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kookslastbutton · 8 months

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When I Say Forever ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Today’s your wedding day and the slightly shy yet handsome, doe-eyed stranger who chased after you when you dropped your wallet on the street three years ago just happens to be the man standing before you today.

Original request: can you please write something about oc's and Jungkook's wedding? Your readers just need to witness it. We would highly appreciate it. Thank you!

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre/AU: fluff, smut, wedding au

word count: 4,696

warnings: a cute wedding where jungkook gets emotional and is very eager to be married, they get a little scolded during the ceremony ahaha, jk is romantic and prepares something very special for his lovely bride, mentions of absence of parents on oc's side (nothing gets too deep but I chose to go this route due to the very real factor that parents aren't always around), and finally sexual content bc come on it their wedding night 🥺

sexual warnings: soft dom!jk, sub!reader, swearing, explicit s*x, jk asks for consent bc yeah i don't even need to justify it, f*ngering, oral (both m. and f., multiple orgasms, dry humping, t*tty suck, heavy making out, overstimulation, possessive!kook, m*ssionary, c*wgirl, oc claws at his back which jk seems to have a kink for, a little bit of steamy rivalry at the end (just a hint), our kook is attentive even though it gets kinda rough

now playing: My You by jjk

a/n: my you has been one of my on repeat songs and im not sorry. Also, thank you for the request, i hope this is alright! Anyway pls enjoy! ❤

Dozens of cherry blossom trees are sky-high in the air, covering you as you walk down the aisle in the grass. Some of the blush pink and white blossoms shake from branches every few steps to shower over you in a cascading effect. The temperature is also perfect, a steady 68 degrees.

This is why you and Jungkook chose to marry in the spring–it was beautiful.

You look to your left, then to your right. Rows of seats filled with family, friends, and co-workers stare at you in awe. The only two people missing, however, are your parents.

With the passing of your father years ago and your mother's absence in your life since then, your half of the guest list isn’t extensive by any means. It's for those reasons that you both agreed a small wedding would be ideal.

Still, even with the minimized guest list, you find it difficult to hold eye contact with any of them. It's not because you're nervous exactly–you simply don’t believe your reality is real.

Was this another one of your silly dreams?

Are you going to wake up just as you reach the front?

You keep your eyes straight ahead and towards the man who's waiting for you with tightly clasped hands. He makes all your worries melt away in that instant.

No, you remind yourself. This isn't a dream.

The veil you’re wearing drags on the ground behind you and flows over the small train of your delicate, white gown. You chose a form-fitting sheath dress that’s made from the softest satin fabric. Its clean, sharp lines allow the semi-deep-v neckline to appear more elegant than revealing.

The closer you get the more Jungkook’s cheeks wet with his tears. He knew he was going to cry today. But he was hoping it’d happen towards the end so he could see you walking down the aisle to him without his vision blurring.

“Hi,” he whispers to you once you’re fully in front of him. He wipes his face with his thumbs as subtly as he can.

You bow to each other in greeting and, with the request to join hands from your officiant, you hand your bouquet of fresh-cut flowers to your maid of honor and place your hands in his gentler ones.

“Hi,” you reply, equally quiet and with a small smile.

Jungkook’s dark, raven hair parts in the middle with a few strands tastefully out of place. He’s wearing a black, pin-stripped suit with a matching vest and plain black tie. The white dress shirt underneath is buttoned all the way up to the top too and he’s kept all his piercings in, including his lip ring. He’s unbelievably handsome–and he’s yours.

When your officiant begins making the welcome speech, the guests settle down in their seats all at once. Yet you and Jungkook keep whispering to each other as softly as you can.

“You look amazing.” His thumbs rub soothing circles over the top of your knuckles.

“So do you.” Your gaze holds his reddened ones. The fact that he’s still on the verge of tears causes you to form watery eyes as well. But you blink them back. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know. I feel the same way.” He pauses and grins at you. “Did you see who came with whom?” He gives a side-eye, gesturing at Jimin, one of his best men.

“I saw.” You and Jungkook start giggling at once because the person who Jimin brought as his plus one is perhaps the most annoying person in the world to him–your co-worker who’s had an insane crush on him for the last year. They insisted that Jimin be a “gentleman” and show them a good time while at your wedding.

“Do you think they’ll…you know,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively to finish the sentence.

Jungkook shakes his head lightly. “I don’t know, maybe. I can’t really bother to think about who’ll sleep with who when you’re gonna be the one under me tonight.”

Though he says it with the most sincere tone, more endearing than flirty, you swallow hard. It’s not your first time with Jungkook but you’re unsure what to expect tonight. You’ll be his wife after this.

“Why do you get to top?” you mouth.

Jungkook gives a half-smirk.“Why do you pretend to hate it?”

You open your mouth to form a response but the harsh clearing of a throat behind Jungkook orders you to stop.

“Everyone-ahem-can hear you,” Taehyung coughs. “Stop it for god sake.”

“Yes, if the bride and groom could please save the after-wedding affairs for later, we can move forward with the ceremony. Thankfully I don't see many children in the crowd today,” the officiant adds as humorously as she can and the crowd chuckles.

Oh god. You bite down on your tongue to keep from embarrassing the two of you further.

Once your officiant is able to finish her welcome speech she turns her attention to you. "__ do you want to marry Jungkook, to be your husband, to love and to cherish all the days of your life, today, tomorrow, and always?

"I do. Yes."

She looks at Jungkook afterward. "Jungkook do you want to marry __, to be your wife, to love and to cherish all the days of your life, today, tomorrow, and always?

He stares at you, wordless for a moment as every memory between the two of you hits him like a tidal wave. His hand starts shaking in yours, and tears start spilling from his eyes again.

"You okay?" You whisper and this time it's your turn to rub soothing circles on his hands, calming him down.

"Yeah," he sniffs. "I just never imagined myself to be standing here today. I love you so much."

Your officiant decides it's best to wait for the right time to speak but Jungkook smiles at her softly. "That means yes by the way," he jokes and the guests laugh in unison.

She turns to the ring bearer, aka Namjoon's eight-year-old son who stands on Jungkook's left by his father. "May we have the rings please?"

The boy walks over to her, hands over the small gold bands, then returns to his previous position.

"The couple will now exchange rings as a symbol of their love and devotion. I understand they have prepared their own vows thus binding promises to love, honor, and cherish one another. __, please place this ring on Jungkook’s finger and when you're ready you may begin."

You take the ring and begin slipping it on Jungkook's finger. "They say when you marry someone you become one. You consider each other in every decision, make compromises for the other, and be the strength when the other cannot. We've been together for three years now Jungkook, doing those exact things and I couldn't fathom stopping now. I love you and I promise I'll always be here next to you, however and whenever you need."

"Jungkook," your officiant hands him your ring. "Please place this ring on __’s finger and when you're ready you may begin."

"When I saw you years ago, waiting at the crosswalk, I thought you were the most beautiful and intriguing person I'd ever seen in my life." He puts the ring on your fourth finger. "And then you dropped your wallet and it gave me the best opportunity to approach you. Little did I know, the sight of a man running after would make you run too. But you took my number in the end and three years later, the love of my life is standing before me. Everything I am and have belongs to you __, always and forever."

Your officiant smiles at you both as Jungkook struggles to keep his distance from you a few seconds longer. He's been waiting for this very moment since the day you agreed to be his boyfriend. He just can't take it any longer!

"In the presence of...oh for the love of might," your officiant stops mid-sentence when she sees Jungkook shuffling his feet closer and closer towards you. "Never in my twenty years of performing marriages have I seen a groom this eager to get married. Go ahead and kiss your wife hun! Mr. and Mrs. Jeon Jungkook everyone!"

Massive grin on his face, Jungkook grabs your waist and dips you low into a romantic kiss. The crowd goes wild at the dramatic gesture, whistling and clapping behind you.

After about a million more tears, speeches, first dances, a surprise song preformed by the wedding party, and Jungkook practically ripping off the lace garter around your thigh with his teeth, the wedding festivities come to an end. But not before you both find yourself being guided to a secret place led by Taehyung.

The wedding party insisted you be blindfolded beforehand. So here you are, almost pitch black out and clinging to Jungkook's arm.

"I don't understand why I need to be blindfolded and you don't," you say.

"I'm not sure," he replies. "Maybe they got you a gift or something."

"We're here! Stop!" You hear Taehyung shout from a few feet ahead and Jungkook freezes in place. You're body jolts forward a little with the sudden pause.

"__." Jungkook calls your name softly. "Open your eyes."

You flutter your lids open and at first, the sight before you is hazy as you adjust to the night sky. But then, your jaw drops to the ground.

In front of you is a charming river surrounded by perfectly arched cherry blossoms with lanterns hanging from the branches. All the lanterns illuminate the entire length of the stream, including around the bends and curves. At the edge of the stream is a small dock where a wooden row boat floats with a set of oars inside.

"Oh my god." Your eyes trail as far down the river as you can. You've only ever seen this in movies, so you're incredibly overwhelmed by the sight. "Jungkook, are we-are we going in there?"

He watches as you openly gape at the scene in front of you. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

You whip your head in his direction. "Are you kidding? It's amazing! Did you know about this?"

His big grin tells you everything you need to know.

"He planned everything himself," Namjoon speaks up. "Come on, your boat's waiting. It'll take you all the way to one of the best hotels in Seoul. I know you're going on your honeymoon tomorrow but we thought a night up in a five-star hotel might be nice. Unless you want to go back to Jungkook's house of course but...we kinda already grabbed your suitcases for the trip and had them put in your room."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious __."

You snake your arms out Jungkook's arm and swing them around him. "I can't thank you enough for doing this, Joon."

He places a gentle hand on your upper back. "Of course, but like I said. Jungkook planned everything so you should thank him more than me." He laughs and breaks away from you when he sees the younger man eyeing the two of you excruciatingly close. "I think your husband would like you back now."

Jungkook comes up behind you and sneakily slips your hand in his tatted one. "Are you ready?" He gestures towards the boat.

You nod and he pulls you towards the dock, helping you into the boat first when you approach it. He sits across from you after and grabs the oars of the boats, lowering them into the water one at a time.

"Wait!" Taehyung lunges over the edge of the boat with something small and black in his palm. "Don't forget this." He clips a tiny microphone to his shirt and you scrunch your eyebrows.

"What's this about?" You ask.

Taehyung only half-smirks at you and backs away from the boat. "We'll see you when you come back from the honeymoon okay? Have fun! But please, for the sanity of us all, don't text us any details. In the words of the wise, keep the private things private!"

Jungkook laughs and starts rowing the boat forward and down the stream. You, on the other hand, wave goodbye to everyone as you drift further and further away from the dock.

"So, husband," you sit with your elbows on your knees. "What's the mic for?"

Jungkook doesn't reply but shushes you instead. He tests the mic a couple of times before soft music comes from either side of you. Apparently, there are stereos lined down the banks of the river.

When he starts singing, you cover your mouth in overwhelming joy.

"Summer has already spread in the air

Breeze is already blowing.

The last cold snap is going out

The days were getting longer and longer

But my days were still going on and on and on

I got wet in the sunshower, I looked up at the night sky..."

At this moment the lanterns start twinkling, reflecting like raindrops in the water. You look all around you, taking in the change of atmosphere. Jungkook's cool eyes focus on you intently as he continues serenading you.

"It was quite a lonely night

In the blink of an eye, the dark faded out

Blooming under the sunlight

Memories with me and you..."

The boat rows left and you peer over your shoulder. Taehyung and the rest of the wedding party are barely visible by now. When you look ahead again, you see that you're about to go under a stone bridge. On the other side are more cherry blossom trees and a glimpse of downtown Seoul.

"All these lights are colored in by you

All these times are precious due to you

Four seasons have passed with you

Four scents were left 'cause of you

All the reasons why I can laugh out

All the reasons why I sing this song

Thankful to be by your side now

I'll try to shine brighter than now..."

Jungkook rows the two of you closer to the city as he finishes his song, passing a number of other couples taking night strolls together. The wind blows a little but it doesn't make you shiver at all—his voice warms your soul.

And when you lean in to kiss him once the boat reaches the dock near the hotel, fingers grazing his cheeks, your body yearns to be near his.

It takes little to no time for the two of you to find your hotel room. Jungkook swipes your keycard in the door and in you both go, your hand shamelessly yanks at his tie.

He presses you up the back of the door once it's locked shut and kisses you with a fiery passion. It's different from all the other times; neither rough nor soft, as he sucks on your bottom lip, eagerly begging to deepen the kiss.

"Kook," you let out a muffled moan when his tongue finds its way into your mouth. It's a wrestle at first, your tongues toying with each other. And once you get the hint that he's not about to back down you start threading your fingers through his hair.

"I love it when you do that," he groans and pushes himself against your body, grinding his growing bulge against your center.

You whine against his lips and grind your hips back into his. "I know you do," you tease and a strong pair of hands wander your waist before traveling behind to grip your ass.

You yelp when he squeezes your cheeks and starts rutting himself into you faster. He moves his pillowy lips to the side of your neck too, peppering you with kisses from the the sensitive area right below your earlobe and all the way down to your collarbone.

"Fuck," he grunts, nothing short of frustrated, when your dress stops him from kissing down any further. The hands gripping your ass move up to find the zipper of your gown. "Please, baby, can I remove it?"

"Yes, go ahead," you nod and retract your hands from his hair to let the gown fall off your shoulders. Jungkook watches lustfully as your bare breasts are revealed to him little by little. He's seen them a million times but each time is always like his first, his eyes never fail to dilate.

"Perfect," you hear him whisper under his breath. And when the gown pools to the ground around your feet with a heavy thump, he can't hold himself back any longer.

He needs you.

One by one he starts tearing off his suit jacket, then his vest and leather belt until he's left standing in nothing else left except his black underwear. His muscles bulge without even having to flex and his pecs are more than solid.

If he weren't the love of your life, you'd say he was damn intimidating. Yet the pleasure you get from simply viewing his perfectly toned body is ridiculous and what pushes you further is the gold band wrapped around his fourth finger.

Jungkook must be feeling the same as his hands are back on your hips in the seconds following, pushing you to the wall adjacent to the door and attacking the area near your collarbone again with his plushy lips. You whine when his large pecs rub against your pebbled nipples.

"God what have you been lifting these day Jeon? Half of Seoul?" You rest your hands on his biceps which tense at the touch.

"Uh uh," he tsks in response. "Can't call me that anymore. We share the same name now." He kisses your shoulder then moves his mouth over to a nipple. He licks one first, teasing it with the tip of his tongue until you moan for him to keep going.

"You have such soft boobies," he comments before finally sucking on one. Your head falls back from the pleasure it sends up your spine.

"Do you have to say it like that?"

He switches to the other breast, licking and sucking it firmly like the he'd done previously. "What's wrong with boobies? I like the word."

You chuckle and decide to let him have his fun. Pick you battles __, you hum to yourself.

Jungkook tugs at the string of your underwear after placing one last kiss atop each boob. He slowly pulls the thin material down your legs at your consent and you step out from them.

"Lean against the wall and throw your leg over my shoulder," he tells you on bended knees.

You do as he says, swinging a leg over his shoulder. The movement has his head face to face with your cunt which is not in the least bit dry from all the teasing and grinding earlier.

Jungkook sticks a finger in his mouth, wetting it with his spit and then rubs it back and forth between your folds. The lubrication mixes with your own arousal.

"Jungkook," you whine when he doesn't sink his finger in right away, despite the fact that you're well prepared for it.

He blinks at you through his lashes with a devious smirk. "What?" He asks. "You don't like this?"

"I do but I need more. Please," you beg. "Fingers. In me. Please."

He groans at the way your voice seems to crack the more you beg. Well, he's made you wait long enough. Jungkook pushes his finger into your velvet walls all at once, dragging it back and forth in search of your sweet spot.

He knows he's found it when you instantly buck your hips and the leg that's over his shoulder reflexively clamps down on him.

"Right here?" He curls his finger inside you and it has your pussy already throbbing for him. You don't even have to ask for a second finger before he does the honors himself, sliding another into you then proceeding to make a scissoring motion with both digits. "Or here?" He asks again.

"Anywhere," you barely make out through your gasps. "Just don't stop what you're doing."

"What if I wanna lick your pussy?" He pumps his fingers faster all while maintaining focus on your face. "Make you come all over my tongue."

"God Kook, do whatever you want," you reply and it's all the push he needs to remove his fingers from out of you to replace it with his mouth. "Fuck!" You cry as he desperately licks long stripes up your slippery folds, tongue dipping inside for additional pleasure.

He repeats the motion several times until he decides its not enough and sucks on your clit.

"Oh, that feels so good, fuck, fuck Jungkook," you moan with eyes closed and a shaky breath.

Your legs start trembling as your first orgasm of the night builds inside. It gets closer and closer as Jungkook works faster and faster before finally, the cord inside you breaks free.

Jungkook happily swallows as much of your cum as he can. He uses his wrist to wipes his mouth after, cleaning up any leftover.

"First time eating my wife out," he starts, guiding your leg over his shoulder back on the ground. "What a fucking turn on."

Jungkook stands up and pulls you into an embrace with both hands, your bare bodies press tight against each other. Then, without any warning, he swoops up your legs with one hand supporting your lower back and lifts your into his arms.

"Kook!" You call his name in suddeness of the action.

"Yes? What is it wife?" He carries you to the large, king size bed that's covered in rose petals and lays you on top. His handsome face leans over you with careful, attentive eyes while a hand reaches for one of the soft pillows nearby to slip under your head.

It's now that the weight of the moment hits you, as if you've just doven off a steep cliff and head first into the rushing rapids of the ocean.

"I love you," you say.

Jungkook sticks his thumbs in the band of his underwear and pushes it down until he can easily remove them. He's fully hard when he crawls over top of you after, and places his hands on either side of your head.

"I love you too." He lowers his head to capture your lips into a deep kiss. "Now," he continues, sitting up on his knees and shimmying his thighs up your frame. "I think I might need some help here."

He grips his pulsating length, tan tip leaking with pre-cum. You widen your mouth gladly and he shoves his length to the back of your throat.

"Mm!" You gag but to say you hate it would be a lie.

Jungkook doesn't move at first, letting you get used to the weight of his cock on your tongue first. He bites his lip as you hallow your cheeks the best you can.

"I don't want to come, I just want it wet okay?" He tells you and you nod in understanding. "Fuck, so good," he lets out a throaty growl after the first thrust.

You suck him as hard as you can as he fucks your mouth at a steady pace, making sure his cock will be nice and well-lubricated with your spit this time.

"Can't believe we're married," he thrusts faster, teeth clenching together. "My wife, mine forever. No one else can have you. I won't let them."

You blink your glassy eyes at him, thighs struggling to rub together due to the arousal pooling between your legs for the tenth time tonight.

You love him so fucking much.

Jungkook pulls himself out of your mouth while you're in thought, a string of spit following. He backs himself down your body until he can properly hover over you in a straddling position.

"Legs up," he commands and you wrap them around his waist in a criss-cross position. His wetted length finds your entrance with little guidance and pushes forward, stretching your walls so deliciously well.

"Oh my god," you shudder as his cock sinks all the way in thanks to both of you being incredibly worked up and lubricated. Your hands fly under his arms after two thrusts, to grip his back. "Fuck, you're so deep Kook."

"I know, holy shit," he grunts and beats himself into you. He likes the feeling of your body bouncing up and down underneath him so leans down on his elbows to fuck you faster and harder. "I think this might be the deepest I've been in you baby, so wet for me—fuck!"

He moans loudly when your nails claw his back. "Shit I'm sorry!" You relax your fingers immediately when he winces at the slight pain.

"No," he nips at your jaw. "I like it, keep doing it. Mark me up." He snaps his hips into yours and you claw at his back again, harsher than the last time; not enough to hurt him but enough to make him moan in your ear over and over again.

"Jungkook! Too much," you pant as he burries his head in your neck, trailing hot open mouth kisses to the area. "It's too much, I'm gonna come!"

"Fuck, that's the goal baby!"

"Yeah but, don't wanna come so soo—"

He shuts you up with his tongue shoving between you lips, kissing you with a purpose. You's body squirms at the pleasure and you find yourself clenching around his thick length that yes, twitches in response.

"Three years together and you still think I'll give you one round and call it quits. Since when baby?" He groans as he feels himself achingly close to his high (you too). "Tell me, since fucking when?" He emphasizes once more.

You're too lost in how close you are to your second orgasm to give him an answer.

"That's right, never."

One hard thrust later and you come on his length. It takes little time before he releases in you as well, yet he continues his pace.

"That's one down," Jungkook says, riding out both your orgasms which slowly works you up to another. "Not including any eating out. And if my memory serves our record is five. Don't you think we should surpass that now that we're legally bonded to each other Mrs. Jeon? In sickness and in health was it?"

"I'm still trying to recover from the first two orgasms I had tonight, including the fingering and you relentless dry humping."

"Baby," he coos. "My sweet baby, come here." With both arms Jungkook lifts your body with his until you're both in an upright, seated position. Your legs that were once wrapped around his waist rest on the mattress as he thrust up into your cunt. "Don't you know I just want to make you feel good? Why recover when you can be wrecked so heavenly over and over again?"

You moan and squeeze your hands on his shoulder. Jungkook studies your face, maintaining slow, calculated thrusts into you.

"Come for me again," he says.

And you do, sticky white liquid dripping down to the base of his cock and onto the sheets under you.

"You enjoyed that didn't you?" He smirks. "Let's see you get on all fours now. I'd love to see how well my wife takes it from behind."

You catch him off guard by pushing on his chest and guiding him flat on his back. "Mm no," you refuse him. "I think I'd like to get a taste of my husband as a bottom instead."

Jungkook's cock hardens inside you and his fingers settle around your hips as he smirks up at you. "Go ahead then," he tests. "Try getting yourself off."

"You think I can't do it?" You narrow your eyes and grind forward on his cock, earning you a deep growl from your new husband.

"We'll see how long you'll last before I have to flip you on your back and take over," he spats. "But good luck beautiful."

With a huff and determination in your eyes, you start a strong pace. Jungkook watches you with lustful eyes as you bounce on him– enjoying the show a little too much.

a/n: Thanks for reading! Lmk what you think 🥰

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#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts au #fic:whenIsayforever #requests #kookslastbutton

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sugumii · 11 months

Text

Blade X Reader: Affection

TW: None.

___________

“Blaaaadeee”

“…”

“Bllaaaaaaddieeeee.”

“…”

“Love of my life.”

“…”

“Darling?”

“…”

“My love?”

“…”

“My lovely amazing lover whom I care for very deeply and cher-“

A gloved hand covered your mouth, stopping you from speaking. Instead, confused muffles came out as the raven haired male eyed you irritably. His dark, wine red eyes stared at you with annoyance. “What?”

You snickered upon hearing his annoyed tone. You just loved pushing your boyfriend’s buttons. Funny enough, even as his s/o he never dropped his tough boy act. He was still the same, cold and aloof, but he did show off his soft side in private sometimes. Dating Blade was certainly not for the light hearted. With a past as dark as his, it was only natural for his heart to have countless walls and remain guarded. Except, he let his guard down a little around you. There were times he’d joke and mumble a quiet, “I love you” but nothing more has occurred. He wasn’t one for displaying affection after all. You slowly removed his hand from your mouth to respond.

“Nothing. Just bored.”

“…” His eyes narrowed and a scowl took form on his face. Bored? Just what the devil was wrong with you? If you’re bored why bother him? Go play games with Silver Wolf or scheme with Kafka. Why bother him?

“So?”

“Soooo… as my boyfriend you have to entertain me! Let’s do something!” You excitedly said, looking up at him with vibrant eyes. You were grinning and looking ecstatic for reasons Blade didn’t understand. He raised an eyebrow at this before speaking. “Go bother Silver Wolf or something. I’m busy.”

You whined and pouted. “Busy doing what? Standing aloof? Come onn don’t push me away. You wouldn’t want to upset your s/o now would you?”

Blade huffed and closed his eyes, seemingly done with your antics. His whole body radiated vibes of annoyance but on the inside he was actually amused and intrigued by you. You looked cute to him, pouting and complaining about wanting to spend time with him. He refrained from smiling and instead remained stoic. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

Your eyes lit up as you internally cheered and replied, “How about we cuddle? We haven’t done that yet and I wanna try cuddling with you! Plus, you look comfy to hug.” Upon saying this, you watched as your boyfriend’s eyes opened with the smallest hint of surprise at your suggestion. Cuddle? With him? Blade wasn’t one for being touched, in fact he despised it. He was never interested in things such as holding hands or cuddling, not even hugs seemed that interesting to him.

He studied your expression for a moment, taking note of your pleading gaze. Maybe… just maybe, he could make an exception for tonight. He sighed and gave in.

“Fine… but don’t get used to this.”

“Yaaay!” You cheered, quickly taking hold of his hand and ushering him to the lounge’s sofa. He flinched at the close contact but didn’t complain, allowing it to happen. You sat down as he followed suit, then scooted closer to him. He remained seated and stared straight ahead into the distance.

“Bladeeee, come on. At least act like you want to.” You huffed, closing the distance between the two of you. You were leaning into his side, looking up at him expectantly. His stoic facade was easily fooling you into thinking he didn’t care, but on the inside his heart raced ever so slightly.

He looked down at you and had the faintest hint of a blush on his face before he slowly wrapped an arm around you. His heart rate quickened at the close contact, especially when you hummed happily and leaned in closer to him. Was this really happening? Him, letting someone get this close to him? Usually he was quick to point his sword to them and threaten them, some even getting struck down immediately… but you. You were his only exception. You were the only one whom he genuinely enjoyed their touch. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t so bad.

“Bladeee? Are you blushing?” You teased, watching him seemingly snap out of his thoughts. You poked his cheek as he returned to his emotionless expression and glared at you.

“Huh-?” You yelped as he pulled you in suddenly and leaned down to place a quick kiss on your lips. You blushed furiously, completely not expecting this outcome. Your heart raced, but unknowingly to you not as fast at your boyfriend’s. Blade leaned back and looked straight ahead again, pretending as though nothing had happened leaving you stuck in a daze. He just kissed you… he just kissed you. He just-

You came back to reality as you felt a slight pain on your forehead. You blushed and whined and rubbed at it, looking up at Blade’s face. Before you could question him he smirked and looked proud, almost smug at your reaction. He flicked your forehead once more and pulled you into his side closer.

“Cute.”

______

“Aren’t they just adorable?” Kafka grinned teasingly, snapping a few photos of you and Blade cuddling together. You both had ended up falling asleep together in the lounge. Blade had you glued to his side, pressed firmly yet comfortably against him. His arm remained wrapped around you as you snored softly with your head against his chest. His head rested on yours with a peaceful look on his face. Elio nodded in agreement, a slight smile on his face. Of course he had foreseen this outcome already, but seeing it personally was even cuter.

“They’re quite cute indeed.”

“Kafka, send me those photos when you’re done.” Silver wolf commented, continuing to lie down on another couch with her eyes glued to her gaming device. A lollipop was in her mouth as she casually replied, “I want to upload this to my social media.”

Kafka chuckled and stood back up, putting her phone in her pocket. “Sure, sure… just be sure to give me some credit.” She turned to Elio and nodded her head with a sly smile on her face. “Alright, now that I’ve had my fun it’s time to head to Xianzhou Luofu to fulfill the mission. I’ll see you two later.” She grinned as she made her way to the teleporter. Before she entered, she turned her head back to the two and commented.

“Just be sure those two are awake when we need them. Bladie’s suppose to get captured after all.”

With that she teleports away and leaves the four to themselves in the lounge. Elio turns to leave elsewhere, needing to finish his business while Silver Wolf opens her text messages to see the pictures Kafka sent her of the two. She smiles and saves them, opening her social media.

“They’re cute together… #OTP.”

#blade x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader #honkai star rail #blade honkai #honkaiedit #fanfic #hsr kafka #silver wolf #honkai silver wolf #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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teatreeoilll · 3 months

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

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hatsunemitskislobotomy · 4 months

Text

“…𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮..

𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮, 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮…”

╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

well that was one way to be broken up with.

she couldn’t even be mad at the guy. he had been very sweet and patient but she had spiraled and started missing texts that turned to missing calls— which turned to missing dates. wasn’t the first time either, she just was that much of an exhausting person to keep up with.

in the sense that she was always behind.

she let out a sigh as she rid herself of his footprints, deleting his texts, deleting any photos, unadding him on socials— the whole nine yards.

but when it came to that dreaded voicemail.

her finger hovered over the red trash can button, taunting her.

and then she pocketed her phone, she supposed it would serve as a reminder.

that it was always her fault.

she rubbed at her face before emerging from her room.

“ah, you’re awake.” her raven haired roommate looked up from his book

“and to think we thought you were just about to sleep through your date.” her snowy haired roommate chimed in from his position laying across the raven’s lap

“ah, about that… i just got broken up with.”

“…”

it was quiet between the three of them, then again when was it not? she never made much efforts to communicate with them past their typical chores and roles in the housework.

the two in a friendlier than most relationship were seeking a third person to help take up the lease and that’s exactly what she did, nothing more nothing less.

and when it got awkward…

“yeah…” she murmured looking at her hands

“do you… want to talk about it?” it was a cheap attempt, she appreciated it nonetheless

“i’d rather not, i think my first proper conversation with you two shouldn’t be me bitching about my ex.”

satoru’s airy laugh sounded as he got up from his lover’s (?) lap.

“please, we wouldn’t be opposed.”

“speak for yourself satoru, only you are a fiend for other people’s affairs.” suguru tsked, closing his book slightly

“but please, if you need someone to talk to— we’re both willing.”

“i thought i was the fiend suguru—”

“you are, i’m offering as a concerned roommate.”

“i’m fine.” her words a lot harsher than she intended

and then came the unconvinced, concerned glances.

“sorry.”

and then she retreated back to her room.

if she kept this up she’d find herself out on the streets.

she let out a sigh, it was what she deserved right? no boyfriend, no roommates, no friends, nothing.

on her birthday no less.

she let out a sigh, she might as well distract from this pitiful day.

————————————————————

nothing beat rearranging your room instead of confronting your feelings.

she shook her head, she didn’t have a right to feel anything more than empty. the only thing that she felt was the need to rearrange her room and rearranged it was.

she needed a new change of scenery, after all she was another year older.

and yet still none the wiser.

the brutality of reality seemed to sting more as one got older.

she sighed, at least she can mope in a clean room.

a knock pulled her from her thoughts.

“it’s open.”

and then there stood her two roommates.

“i don’t think we’ve ever seen your room—ack! ow…”

“seriously satoru?”

“what? it’s true…”

she stared at the two bickering before the raven sat his eyes on her.

“y/n… we wanted to see if you were free later—“

“please, she’s always free—“

a smack, then a whine.

“we’ve realized that you haven’t been properly introduced to the area… we’d love to do you the honors.” he offered a half hearted smile

she supposed it was true, aside from her dates once in a while— she never really was familiar with the area.

“i suppose i can accept.”

“i told you suguru now we have to drag her ou— wait what?”

she chuckled, for the first time in a long time, a genuine chuckle tumbled out from her lips.

the two men were in awe.

“i’ll join your endeavors to wherever, i… i could use the fresh air.” she swallowed

the bright blue eyed man seemed ecstatic as he left her room pumped, the more subdued raven gave her a soft smile before leaving her to get ready in peace.

“thank you for humoring us.”

she should be thanking them, but she wouldn’t say that part out loud… at least not yet.

—————————————————

she couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward as she was wedged between the two men who insisted.

something about her being too small and easily losable in the crowd.

apparently these parts were known for having winter night markets where the cold winter streets would warm to life with street food and vendors.

she hardly had a chance to process the sights and the atmosphere as they dragged her from stall to stall, sampling food, eying trinkets, playing games.

she’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t having fun.

“wait guys— i’m gonna get some of the dango from earlier.” satoru was bouncing away before the two could even respond

“well his dentist certainly has their work cut out for them.”

suguru had to process her snark words a little before letting out a chuckle.

“believe it or not, satoru has the most elaborate brushing routine that I’ve ever seen. he’d rather die than develop any sensitivity to sweets.” he hummed

“i see.” she hummed, starting to rub her hands a bit

“getting cold?”

“a little, it’s fine— i’ll probably invest in gloves one of these days…” she sighed a little

“here, let me.”

he gently took her hands in his, letting her much smaller hands rest nice and warm in his own.

“your hands always this warm?”

“i’d have to say quite the opposite for you, and here i thought satoru’s was bad.” he chuckled lightly

“speaking of— if it’s within my boundaries… what are you two?” the words just tumbled out of her mouth

they weren’t married, and they seemed very comfortable in each other platonically as well.

it was obvious that they loved each other, but she couldn’t help but wonder in what way?

he tilted his head slightly.

“perhaps soulmates, life partners. he’s practically my everything.” he smiled

“oi! quit being so cryptic!” suddenly satoru was back with his dango in one hand and the other around the raven

“he’s my person— not much else to it.”

“that wasn’t any better than mine in the slightest.”

“yeah but you go into the poetics of it too much, just call it as it is.”

and she was left with more questions than she had answered, but in a way she sort of got what they meant.

they were each other’s person.

“i’m glad you two have each other.” she gave them a smile

“ah shit— she just got broken up with… are we being too much?”

“satoru!”

and there it was again, that airy laugh that made the boys still. they were still in awe that she had it in her, not when she constantly looked miserable in their eyes.

“guys, guys it’s fine— you don’t have to change anything for my sake.” she sighed, a small smile still playing at her lips

“ugh you’re so sweet! your loser boyfriend didn’t even deserve you like that!” satoru whined as he shook her a little

“especially dumping you on y—“

an elbow to the ribs and his hands were immediately off you.

“suguru…!” he groaned

“you have a big mouth.”

“oh but you like that~”

another elbow.

she couldn’t help but snicker at their antics, one moment they were like an old couple in love and another moment it was almost as if their were your typical best friends who’ve known each other forever.

she thinks she’s starting to understand what suguru meant by them being each other’s person a little bit better.

“sorry about talking about your relationships so carelessly.” suguru gave her a sheepish smile

“it’s alright, nothing that wasn’t my own fault.” she shrugged

they looked at each other.

she couldn’t just leave it at that.

“i have the tendency to just… withdraw..” she bit the inside of her cheek

“at some point it’s exhausting for the other person, dealing with me disappearing every so often— although it’s not intentional… it’s not hard for someone else to think i’ve lost interest or i’m being unfaithful.” she gave the two a half hearted shrug

“i suppose there’s just a lot i need to work on myself before i put myself out there.”

the two seemed conflicted, it was good she could recognize the areas she needs to work on…

“…but aren’t you being too harsh on yourself?” suguru blurted out, satoru immediately nodding

“there’s nothing wrong with working on yourself… but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to love and be loved.” satoru gave her a look

she knew they were right, but sometimes it was just easier to be miserable without having to think about another— only thinking about herself and her misery. she was selfish like that.

and they could tell by the conflict that flashed on her face.

before the conversation could progress any further she felt something cold prick at her nose, and then she looked up.

a gentle snow was falling.

“well would you look at that.”

she wore a wistful expression as she looked up, letting the snowflakes gather on her lashes as the warmth of her skin melted the ones on her face.

perhaps it was the universe letting her have this one thing, the first snow.

suguru and satoru seemed thrilled as well.

“suguru— look!”

“i see it satoru.”

but everyone seemed so far away as it was just her and the gentle snow.

it was beautiful.

but beautiful things hardly last.

“…!”

she looked back at the two who gave her a look, suddenly she was back on the busy night market street.

“you’re shivering.”

she didn’t notice until another one wracked her body.

before she could speak she felt herself being dragged along by satoru, suguru trailing behind the two.

“wha..? where are we going?”

“somewhere to warm up!”

——————————————————

when the two dragged her off, she expected for them to go back to their shared apartment or a restaurant.

but she was sitting down on a couch in a dim room with a microphone in hands while colored lights danced around the room.

“i… i have a few questions—”

“come on! it’s nice and warm and you can sing your heart out about your shitty ex!”

“he wasn’t shitty though, it was my fault we broke up.”

“that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel some type of way about it.”

which was true.

“come on you know the classic breakup songs right? it’ll get whatever off your chest—“

and before she could protest satoru was already queuing up a song.

and that’s how the rest of the night went, although hesitant at first it wasn’t long before the three taking turns in singing songs and ballads. from cheesy classics to songs of yearning and heartbreak that suguru sang a bit too well for satoru’s comfort.

“i’ll never make you feel like that!” he whined clinging on to the raven who gave him an exasperated look

“i know.”

she couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, it was nice to be around other people.

“i’m going to the restroom.” suguru hummed before peeling satoru off of him

“can i come with~”

“no.”

she snickered a bit at satoru’s clingy behavior.

“he’s so mean to me!” he huffed

“i think he knew if you two went together you wouldn’t be coming back out any time soon.” she mused

he let out a dramatic sigh.

“i suppose you’re right.”

“also we couldn’t leave your mopey self all by your lonesome.” he gave her a little nudge

she shook her head with a smile.

“i think i would’ve managed.”

“yeah yeah don’t lie— you’ve been all sad about your lame ex. y’know if you said no earlier sugu and i would’ve just dragged you out one way or another.”

“i’d like to see you try.”

“suguru manhandles me on the daily— we’d get ya.” he snickered

a comfortable silence fell between the two.

“do you feel better?”

she pondered his question a little.

“i do…”

but.

“but..?” he tilted his head

“it’s not even the breakup at this point…” she sighed a little

it was the prospect of getting older, and not a damn thing changed.

life itself was a fickle thing, ever changing.

so why hasn’t she?

gripping onto the ways of her past, she joked that she peaked when she was younger and it was all downhill from there… when did it start being actually true?

her past, her youth— it took all the best parts of her.

and now she was someone despicable enough to be broken up with on their birthday—

she felt cold hands on her cheeks, snapping her from her thoughts.

“you got lost in your head.” bright blue eyes staring down on her as she blinked

just how long did she spend ruminating looking like a complete nutcase in front of him?

“suguru was right— your hands are cold.” she mumbled out

“you alright?”

“i’m not sure yet.”

“…you wanna sing one more song?”

she sighed.

“pass me the mic.”

she got up to go queue up the next song, her back towards satoru— he didn’t need to see her inner turmoil boil up once more.

she heard the door click open, she figured suguru was back.

“ah— suguru. you wanna join the last—“

the words on her lips died as she turned around to meet his gaze, only for it to fall on a cake.

a birthday cake.

“welp— cat’s out of the bag! woooo! happy birthday!”

she was still processing it.

“satoru that’s hardly appropriate,” suguru rolled his eyes at him before turning to face her once more

“come, sit down.”

so she sat down on the couch in between the two as suguru set the cake down in front of her on the table.

“we weren’t sure what flavor you’re into but as a self proclaimed confectionery connoisseur, all the cakes from this bakery are really good so it should be alright.” satoru hummed as he pulled out candles from his pocket and expertly placed them around the cake

she finally found her words.

“how… how did you know…?”

suguru gave her a small smile.

“well at first we didn’t, but then we did some extensive research—“

“we were snooping around your socials.”

“…yeah that.”

her lips couldn’t help but quirk up at that.

“we knew something was up when you bothered to speak more than five words to us.” satoru shrugged before being met with a smack to the head

“owww…! it’s true!”

“forgive satoru, he’s bad at handling delicate situations.”

“i’m just saying it how it is! you looked more down than usual and we snooped around! can we talk about how shitty your ex is for dumping you on your birthday?” he ranted which earned him another smack

she was overwhelmed with emotion, she didn’t even realize the tears that started to stain her cheeks.

“you made her cry.”

“shit— i’m sorry!”

“no no,” she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand

“i’m grateful i promise, just processing… y’know?”

“we hope you know that you deserve this, having a birthday worth celebrating.” suguru put a hand on her shoulder

she offered him a watery smile.

“hug? you look like you could use one.” satoru offered

typically she would’ve refused, she wasn’t big on physical gestures but she couldn’t stop herself from nodding softly wiping her face some more.

she let herself be caged in between the two, taking in their scents and warmth. she relaxed into their holds, letting out a sigh once her sniffling subsided.

“thank you.” she whispered softly

“i know we’re still sort of strangers but we’ve grown a liking to you, if you ever think you’re alone especially here… we’re here for you.” suguru murmured

“you’ve already been welcomed in our lives aside from the roommate formality stuff, it’s just up to you if you want us in yours.” satoru chuckled lightly ruffling her hair a little

“i’d… like that.”

and they held on for a little bit longer, she held on for a little bit longer.

“now how about we blow out some candles?”

❀° ┄───╮

this one is dedicated to all the girlies who feel some type of way (wanting to die lol) on their birthdays, including me today :,)

╰───┄ °❀

#happy bithday to me #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk drabbles #jjk geto #jjk gojo #satosugu x reader fluff #platonic satosugu x reader #satoru gojo #suguru geto #satosugu #jjk x reader #lowkey self insert whoops

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regulus-blacks-lover · 1 year

Note

98 with Sirius x Reader and maybe it leads to some smut?

98 we bump into each other in a place neither of us is really supposed to be

Warnings: filthy nasty smut. fingering and piv sex. sirius calls reader many things - princess and slut, mostly. dom!sirius kinda? implied cheating. some dark undertones if you squint? mostly just bc sirius is kindof a dick in this one.

1,786 words, not proofread lol

also i made the reader a ravenclaw in this, hopefully that's okay. also reader and regulus are dating in this scenario mkay

-----

Half an hour til midnight. Half an hour til Regulus's birthday. You'd gotten a new set of lingerie for the occasion and were getting ready to sneak out of the Ravenclaw common room to the Slytherin dormitory, all the way down in the dungeon level of the school. You knew you'd have plenty of privacy in Regulus's prefect room when you gave him his "gift".

Regulus had been distant and a little cold the past few weeks; you hoped a night spent together like this would smooth everything over between you two.

You looked at your lingerie-clad body in the mirror one last time before pulling your cloak over your shoulders, shivering slightly in anticipation.

Sneaking out of the Ravenclaw tower was easy enough. Known for being the house of responsible students, your section of the castle wasn't patrolled very often.

It wasn't until you reached the lower levels of the castle that you started to worry. With every sound you were sure you'd been caught. Finally, you reached the stairwell that would take you down to the Slytherin common room.

You reached the bottom of the steps without issue, and were just starting down the hall when someone whispered in your ear, "Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little raven out of her nest."

Your spine stiffened and your heart skipped a beat. You'd recognise that voice anywhere. Sirius Black. Internally, you cursed yourself for being so unaware he'd been creeping up behind you.

You whirled to face him. He was carrying that map, that damn map. Regulus had told you about it many times, but you'd never quite believed him.

"Hello, Y/N." He said quietly. His eyes glittered with mischief. "Coming to see my brother? Here to wish him a pleasant birthday? You really should be more careful. Lots of people out lurking the castle at night, and you're all too easy to sneak up on."

You scowled at him. "What do you want, Sirius?"

"I don't want anything. I'm here for the same reason you are, to wish my brother a happy birthday."

You eyed him with suspicion. You had no doubt in your mind that Sirius had been preparing to play some vicious prank on Regulus before you stumbled into his path.

Sirius's gaze fell to your cloak, his eyes lingering on the top button. Something in your stomach tightened. "You know what's funny? You don't seem to have a gift with you, Y/N." He pointed his wand at you; first at your throat and then he lowered it until the tip rested on the collar of your cloak. He hooked his wand underneath the fabric and pulled it to the side, revealing the top edge of the lace that hugged your body.

A hungry smirk fell across his face, but he withdrew his wand, allowing your cloak to fall back into place. "I suppose you're the present then, hm?"

"Fuck you." You snapped, temper rising along with your voice.

That was your mistake, allowing him to get under your skin. Both of your heads snapped up as the sound of hurried footsteps began to echo down the hallway.

Sirius glanced down at the map. You hadn't even blinked when he grabbed you by the arm and began pulling you along with him.

"What are you doing?!" You demanded, trying to free your arm from his grasp.

"It's Filch." He hissed back.

You fell silent. There was nowhere else to go, so you allowed Sirius to continue pulling you down the hall.

A moment later, he pulled a small door open and shoved you inside, hurrying in after you and closing the door with a silence that made you understand how he'd been able to sneak up on you earlier.

You panted, trying to catch your breath. The small storage closet Sirius had pushed you into was dimly lit. A little bit of light came in below the door, but most of the light came from within the closet. Perched on the shelves behind you was a collection of jars and vials containing a fiery glowing substance. Between the shelves and stored equipment, there was barely room for you and Sirius.

Outside, the sound of footsteps grew louder, until it stopped right outside the closet door. Sirius placed a large hand over your mouth, undoubtedly concerned your ragged breaths would give you both away. For some reason, you let him hold his hand there, pressed just hard enough to quiet your breathing.

After a long moment, the footsteps moved away, growing quieter until they faded entirely. Gingerly, Sirius removed his hand from your mouth. For a strange second, you missed the intent warmth of his hand on your face.

In all the commotion, your cloak had slipped off one shoulder, the top button falling open, baring half of your lace-clad chest. You watched Sirius as his gaze as it raked down your body, as if imagining the rest of what remained hidden.

You didn't know what made you do it, but you surged forward and kissed him. Just a peck of your lips on his, so fast he didn't even have time to react or return the gesture.

He looked at you, a rare expression of surprise on his face. Something about it made you feel momentarily triumphant.

But then the surprise was gone, replaced by raw, animal hunger. He spun you around, his movements faster than you could make sense of. One hand encircled your throat, urging your head back so it rested on his shoulder. His other hand trailed down the front of your cloak, deftly unbuttoning it until it fell to the floor.

"Look at you." He hissed in your ear, his hot breath fanning across the side of your neck. "All dressed up for my brother. Such a pretty little slut."

His fingers were raking down your body, stopping to circle your breasts, pinching at them over the thin fabric. You couldn't help the little whimper that fell from your lips.

"Shh. You'd better be fucking quiet now. I've worked so hard to keep us both out of trouble tonight, you know." His hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat, a silent promise. Instinctively, you pressed your body back against him, in an effort to lessen the pressure on your throat. He let out a quiet hiss as you felt how hard he was against your back.

His hand fell between your legs, stroking you over the fabric. "You've soaked through your pretty little lace panties, love." Sirius whispered.

A flush warmed your face, and you rocked your ass rhythmically against him in retaliation. A low groan escaped him, and you smirked to yourself.

He pushed the fabric of your panties to the side, circling your clit with his fingers. The pressure nearly made your knees buckle. Sirius let out a low chuckle, and without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into your pussy, immediately starting to pump them in and out at a merciless pace.

One of your hands shot out, looking for something to grasp onto. You found the closet wall, pressing your palm flat against the cool surface as Sirius continued to curl his fingers inside you.

Your other hand dropped to grip his wrist, though this did nothing to slow his movements. If anything, it urged him to move faster, pressing down on your clit with his thumb.

"You gonna come, angel?" He asked as you began to clench around him. "Gonna come on my fingers like the dirty little slut you are? That's right, come for me."

Your mouth fell open and he used the opportunity to move his hand from your neck, instead using it to grip your jaw as he plunged his thumb into your mouth. You closed your lips, sucking his finger gently as he swore under his breath. He pushed your jaw to the side, baring the side of your neck to him as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin there.

As you came down from your high, he pulled his fingers from your pussy and turned you back around so you were facing him. For a second, he just looked at you. His pupils were wide and the smell of sex hung in the air. And then he was kissing you, his hands trailing down your body. He hooked a thumb into the waistband of your underwear and pulled it down until it fell to the floor. His hands rested on your ass and you let him push you backwards until you were pressed against the wall of the closet.

He kicked his pants off and grabbed onto your thighs, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist, your back pressed against the wall. It seemed effortless as he adjusted his grasp on your thighs, holding you up as he lined himself up with your entrance. You watched, mesmerized, as he pushed into you. When his hips were flush against yours, he began to trust against you.

"I can feel you clenching around me, princess." He said. "Are you enjoying this? Do you enjoy getting fucked in secret by your boyfriend's brother?"

You whimpered in response. His thrusts slowed. "Answer me." He said, his voice changing dramatically from the smirking tease it had been a moment before. "I asked if you like getting fucked by your boyfriend's brother like the dirty little slut you are."

"Yes." You said, voice coming out breathy. "Yes, I like it."

He snapped his hips brutally up into you. "That's better." He said, and resumed his fast pace.

As he continued to fuck you, Sirius buried his face in your shoulder, his breath coming out is sharp pants. Occasionally he would bite at your soft skin.

"I'm getting close, princess." He said. "I'm gonna come deep in your pretty pussy. Next time my brother fucks you, I want you to remember that I got to you first, yeah?"

"Uh-huh." You managed, so close yourself that you could barely form words.

"There's a good girl." Sirius said. "Can feel you getting tight around me. I– Oh fuck–" His sentence was cut short by his own low moan as he came. You could feel the warmth of his cum as his cock twitched.

He stood there like that for a moment, catching his breath. Before he set you down gently, his eyes found yours. He kissed you then, in a gesture that was almost sweet.

But when he pulled away, the glint had returned to his eye. "Next time you want to go for a nighttime romp, why don't you sneak on over to the Gryffindor common room? I promise I'll keep you entertained."

#my writing #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader smut #marauders smut #marauders era #marauders fics #dom!sirius #yeah its just really filthy smut truly #harry potter smut

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pockeymcmockey · 2 years

Text

𝔄𝔫 𝔈𝔶𝔢 𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔄𝔫 𝔈𝔶𝔢 | 𝓐𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷

Summary: Aemond finds himself at a crossroads, get revenge and risk his relationship or forgive Lucerys and marry the Princess...

Warnings: HEAVY angst, swearing, men with no decorum, character death (major and minor), violence, Aemond is a selfish ass, Reader regrets things.

Author's Note: This fic needs more angst so here ya go!

𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑℑ | 𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱

Princess [Name] Targaryen sat by her windowsill, a leg perched upon the ledge and her elbow resting on her knee awaiting the raven she called for after learning about her mother's miscarriage. She sent the raven off to the Red Keep with the parchment to be given to Prince Aemond. She wiped her tears and watched until the raven was out of sight before undressing out of her nightgown and into her training garbs.

When Aemond received the message from his betrothed's raven and read the ink written on the page, he felt a deep sinking in his stomach. The loss of a King, the gain of a new one, and now the loss of a babe was too much for the Kingdom and the family. Aemond wrote back, pleading to the princess to return to the Red Keep to marry him sooner rather than later but alas, when her reply was to stay in Dragonstone and comfort her mother, he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed.

Aemond prepared Vhagar for travel after dressing himself in black leather and a trenchcoat as Storm's End can be rather tempestuous. Vhagar pulled her claws from the soil of King's Landing and took off toward the Baratheon territory. The beast known as Vhagar oscillated throughout the inclement weather that was Storm's End. When the Targaryen prince and his dragon arrived to the Baratheon household, the guards kept their distance, greeting him only when they were out of Vhagar's vicinity.

The one-eyed prince gave a curt nod to the Lord seated before him, Borros returning that nod. Aemond spoke of his mother's offer to bind the two houses together, to fight to keep the rightful King on the Iron Throne. Of course, Aemond expected the Lord Baratheon to want something, so in return, Aemond offered to gift them a dragon egg. The gift of a dragon egg was not to be taken lightly, Aemond knew this, but his words were empty promises. He found a dud lying around in a nest last evening and thought it helpful to strengthen the treaty.

Borros thought his offer over. A Baratheon with a dragon has never been seen and it would bring new fear to those who crossed a Baratheon—of course, he wouldn't actually be getting one but only Aemond knew that. Borros accepted but before Aemond could take his leave, the grand doors opened to reveal the woman he's missed since their departure. And her brother. As the two children of Rhaenyra walked elegantly through the heavy doors, Aemond and [Name] made eye contact.

The pupil in her unscarred eye dilated, black almost filling her iris. She lopsidedly smiled at him, still unsettled about going against her forbidden love. Aemond stood monotonously in the shadows, observing his betrothed and Lucerys, the bane of his existence. The boy who caused all his problems spoke up, handing a Baratheon maester the parchment that held Rhaenyra's words. Borros skimmed through the letter and scoffed, mocking their mother. Lucerys reached for his sword but his older sister outstretched an arm in front of him, shaking her head at him.

"You come to my castle, asking for my army, and without a gift or payment? Am I a jest to you Targaryens?" Lord Borros shooed his maester away and tapped his nubbed fingers against the stone of his chair. "You, boy! Which one of my daughters will you marry?" Lucerys informed the Lord that he was unavailable, being already betrothed to his cousin. The Lord of the Stag cackled wildly, beer gut jutting out, almost popping the buttons of his dress shirt.

"Excuse me if I cause any offense to you, my Lord, but were your ancestors not sworn to the crown? To the Iron Throne, whom my mother should be sitting on, yet you allow a usurper to sit his fat arse on it?" [Name] asked nonchalantly, leaning on her sword, Blood Brother, a stance her father has taken many times. Now that Aemond looks at her, he sees a lot of her father inside of her. Her violet eyes too dark to match Rhaenyra's. Her tongue too sharp for her mother's taste, but not for Daemon's.

The Lord stood from his stone throne, hobbling over to the young woman stood before him. He fisted her thin blouse and touched nose to nose, his breath smelling of grape wine. "Want to say those words again, cunt?" Aemond was about to step in when [Name] smirked, her eyes cast down lazily before shaking her head, apologizing for her harsh words. "Watch your tongue, whore." Aemond's grip on his dagger kept him grounded, keeping him from lashing out on the Lord and ruining their treaty.

"I see we're not welcome here, as we have nothing to offer but our respect. We'll see ourselves out." The Princess escorted her and her brother to the door, at the half-way mark when Aemond halted them. The Prince could not look into the eyes of his woman, knowing what he says next could ruin what they had but it must be done. For if he does not have his revenge, he fears he may wallow in it and not give his betrothed the attention she's always deserved.

"Your eye, Lord Strong. As payment for mine." The one-eyed prince tossed his dagger Lucerys' way, allowing the younger prince to take his own eye. "A gift for my mother. An eye for an eye, after all." Aemond smirked, removing his eyepatch to show his sapphire replacement. The older of the three, the Princess, grabbed her younger brother's hand, pulling him behind her.

"Haven't you taken enough from my family, my Prince?" [Name] spat venomously at the man whose proposal she accepted, regretting making her decision so desperately. Aemond's smirk fell and his eye glossed over, the sapphire glistening from what little light the castle let in. "We'll be on our way now." The Princess insisted, turning away from the man with a jewel for an eye. Said man did not appreciate the rejection very much, storming over and snatching his dagger from the cobble floor beneath them.

"Give me your eye!" Aemond screamed, scolded by Lord Borros who appreciated if less blood was shed in his castle. [Name]'s glare hardened like rock, pushing her brother out the large doors and to his dragon, Arrax. When the two of them reached the courtyard of Storm's End, the eldest of the two noticed the beast Aemond rode had vanished. How had he left so quickly? She asked herself.

"Come, sister, Mother's expecting us back!" Lucerys shouted over the looming wind, whistling in every direction. [Name] nodded and hopped on the back of Llanerion and flew off, back to Dragonstone to send word to her mother that Lord Baratheon would not be joining her bannermen. During their flight, Lucerys had an erie feeling, one that they were being watched, hunted almost. His intuition was correct as the gnarly jaws of Vhagar invaded their path.

"Lucerys!" [Name] shouted with concern, listening to the echoes of Aemond's laughter. She chased after them, soaring beside Vhagar and calling out to Aemond. "My Prince, please! Enough! He's but a child!" Alas, her attempts proved futile as Aemond did not give and continued his chase. Lucerys curved through archways and trenches before losing Vhagar, then they came upon clear skies and the sun cascading over them like a blanket of fire.

The two let the sun distract them for too long as the teeth of Vhagar pierced Arrax and Lucerys in the process. [Name] cried for her brother, alerting Vhagar of another prey left alive. The Princess pulled at Llanerion's reigns, forcing him to dive forward and to avoid the clutches of the largest dragon in Westeros. Her actions were unavailing when Vhagar ripped a wing right off of Llanerion, his balance lost and Princess [Name] as well.

Aemond's eye widened with horror, his soon-to-be wife diving into the sea below. The Prince used all his might to gain control of Vhagar once more, the mossy beast listening and diving downward. His rescue seemed fruitless when the body of his lover was engulfed by the salt of the sea. Aemond showed perseverance and jumped off the back of his beast, swimming below surface level and encircling the waist of his betrothed, pulling her ashore.

Her lungs were filled with salty liquid and Aemond did what he knew best with her, he kissed her. He brought air back into her lungs as she coughed up the salt, a bitter taste on her tongue and her throat feeling the dryest its ever been. Aemond smoothed back the Princess' white locks and kissed her head, holding her closely. The woman held tightly onto the leather of her husband-to-be, grasping to feel any warmth she could get.

For a moment, [Name] just wanted to forget. Forget about the rivalry, forget about her title and duties, and forget about her brother. But unfortunately, she remembered everything. The Princess pushed Aemond away, standing upright and walking toward where sand met grass. The Prince confusingly followed, clutching her elbow and turning her to face him. When her body was directed toward him, she sent her palm to his cheek, a handprint marking the soaked skin.

She's angry, Aemond realized. About her brother, about everything. The one-eyed prince persisted in getting her to talk to him, say something, anything. Yell at him, push him away again, but she only stared at him. Her lips turning blue and her body trembling. Then, she finally spoke, words filled with poison and said out of spite:

"I hate you..."

Taglist

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xamaxenta · 2 months

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god i LOOOVEEE feral animal asl its so true. they truly could not care less about "laws" or "public decency" whatever that is. the straw hats manage with just luffy but the whitebeards sometimes have to deal with TWO of them? at ONCE? theyre used to ace because sometimes pirates are just like that, pops has seen plenty of them and hes just happy to see that nasty stray cat finally come inside to relax and he simply counts the shredded furniture as a Personality Trait to keep the house interesting. but then sabo rolls up and everyone at first chuckles and says oh well at least one of them has manners. except. sabo is secretly 4 ravenous feral dogs wearing a top hat. sabo is polite until the food comes out when he starts snarling and snapping (he and ace start wrestling on the floor BITING each other for a single chicken wing) or when he gets the Predator Stare and anyone who crosses within view of it feels their hair stand completely on end. marco has no particularly strong feelings about sabo when they first meet aside from "ace loves him, hes probably a freak, and he looks ridiculous dressed like that (kinda cute)" except. sometimes ace and sabo make noises at each other that are so far from human language they sound like an entirely different species. he swore one time he saw ace come up and just Lick the side of sabos face, who bit his whole ear in return like they were discussing the weather. there is something Wrong with sabo for sure. but its not until he and ace are bickering at the table and thatch throws a spare chunk of raw meat trimmings at ace (because theyve learned ace can and will eat raw meat, even the fatty or gristly bits, and as much as marco insists its not good At All for his health, the crew likes feeding large and dangerous animals) and as soon as the meat hits the table both ace and sabo go perfevtly still for roughly half a second before SABO lunges forward and grabs it in his TEETH while ace starts pummeling him for it. the top hat goes flying, theres the sound of the galley bench screeching across the floor and boots and fingernails scrabbling across the wood and the Chief Of Staff of the Revolutionary Army runs, hissing, on all fucking fours, with a chunk of raw meat in his mouth up the rigging while ace quite literally snaps at his heels. theres distant snarling and growling. sounds of tearing fabric. screams of shock and horror from the crew on the deck. and it is in that moment marco comes to the devastating realization that he is unfortunately attracted to sabo, and that his taste in men simply cannot be salvaged

Sabo standing there all prim and proper, all neatly buttoned up and his accent has this crisp edge to it like a winters morning flinty with fresh snow or perhaps new parchment waiting to be scored by the writers pen

And then Ace shows up and the mask slips abruptly something wicked spills past the pleasantries and hes kinda like fangs bared growly in a way only animals get with each other

Everyone up until this point knows the basic history Ace loves this guy, Sabo to put it bluntly would die to protect Ace with his life, they share a childhood the jungle that fucking jungle, this means Sabos also a beast but what kind theyre hoping if Ace is anything to go by he would be the same

Except Sabo brings out a monster in Ace and clearly hes so much worse, the raw meat spectacle and then the poor crowsnest lookout scrambling down trembling cold sweat like what the fuck happened to those two?

Eventually they comeback down sabos clothes are in tatters and Ace is just naked lmao theyre blood smeared and everyone hopes its the meat but its wishful thinking because thats way too much blood for a fist sized piece of flank steak

Marco unfortunately realises he has a type

Sabo pins him with a baleful pale eyed stare, those freaky mismatched eyes of his locked the fuck on, someone whos blind in one eye really shouldnt have that sort of focus, Ace headbutts him nippy bitey for being ignored but

Follows Sabos gaze and smiles

#MAS #OHOHOH ANON #rubs my lil fly paws togethehehe #marco gets taken to monster pound town #but the funny part is its Ace and Sabo who are the beasts #and Marcos the zoan

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deathbydyingpod · 1 year

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the homies are screaming and cackling and bemoaning the misfortunes of the day and they have buttons for eyes. it’s the Button-Eyed Raven. he’s homies.

#Death by Dying #Death by Dying Podcast #the button eyed raven #he's my little guy #even if he makes me feel bad sometimes

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presleyhearted · 2 days

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Kismet, Kismet ✨🤍 | Part 2

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, illness, panic.

wc: 3841

genre: 70s!e x college!student!reader. fluff, angst, smut.

taglist: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @obsessedwithurlove

author's note : Here we are with Part 2! Thank you for the attention on part 1. I hope you like the name change, trust me there is a reason for it. I've always made a playlist for this fic! It is in the link below, but I will be adding songs as I go along. Happy reading! <3 - Rose playlist -

“It’s fine now.” Angel breathed out, signaling to the raven-haired star that it was clear for him to turn around. The split second that Elvis was turned around provided Angel with a small inkling of time to well, breathe. To somehow force her brain to process that this is the reality, even if she does not know how or why.

Elvis, on the other hand, was ever the gentleman. But the very thought of a beautiful woman changing clothes right behind him - well, he was a man, after all. This was merely a passing thought though, as the realization that he owed her an explanation for this strange happenstance, made him truly forget what words were. She was a stranger to him, and well, judging from the wide-eyed gaze from her a few seconds ago - He was the complete opposite to her. Whether she is a fan of his, or merely one of the members of the population who know him from the enormity of his fame - there was a crossroad.

If he were to tell her the truth about why America’s favorite rock ‘n’ roll star is hiding in a cleaning supply closet - that would fracture the carefully curated image that he knew the people see him as, most certainly including her. Words spread like wildfire, and the nation is always hungry for new information about the world of the people under the spotlight. Hell, even the rumors that are not even remotely true - people inhale and whisper from ear to ear as if it were a section in an academic textbook. For a situation like this, that is true and is real, it would be on the front page news by the morning of the next day.

It’s better this way. Elvis tried to tell himself. By upholding the immaculate persona that the public has carved out for him, he would not only be saving himself but also saving her idea of him. He does not want to leave her with a memory of Elvis Presley revealing that the man underneath the glimmering spotlight, has never felt more engulfed by the waves of darkness than he does now.

So, that is it. He decides to conceal an ugly truth in exchange for keeping the beautiful idea of him that she most certainly has. And just in time, she tells him that it is fine to now turn around.

So, he does. And goddamn it, Elvis thinks to himself. The choices and thoughts that occupied his mind suddenly went to a standstill. It was as if the time that he took to think about what his explanation would be, made him briefly forget to truly have a look at her. Albeit, he did not have time to earlier due to letting her change, now - Elvis found himself finding the space of the supply closet shrink at a rapid rate. He was sat down, and she was stood up - Elvis could not help but find his gaze traveling from her long, slightly tanned legs, to the dress, and to her face that seemed to turn a charming shade of crimson under his gaze.

A pair of hazel eyes looked into his azure eyes. The very same pair of hazel eyes that when she blinked - perfectly captured the appearance of double eyelashes that accompanied her eyes. Elvis’ gaze traveled further - a small button nose, and a full, inviting burgundy-colored lips. Her skin radiated a glow - she was pale, but slightly tanned, a sure result of the Vegas heat. Like the mix of milk and honey. He noticed her black, wavy hair reaching almost her waist - Angel was certainly not tall, but also not short. She was like an oil painting personified, like an art piece that somehow felt the need to step out of the confines of the frame that she was in and step her hand out to him. A beauty that he never believed existed, never encountered before, and felt that he was the admirer intruding. He was so entranced by Angel, that he hardly realized that she had sat herself down on the floor.

Angel cleared her throat, “It was . . . um odd for me to be standing up.” She explained. Her voice was soft, but firm. There was a timidness to her tone, that she noticed very quickly, and tried to desperately fix it because well - I can’t make a fool of myself in front of Elvis Presley. She told herself, but how does one steady herself when he is looking at her with such blunt intensity? It was an intensity that rippled through every part of her being, as he did not fixate on one part of her, he was studying her - every detail of her. She wished she could take a glimpse into his mind and know what he was thinking. She prided herself in being able to read people easily, ever the analytical mind of hers - as her friend Felicity would say.

But not this time. Angel tried to shake herself out of it and thought to herself ‘It won’t matter. He’ll say what he needs to say, and we’ll part ways.’

Angel then thought to herself that it most probably be the easier and smarter choice to apologize to him, apologise for barging in and invading personal space, and then be on her way out. This would make more sense since he does not owe her an explanation. Yes, she was initially shocked to find him in such a random place, but it did not mean he had to explain anything to her. Then Angel also realizes that Elvis has not said anything since turning around, he must be thinking the same thing. Angel thought.

So, with that, she shakes her hand at him and starts to stand back up, “I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’ll go.” Her words rushed out of her mouth, words that filled a sudden dread in Elvis.

“No, honey, it’s alright.” He said softly, making Angel pause her actions. She was frozen in confusion. She was in a rush a few moments before getting changed because she was afraid to miss her favorite star walking out onto the stage for the first time in front of her eyes. But that was before she discovered that he was sitting down in a supply closet and before she also became aware that the time on the ticking clock in the small confined space - showed it had been well past the time Elvis was supposed to be on stage.

“But, I don’t want to intrud-”

Elvis cuts off her sentence, “You wouldn’t be, darlin.”

Angel finds herself biting her bottom lip, in a mental battle of her thoughts. An action that does not go unnoticed by Elvis. Angel felt her cheeks blush again at the sound of the name he called her, she was aware it was probably a habit of people from the South, but it made her blush nevertheless.

“I shouldn’t have barged in like that,” She finds herself saying, still standing.

Elvis shrugged, “It’s my fault.”

Angel profusely shook her head, “No, it’s not. I-”

There she is again, biting her bottom lip - a habit that Elvis found became keenly aware of.

“If you keep doin’ that honey, you’ll cause a bleed,” Elvis said, a smirk now on his lips. Yes, Angel did make eye contact with him, but not for long. The eye contact was overwhelming, so she found herself catching her eyes on everywhere else, but him. Which has been proven unsuccessful now, since that comment of his - with that teasing smirk on his lips, was a powerful weapon in making her hold the gaze of his blue eyes again.

She stopped biting her bottom lip, and found herself mumbling under her breath, “What am I doing.”

“Sit with me. Please.” Elvis said, his tone soft.

“But-”

“Are you in a hurry, darlin?”

A question, loaded with the hopes of a specific response. Elvis was aware that they were likely searching endlessly for him, hands probably in their hair in distress, but he could not leave. Not yet. Jerry knows. Knows where he is, even if Elvis did pull out a lie about the reason why he needed to ‘step out’ for a while and not be where he needs to be.

Words were caught in Angel’s throat, “Yes. No. Yes,” Upon seeing the amused grin on Elvis’ face, she sighed and attempted to clarify herself, “I mean, I was - I’m here to see your show.”

There it was. The very reason why she could not know the truth behind why he was here, and not out there now. She is a fan, and for his fans - telling the truth would be shattering something in them. He could never do that to them.

Elvis hummed, “I know what you’re thinkin’, I’ll tell you.”

Angel somehow found herself sitting back down. Slowly. Of course, it would’ve been smarter if she just left. But there is a curious part of her, the part that wanted to know why Elvis Presley was in a supply closet when he was supposed to be on stage by now. Even more so, why his infamous entourage was not in sight.

Having her at the same eye level as him, Elvis swore he felt his breath caught in his throat and a distant knock of the heart within his body.

“You must be thinkin’ why’s that fool hiding in a supply closet?” Elvis said, chuckling a little. But also realizing that he said the word ‘hiding’ implies a surface of the truth. The truth that he told himself he would never reveal to her. But he just did, even if it was a tiny particle of the truth, and he did it subconsciously. With no control at all, as if his mind wanted her to learn it. Somehow.

And he very well knew that Angel caught wind of the word.

She did not know what to say, so Elvis continued.

Elvis ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply, “I lost one of my rings. I was gonna ask the cleaning staff who was in here, thought she was ‘cus the door was open. But nah, no one was in here. Only me,” He then let out a laugh, a laugh that somehow sounded difficult to let out.

Only me and my foolish self. Elvis thought to himself.

Angel found the sound of that laugh to be quite forceful, a habit that was similar to what she did when conversing with her relatives when asked about certain subjects at family gatherings. She knew that kind of laugh too well, heck, she was the expert in it. Knew it well enough to know that the explanation Elvis just gave her, held no truth in it at all. Except for the last part. That she was sure of.

“Did you find it?” She asked instead, despite somehow having a feeling that he was throwing out an elaborate story of this ring.

Elvis shook his head in an attempt to keep that crooked grin on his lips, somehow looking strained - Angel thought to herself.

“No, I haven’t. I-”

It was Angel’s turn to interrupt this time.

“My name is Angel.” She found herself blurting this, not out of randomness, but because she somehow could feel he was sharing something personal with her when she hadn’t even told him her name yet. It was unbalanced. She knew him, well the image of him, and then now sharing this information with her - she had to tell him her name. She owed him that.

Elvis paused. He couldn’t help but. Of course, it is. There could not be any other name for her out there in the universe, it is the only name that belongs to her. It belongs to her.

“I thought it was only fair I told you my name. It’s not simple to be sharing this information with me, a stranger, Mr Presley.”

Heck, Angel could not even comprehend why he chose to share this with her, or why he wanted her to stay and sit with him for a while.

Elvis nodded, “Angel.” He said as if testing the way her name rolled off his tongue. Something was blissfully enchanting but illicit about the way he said her name, which sent a trickle of warmth through her body and locked her breath for just a second.

“It suits you very much,” Elvis said honestly because it truly did.

“Thank you, Mr Presley.”

Elvis shook his head, “Just ‘Elvis.’ Mr Presley is my father.” A wide smile overtook his face, an actual smile that Angel knew was genuine. She just did.

Angel nodded sheepishly and somehow found herself smiling, a contagious effect from him.

A sight that Elvis couldn’t help but think that he was possibly in a deep slumber, a daydream of some kind that involved this mesmerizing being with the face of heaven sent and the name to suit it. And now that smile of hers, a smile that dares to rival the morning sun. Not that Elvis saw much of the daytime, but if he did, he was pretty certain that the young woman in front of him could easily overshadow it.

Elvis paused then from drinking in her existence when he saw the frown on her face and her hazel eyes of hers pooling with a sense of sadness.

Damn it. She must be thinking ‘bout the show. I’ve disappointed her, she’s here tonight to see me perform. Not this. Elvis thought.

“I’ll be out on stage soon, don’t worry ‘bout it, Angel.” Elvis says, as if sensing that was what Angel was thinking.

But Elvis was wrong. He’s not even remotely close to guessing what she must be thinking.

Angel does not know why she has not noticed. Surely, it must be the shock of the strange situation that must’ve made her not realize. Not realize that Elvis Presley was profusely sweating and that made his raven hair stick to his pale skin. Angel was no medical expert, but it was the kind of pale that called for rest and a good break. It wouldn’t even make sense why he was sweating when he had not stepped foot on stage yet. Even more so, the way his chest would rise and fall at an abnormal rate.

Perhaps also the reason why he has been sitting down the entire time.

Elvis Presley looked tired.

She pulled out a handkerchief from her bag, an action that caused an eyebrow to quirk from Elvis.

The realization of how. . . vulnerable he looked. It pinched her heart in a way that made her ask the next question, forgetting momentarily that they had only merely met each other a few moments ago.

“Can I. . . ?” She gestured at his face, and somehow Elvis understood.

Somehow in that split second of her sad, hazel eyes meeting his blue eyes - Elvis knew that Angel saw behind it all. Behind the facade. That the veil of protection he put over the truth and the crafted lie - has now dropped, revealing him. Revealing that he is everything but fine. Elvis Presley crafted his public persona in such a masterful way, to the degree that people would not even notice the energy and shine he once had, was slowly fading away.

But Angel did.

And so, with her question, Elvis nodded. Angel put herself closer to him and pulled her knees underneath her as she sat down, so she would be sat on her heels. Elvis closed his eyes, as Angel neared him with the handkerchief in her hand as she slowly, but surely was wiping the sweat from his face. The closer proximity to her made Elvis naturally inhale her scent, she smelled of vanilla and a hint of what smelled like rose oil. A combination that was sweet, but playful. A tease to his senses. Elvis dared to open his eyes again, meeting her hazel eyes. Angel felt herself tense at the intense gaze of his eyes, as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The feeling of the cloth wiping the sweat on his face away was not much of an effect compared to the gentleness with which Angel did this. The genuine concentration, and worry in her knotted forehead made his heart sore and trip simultaneously.

She instinctively put the back of her hand on his forehead, as if realizing that she may be overstepping she withdrew her hand back like a flash of lightning. But Elvis was quick to reach for her, his hand enclosed around his wrist.

“It’s okay, honey.”

He let go and she reluctantly, but with Elvis’ nod, touched his forehead with the back of her hand once again.

“Mr. Pre- Elvis, you are burning up.” She said, her tone not even hiding the worry swimming in it.

Angel finds herself looking around and grabbing her bag, “I don’t, I thought I had a bottle of water or something. I don’t know. Sorry.” She said, oblivious to the smile on Elvis’ face as she rummaged through her bag.

Despite feeling the fatigue build up in him again, he found himself smiling at her.

“Say it again.” He said, despite breathing deeply.

Angel was puzzled, “Huh?”

“My name, say it again.” He wanted to desperately hear her say it again, a sound that was beautiful and was the opposite of the horrifying state that he felt his body being engulfed in.

A saving grace.

“Elvis, “ She sighed, “I know I’m in no position to tell you what to do, but you are not well. You need to rest.” She said honestly, gone was the timidness beforehand, and in its place was a woman running in a spiral of worry.

Worry for him, and it was a sight that Elvis had not seen in a long time.

Elvis shook his head, “I’m fine. I need to perform. ” He said, almost mumbling his words.

“You are not well for it. People will understand.” Angel found herself saying.

“Will you understand?” He asked.

“Of course. Any of your fans will.” She said with an encouraging nod.

Angel waited years to see him perform live, and if that first performance happened to be when he was feeling like this, she couldn’t watch him. Can’t let it happen. Heck, she’ll wait years even - she’ll wait till he is better enough to perform.

“Not the Colonel.” He responds, a sad smile on his lips.

Angel assumed this must be his manager, remembering his face and the name of newspaper pages. What kind of person, let alone manager - would let him perform like this?

“It’s too hot here, you need to be someplace else,” Angel said, knowing that the supply closet was not the appropriate place for him to rest properly, “Does anyone know that you are here? How do I get ahold of them?”

She was in full-on panic mode now and leaped up onto her feet. Elvis sprung his arm forward and grabbed hold of her hand, “Angel, don’t leave. Please.” The tone of his voice was void of the confidence and teasing from moments prior, in place was the pleading voice that was filled with fear. True fear. A fear that she would leave him like this.

She shook her head quickly, “No, no. I-I just was thinking how to get you help.”

Angel is smart enough to know that she could not just waltz out of here, and find a helpful passerby because it is not just anyone she is getting help for. Elvis Presley. Somehow, she just knew that he wouldn’t want his vulnerable state to be known to any other person than the ones who work for him and know him.

She was just a fan. But somehow through a happenstance of naturality or not, she saw right through him - saw right through the armor that he lets dazzle everyone else. And even if he realized that she stepped over that veil - he let her. Let Angel walk right through it.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like now, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to have her hand in his. An action that was so quick, but she swore sent a flicker of something through her bloodstream.

And just in time, there was a knock on the door - a look exchanged between both of them. But a breath of relief escaped them simultaneously as it was the familiar face of Jerry Schilling who walked through and shut the door behind him. Angel knew that he worked for Elvis, and saw him in that one article of Elvis’ entourage being labeled ‘The Memphis Mafia.’

So, she was glad that a stroke of luck hit, as her prayers were answered. Because otherwise she really did not know what to do.

Jerry Schilling’s eyes found Elvis’ and scanned the state that his friend/boss was in, before shifting his gaze to the woman who was standing up and whose hand Elvis gripped tightly. As if signaling to help him, Jerry nodded and advanced towards Elvis, at the same time Angel dropped her hand from Elvis.

“Come on, E. Let’s go.” Jerry said, but Elvis’ gaze was on the black-haired beauty who was currently getting her bag off the floor. His eyelids were half-closed.

She turned with the handkerchief in her hand and planned to hand this to him, to let him keep it. But found him tugging her hand again, closer to him.

“Stay.” He said.

“I-”

Angel turned to look at Jerry Schilling as if silently asking for his opinion on this.

“I’ll go if she goes with me,” Elvis said, almost mumbling his words.

Jerry Schilling then nods to her.

Angel sighed, not quite sure how and why this is happening all of a sudden. The probability of their meeting, and now with Elvis’ reluctancy to go with someone who could help him. Someone who he knows far more than her, her who was a mere stranger not that long ago. She tried to make sense of and understand why Elvis would want her to be there when he would have more than enough people around him soon. People who knew him personally, and who will help him.

She could not wrap her head around it at all.

But with the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Elvis seeming to not have any plans to get up from his spot yet, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.

“Okay.” Angel said.

Kismet. Kismet. Perform. Mask. facade. My name. Your name. Angel. Pale. The truth. Elvis. Elvis. Angel. If she goes. Kismet. Kismet.

#elvis fic #elvis presley #angst #fluff #elvis x original female character #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #kismet kismet #part 2

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ibrithir-was-here · 11 months

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Its almost 2 AM. And instead of sleep I wrote Baby Dream AU drabble, cuz Calliope only graces me in her time zone I guess. Might be a part two. Anyway here ya go xD

Baby Dream Drabble (part 1?)

Jessamy was a raggedy, much mended, button eyed stuffed raven. She was Morpheus's only friend, and he loved her more than anything in the world.

Teleute had given Jessamy to him on his first birthday, though of course he didn't remember that.

She'd made Jessamy with her Gift. He knew that, even if he didn't know how. He didn't really know how any of their Gifts worked. He just knew that they all had them.

Portos could See,

Teleute could Give--and Take Away

And he could Dream

The others were too small yet for their gifts to be clear. Olethros was just four, the twins were barely two, and baby Euphoria hasn't even reached a full year yet.

But Morpheus thought Portos already knew what their Gifts would be. After all, he had been the one to give them all their names, though he was only ten himself. He'd looked with seemingly unseeing eyes at each one of his siblings as they'd lain blinking up at him, hours old, and had Seen the shape of who'd they become, the outline of their life written out like a page within a great book that only he could read.

That was how he'd explained it to Morpheus anyhow.

The explanation seemed to be enough for Mother and Father as well. They'd just nodded and agreed, and then handed the newly named child off to their nanny, free now to pursue their own interests within the scope of their own Gifts, until those interests crossed to include each other again, in which case another child was added to the Aterenus family.

Another small bassinet to line the nursery, which would become a small bed within a few years, shuffled over to make room for another small bassinet. Each one set up and left to the care of the nanny who'd been taken on that month.

They never stayed long. They found the house too lonesome to abide, the masters too difficult to appease, and the children too strange to love.

The children learned to make due.

Portos spent his time wandering the gardens of the estate, keeping out of everyone's way, his fingers tracing over his books.

Morpheus, at six, wasn't technically allowed in the library, but sometimes he managed to sneak in, and when he did he'd pour over the pictures of every book he could reach. He didn't understand all of the words, but he'd make up stories around the pictures and the words he could read, whispering them allowed to Jessamy.

Teleute, always the most outgoing of the three eldest siblings, and though she was only eight and the nanny should have been watching, she managed to always find a way out of the manor house and out into "the real world" as she called it, though it was only the local village.

She would come back with tales of such fantastic things as shops and cinemas and other children to play with, children who were called home at last by mothers who smiled and fathers who laughed and hugged them close.

Morpheus drank in her stories like he was someone's dying of thirst.

And at night he'd Dream of them.

The shops and cinemas and happy children with happy parents. As vibrantly and fully as he could. And for a few hours each night he'd wrap himself in a bubble of warmth that he'd never felt in the waking world.

Sometimes he'd even be able to pull bits out from the dreams. Only little things though. A wrapper fromna sweet he'd never tasted, a stub from a film he'd never seen, a flower from a feild he'd never played in.

He never could seem to pull out the big things. The friends, the smiling families, the warm feelings.

He thought perhaps, if he could see them once himself, in truth, then maybe the next time he Dreamed them he could make them real.

If he could see them just once, he knew he could.

That was how one day he'd found himself, Jessamy in tow as always, ducking through the underbrush, scrambling through the hole in the fence Teleute had told him of, and running as fast as his small legs could carry him down to the village. Towards sunshine and smiles and maybe even a friend who could speak back to him.

He got to the bottom of the hill when the men in the dark car grabbed him.

They put something on his mouth that muffled his scream and made him feel strange and sleepy--and when he did sleep he didn't dream.

When he finally woke, feeling sick and fuzzy, he was somewhere dark and cold and hard. There was a strange painted circle around him, and that made him feel more sick and fuzzy.

There were people all around him also, and their shadowed faces were as cold and hard as the room they were crowded in.

The man they called Mr. Burgess was the hardest and coldest of all. He shouted at the others for "grabbing the wrong one" and several other things about the difficulty of spells and alignments and other things Morpheus didn't understand.

And then he'd started shouting at Morpheus.

He wanted to know what he could do, what his Gift was, what he was good for.

Morpheus didn't answer. He was too afraid to. In case his Gift was not what they wanted. In case it was.

He wasn't supposed to tell people about his Gift. None of them were. It was one of the few things his parents had ever told him, besides to stop bothering them. Never let anyone know what he and his siblings could do. They would be in terrible trouble if they ever did. People would do horrible things to them if they found out about their Gifts.

Morpheus didn't want to know what could be more terrible than being in this place, with these people.

So he kept quiet. He kept quiet for three days. He thought it was three anyway, it might have been more. He couldn't tell, here in the darkness.

He kept quiet, and ate the little food they gave him and drank the little water, and hugged Jessamy to him tightly when he got too hungry and didn't want to cry, for fear he wouldn't be able to stop.

He felt like that more and more often.

Each day Mr. Burgess came down to yell at him. To yell and demand and threaten. And Morpheus felt fear locking his mouth shut tighter with every horrible word that spilled from the man's mouth. And he spent each night cowering from nightmares of the man; towering over him as he shrank smaller and smaller, chasing after him in the darkness, locking him in a glass bubble with no air, suspended naked for all to see.

And on the third or fourth or seventh day, Mr. Burgess snatched Jessamy out of Morpheus's arms.

And he tore her into pieces.

He dumped the pieces outside of the painted circle, where Morpheus couldn't reach them. He could only stare, thick, silent tears running down his thinning cheeks as he stared at the tatters that had been his only friend.

He thought, dimly, that he didn't think he could talk now even if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything but be somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.

Somewhere warm, and safe. Where Mr Burgess couldn't be. Where there would be softness instead of hard stone, and enough to eat, and…and…

Morpheus curled up on the stone, as tightly as he could, and let his mind drift off. He hadn't tried to Dream, properly Dream, the whole time he'd been here. Worried his Dreaming might give his gift away, worried it would make things worse.

He didn't think things could get worse now.

At least if he Dreamed, he might see Jessamy again.

If he was very lucky, maybe he wouldn't even wake up.

And so he let the Dream wrap around him, hoping that wherever it took him, it would never end

***

It was the smell of pancakes that woke him.

He didn't really wake of course. Morpheus could tell he was in a dream, he always could. But in the dream he was waking up, and there was warmth and softness all around him.

A pillow and mattress beneath him, a blanket tucking him in. Both more comfortable than anything he'd ever had at home. More colorful too. As he blinked open his eyes, Morpheus saw a room filled with a galaxy swirl of color. The walls were covered in bright paper, the ceiling in little plastic stars, something his parents would never have allowed in the nursery lest they peel the paint.

The windows were a riot of color, stained glass that the warm sunlight filtered through to send a rainbow down onto Morpheus's equally star-covered blanket.

And there were toys.

Toys of all shapes and sizes and descriptions, in bright and cheery colors, scattered on shelves and in woven baskets and some simply scattered on the floor, another afront his parents would never have stood for, though Morpheus couldn't remember the last time they'd actually been inside the nursery.

In permeating it all was the wonderful smell of pancakes, coming through the door on the other end of the room.

Slowly, afraid that at any moment he'd take a wrong step, trip over a toy and take a tumble and wake with a jolt back in his waking nightmare, Morpheus tip-toed his way across the floor, the starry blanket pulled about his shoulders, determined to keep its warmth about him as long as he could.

He took a breath, turned the handle, and walked into a large open room. There was a comfortable looking , a few bookcases filled with interesting looking books, and a television set turned off, but a radio was playing somewhere.

And at the far end it opened into a kitchen space, where a man stood, his back turned to Morpheus, flipping pancakes and humming along with the radio.

Morpheus stopped in his tracks, frozen at the sight of the towering adult. He was broad and strong looking, with longer hair than Morpheus had seen on a man, with a reddish tint to it that reminded Morpheus of his father's hair. He wondered how loud this man could yell, how hard he could hit.

Morpheus gulped, took a step back. wondered if it was too late to sneak back into the wonderful bedroom, lock the door and hope he wouldn't be noticed. If he was very very quiet he could probably get away and--

And right then his stomach gave an almighty rumble.

It would have been loud in the waking world, in a dream it practically echoed.

Morpheus froze up like a deer in headlights, hunger displaying as icy fear flooded his stomach as the man froze, and then turned…

The warmest, softest, kindest eyes Morpheus had ever seen settled on him, widening in surprise for a moment and then crinkling up into a happy welcoming smile.

Morpheus had never known that people could smile with their eyes.

"Hullo" The man said, crouching down to get on eye level with Morpheus, "Who might you be then?"

Morpheus opened his mouth to answer--and then shut it again, looking down at his feet as he felt his cheeks flush under the attention. He hadn't spoken much to adults even before he'd been taken, afraid of hearing once more that he needed to be quiet, to get out of the way. He'd never had someone approach him like this, on his level instead of towering over him.

It was strange and disconcerting and…and nice.

And yet he still couldn't make himself speak. He'd gone so long without using his voice by now that he was almost afraid of what he'd hear if he tried.

But he knew if he didn't say something the man would start to get angry. He'd start to yell and then then--

Morpheus felt his chest tightening again, his throat felt thick even as he tried to summon up something, anything to say before the tears burning at the edges of his eyes could fall.

"Hey hey, it's alright"

The man's soft voice broke through the ice of Morpheus's panic like the sunshine of Spring thawing a frozen lake, its soothing tones sinking down into him, pulling him up from the depths he'd been sinking into.

"Bit shy? That's alright then. Suppose it's rude of me to ask before I've even introduced myself."

He held out a hand, slowly, so that Morpheus wasn't even startled into thinking it was coming towards him.

"I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Would you like some pancakes then, little dream?"

Morpheus looked at the man, Hob's, hand, open in invitation, held steady, not gearing up for a slap. He looked at his warm smile, his kind eyes. And for the first time in more days than he knew, Morpheus felt warm all through.

He reached out his own hand, and placed it cautiously in Hob's. It curled over, dwarfing his small one, cupping it gently but not squeezing, not trapping in anyway. And Morpheus nodded his head. Yes, he would love some pancakes. He was so, so hungry.

Hungry for food and warmth and the kindness in Hob's face, a kindness he didn't think he'd ever seen till now, had never known could exist outside of his older sister and the comforting softness of his lost Jessamy.

Hob's smile became even brighter, and he gently, so gently, took Morpheus's hand as he led him to the table, where a plate of steaming, golden pancakes lay, stacked and waiting.

"Well come on then, I'd love the company. Stay as long as you'd like"

Morpheus wondered if he could stay forever.

***

When Hob Gadling woke up that morning, there were tears in his eyes, and a smile on his face.

He'd long since gotten used to the tears.

But it had been a long while since he'd woken up smiling.

Not since Eleanor, not since Robyn…

The little dream boy--he hadn't looked like Robyn at all. Dark where Robyn had been fair, quiet when he's never been able to get Robyn to stop talking.

He wished now he'd never tried.

But he was glad all the same, of the chance to be there for a child again, to make food to share, to read a silly picture book with ridiculous rhymes while the small dream boy had curled up next to him, wide eyed over some silly simple story Hob couldn't even recall now.

It had been a silly simple dream too. He'd played silly simple games and made silly stupid jokes he hadn't played or made in years and though the dream child hadn't laughed, he had finally smiled. And oh, it was such a sweet little smile, it lit up his whole face.

And he'd gotten to tuck a child in for bed once more, in a room that certainly did not exist in his real flat but fit so perfectly into his dream one, just as the dream child had seemed to fit perfectly into his existence as well, filling a space he'd long tried to avoid remembering was empty.

Hob hoped he'd dream the same dream again. He wouldn't mind seeing the sweet little dream child again.

He never expected to start dreaming it every night.

#baby dream au #my writing #platonic dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #sandman au #sandman fic #good thing i dont work till 11 #good greif i gotta get to sleep #death of the endless #roderick burgess #the endless family #destiny of the endless #Morpheus #tw child abuse #angst #hurt comfort #this does have a happy ending for baby Morpheus dont worry #jessamy the raven

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m-jelly · 9 months

Note

Heeeey Jelllyyy 😉

Just here to slide in a new request for you, but this time is a SFW one. I want to request a Levi x Reader oneshot where is its the weekend and they're just having fun with their twin children

That's all Jelly

-@2moth-anon2

@ladycheesington <3

Little flowers

Pairing: Dad Levi x Fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: Modern AU, fluff, romance, married, dad Levi, mum reader, being parents, actor Levi.

Levi and you have a nice fun weekend with your precious none identical twins, Lilly and Evan.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn

Strong loving arms wrapped around your warm form. Your body was dragged across the bed to press firmly against a strong warm frame. Delicate and loving lips pressed against the back of your neck as hands groped your sensitive body. With a delicate moan of encouragement, your husband rolled you over to face him.

Steel blue eyes gazed at you as the skin around them creased a little as a smile graced his kissable lips. Soft raven hair shifted on his charming face as he moved his head on the pillow. Elegant fingers danced over your cheek as your hair was pushed off your face.

Tantalising lips pressed against yours as your precious love for one another was confirmed and the memories of last night's passionate lovemaking fluttered through your minds. Tongues moved together in an adoring dance causing bodies to tingle and ignite with desire.

"Good morning." His voice was deep and rumbled through his chest as sleep slowly lost its grip on him. "You look divine."

Your cheeks heated as your heart raced with joy. "Says the most handsome man in the world." You rubbed your nose against Levi's cute button nose. "Good morning. This weekend should be a fun one with the four of us. You have no work, correct?"

Thoughts drifted through Levi's mind as he reflected on his schedule. He was rather busy filming a movie recently, but he filmed a fair few scenes last week. He was certain that he could now devote all his time to the love of his life and his two precious and adorable children.

"I'm all yours." He kissed you sweetly. "We'll have a lot of fun."

"Yes." You lifted your upper body and sat up on the soft bed. You gently rubbed your eyes of sleep as your husband whined below you at the lack of attention and contact. "We should check on our little flowers."

A warm hand with a purpose grasped your thigh and slowly travelled up towards your heat. "We should, but we should also take advantage of them still sleeping." His lips pressed against your thigh.

"I know our children." You dragged your body out of bed and left a sad husband behind. "They are up, I can feel it in my bones and I know they are right outside our door."

You glided over to the door and opened it to reveal your two little flowers, who were spitting images of Levi, standing together. Their little hands were together as they held each other's hands. Both of them hand messy bed hair and a wide-eyed look of love for you.

Both stretched their little arms towards you with bright smiles. "Mummy!"

You knelt and wrapped your arms around your three-year-olds before lifting them up. A delicate smell of flowers enveloped you as you held your darling children. Your sweet little children always smelt so nicely of flowers. You adored both with everything in your heart, they were your world.

You delivered both children to the bed and released them. Laughter filled the room as both children played with their father. Calm came over the room as a group hug was formed and all four of you rested. You held your son close as Levi raised his daughter above him and gave her a playful wiggle causing laughter to fill the room again.

Levi sat up with Lilly and hugged her. "Shall we get ready for the day?" A smile graced his lips making his children smile. "I'm thinking we make a fort today and play outside as well."

Evan's eyes sparkled. "Really?"

Levi nodded. "Really, little man."

Lilly grinned. "Yay!"

Levi scooped up both his kids and held them close. "I'll help you get ready for the day."

A loving smile graced your lips as you watched your husband care for his children. You did your morning routine as the muffled sounds of your children and husband made your heart flutter with love. You added to the sounds and smells of the house by starting breakfast. You cooked plenty of everyone's favourites and made a pot of tea for Levi and you to share, along with juice cups for your babies.

Little feet patted against the wooden floors as your twins moved closer. With arms wide open you caught your children and embraced them in a loving hug. You moved them to their seats and presented them with breakfast and drinks.

With a playful tug, you were pulling into the arms of your husband. His hands ran over your body as his lips dotted kisses over your neck and face. His lips crashed against yours as your children giggled at the loving view.

Levi pulled back and released a long sigh. "You look so delicious this morning."

"Thank you."

He pulled his gaze from you and stared at the food. "Oh, this looks incredible."

"Enjoy."

He kissed your cheek. "Thank you."

You sat and joined your family for a delicious breakfast before letting Levi clean up everything. With children ushered into the living room, you began making a fort. You smiled softly as your children helped you out as best as they could. You gave them tasks to help you out, such as gather some cushions and cuddly toys.

You helped your kids inside the fort and checked on them before returning to your husband. You giggled as Levi felt you up a little and showered you in kisses. "Our little flowers are in the fort."

"Let's join them." He let you climb in first before he climbed in after. "Hello, you little cuties." He chuckled as they climbed all over him. "Shall we tell some stories?"

You giggled as you lay in the fort as the kids cheered. "What story do you have this time?"

Levi chuckled. "I'm thinking a story about how mummy and daddy fell in love."

Both kids threw their arms up. "Yay!"

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curlybookwriter0294 · 4 months

Text

Pushing Each Other’s Buttons

Summary: They are new at this. They are new to this whole dating thing but everything’s going well. However, during a workout session on training day after a small chat with Kori, Raven wonders if she could push each others buttons to progress things even further between them. Will it work?

AN: as always I don’t own anything from the TT universe or the DC universe! Just the plot of the story and you might hate me later lol. Happy reading! :)

It all started at the gym.

It was a typical training day at the Titans Tower, and each member of the team was at their own stations doing their own workout at the gym. Raven Roth looked around as she was doing her sit ups with Kori being her spotter as per usual.

She took in the smells of sweat and each presence of her team doing their best to make their bodies stronger and fuller for the next time they are out fighting villains. Thankfully, the alarms have not gone off so far as of yet which gives them plenty of time to do other things to pass the time until it does.

“Come on friend Raven, we are almost done! We are down to thirty sit ups now.” The alien was saying, drawing the indigo titan back into focus of her task at hand which was to complete at least forty sit ups requested by the titans leader Dick Grayson. “Just a few more then we switch!”

“Right.” The empath muttered, counting in her head the last few numbers that she had to do before getting off the mat so the Tamaranean could do her set. “Ready?” She asked her firmly, placing her hands on each of Kori’s shoes to keep her steady. Kori nodded her head and placed her hands behind her back, waiting for Raven to say the word. “Start.”

“So,” Kori said, catching her breath before going back down to her sit up, eyeing her quiet friend who was counting her sets. “You never did tell me how it’s going friend Raven.”

“Don’t know what you mean,”Raven said, hoping that Kori would drop it and just focus on her sit ups.

“Oh come now,” Kori said, chuckling at how Raven was avoiding her green eyed stare when she came up from her sit up. “You know what I mean.”

Raven knows exactly what she means because she’s been trying her best not to look over near the corner where the green shifter was doing his own set of workouts with Cyborg helping. She tried her best to ignore the fact that he was working out shirtless while he was grunting as he picked up a dumbbell easily with one hand. “It’s in progress. You know this already.” Raven whispered, turning her eyes over back towards Kori.

“29,” Kori counted and giggled at her. “I know that silly. Didn’t you two went on a date recently? What happened there? I’m dying to know!”

Raven shushed at her, briefly looking around to make sure that their conversations wasn’t behind overheard from the others. “It was nice.” She said quietly with a sigh. “Perfect even.”

“And? What else? There’s gotta be more than that!” Kori said excitedly, catching her breath once she was done with her sit ups and the two hero’s got up to do some stretches.

“We kissed.” Raven said finally, causing the alien woman to giggle with happiness. “It’s just a kiss.” She explained to her.

“Oh it’s not just a kiss friend Raven. Has it gone further than that?” Kori asked kindly, rolling her shoulders back when she did another stretch with her arms. She raised an brow at her when Raven made a face at her. “Would you want it to?”

“It’s only been three dates Kori. Isn’t that too soon?” Raven questioned her Tamaranean friend who shook her head at her, making her orange curls bounce around her shoulders. Raven sighed when she thought about a question to ask her. “How long did it take for you and boy wonder to—“ she stuttered at the question and she was thankful that Kori picked up on her question right away.

“After the third date.” Kori answered with a Cheshire grin, making Raven shiver. “But you and friend Garfield are different take all the time you need!” Kori reassured her when she noticed Raven’s face. Kori hummed. “If you wished to progress things further you just need to buttons of push each other.” She advised.

Raven blinked at Kori’s choice of words. “You mean push each others buttons?” She suggested.

Kori nodded as she walked over towards the bench to drink her bottle of water that was sitting there. “My thoughts exactly friend Raven. Also it looks like he’s already doing it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Raven asked, glancing over at the changeling that moved over to do push ups with Cyborg next to him. “He looks somewhat normal to me.” She said with a smirk.

“Friend Garfield has never taken off his shirt while working out. Have you not noticed?” Kori asked with a smile.

Raven snuck a glance over towards Garfield Logan and noticed that Kori was right, he had never taken off his shirt for his workouts until today. She noticed how tight and full his muscles and biceps were probably from working out and from getting stronger now that he’s older. He’s taller now and not lanky anymore. She would be a fool not to admit that it was nice to see him without a shirt, but was he doing it to put on a show for her?

“See what I mean friend Raven?” Kori asked, making Raven tear her eyes away from the green shifter and focus on Kori’s green ones instead. “He’s doing the buttons of the push. Now it’s your turn.”

“How will I pull that off then?” Raven whispered, walking over towards Kori as they took a breather from their workout. “I’m not exactly—“ she trailed off as she looked up and down Kori’s revealing workout attire. “You.”

The orange-haired alien smiled and before Raven could do anything to stop her, she pulled off Raven’s workout shirt, exposing her sports bra that she hiding underneath. “There we go!”

“Kori are you serious right now?!” Raven hissed at her, quickly trying to grab back her shirt from Kori but she was taller than her so she kept it at arms length. “Give it back!”

Garfield’s pointy ears twitched at the sound of Raven’s voice in the far corner of the gym, breaking his concentration of his sit ups. Luckily he was at his one hundredth goal and paused at his stance to look over at her. “What the—“ he trailed off when he saw Raven in a black and purple sports bra and Kori holding her shirt at arms length. “Holy—“

“Hey grass stain! Focus man!”

Garfield begrudgingly looked away from a rare sight and turned to focus on Cyborg instead. “Sorry my dude! I was just—“

“Focus on me and not your girlfriend dude!” Cyborg called out, making Garfield blush at the term that he was not used to.

“Right focus.” Garfield muttered to himself, stealing a glance once more at the sibyl that was working out with Kori who was still trying to get her shirt back, all the while trying to conceal herself with an arm.

“Give it back Kori. Please.” Raven pleaded in a whisper, trying for another attempt to get her shirt back. “I need my—“ a flash of green caught her attention and she paused from trying to get her shirt back.

Violet eyes meet green eyes that lasted longer than necessary and before Raven could change her mind, she uncovered her chest, sighing when she gave up trying to get her shirt back from the tall Tamaranean. She could literally see the gulp that Garfield had made when he had took in her appearance. Sure, Raven had exposed her body before but only her legs, but her upper body was a different story in which she’s slowly working on.

“See,” Kori whispered in her ear, walking beside Raven with a hand on her shoulder. “Told you.”

“Alright guys!” Dick said, making Raven to look away from the shocked shifter. “That’s enough for today. Good job everyone!”

“Do the buttons of the push friend Raven. It’ll work. Trust me,” Kori said to her before flying over towards the leader, kissing him lightly on the lips before walking out of the gym with him hand in hand.

“Push each others buttons huh?” Raven muttered to herself, wondering if it was worth a try.

The night was clear and warm in Jump City, the Titans are doing their own thing. Dick and Kori are in Gotham City for a night out, Cyborg is currently out on a date with Jinx in Central City, which leaves Garfield and Raven alone in the Titans Tower or more precisely alone on the roof.

Garfield had a big blanket for them as well as take out from a new vegan restaurant that he wanted to try. They were laid out on the blanket, sitting in complete comfortable silence as the two look out into the sky. Raven secretly wished that she could see the brightness of the stars instead of lights of buildings, but she doesn’t mind the thoughtfulness of their date.

“Next time,” Garfield started to say, breaking into Raven’s thoughts and she turned on her side to look at him as he stared out into the sky.” I want to take you somewhere where we can actually see the stars. The moon is huge and neat but I miss seeing stars.”

Raven gnawed her lower lip as she moved over to get closer to the changeling. “That’ll be nice Gar.”

Garfield chuckled at her and turned over to his side, using his arm to support himself. “Let’s make it a date then yea?” He asked, moving even closer to where they were nose to nose.

Raven could feel her face heat up at the closeness of their bodies and she had to remind herself to stay in control of her emotions. “Y-yes.”

“Neat.” The shifter whispered before closing the gap between them and leaned in for a gentle kiss on Raven’s lips.

It was slow, innocent something that Raven was getting used to. When they first started kissing, it was just a peck outside her door after their first date, same with the second date. This time, their kiss lingered a bit longer and it made Raven want to try something different with their kiss.

She opened her mouth to allow Garfield more access into the kiss and she heard him hum in question when she did that. She nibbled his lower lip which caused him to moan into her mouth.

“Rae—“ Garfield said once they part, catching their breath. He used a hand to brush back a couple of dark strands of her hair out of her face. “What brought this on?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

“You weren’t wearing a shirt at the gym today,” Raven confessed to him softly, noticing the way his face soften with her answer.

“Oh!” Garfield said once realization had kicked in and he chuckled. “Well I could say the same about you Rae-Rae.” He told her, wiggling his brows.

Raven flicked his forehead with a finger, rolling her eyes at him. “That wasn’t intentional.”

“I know my shirt thing was but you on the other hand.” He trailed off, studying her and laughed when Raven gave him a death stare. “It was Kori’s doing I know.”

“You should umm—“ Raven trailed off, using a finger to trace down Garfield’s front clothed torso slowly. “Not wear a shirt at the gym?” She said even though the way it sounded like a question.

“Will never wear a shirt at the gym again.” Garfield told her, leaning in closer to her. “Is this alright?” He asked with hesitation, bringing Raven even closer to him in a way that made their bodies touching.

Raven’s breath became heavier when Garfield lifted her chin closer to him. “Yes.” She whispered, closing her eyes when she felt Garfield’s lips back on hers again.

She opened her mouth when she felt the shifter’s tongue on her bottom lip, asking her access. She gasped when she she felt his tongue on hers, making their kiss deeper than it was before and it made Raven’s whole body feel warmer.

Raven heard Garfield making an oof sound in her mouth when he got on top of her, making sure that he wasn’t crushing her by prompting himself up with his arms. She used her arms to wrap around his neck to bring him even closer to her, making both of them moan.

Raven used her legs to wrapped around his waist, which caused her to feel something that was pressing against her. “Shit,” Garfield muttered against her neck, breaking the kiss. “I’m sorry let me just—“

“It’s fine Gar.” Raven reassured him, reaching up to play with one of his ears. “Aren’t we just pushing each others buttons a little?”

Garfield blinked at her and laughed before leaning back down against her neck, kissing against her earlobe gently. “Yea definitely pushing each other’s buttons alright.” He muttered, cursing himself. “But still— we don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable o-or anything.” He tells her, stuttering with his sentence.

“I want us to push each other’s buttons.” Raven told him truthfully, using a hand to run her fingers through his green spiky green hair. “And it seems like I’m already pushing yours.” She whispered to him quietly.

“My buttons are definitely being pushed right now.” Garfield hissed out, biting his lower lip. “I-I—“ he started, clearing his throat as he looked down at her violet eyes.

The two of them groan when a loud alarm stopped what Garfield was about to say, causing both of them to detangle themselves from each other to grab their communicators from their pockets.

“Right now??” Garfield complained. “Buzz kill!”

Raven sat up on the blanket, opening her communicator and watching the news alert that popped up, using a hand to push back her violet hair out of her face. “It’s Gizmo attacking downtown Jump City. The others are still away.” She told him. “I can portal us there.” She said firmly, standing up, reaching out a hand towards him to grab.

“Right. Let’s do this!” Garfield yelled, grabbing her hand and it held it tightly. “To be continued?” He asked, lifting a brow at the empath.

Raven squeezed his hand. “I want to see how much I can push your buttons.” She responded with a small smile. “To be continued.”

#raven roth #bbrae fanfiction #raven x beast boy #short fiction #bbrae #fluff #romance #teen titans fanfiction

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