someone to challenge with in regards to the academics. it made him work harder to achieve his goals. although he sees you as his rival, you on the other saw him differently, which baffled him.
whenever you two pass by along the hallway, you always glance at his way and smile at him. how strange, he always thought. it didn't stop there.
you somehow knew where he was whenever it was a time for him to read or even study alone. at first, he found you annoying, he did not tolerate your antics at all. were you dared to talk to him in the first place from the other scholars? or were you trying to make a fool of him? he really thought it was one of two choices. he was the type to overthink things from the normal perspective.
but you did not cease yourself from being away from him. when he finally heard your words, those words that he so did not think of anyone to ever ask of him were, "do you want to be friends?"
of course the thought of it merely made him shiver that moment, why of all people were you interested to become friends with him? he didn't say anything that to look at you for a second and left you there at the small space of the pavilion. which he claimed to his 'hiding spot' away from other people.
you didn't let that deter your spirit though. as days pass by you continued on with your way around him. sitting closely, making glances, talking to him even if he'd only reply with a nod or a small "hmm.." of his own.
eventually, he didn't even realize to himself that he'd already tolerated your presence. you were the only sole person who broke down his walls. the walls in which he'd tried to built around him, closed off to anyone who tried to get closer to him. alhaitham didn't entertain the thoughts back then of having a friend of his own or even a partner to begin with, he thinks all of that are hindrances to what he was trying to achieve.
what was more important than reading his books, or even acquiring more knowledge outside the akademiya itself? he didn't only thrive to work inside the premises but also attained knowledge beyond that because it always fascinated him. to learn, to know and to grow more as a person.
that was a miscalculation on his part though, because once the seed began to take root inside his measly heart, he got greedy for not only acquiring knowledge but greedy around you as well.
the way you open and talk about him with the whole rivalry thing, ""i still can't fathom why you see me as your rival as i don't even see you as mine." you'd chuckle after and he'd always retort in looking away for a moment then, "your intellect rivals mine so don't you think that earns you that status?" , you'd playfully shove his shoulder ever so gently which he scoffs but then smiles right after.
its the way you smile at him unexpectedly at times, the way you laugh at his poor attempt of jokes, studying with him inside the library or outside the akademiya together, rambling about words that he didn't so thought that he'd cared before but it all came from you so it became a concern for him too, the way you really truly listened to him as well, not bothering if he'd not agree to your opinion because he was too hardheaded sometimes or he'd become silent when your words struck a truth inside of him.
it was the way you carried yourself, amongst other things that made him fond of you. adored you to the point of him getting scared of his own feelings, not wanting to let them spill out whenever you were with him.
but he knew he was weak at times, when you two were walking side by side he occasionally brushes his fingers on yours, subtle touches when he guides you along some flight of stairs or opening a door for you, walks you home at night because he doesn't want anything bad happening to you. but really it was for his peace of mind because thinking of someone hurting you already makes his blood boil over. which was again, a new part of him that he didn't know that he could feel in the first place.
you'd brought bits and pieces of new things he'd never even thought of experiencing before and that made it all so consuming at the same time.
after some time, before your graduation day, alhaitham finally settled his mind to confess to you. it was scary of course, this was his first ever attempt at confessing to someone but he'd not want to let this pass by anymore.
when he spots you talking to your friends nearby the hallway, he was about to call your attention when he heard one of your friends saying, "and you're still hanging out with him? alhaitham?" that made him stop his tracks, quickly hiding behind a wall.
were you.. talking behind his back with your friends?
"i mean, why are you even trying to hang out with him in the first place? isn't he considered too boring?"
he didn't even wait to hear your reply as he thought he knew what your answer would be. blinded by his own pride and even a bit of rage inside of him, he left, deciding to not ever speak to you again.
it was cruel of him truly, he was a man who always leaned in knowing the facts and reasons first but when it comes to you, all that became a distorted part of him.
of course being as you are, you tried talking to him, made sure to come to both of your usual spots together, always catching up to him but he didn't let you in again. his walls started to build themselves up around after that.
even when you both graduated, he didn't even got to congratulate you because between the time of that incident, you somehow just.. stopped chasing him. which made him think that he wasn't really as special to you the same way he'd always think that you were special to him. you both were different. too different. his mind clouded with negative thoughts all over again. making the words all jumbled in his mind.
but it did hurt him. even more so when after the graduation, you both went onto your separate ways without talking to each other anymore. he was the one who made the decision in the first place but he was also the one who regretted it in the last.
along the way, he did hear that you weren't in sumeru anymore. choosing to travel around teyvat. it should have brought him some closure to himself, thinking that you were thriving, still doing alright on your own. but it irked him. in a way that even if the distance between you two grew more and more as seasons change, alhaitham knew himself that he still deeply cared about you.
back to the present now as he stood still while he kept on staring at your figure, your face bright as the spring's day. he never really thought that the sun could look so dazzling in his eyes. it was you, who always bewildered him like this.
he could feel his breath hitched when you finally, no— felt him staring at you. when your eyes meet his, it was like a silent notice. words weren't even needed as you both continued to gaze at each other.
it was broken though, from kaveh himself, peeking out of the view from the fountain to sigh and shake his head. alhaitham's brows furrowed when you turned your gaze away from his to listen to what kaveh was muttering about. something between a 'project' and 'time wasted'. he didn't really cared about that.
when you two were done talking, he almost took a step back, cursing himself in his thoughts before telling the scholar that was still beside him to discuss his application form when he saw you walking towards him.
you still gave him your ever so charming smile, even after what transpired before and you seemed unfazed. of course it was almost three..? no, three and a half years since he'd last seen you.
alhaitham notes the tiny differences, you still look the same to him but also you matured in your own way.
"hello alhaitham, it's been a while hasn't it?" you put your hands behind your back while looking up at him with those eyes.
even your voice made his heart beat enough that he was even thinking if you were starting to hear it as well.
he tried to compose himself, clearing his throat before speaking, "ah, yes. it has been a long time since i've seen you as well."
he had a lot of questions, so so many questions but also there was one thing he'd wanted you to know, after all this time. he needed you to know.
so when you exchanged some more words to each other after that, he offered to tour you around the akademiya, which made you chuckle at his idea but complied anyway because you said it has been a long time since you'd came back and there might be changes that you were so eager to see.
but truly, his plan was to have some private time with you, away from prying eyes. which he made the last tour come to a stop in his office. which he had now a fond smile plastered across his face while looking at you as you shuffled around his office, your curiosity back then was still the same as ever.
when you settled to touch the spines of the books on his own made shelf, he finally spoke the words that he'd wanted to before, "i apologize.."
which in turn, made you halt, waiting if he'd continue on.
"it was a miscalculation on my part to not have handled the situation before.."
"you're the only person who'd i expect to hear that word from after apologizing you know?" you tried to not choke on your own words, letting out a chuckle but it sounded more breathy, which alhaitham took note of.
because he remembered the way when your voice starts to tremble.
he took a step closer to you, making you finally look at him. and how distraught he was when he watches a tear fall from your pretty eyes.
"i- i'm sorry. i am truly sorry. i shouldn't have run. i should haven talked to you about it. it was cowardly of me to do that."
"you.. really changed huh? before, it took you a while to spill your throughts.." you simply tried to not let your tears fall even more.
"i followed you when you ran away. when i heard footsteps, and seeing that gray lock of your hair, i wanted to clear that misunderstanding but you simply didn't want to. you shut me off right away haitham.."
oh, that nickname.. how he misses you saying that nickname of his from you. was he a bad man to think of these thoughts while he still needed to clear off the tension in the air?
he didn't care anymore, did not let his pride take over as he took another step, it didn't take long for him to finally stand before you, towering over your frame, bringing his hand to caress your cheek and letting his finger gently wipe away your tears.
"i know... and for that i would like to apologize a million times over. even more than that if you wish. i would stop at nothing until you forgive me."
his voice, the voice you'd come to miss for all those years made your heart swell. this man in front of you felt familiar like the alhaitham before, back then when you were still friends and even more if that incident didn't happen, you thought, when you also grew feelings for him along the way.
which brings you back to this predicament right now.
"why did you come back?" the question made your eyes widen, you didn't expect him to get straight to that portion. you haven't even replied to his apology yet.
"i..." you were lost for words now, tongue tied in fact, as this man in front of you was the sole reason why you came back after all. of course you let that detail out when you met with kaveh earlier to catch up but now you were going to face the truth.
"i know that you've been traveling across teyvat these past few years." was he keeping himself updated? you thought, your eyes still fixed on his as his hand was still on your cheek, lightly caressing it now. "would you consider settling down in sumeru or would you like to continue traveling?"
you let out a breath first before continuing, "first of all, after hearing your side of the story, i accept your apology alhaitham.." that was music to his ears, but he did not want to let himself get away that easily, because he now wants to redeem himself for you.
his eyes traveled from yours to your nose, down to your lips which you were biting. he knows it was one of your quirk to do that whenever you were feeling nervous..
"and to..answer your second question, it depends if there's someone willing to let me settle down here for good." your voice now becoming softer under his gaze.
he raises an eyebrow at that, leaning his face ever so closely to yours.
"pray tell, are you saying that you are looking for a suitable husband to settle down with? and judging by your expression right now, you already have someone in mind, no? so...who might that person be, if I may ask?" his voice now becoming a tad bit too deeper than before, which you quickly took note of, making you gulp.
alhaitham wasn't really asking, he was demanding you to say the truth. his words were laced with something behind it. something you couldn't pinpoint just yet.
"w-what's the point of telling you? you obviously know him.."
he knows? hmm, mayhaps it was kaveh? no, an absurd speculation. he already knew the real answer even before that.
"i am starting to get an idea of who it is based on your response. but do you wish for him to realize it?"
there was really no escaping this, you thought. as your eyes find its way back to his, you shuddered before replying, "well..do you really think he wouldn't mind if i told him about my feelings..?"
"what if i told you that you don't have to worry about him remaining oblivious to your feelings?" he continued, "i am quite certain that he would appreciate it if you told him about your feelings. i believe that he knows you like him already, based on what i have observed. and," he paused.
"i am quite sure, positively sure of this, that he feels the same way towards you." his voice was warm at that moment, as if he knew what he was saying.
that made your heart beat even faster, your eyes widening at his statement, you could feel yourself heating up, not wanting to fumble and back down with your words as well, "h-he sounds so confident about that fact. does he really know that it's him that i have been come to love all throughout these years? even now?"
that earned a sly smirk from the man in front of you, alhaitham which you'd known for so long, the shy alhaitham you knew was no more. the man right now, was bolder.
"i am always correct in my observations. and you know of that. the mistake i did before was the one i regretted in doing, but this?" pinning you on the shelf, your back now on the hard books behind of you as his arms now trapped you between his form.
"i would never make that mistake again, this right here i wouldn't want to let go of." his face now inches away from yours as he leans down, his gaze onto your eyes and then to your lips and back again.
"haitham.." you were now struggling to form words as you felt his breath across your cheeks.
"dear saint, let our lips do what our hands are doing." the hand that was over your head took your hand in his, entwining them onto his own. "they’re praying for something after all, a kiss, so their faith doesn’t turn into despair."
his deep voice echoed into your ears as you realize that he was reciting a line from that story that you've read to him before! romeo and juliet.. he remembered.
oh how sly of him to do this to you..
but you weren't someone who'd back down. this made you blush all the same, knew that the red on your cheeks were even a bit more than before.
"saints don’t act first, although they may respond to prayers..." you replied the line of juliet, seemingly knowing what happens next, the excitement makes your heart even flutter more.
"then don’t move while I get my prayers answered." that was the last line you've heard from him before alhaitham lets his lips descened onto your soft ones, not even being gentle at it.
alhaitham couldn't bear to pull away from you. he loved every moment of what was transpiring. he waited so long for this, could not even dreamt of this happening before, but now that he'd gotten a taste of your lips, he couldn't let himself starve any longer.
time.. for all those years that passed, its as if the dam that was trying to secure his raging feelings spilled over and that you were receiving it all right now.
alhaitham was quick with his hands, breaking the kiss, and hearing your lips letting out a whine spurred him on, before spinning you over, before leaning behind your ear to whisper, "bend over for me."
you complied, ever the obedient girl you are, he spreads your legs all over as he could her your small gasp, as you positioned your hands putting them on the bookshelf, his hands continued to bunch over your frilly dress, his eyes glued on the damp spot on the middle of your cute pink panties.
"my apologies for this, but i simply want to feel you." you didn't even get to not before your yelp turned into a moan when he exposed your now aching pussy. swollen and aching for his touch already.
alhaitham's pride grew at the sight, because he knew that he was the reason for this. the reason why you were drenched right now. it was all because of him.
that greedy part of his that he buried deep inside? it crawled and busted its way out now..
he didn't even warn you when he finally pushes two fingers inside your cunt and curls them, making your body jolt. alhaitham ached to have his cock deep inside of your pussy but he wants to please you first, wants to feel you come undone around his fingers.
he couldn't see your expression this way but he could tell from the way your legs shake, and the way your gummy walls were clenching around his fingers that you were loving this just much as he did.
he then increases the pace of his fingers, fucking his fingers hard and fast inside your pussy, his thumb pressing against your swollen clit. the lewd squelches from the way you were so wet was becoming obscene.
"h-haitham! haitham, pleaseee.. i-if you keep on doing that.." you finally muttered a choked plea, your mewls making him eager to make you cum more and more.
"mhmm? use your words princess." you could swear that he was smiling while saying those words to you from your back.
"want more than aaah! t-than your fingers! pleasee, haithaam.."
as your desperate cries reached his ears, he finally pulls his fingers away from your dripping hole, tugging your body towards his, letting you feel his own hardness from his pants before unzipping it in a flash.
"haith-oomphh!" he didn't stop as to putting his fingers, coated with your own juices as he lets you suck on them at the same time as he finally pushed the tip of his hard cock onto your wet folds. making your muffled moans fuel the fire within him, he could no longer deny the pleasure that you so craved because he'd been wanting to claim you as his for so long as well.
with one swift, fluid motion, alhaitham plunged deep into you, savoring the sensation of the tight, wet heat enveloping his cock. a guttural moan tore itself from his lips as he filled you completely, your bodies coming together in a frenzy of desire.
"'gonna keep you this time..nghh, not gonna let you go from now on.."
he relished in the way your body quivered beneath his frame, your hips instinctively thrusting towards his, making him hiss as he could feel the way your pussy clenching around his cock.
the grip on your hips tightening as he lets his body closer to yours, his hands encircling around your front, moving them to cup your breasts from your dress, as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, allowing both of you to savor every inch of your connection.
"archons, b-been wanting.. to fuck, you just like this.. just like this pretty.." he whispers sweet words behind your ear, as you continue to suck on his fingers.
not a moment too soon as his thrusts grew more forceful, each one driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. the slap of the skin meeting echoed through the the four corners of his office, a testament to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both.
at how hard he was thrusting now, some books already toppled over from his book shelf, he finally pulls out his fingers from your mouth when he hears you say, "h-haitham.. aah..aah.. y-your books.. nghhh!"
he releases a breathy chuckle at that. here he was, fucking you like this was the last time he was doing so, but you were still worried over his books? such a darling you are..
"don't worry about those books..want you.. to mghh! to focus only on me."
as he turned your face with the way his hands traveled beneath your jaw, making you face sideways, as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, tongues battling for dominance as your bodies moved in perfect synchrony.
with one hand gripping your hip, the other found its way between your pussy, his finger now finding your swollen clit. he circled the sensitive bud, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiraling into pure euphoria.
your moans grew louder, more desperate as he could feel your walls gripping his cock more tightly now, your body trembling on the precipice of release.
"where do you..nghhh want me to release.." he still was ever so soft for you as you could feel his thrusts growing more rapid than before. he was also on the verge of coming.
"i-inside.. want you inside haitham.."
"archons! making me lose control like this.. fuck.. i love you sweetheat.. love you, love you..l ove you..!"
without hesitation, alhaitham's thrusts become more frantic, his body pounding against yours in an intoxicating rhythm. he can feel the pressure building, his balls tightening as his imminent release approaches. with a final grunt, he buries himself as deep as possible, emptying himself inside you with powerful spurts of cum.
"h-haitham! haitham, l- love you too.. love you.."
you say the same words at that moment, your feelings finally out in the open.
sending you both hurtling over the edge, your bodies convulsing in a wave of mind-numbing pleasure as you came around him while still feeling him cumming inside of you.
alhaitham held you close to him, your breaths mingling, hearts pounding in sync.
he was finally yours as much as you were his.
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ⓒ blushfwul interactions of any kind is much appreciated ♡
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baeshijima · 11 months
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— perfect
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your parents believed you were destined for each other, though it would seem they hadn't taken into account your differing ideals.
CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.2k wc, fluff, arranged!marriage au, basically arranged partners-to-strangers-to-lovers, jing yuan in denial until he can... no longer deny it
A/N : this was supposed to be a one paragraph brainrot. what happened.
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when you first heard of your prospective marriage partner, you didn't feel all that much for him. granted, there was only so much you could feel when listening to your parents ramble on. he was supposedly the son of a family friend — the ones who served the realm-keeping commission. he was set to graduate the academy in a few months, but that's all you really paid attention to before tuning out.
it wasn't long when you finally met, and you soon discovered you didn't mind him as much as you'd thought. well, that was until you took note of the clear lack of interest he held for you (for anything since you saw him, for that matter). he was aloof, never speaking more than a couple words before turning away and focusing on something else. with the boundaries clear alongside his lack of interest, you decided it wasn't worth the effort. your parents will just have to deal with it.
the next you heard of him was a few months later, the day after his graduation. apparently, he had enlisted into the cloud knights and was now part of their ranks.
your parents called it rebellious, you called it escaping his fate.
you don't see nor hear from him for a couple of years, instead finding out his achievements through gossipmongers and the occasional exaggerated tales you hear on your strolls. at least he's out there making a name for himself and doing what he loves, free and unshackled at the hands of fate.
he bumps into you when he's on patrol on the luofu, and at first he thinks it to be you trying to reach out again, only to be stumped at the uninterested — dare he say, annoyed — look you give him before stalking away in the opposite direction. but he shrugs it off thinking you had a bad day, returning to his duties in maintaining the peace of the luofu.
he runs into you again when you're out food shopping. it's a complete and utter coincidence you're both in the same place once more; you out on errands while he is on duty. oddly enough, he's doused in a wave of peace and content from just watching you from afar, the knowledge that he is capable of protecting you has him prouder than he'd like to admit.
that doesn't last for long, however, for you suddenly shift in place, your expression now more clear than it was earlier. jing yuan's heart stops then, plummeting into an abysmal pit as his eyes zero in on the new expression. your smile is far more beautiful than anything he could ever hope to imagine.
(in a trance, he wonders if you would ever direct that smile towards him.)
it's not until a little later he finds himself wondering about how you're faring, having half the mind to reach out through a letter before ultimately scrapping the idea. after all, he has to focus on his training, not over his arranged partner who probably doesn't even want him after that stunt he pulled all those years ago (he wouldn't either, if he were in your shoes).
and so he ignores the ache in his heart when he spots you from his peripherals. he ignores the urge to abandon his post and remove the bags from your grip and transfer them into his own. he ignores the desire to have a proper conversation with you, one that doesn't result in him being tongue-tied and you annoyed. he ignores the desperation surging through his nerves to hold your hand in front of everyone, wondering what your skin would feel like against his calloused palms.
he ignores it all, and he ignores it well.
so why is it now he finds himself breaking into a sprint after catching a glimpse of your side profile, ignoring the calls of his fellow knights in fear of losing you — the chance to finally speak to you and settle this once and for all because screw it. screw his hesitation, screw his yearning — screw it all!
when he finally reaches you he's at a loss, the words which once seemed so clear in his mind now fizzled out on the tip of his tongue. it's laughable, really, how he's praised for being quick-witted and yet he's reduced to nothing but a gaping mess in your presence. so he just stares at you with a heaving chest, your furrowed countenance making his heart stutter more than it really should.
it's not until you turn to leave that he panics, latching onto your wrist in a last-ditch attempt as a strangled "wait!" flies past his lips. you don't recoil from his touch, so he supposes that's a good thing, even if your glare is anything but that.
"i... i want to apologise for how we started off," he stutters, tripping over his words as he lays himself bare, exposing his heart for you to judge; for you to determine whether he is worthy enough to be by your side. there's so much more for him to say — so much more he wants, no, needs to get off his chest before you slip away yet again.
should he start off with how he could only speak a couple of words when you first met because he feared stumbling over his words and making a fool of himself? or should he say he wanted to build up his courage before facing you, and that part of his reasoning to join the knights was in hopes of finding that? (although it was a bit of a belated realisation, but no one's keeping track!) oh, or should he start off with—
"is that all you have to say?" your voice is smoother than he last remembers, though maybe it's the fact he's only ever heard you speak directly to him a couple of times, having heard your voice when on patrol more than he has face to face. if it weren't for you clearing your throat, jing yuan would have forgotten to answer.
he quickly snaps himself out of his trance, pushing down the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. "if it's alright with you, would you..." he gulps in apprehension, chest constricting as he fumbles to regather his thoughts. he sucks in a breath and lifts his head to meet your gaze, revelling in your slightly widening eyes. "if it's alright with you, would you like to start over again?"
silence ripples between you after his words. can you hear his heart hammering behind his sternum? can you see his breaths quicken in anticipation? can you feel his hand become unbearably warm against the skin of your wrist?
oh god he hopes not.
but then your voice ceases his thoughts, your amused smile doing little to help his above mentioned symptoms. "i'm [name]. it's nice to meet you," your voice trails off a little, and he doesn't bother hiding the growing smile when he realises what you're doing.
and so he eagerly plays along, losing himself in the warmth you provide when you slip your hand into his.
"i am jing yuan. and... likewise, [name]."
(jing yuan decides the sensation of your skin against his calloused palms is unlike anything he's felt before. if he had to put it into words, he would say it's perfect.)
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if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33
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tteokdoroki · 6 months
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ೀ⋆OCT 3RD MEAN GIRLS ━━ katsuki bakugou + free use !
୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. katsuki bakugou + free use. on october third, he asked you what day it was. btw, in girl world, halloween is the only time of the year when katsuki bakugou can slut girls out and no one can say anything about it. boo, you whore! (4.9K)
୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, free use, dub-con, cum-play, voyeurism, humiliation, manipulation, dacryphilia, no prep, public sex(ish), unprotected sex, suprise guest appearance from shouto as aaron samuels, fem!reader, reigina george coded!bakugou.
୨୧ — director’s note. "it's october third." and you know what that means! another nasty kinktober fic for you all! i hope you enjoy this one, its probably my favourite...because uh hello!? reigina george and bakugou? name a more iconic duo! anyways enjoy mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧
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halloween is the only time of the year where anyone can dress like a slut and not get called one for it. 
in the world of the conventionally attractive (or the plastics), the kings and queens of the social jungle, it means ditching the guts and gore in favour of skin tight lingerie with a little fake blood that drips calculatedly through the valley between your breasts — just for a little bit of added attention. it’s the one night of the year where self-objectification becomes acceptable, and you by all means, were not planning on missing out.
for you, a well spent Halloween consisted of tooth rotting candy corn, bad movies and trying to avoid the feeling of fomo (fear of missing out, fyi) building up like fluid in the lungs of a sick person. you’ve been an a-grade loser all your life and you’ve never had the chance to experience a proper friend group, high school, (and now) college experience. 
however this year would be different. this year you would be ditching loser-ville for boobs and bunny ears and the shortest dress you could find. because you finally had a friendship group who did these kinds of things and you had an invite to the biggest festive rager hosted by the hottest guy on campus — shouto todoroki. 
the rest of your friend group, the college renowned plastics, had warned you not to get involved with the half and half campus jock. he already had relations to your beloved ring leader, katsuki bakugou, and your involvement would be breaking several laws of girl and guy code — according to dumb blonde kaminari (he swears he has ESPN or something). katsuki was the head of U.A. university, ruling over the entire student body with an iron fist, an attitude so mean you’re sure you’ve seen professors cry and a glare so sinister he could turn milk sour if he tried hard enough. 
bakugou was the definition of the picture perfect guy and he knew it. it was almost as if his face had been ripped straight from a vogue magazine, his shoulders broad, waist slutty and tiny, abs to die for too — you’d be a liar to say you hadn’t thought about him a few times before bed. katsuki was a king bee (if bees could even have kings) and you were a nobody lucky enough to have been indoctrinated into his group of flawless friends — taken under the guidance of his wing. 
your own friends had told you not to fall for the glitz and the glamour that seemed to follow the barbie blonde everywhere he went. but you couldn’t help it, you were enamoured by everything that katsuki did — turned a blind eye to his bitchy persona and twisted mindset. you hardly believed the rumours about him, blissfully ignoring the truth behind the gossip because katsuki was nice to you. just the other night he had been kind enough to offer his help in setting you up with shouto. even if kirishima had tattle told on you.
regardless, katsuki had your back — you knew that. he was even talking to shouto right now, admist the full swing of the halloween party. how could anyone ever hate bakugou? he was so kind, so considerate, treating you like family from the moment you got here. you see shouto look your way fondly as they chatter about you, his lips curling perfectly around your name while he sends you a wave that makes you feel like the only girl in the world. 
“she likes you, yanno.” the shorter blonde purrs, the corner of his perfectly plump lips twitching up into a knowing grin. he says your name, glowering at the way his ex perks up at the mention. 
shouto blinks slow, mismatched eyes filling with affection the longer he looks at you awkwardly swaying to music you’ve never heard before. “yeah? she does?” 
“it’s adorable, really. she writes your fuckin’ name in the corner of her notes with little hearts. even has the name of your future brats written in a cute little list.” the lie slips from bakugou easily, as if manipulating people is second nature to him.
“don’t bother with that, katsuki.” 
when todoroki’s gaze on you lingers for too long, he kicks it up a notch pressing the head of his body into his ex’s side. “listen, half ‘n half,” with his eyes dark and sensual, the blonde allows his voice to slip into deeper, more mocking tones — playing up this innocent act. one that shouto falls for every time. “i know that she can be a little fuckin’ weird but, she’s my friend…so be nice, yeah?”
men are such fickle creatures — for all it takes is a pair of sweltering, red puppy dog eyes to drag the jock under his spell. shouto nods slowly, his own topaz and granite eyes glossing over with some form of obedience, a loyalty to bakugou that no one else would understand. “yeah, alright.” 
“good,” bakugou purrs, the sound causing his brain to short circuit. “such’a good friend, half ‘n half.” the tail end of his words are replaced by the sloppy sound effect of his lips on shouto’s, tongues beginning to clash and hands possessively gripping waists. 
your rose-tinted window shatters at the sight. 
background conversation falls away as your friend and your crush begin to make out right in front of your fucking eyes. “you know who’s  looking fine tonight, neito monoma.” kaminari squeals, shimmying in his little mouse costume. 
“denki, that’s your cousin.” kirishima frowns. 
the blonde shrugs. “yeah! but he’s my first cousin…that’s not right is it,” 
you don’t have time to dwell on their chit chat — you feel like someone has thrown your entire body  out of whack. you feel like you’re drowning as the realisation hits, katsuki bakugou doesn’t give a shit about you or your feelings. storming away from the scene, you make for the nearest bedroom, hurt and confusion swirling around in the tightness of your chest.
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“what are you doin’ in here sweetness? ‘minari and kirishima have been looking everywhere for ya.”
you’re still crying like a sore loser when the king of the plastics finds you hauled up in one of shouto’s many rooms. and you hate that it’s katsuki who’s come to comfort you, sitting beside you on the queen sized bed as his hand slips over your bare thigh.  
but you shrug him off, barely keeping your cool. after all, you’re still mad at him for making out with your crush. “don’t touch me, katsuki.” you snarl, doing your best to sound menacing. “i saw what you did. how could you? i thought we were friends?”
he clicks his tongue, ruby red eyes rolling as if he gives a fuck. “oh, you mean that thing with icyhot?” you don’t understand how the blonde can be so nonchalant, tossing around the situation as if it weighs nothing — costing not an ounce of your feelings. “he came onto me, sweetness. i’d never do somethin’ like that to you.” 
denying katsuki bakugou is never an easy feat, he’s a man that knows where his strengths lie. in the deep timber of his rumbling voice and those eyes, with the blood lust curled around each of his pupils. katsuki is a well trained hunter, and on this occasion, you are his prey. a large hand smooths over the meaty swell of your trembling thigh, pushing the likely pair wide open for him to make room between them. “i’m a good friend, r’member?”
his hands roam your blistering hot body, gripping and grabbing at your flesh from over your costume — it feels good, you feel wanted and melt like a lump of butter in a pan at every cascading touch of his. 
you’d be smart to come to your senses, before you’re snapped up in the unrelenting jaws of a hunter. but you’re entranced by those insanely red eyes, the perfect slant to his lips and all-knowing smile — it’d be useless to escape when you’ve fallen this deep. “you’re not…” your bottom lip wobbles, the achy feeling in your chest now submissive to the liquid lust katsuki has spent months conditioning you to feel. “you’re a bad friend.” 
“d’aw…you don’t think i am?” dropping his tone into a sultry coo, bakugou leans in real close and you instinctively follow the tilt of his head. he looms over you, just enough so that you can see the smear of pink eyeshadow across his eyelids, the plasticky glisten of lip gloss masking the true colour of his plump lips, along with the spark of lust swirling through the brown flecks in his eyes.
you shake your head no. “no, you’re not.” big mistake. 
the of temperature of the room rises just from his proximity and you find yourself willing to let the king of the plastics swallow you whole. “i don’t think i like the way yer talkin’ to me, sweets.” he growls darkly and in warning. “i should make you apologise for bein’ so fuckin’ mean.” 
his breath is warm and wet against your cheek, grip rough on your waist and you can’t help but think how mean he is to you. katsuki gaslights you like it’s second nature or another one of his five senses, manipulates you with ease, putting himself on you when you know you can’t say no. because without him you would have been in social suicide, you wouldn’t have any friends, you wouldn’t have had the college experience. you would have just been ordinary.
“gimme a kiss, gorgeous.” the blonde bites down on your lower tip, tugging it away from you because he misses the metallic taste of golden blood on you — the taste of blossoming obedience in your bloodstream. 
you push back, but it’s no use — bakugou’s closing the gap before your brain can even catch up, fizzing like candied pop rocks while you sink further into debauchery. 
“c’mon…” he forces his tongue past the seams of your lips, bursting through with only the darkest of intentions. you briefly seize up, because your body knows this isn’t what you want, at least not 100%.  but katsuki knows how to work stubborn, prude little things like you — squeezing down on your waist heartily as he leads you into a stupid-drunk kiss. “that’s it, there we go…good fuckin’ girl.”
the world tilts on its axis and you grow lightheaded at the blonde’s praise — you should be mad at him for kissing your crush but at the same time, you’ve never wanted someone so bad. mewling against his watermelon and alcohol flavoured lips is like sealing your fate, giving up little pieces of yourself just to appease your ring leader.
“katsuki, i don’t—“ 
his thumb digs into your cheeks, preventing you from pulling away — not that you’d want to. wet sounds from your kisses vibrate through you and cause a twinge in the heartbeat between your thighs. “i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” he grunts into your drooling mouth, wide open to echo your sweet and pliant voice. it’s with those words that you remember your place, being a plastic requires sacrifices — for you to give up pieces of yourself in order to stay by katsuki’s side. 
including letting him use your mind, body and soul freely. 
“so fuckin’ pretty when you’re obedient for me,” he’s snarls, hot under the collar and eager to steal more from you. he grins at how your eyes roll back just from a couple of half-hearted words. leaning back, katsuki shrugs off his shirt, revealing his  perfectly carved hips and washboard abs, golden skin that only the gods could have blessed him with. the sight of him is enough to make your quivering cunt deep juices into the crotch of your panties. “let’s get back at sho, huh? for playin’ us both.” 
the lines of morality and dissoluteness are often blurred when you’re with him — you become a vessel for his pleasure and you don’t even think to mind. somewhere amidst the messy, sensual lip locks bated breaths, katsuki has managed to get you onto your back and tear through your skimpy little halloween costume to suck his claim into your neck. painting you with deep mauve and midnight blue hues. his eyes dilate, roaring obsidian black taking over his mean, rage filled red eyes in a way that lets you know how bad he wants to fuck you. 
it’s when the sharp edges of his canines graze your pulse point that you remember just how much of a wild jungle college is. you remember that katsuki has the ability to make your life a living hell, the power to take a bite and rip your throat out at any second. in this world, you are nothing but a meek gazelle and katsuki bakugou the lion ready for a feast. 
irrespective of how much the very fact may frighten you, you ignore bakugou’s talons as they sink into your chest and leave indented crescent moons on against each breast. he rips apart the costume you worked so hard on and pushes your hands away from your body when you attempt to cover yourself up. so, from that moment, you let lust slither over your brain so you can arch yourself into him for more pleasure, and remind yourself that even if you're being used — it feels good. katsuki feels good. 
you like that he’s a little mean, a mean girl. all teeth and tongue and biting when he licks into you and breaks the strings of honey saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. you love how he roughly grabs you by the meat at your hips and tugs you up to meet the grind of his cock against your underwear. you adore how he pulls the very fabric apart like they’re nothing, rolling you onto your stomach and positioning your hips in a way that makes your back arch.
you don’t even realised that bakugou has kicked off the lower part of his costume until you feel the heat of his firm thighs against the backs of your own and the sticky tap of his flushed cockhead on your ass cheeks — smearing white globs of precum over your hot skin. the blonde groans at the visible twitch of your cunt, the way it glistens and spews lightly for him. 
“oh sweetheart,” he laughs through the coagulated feeling of prurience in his throat. “so fuckin’ wet for me, hah?” he manages, spreading your ass cheeks apart hungrily, a curious finger running through your slick folds and dragging your wetness over your pulsating clit. “s’kinda embarrassing. barely even touched you.” 
the situation is embarrassing, humiliating almost and a fresh set of tears burn at your waterline — mascaras already tracking down your cheeks. you don’t fight bakugou as a muscled arm snakes it’s way around your waist and pulls you onto him until your sex is flush against bakugou’s thick cock — your hearts beating in sync, heavy breathing in tune. his dripping dick slips and slides a through your quivering pussy lips, grinding against the pulse in your clit before easing the mushroomed tip through the tight ring at your entrance. 
“f-fuck!” you squeak, a little out of turn. fuckdolls don’t talk. katsuki is quick to growl and remind you, collapsing his entire weight into your body while you take him with ease. no prep required whatsoever. there’s a delicious burn as his girth stretches you wide open and he fucks you with just the tip — a pleasing buzz layering itself over your logical thoughts. the ones that tell you this isn’t right. the ones that tell you that you’re more than just a plastic play thing. 
bakugou squeezes your hips harshly when you push back onto him, desperate to be fed more of his cock. “keep fuckin’ still, alright?” the king of the plastics rasps, taunting you as he thrusts all the way into your tight heat with no warning. you ooze at the sudden stimulation, basking in the weight of his dick against the insides of your crying cunt and fluttering walls. “sho’s gonna love this, maybe he’ll really want you then.” he continues to purr, jamming a thumb past your swollen lips to press down on your tongue. his other hand grasps at his phone once lost in the sheets, talking a picture of your teary face while you suck on his digit to soothe yourself. 
like a baby sucking on a pacifier as it cries.
sending the photo to shouto, bakugou takes a few more selfies of you like this. his favourite is the one of your face squished between his large fingers, covered in salty tears and sticky drool. “don’t cry sweets. ‘m gonna fix this, help you get together. what are friends for?” 
his voice is soft, nose nudging against your cheek in a reassuring manner. 
but it’s all too good to be true.
briefly, there’s a second where everything is calm, where the blonde lets you relax around him between gentle juts of his hips forward and affectionate kisses peppered against your skin. you should have realised that katsuki’s pleasure is always above your own. because he suddenly finds the motivation to pull out of your snug, sensual heat to pound into you properly, dragging is seedy cock along all of the spots along your ribbed walls that make you see stars. 
you feel like a pocket pussy, only one that comes with crybaby wails and pitiful hiccuped noises. it’s all music to katsuki’s ears, blending seamlessly with the intense base from the party’s music and thump of the headboard smashing against the wall all from the sheer force of his thrusts into you. it’s easy to forget how humiliatingly loud you’re being, you can’t find yourself to be worried about someone catching you either. even if the door is wide open. 
why not? because katsuki claims you willingly, over and over again with each brutish brush of his leaky cockhead against your g-spot. “s-suki! please.” you slur around his fingers that fuck your drooling mouth in perfect rhythm with his dick that plunged in and out of your puckered, creamy hole.  
“yeah, yeah. i gotcha. give into me, sweetness.” 
where he had been keeping you pinned against the sex-soaked cheeks — bakugou pulls  his sweaty chest away from your back and adjusts the roll of his hips, letting them crash into you like waves on a shoreline. to support his body weight above you, his toned arms cage you in, head tilted to the side to watch you sniffle on his dick, red rimming your watery eyeline. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry, sweetheart.” he moans condescendingly against the shell of your ear, painting a chaste kiss against your wet cheek. “what a pretty fuckin’ girl, suckin’ me in… takin’ my cock. oh fuck.” 
if you could see him, will yourself from the pillows you take purchase in and use to muffle your salacious screams — you would notice how an evil smirk as spread across the blonde’s lips while he ravages you, fucks you beyond the stars and back. “you my pretty girl, yeah? fuckin’ sweet thing.” the praise has you spiralling and simultaneously soothes the burning hatred you have for katsuki in your chest. “why you cryin’ so much? is it over him, or over me?”
the answer to his question slips out of you faster than your sex-crazed brain can catch up. “o-over you!” it’s like you can’t even think for yourself, make any choices for your body outside of what bakugou has planned for you. you’d do anything to please him so that he keeps fucking you, so that you can forget your feelings and keep your place amongst the socially elite. maybe that makes you selfish, maybe it makes you dumb — that you’re a whore for katsuki’s bully cock that churns up your guts and uses you for ecstasy filled relief. 
“y-yeah? mmhm, just like that baby,” katsuki stutters, licking his lips while you throw it back on him. the weak snap of his voice (caused by you clenching down on him) has you gushing nastily down bakugou’s length. bathing him in your juices, dripping down his balls as they clap against your ass, and swing against your clit. 
“yeah…yeah…y-you’re my friend, k-katsuki! didn’t wanna lose you…”
satisfied with your response and feeling a little mean once more, the king of the plastics brings a heavy hand down against your ass before gripping it tight, forcing you back and forth on his creamed dick. you hiss at the newfound pain blooming underneath your skin, blinking back more tears. 
“that’s right sweets, you’ll let me do anythin’ to keep me right? stay bein’ friends.” bakugou barks salaciously into your shoulder blade. greed and power and control sparks between your bodies that move in sync with one another, your hips shakily attempting to catch up with his rough pace.
you gasp when he hits a spot that’s got you howling at the moon. “y-yes, god, yes!”
“even let me fuck your crush? let me fuck you in front’a him?” 
all you can do is nod and gargle in response, passionately sucking on his fingers. “get ‘em nice and wet for me. wanna play with you, gorgeous.” he nips at your skin, leaving the imprint of his canines against you before his red eyes laser focus on where your bodies continually meet. “lift your hips. atta girl.” 
a heinous squeal escapes you, borderline pornographic as katsuki fumbles between your body and shouto’s high thread count sheets. his sticky fingers press into your pleasure nub in tight, calculated circles and he rewards the sound of your choked moans with another barrage of love bites to your neck. ones that you won’t be able to cover up. ones that show how much you’ve been used. 
you wonder if his appetite for your dedication will ever be satisfied. even though your pussy works it’s way back onto him and swallows his cock down like fucking magic — bakugou still wants more of you. he grins sinisterly at the bruises that form just under your skin, that make you hiss when he licks over them and spills his curse words over against that sensitive spot underneath your ear. the sensitivity makes you yelp loudly, despite the people that walk by. 
including none other than shouto todoroki. 
“you’d even let him watch as i creamed your cute cunt, wouldn’t ya? so pathetic. it’s adorable, sweetness.” the blonde goads, pulling back so that he can get a better view of your ass bouncing against his slender hips. spreading you apart with large hands, he drools down onto his cock and your asshole, spitting onto the point at which his shaft slips inside of you — watching the white froth mix in with your viscous nectar and disappear into the creaminess of your tight hole. 
your crush audibly gasps as he enters the room — mismatched eyes drinking in the view of you being absolutely wrecked from behind by his ex. shouto can’t help but admire your puffy face and equally puffy folds while he settles on the bed next to katsuki. he has no idea how his feet even carried him there. 
“bakugou what are you—?” 
the tail end of shouto’s words slip away when you clench down hard on bakugou, his head falling onto the latter’s shoulder while you share shaky moans. “oh my god,” katsuki pants, pulsing against your silken walls and driving his dick upwards into your sweltering mound. “you’re fuckin’ obsessed with me. with him. you just won’t let this dick go, will ya?” 
admitting that you like shouto watching you get fucked by bakugou would be just as embarrassing as admitting your crush on him. it doesn’t matter if you’re crying too hard to confess the matter with words, both of them know it. they can tell by the way your pussy spasms around katsuki’s bulbous cockhead as it bullies it’s way into you with every thrust.  “see icyhot, told ya she was a weirdo,” He chuckles down at you menacingly. “letting me be the one t’stretch her pussy open even though you’re the one that she wants. s’so embarrassing.” 
todoroki let’s out a noncommittal grunt, equally amused by the situation like his ex. “yeah… so weird…”
he reaches around to grab at the fat of your waist and tugs you back onto katsuki so that his dick never leaves you. so that your clit is smooshed up against perfect abs, that contract with every thrust and overstimulate you. 
maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be used by the king of the plastics, if it means shouto gets to touch you too. 
“i think she’s about to cum, katsuki.” the two-toned haired jock states as if it’s obvious, his voice husky and low as the scent of sex trickles into the air. “you’re gonna make her cum, baby.” 
“can fuckin’ feel it, she’s ‘boutta make a mess of me.” they share a lustful look behind you, that leads to them sharing sloppy, uncoordinated  kisses as if you’re not even there. truly treating you like a sex toy to be used whenever, wherever. 
the sounds of their kisses ring in your ears, cause heat to burn at your cheeks and shame to settle in your chest once again. but this time, you don’t fucking care — not when you’re close to cumming, not when both of the people you adore in your life are using little old you. 
forcing you back and forth over katsuki’s dick even faster, shouto finds it in himself to address you, moaning out your name. “a-are you close?” he simpers, tongue rolling over his ex’s.
“i— i am. p-please. let me cum. lemme cum. lemme c-cum—!” you chant as if it’s the gospel, voice tapering off into a set of whistle tone simpers as you finally hit your high. black spots dot your vision, katsuki using a last burst of energy to canter into you, slamming against your g-spot over and over again. the dam breaks before your brain can register it, release trickling out of your fluttering hole like a flash flood after a vicious storm. it soaks his soft tuft of blonde pubes and soils the sheets below, your body wracked with shakes and aftershocks. 
katsuki's cock against your cervix being the epicentre. 
the two men behind you share a sick little laugh when you collapse into the sheets face first, both of them leaning down to kiss either of your cheeks soothingly. 
“so fuckin’ cute ‘n loyal,” bakugou coos in a twisted tone, pulling out of you to jerk himself off over your quivering body. 
shouto smiles and rubs soothing circles in the small of your back in an attempt to calm you down — taking pleasure in your tiny sniffles and hiccups while you come down from your high. 
“your turn, bakugou.” he purrs slightly, using his arm to prop himself up on the bed for a perfect view of you both.  
“mmfuck, shit ‘m so close.” colourful curses spew from between bakugou’s perfect, cherry bitten lips just as he hits his peak. slick sounds accompany the movements of his rough palm up and down his length, coaxing himself towards orgasm. he cums with a shout, a feral growl tearing his chest in two with how loud it is. all while ropes of his blistering hot and white cum land on your ass, pussy and back. 
he collapses next to shouto after that. 
you feel a finger drag through the hot mess on your back and turn around just in time to watch bakugou feed a scoop of his cum to your crush. todoroki sucking his fingers happily. “go get her a towel, icyhot.” he demands, and like a slave to the crown, todoroki follows — disappearing from the room in search for a rag to clean you up with. surprisingly, the blonde helps you to sit up, taking you into his chest so you can snuggle against it. “don’t cry sweetness, s’okay. i forgive you for thinkin’ i was a bad friend.” 
tilting your chin up, you’re rewarded with a firm chaste kiss — swallowing katsuki’s moans as he tastes the saltine tears in your lips. “you’ll never do it again, right?” 
“r-right…” you reply meekly, flinching at the blonde who boops your nose almost affectionately. 
he busies himself with fixing your costume until shouto returns with a wet rag to wipe the cum from between your thighs and the rest of you. you try not to let it get to you when they share another passionate kiss, sucking on each other’s tongues and mussing up each other’s hair until they’re all rosy cheeked and short of breath. 
you would be a fool to think that you ever stood a chance with shouto todoroki after tonight. 
much like you, he’s just another piece in katsuki’s game of chess. he’ll never escape the toxic cycle of their relationship when things keep going like this. 
“you look sexy with your hair pushed back, icyhot.” katsuki says to shouto once they come up for air, ruffling his silky locks out of place. his ruby, crazed, gaze slinks over to you next, a coy smirk playing at his lips. “sweetness, tell him, icyhot he looks sexy with his hair pushed back.” 
katsuki bakugou is terrible. evil. conniving. but he’s all you’ve got, even if he is a mean girl. 
“shouto…you look sexy with your hair pushed back.”
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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rboooks · 10 months
Text
DC X DP fic idea: Congratulations! It's Triplets!
Jason Todd can't remember half the crazy shit he did when he returned from the dead. There were a few years when his memory gaps were so significant lost he honestly forgot what year it was.
So he's not surprised he did some dumb shit where he was less weapon and more power-hungry teen.
He doesn't remember Jazz Fenton that well, but he does remember waking up next to her, making her breakfast as a thank-you for the fun night, and slipping away before she could ask too many questions. Logically he knows that leaving before she woke up was a bit of a asshole move but he hadn't cared back then.
He had thought he would never see her again.
Imagine his surprise when she enters a youth space program WE is running five years later. By this point, he had calmed most of his pit rage and had reconnected with his family. Bruce had even legally made him alive again so he's there as Brucie's second oldest.
Tim had practically shoved him as one of the heads of the program since Jason had rapidly developed the image of being the most Charity drive Wayne.
The point was to help city kids go on clear sky trips and co-work with NASA to help children who love the stars get closer to them.
Jason knew that Jazz, a woman of twenty-three, would have no reason to be present since the program was for kids ages four to twelve.
But the three dark hair blue, eye triplets that were dragging her around the booths indeed did.
By the looks of the triplets, they were five to six-year Olds.
Jason also noticed another thing about them. They were exact copies of himself and five years ago was the last time he saw Jazz before slipping away.
It wasn't possible right?
Trying not to bring attention to himself, he followed them through the event, noting every little gesture the children made. With each passing second he saw more and more of himself in them. Once the lights were dimmed for the crew to project an exploding star on the walls and ceiling, he could creep close enough and steals three hair samples.
Later he would test the DNA against his own and find himself staring at the results with slight horror.
He's a father to triplets and left their mother alone to raise them on her own. Jason needed to fix this as soon as he could.
(Danny, Dani and Dan get de-age after a misguided attempt to take the throne from Danny by a ghost whose extraordinary power was to revert people into a weaker stage and attack them. Luckily even as small children, they were able to defeat her. Unfortunately, they would have to regrow the human way to return to their ages.
Clockwork offers them a different dimension for them to age in, explaining it run crazy slow compared to thier own. One year in the other world would be a week back home.
They talk to Jazz who agrees to take emergency leave from work after faking a terrible accident with her brother, and she hopes over to Earth-slightly-to-the-left to find a house suitable for re-raising her siblings. There she realizes this is her chance to enjoy her youth too.
She has her first one-night stand.
She doesn't tell them when they hope over, and all of them go about life as simply as they can in a city as dangerous as Gotham.
They find out later that there is even a slight version of their family here though it's primarily due to someone on their dads' side of the family messing up the family tree by marrying someone different than their great-grandfather
Instead of Fentons, the versions of their family name is, Evans. Crazy.
Even more Crazy is that they return home after a week-long camping trip through a NASA-based program to find Bruce Wayne at their doorstep, a team of lawyers behind him, and Jason Todd holding flowers next to him.
He thinks he's the father of the three because that's what the DNA pulls since it's a version of them and when Jazz is so worried about collapsing the timeline and getting on Clockworks bad side she plays along.
She later finds out from a very calm Danny that Jason is not related to them. It's just that their comeback from the dead rearranged all three of their DNAs, so Jason was merely matching there. Jazz testing herself against Jason proves this to be true.
Dan and Dani? They just wanted a rich dad who showered them with gifts in an attempt to make up for missing six years of their lives.
Danny just wants Jazz to admit she's in love with Jason.
Abd Jazz? Well, she just wants to be a good guardian for them and hopes she can pretend to be Jason's baby mamma until they can hope back home.)
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leclucklerc · 6 months
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Hard Carry CL16 - 01. It's 2018, Baby!
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Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader
Summary: It's the big year of 2018 and y/n is looking forward to win her fourth championship title. A pretty boy with green eyes won't distract her damnit!
Word Count: 4.5k
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2012
When Formula One fans talked about paid driver, they said that the position can go either two ways.
The first one, is being proven unworthy for the seat. With the highly competitive nature that the sport serves, it will only took one race, one qualifying, only one bad day, to show the world that you don't have enough experience or talent to deserve a seat in Formula One. That the reason why you're one of the top drivers in the pinnacle of motorsport is because daddy's got money.
Unfortunately - to the fans, or even to the said paid driver themselves - this scenario is often the case.
It is such a bad branding for rookie to have. To be branded as a spoiled and talentless kid that doesn't know how to do anything without the help of their famously wealthy parents. For someone that ha just entered the sport, for someone that is still searching for fans and sponsors, this kind of branding can be the death of their career.
Yet, why is there so many paid driver when the risk is evident?
The second scenario, is the most unlikely one. Though, it is still possible.
There is a probability that a paid driver can enter the sport, and show the world that they're as talented as y/n l/n, just like what she did back in 2012 when she famously entered Formula One because her dad bought the Porsche Formula One team.
It was such a controversy back then, for such a young driver - a female driver, something that the sport had never seen in decades - to easily enter the pinnacle of motorsport with the large monetary support from her dad. Back then, when it was not revealed yet that her dad had bought the team, many had anticipated her debut. When the news came out, many had muttered things like-
"Maybe she's just that talented?"
"She did won a lot of trophies in the lower category."
"Who cares? It's a sign that Formula One is finally evolving!"
"Bet she got a lot of skills."
And well, y/n does have skills. People had actually anticipated her arrival at first, saying that it’s time for Formula One to change and she will be the one to start the change.
Though back in 2012, that was not the reason why she managed to get into Formula One. Her dad, a famous billionaire from France, had bought the Porsche Formula One team and gave one of the seat for his daughter.
Cue, the many controversy.
Now, when she looked back, y/n really have to admit that the online and offline attack that she had received back then was simply atrocious. News outlets and magazines would print photos of her without her knowing, calling her a spoiled princess who is throwing tantrum and making Formula One a joke to the eyes of everyone.
Sport critics would make a whole segment with previous or current Formula One stars to talked about her. Many calling her undeserving, talentless, and many many sexist slurs that she doesn't even want to remember anymore.
While, okay, being a paid driver, it’s obvious that controversy will always follow. Thought, back then, she had thought, if she was a man, would the controversy became this big?
Paid drivers, after all, is known secret to everyone who watches the sport. Formula One is an expensive sport to start with, so it's no wonder that many people from a privileged background would start using Formula One as a chance for them to have a career outside of their wealthy family.
And don't get her started with drivers who has connections with retired Formula one Drivers!
At least half of the grid is the son or a friend or a family friend of a retired driver. If you want to talk about the sport with the most nepotism, y/n thinks that Formula One is up there.
Though, her controversy got blown up this big just because she has one thing that separates her from the rest.
She's a girl.
A girl who has no space in the world of motorsport.
Someone who doesn’t have balls hanging between her legs and somehow, it made people think that she’s less than them.
Honestly? Fuck them. 
She knows the world of Motorsport. She knows, if her dad didn’t bought the team, there is no way her dream to become a Formula One driver will come true. No matter how much they preach about equality, women in sport, or even feminism, there is no way any of these teams will even look at her.
How can she get into the sport when no one will give her a chance? When everyone in this goddamn sport will always think that the world of Motorsport is only for men and she has no place Ini it? It’s only fair for her to use her advantage so that she somehow can have an equal ground with everyone else here.
During the start of the 2012 season, y/n is already in a bad mood from the start. 
She fucked her qualifying. So fucking badly. She honestly thinks it's because of the added pressure from the press as well as the pre-race jitters that she had, almost throwing up in the garage due to how fucking nervous she is. All of those added, and yes, the result is a really bad qualifying.
P10 honestly is a really bad position when you have a car like Porsche. After all, her other teammate, Antonio Bacque, managed to snag P3 during the qualifying.
It's an embarrassing result and she really hates it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that y/n was going to be eaten by the media with that kind of result. 
Her first interview ever since the announcement of her position was with some famous sport channel. Y/n knows them, considering the've been blasting a lot of her controversies and 'questionable' behaviors for their viewer to watch.
So she should've expected the question that they had prepared just for her.
"What do you think about your path towards Formula One?" asked the woman, blonde hair and seems to be older than her for a couple of years. "Do you think that you still deserve the seat without the help of your father?"
She had froze, eyes flicking towards he PR manager who also got her eyes widened. It seems, the interviewer had asked her a question that was not previously approved by her team. Illegal? She doesn't know. Nor she cares.
After all, she's really fucking exhausted at this point.
There are too many glances and cameras towards her way. Too many layered questions and fake  empathy from those around her. Too many, judgmental look from those who doesn't even know her personally.
Y/n is tired.
"Yes," she said, staring straight back at the camera. "Yes I deserve it."
"How so?" pressed the reporter once again. Fully knowing that she's a paid driver. Fully knowing that she had just fucked her qualifying up. Fully knowing, that she haven't shown the world her skills.
Yet.
The female stared at the camera, she's aware that her next answer will be the headline of every major sports channels the next day. That this answer can be the one to make or break her career. A brand, that will stuck to her until her retirement.
Should she play the part of a spoiled child? Or should she play the part of a hothead driver with a too big ambition? She could play with the male fantasy and become a docile and demure little girl with too much naiveté in this cruel cruel world of motorsport. To become the doll for this sport to play with without care in this world.
But she's better than that.
She's y/n l/n and knows she's worth more than those fake personas and branding. She knows that she deserves her seat and she will be damned if she didn't prove it to the world.
"Like this," 
And, she gave them the middle finger.
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In the end, all of those criticism changed during the Australian Grand Prix.
It's stuffy and unbearably hot inside the car. Her race suit didn't help much. If she's in any other situation, she would've complained to everyone that's willing to listen.
Though, at this moment, she found herself to not care.
Bright eyes stared at the car in front of her. She could see the familiar Mclaren in front of her, passing the checkered flag. She could see the Mclaren team cheering by the fence near him. Y/n could only see Mclaren in front of her.
Only one car out of 22.
"P2, y/n," breathed out her race engineer on the radio as she passed the checkered flag. There's a hint of disbelief and wonder on his tone. "Fucking P2."
She screams, no doubt flooding the team radio with her rather inhumane scream as she let go her steering wheel and hold the top of her helmet. It's a bit unbelievable, a bit hard to belief, and of course, so so fucking wonderful.
"YES!" screamed the woman. "YES YES YES! OH MY GOD!"
Y/n could hear the announcer announcing the result of the race, voice excited at what just happened. After all, today on the 18th of March 2012, a Formula One history was just made. This day would be written as one of the most memorable moments in the history of Formula One.
As she hopped out of her car, her team is already out there, ready to celebrate with her.
Some would have criticized that action as excessive, considering that she didn't won the race. Though, this race was the debut race for Porsche. This is the race where the team can show the world that they're not here to play. They're here to win.
It could be said, that both the team and y/n's goal are aligned.
The girl wants to show the world of motorsport her worth. Want to show everyone, that she deserved her seat in this sport. Want to show, in this men dominated sport, a girl like her too, can thrive.
Her team too, wants to show the world of motorsport their worth. To show everyone that Porsche Royale Formula One team is here to stay and to make history.
Maybe that's why they worked so well. Maybe, that's why both Porsche and y/n became unbelievably loyal to each other. That the team, had became her second home and y/n had become someone that the team can trust fully.
If she looked back towards that day, she can confidently say that it was one of the happiest day in her life. It was her first race in Formula One, it was the start of her historical journey in this sport, and of course, it was the day that she managed to shut every criticism that was directed at her way.
It was satisfying.
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2018
Y/n's presence is almost mythical at the grid.
Which is a bit weird, considering she had been a constant presence in the grid for years at this point. Still, it still didn't diminish the almost divine status that she had achieved amongst the fans of motorsport.
After all, there are drivers that's like that. Drivers that can command a room with their simple presence or someone that had reached so many achievements throughout their career that it sounds almost unbelievable. Drivers, that you had ever only heard of and never seen. Drivers, that had inspired the next generations of motorsport enthusiast to follow this adrenaline filled career path.
Y/n is one of those drivers.
Today is the pre-season testing and y/n is ready to retire from the sport.
"I'm going to retire," said Y/n as she groaned, stretching her back inside of Porsche's hospitality. "Like for real." 
Truthfully, the weather today is perfectly warm. Barcelona in February had never been glaringly hot. The sun is shining above them and yet the temperature didn't rise unbelievably high. It should be a good day to do your daily routine and well, for y/n, this should be the perfect weather to do the pre-season testing.
Though, the ache on her joints is saying otherwise.
A hand hit her shoulder playfully. "You're only 23" said her athletic trainer, Luca. "That's like the age where everyone started their career," he said as he slid a strange concoction of healthy smoothie in front of her. "Drink this."
"But I started my career when I was 17," whined the woman as she sniffed the drink. It smells healthy. And weird. She really doesn't like it. "It's almost 6 years, I think it's an appropriate time for retirement, or maybe a promotion. Do you think I'll make a great team principal?"
The mere thought of this woman being Porsche's new team principal sends shiver down Luca's back. "Honestly, don't even joke about that because I seriously think Herman will get a heart attack."
Y/n laughed at that. Just imagining her team principal being shocked to the point of a heart attack just because she's going for a retirement is a bit funny to her. 
It's the start of the 2018 season and she could feel excitement ringing through the air.
Somehow, the grid feels different than usual. People seems more excited, a bit wary, and yet, still excited. Y/n likes to think that it was because how exciting the 2017 season was, considering how intense the battle between her and Lewis for the driver championship title. Though, she knows that it was not the reason.
She glanced towards the cameras that littered around her.
In this season, somehow, there will be a documentary crew film documenting their 2018 season. Which is, weird. Formula One teams are notorious with their secrets and fear of corporate espionage after all. Now they're letting a filming crew to document all of the behind the scene of the season?
It's a new concept. 
Herman had told her that almost all teams in the grid had allowed the filming crew to lingered around the garage. Well, except Mercedes and Ferrari - which shocked her a bit because she really think that this kind of thing is something that Lewis would do. But oh well.
Hopefully, this kind of coverage can boost the ratings of Formula One and make the sport more known to the general public. It will be great if there's a lot of new fans who will start to watch the sport from the documentary.
"Now that there's a film crew following us around," started y/n with a snicker, leaning back on her seat. "I think it will be more dramatic for me to announce my retirement right now, no?"
Luca sighed, "Y/n-"
"I hope you're not serious about that," said a dry voice behind her. 
She doesn't even have to turn around to see who's standing behind her. "Herman!" she greeted, cheerful as always and as if she was not talking about possible retirement just a few seconds ago. "My favorite team principal, how are you?"
"Good," said the German, raising an eyebrow at her. "As long as your retirement plan stays like that. A plan."
The female nudged his shoulder playfully. "You know I love you too much for that."
"Really," muttered the team principal as if he doesn't believe what she's saying. "With how you behave lately, I really doubt that."
That, actually, made her laughed louder. "What do you mean? I've been a perfect worker!" she said, tone full of teasing. "I'll be a more star worker if our car this season is perfect like always." At this, she added a wink towards a team of mechanics that's sitting on the next table, eliciting a round of laugh from them.
"I'm counting on you then," said Herman as he took a seat in front of her. "I'm here to talk about other things."
She blinked. "What other things?"
The pre-season testing had barely started and he's already here to talk some serious stuff towards her? She's allergic to that.
"Someone wants to meet you," continued Herman as he took out his iPad, writing something on it. His thick rimmed glasses glinting. "It's a favor from a friend."
"Oh?" asked y/n. "Like,  I don't know if you're aware, I'm a pretty popular girl," she started and Luca actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at her. "Lots of people want to meet me."
"It's a favor from Fred," continue the man, ignoring her comment. "It seems they found a star driver or something, someone that they really cherish. And apparently that rookie is a huge fan of yours"
Y/n blinked at that. Fred Vasseur is the team principal for Sauber Formula One team, one of the teams in the grid right no. They never really interacted much with Sauber, though she do knows that Herman and Fred are friends. Golf buddy or something. While the Sauber team itself is not one of the top team that will compete for the championship, it's famous for one thing.
Its relation to Ferrari.
While true, it's not like Sauber is Ferrari's b team like what Toro Rosso is to Red Bull, they still have a really close partnership with each other. Like really close. So close to the point that almost every part of Sauber came from Ferrari. For Fred Vasseur himself to ask a favor to Herman for their rookie driver can only mean one thing. This rookie driver is projected to drive for Ferrari.
A competitor then, she thought idly. 
"Well, I'm honored," the woman finally said. "So where's the superstar?"
"They should be here soon-"
Just at that, someone opened the door towards Porsche's hospitality, calling Herman's name. "Herman!" greeted Fred as he entered the building with a perky energy. "And of course, y/n, always lovely to meet you."
"Freddie, Froyo, Fredman, it's been awhile," she greeted back, standing up to give the man a short hug.
Maybe it's because Sauber itself is not a champion winning team that it made them interact easier. After all, she can’t even imagine greeting Christian or Toto like this.
"Yes, yes," laughed the man, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable at the random nicknames being used. "I told Herman already, but there's someone that want to meet you."
It was at this, that y/n realized that there's someone standing behind Fred.
A man, maybe around y/n age, a bit younger perhaps, could be seen standing a bit awkwardly. He's wearing the white and red Sauber shirt, paired with a ripped skinny jeans. From the get go, it's obvious that he seems uncomfortable at the sudden familiar setting of Porsche's hospitality. At the same time, his eyes looks excited and a bit jittery.
Y/n immediately knows that this is the future superstar. Sauber's apparent cherished rookie driver who is now being projected to be one of Ferrari's future driver.
For a career prospect, not bad. A Ferrari driver certainly is a good option. Though, y/n is sure if this Formula One driver gig doesn't work out, he can be a model or someone in the entertainment industry. Because honestly, the guy is really pretty to look at.
Warm green eyes, messy dark colored hair, and a nice face to look at. If he ever decided to become a model, he could probably be a successful one.
"Y/n," called out Fred, catching her attention. "This is Charles Leclerc, he's a big fan of yours."
He seems a bit embarrassed at that mention, what with how his cheeks started to redden and how he flail his hands around. Which is, cute.
"Really?" she said, smiling as a teasing grin entered her eyes. "Really honored, then."
Charles let out a huge smile at that, looking a bit relieved. "I should be the one saying that," he said and his English is thick with accent. French, she realized. "I've been following you since your debut."
She let out a low whistle. "2012? That's a long time," laughed y/n easily. "You were how old back then?"
"15," he replied.
"Ah, I'm only 2 years older than you then," she said, putting it at the back of her mind. "At long last, it's no fun to be the youngest on the grid for so long."
Herman coughed, eyes staring at her straight in the eyes, "There's Verstappen, he's also two years younger than you."
"But Max is way too serious!" she whined out, remembering Christian’s favorite driver. Ever. "It's no fun to tease him when he gets all broody, which is like 70% of the time."
"It's because you keep annoying him," said Herman dryly. "Anyway, Charles, correct? What do you think of F1 so far?"
Now, all of them are seated at the same table, making conversation with each other. Honestly, y/n is a bit invested at the topic. Moreso on Charles because with him entering his rookie season is like a wake up call for her.
Lately, more and more young driver debuted in F1. It started with Max and Carlos back in 2015. Younger and talented drivers with more vigor and a brand new vision for the sport. Back when she debuted, the grid was way older with more experienced driver filling up the spots. Now, it seems, the teams want to change the way they view the sport a bit.
Younger drivers started to arrive every year. Guys who had karted since they were four or guys who basically just skipped F2 straight into F1. Thinking back, it's a bit sad, because it made her realize that more of the older driver too, will retire soon. That the grid will change soon.
Hm, she thought. It's an added pressure for her.
Maybe it's because she debuted so young and had become a world champion when she was only in her second season, it made her think that she's way older than she actually is. This year is her seventh year in F1 and now she has three driver championships under her belt.
It's a bit jarring thought that she is now one of the most experienced driver in the grid.
Charles talked about his experience so far with so much enthusiasm and starry eyes that it made her want to protect him a bit. Which is normal, because to all of them, Formula One is a dream that they had ever since childhood. When they first entered the sport, it's only normal for them to look at everything with full of reverent and wonder.
The male seems to live and breathe just for racing. A feeling, that y/n can relate to.
"So you liking it so far?" she spoke up, catching everyone attention. "Does it fill up your expectations?"
"Yes," nodded Charles with a huge smile. "I'm really excited for the first race."
"Nice," grinned y/n.
Really, if anyone ever asked her what is one of the defining moment in her life, she would described this moment at one of them.
With Charles smiling in front of her inside the Porsche's hospitality, with the impending knowledge of a new generation of Formula One, and with the fear of destroying all of those Formula One hopeful dreams. It was at this moment that she decided something.
She really really wants this sport to be enjoyable for the young drivers. For them to have someone to talk to and not became a clueless little shit like she was all those years ago.
It was a decision that stayed on her mind as they continue their conversation. Herman seems interested in Charles, not that they can sign him for Porsche considering his love for Ferrari, but still, having an option is still a good one.
They stayed and chatted there until both Charles and Fred presence is needed back in the garage. 
"Hey Charles," she said a few minutes later when both Fred and the younger male was about to leave Porsche's hospitality. The younger had asked her to sign three hats, saying that it's for him and his brothers who is also a big fan of hers. 
Perking up, he motioned for Fred to walked ahead before he jogged back to where she's standing.
Pulling out of her phone, y/n let out a grin towards him, "Give me your number yeah? I think it will be fun to stay in contact."
Charles stared at her.
"Seriously?" he asked, blinking rapidly.
"Yeah."
Almost immediately, he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket, to the point that he almost dropped it to the ground. It was such a comical sight that it made her laugh, which seems to only embarrassed him further. Maybe when they became a lot closer she can tease him more about this? Certainly a thought for the future.
They exchanged number and Charles thanked her many times, saying things that she's his idol and he really admire her. Y/n merely watched him, amused, at the blabbering, before he seems to realize that he had talked too much and excused himself in such a hurry.
Well, certainly, Formula One will be more interesting in the coming years, right?
Humming, y/n entered the Porsche hospitality once more, only to be called by Herman to discuss something.
"So," started the man, finger idly fiddling with the papers in front of them. "We need to talk about your teammate,"
"Ah," realized y/n. This is going to be a long and painful discussion.
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Drive to Survive Season 1 episode 3
It's all about Porsche
Will Buxton appeared on screen, smiling. "The thing about Porsche is," started the man. "It's a team that most drivers doesn't want to be in."
A shot of y/n talking with Herman and the mechanics could be seen. Her face is serious as they discussed details about today's Grand Prix and the car. They seems dedicated in their work, a true showcase of the prowess of one of the top team in Formula One.
Which makes Will's earlier statement a bit bizarre.
"At least, if you're not y/n l/n," continue the man with a small laugh. "It certainly not because they have a bad car-"
Porsche's Formula One car could be seen zooming at top speed, a clear indicator on how fast the vehicle is going.
"-Nor is it because it's a bad team-"
Y/n's car could be seen entering the pit stop, something that the Porsche team handle flawlessly without a hitch.
"It's because of the strict hierarchy there," laughed Will, a wry smile appearing on his face. "A really really strict one."
Herman appeared after that, eyebrow raising at the question that the producer had asked off screen. "I think it's quite obvious who will be the no.1 driver," said the man bluntly. "It's an open secret in Formula One, no? About no.1 and no.2 driver?"
Christian Horner appeared in the dark interview room, wearing a dark cardigan and a light blue cardigan underneath it. The man laughed, almost throwing his head back at that. "No.1 and no.2 driver is common in Formula One, but no one impose it as strict as Porsche," said the man, eyes full of amusement. "The team is basically a y/n cheerleading squad."
Many clips appeared after that, of team orders to let the woman through or the team failures to handle a simple pit stop when it's not y/n on the car. Articles too appeared, of how often Porsche has to change one of their driver and to find someone that is perfectly fine to be the second best in their team.
It's a team that prioritize y/n. It's a team, that undoubtedly will choose y/n l/n as their number one driver and will never budge on that decision. 
The thing is, if Porsche is not a championship winning team, this shouldn't be a problem. Many drivers are grateful to have a seat in Formula One even they ended up not in one of the top team.
But Porsche is a team that fights for championship. Their cars are fast. They're the team that fight for wins and podiums. They don't fight for points, they want wins and glory.
A complete domination. Just like their motto. And when a driver tasted that sweet sweet taste of victory, it's hard to stop.
"Formula One driver needs to think that they're the best," said Will. "It's a mindset that they need to have if they want to survive in this sport," he continued. "Can they really, give up wins for their teammate? when their direct rival is that teammate herself?"
Y/n has too much presence for her to be the number 2 driver.
She is the icon of the sport, someone that is way too talented and way too influential to be the second best driver. The team itself was basically assembled around the woman needs.
The mechanics is someone that she can easily discuss the car with, her race engineer remains unchanged ever since her debut because she's comfortable with him, heck, even Herman position is secured because y/n actually likes him as a team principal.
It's y/n l/n very own personal cheering squad and everyone knows it.
"Fighting y/n on track is already a hard fight to win," continue Will. "A really hard one."
A clip of her racing and passing so many drivers could be seen. Her skilled handling of the car, overtaking those in front of her, and being an all around driver that deserves the title of a world champion.
"Fighting y/n for a spot as Porsche's number one driver? Impossible."
"The drivers need to understand that we're fighting for championship," said Herman as the scene cuts back into him. "We need someone that can support us in that cause."
Christian appeared, laughing. "Well, there's a reason why they need to change their second driver five times since 2012," said the man, looking so fucking amused. 
Porsche after all, is y/n's kingdom.
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Taglist!
@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos
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