#<- there’s a reason that was already a tag

[cinematicnomad]

math seems like the worst way to go about finding a fic to read. this isn't tiktok or twitter or instagram—there's no algorithm! ao3 is an archive. the stats of a fic are, in my opinion, only useful or interesting to the author. as a reader you can pretty much ignore them.

like alli pointed out—the hits to kudos ratio doesn't tell you much if a fic has a lot of re-reads or if a fic has a lot of chapters! every new chapter counts as a new hit. 1 person reading a 15 chapter fic will generate a minimum of 15 hits, but they can only give 1 kudo. and that doesn't include if they close the page by accident, open it up on another device or browser, etc. searching by hits or kudos is almost always going to have a bias towards older and already popular fics—they've just been around longer, so of course they're going to have more hits. that doesn't mean these fics aren't worth reading—they definitely are. but it means you're missing out on a lot of great options out there.

the way to find a good fic is just a combination of filtering the tags you're looking for and then...scrolling. read the summary. look at the tags. open what you think looks interesting. give it a few paragraphs or at least one chapter. you'll find the best fics wroth reading...by reading. the search might be tedious, but it's how i've found almost every fic i've ever loved. and a lot of those have been fics that i decided to give a chance for one reason or another—bc the tags included some random combo that was compelling enough for me or bc the summary was just that little bit extra.

my go to tip if you have a fandom you read a lot for: bookmark your search with your tags already filtered. if you KNOW you're never going to want to read a major character death fic, just have that already filtered and bookmarked. it makes your life way easier.

the other way is by keeping an eye out for recs from people who's tastes and opinions you trust. don't be afraid to send someone an ask on tumblr and ask if they have any favorite fics they'd want to recommend. or if you like one fic, check out if the author has other works. look to see if they have public bookmarks. you can rely on the built in community of the fandom.

i for one am always happy to share my favorite fics with people! and i try to tag any of my recommendations with #fic rec if you ever want to go through my blog to find some.

Another AO3 thing I’m curious about, how do yall decide if something is good enough to read? Usually I follow a rule of 1 kudos for every 10 hits. One because it’s easy math and two it’s yet to fail me. Thoughts? Do you just go for it and pray it’s good?

[cheapshrimpysheep]

True Feelings Chocolate - Freshmen

SUMMARY: It is normal on Valentine's Day for friends or schoolmates to exchange chocolates with each other. However, the quality of the chocolate reveals how the person really sees you. And homemade chocolate is the greatest message of love that someone can receive on this day.

CHARACTERS: Freshmen (Ace Trappola / Deuce Spade / Jack Howl / Epel Felmier / Sebek Zigvolt) x Yuu (Reader)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.000 words per character.

COMMENTS: The number of words varies depending on how much the character is the type to hide his true feelings.

I also would like to be able to write Epel's accent/dialect, but as English is not my first language this becomes a bit difficult sometimes. When I really want to write something like that I ask Gemini for help.

I hope you enjoy and had Happy Valentine's Day 💝

True Feelings Chocolate - OB Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia) x Yuu (Reader)

REAL WORLD CONTEXT: You may already know this, but Valentine's Day in Japan is different than in Western countries. In Asia (from what I know and have researched) this day is not exclusively related to romantic love but also to friendship or simple connections between schoolmates or work colleagues.

Just like in the West, it is marked by the gifting of chocolate, but the quality of the chocolate differs: If it's a boss or colleague you're not friends with, they're usually cheaper, more common chocolates. The quality and even price of the chocolate increases according to the relationship with the person to whom it is offered. And a chocolate made by the person themselves is the most valuable of all and is usually, from what I understand, almost like a confession of love.

On Valentine's Day, it is women who offer chocolates to men, but in this case, to keep Yuu gender-neutral and make it so that they can also offer chocolates to them, I just kept the chocolates’s logic and excluded the gender thing.

Another thing is that since it is normal to give chocolates to friends as well, it becomes more discreet to give more special chocolates to a certain person and it doesn't draw attention to simply give chocolate to someone.

NOTE: Thaumarks would be the equivalent of US dollars.

Since cherry pie is Ace's favorite food, you decide to make chocolate covered cherries, and you bought a red heart shaped box from Sam's Mystery Shop to put them in.

Meanwile, on one of the nights before Valentine's Day, Ace was alone in Heartslabyul’s kitchen with as few lights on as possible (which includes his phone’s light) and trying to cook without making noise when someone calmly enters and scares him with their presence.

“I think you know how lucky you are that I'm the one who found you and not Riddle.” Trey says with a weird smile.

“T-T-T-Trey-senpai...” Ace smiles awkwardly, that smile he hopes will get him out of trouble. “P-please, I... I-I'm just trying to follow the Valentine's Day rules, y-you know.”

“Following the rules?” Trey raises an eyebrow, looks at the mess on the kitchen table, and then looks back at Ace with a smirk. “Oh, so you’re making the chocolates? I wonder who they are for.”

“Hey, I'm not that obvious!... Am I?” He worries.

“But why didn't you do this during the day? I mean, I know you're trying to keep Deuce and the other students from seeing you, but I’m sure they have schedules that don't always overlap with yours.”

“Yeah, but I also had the problem of buying the ingredients without being seen. And I almost failed a bunch of times.” Ace sighs.

Trey laughs. “Well, you don't have much time until Valentine's Day... Hmm... Would you like my help? Maybe this way you'll finish faster and we can both go to bed.”

Ace is immediately overjoyed and relieved, but then asks him not to tell anyone. Trey promises not to tell anyone if no one catches them in the kitchen at that hour. A big part of the reason he helps Ace is so he doesn't have to deal with that problem the next day.

On Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolate to deliver to the Heartslabyul boys when you heard someone knocking on your door. You open it and see Ace catching his breath and then straightening up to pretend he wasn't tired at all.

“Heeey! Good morning, (Y/N)!” Ace greets you with that cute smile. You ask if he's okay when you see him panting as he speaks. “Y-yeah. It was just a long ru- walk. So... I was passing by and took the opportunity to come and say hi...” He smirks “And take whatever you might have to give me today.”

“You came all this way so early just to try to be the first one to get the chocolates?" you ask.

“He he, another good way to brag to Deuce.” He smiles smugly before returning to that cute smile. “So where are my sweets~?”

You turn around to get the bag of chocolates and take his box to hand it to him. He seems happier not to see any brand on the box, but even so he messes with you.

“Hmm? What's this? Don't tell me you made my chocolates?” He becomes even happier when he sees your reaction. “Well, let's see how they came out!”

He opens the box and finds several small chocolate balls like regular bonbons. He comments that he is a little disappointed, he thought you could do something more interesting. He takes one to taste, bites into it and widens his eyes.

“They are... cherries? Chocolate covered cherries?”

You ask what he was saying about them not being interesting and he laughs as he happily admits he was wrong.

“But they still look kind of boring.” he jokes. “I...” he gets a little flustered “I have something for you too.”

He had the backpack he used for his books with him, he put your box inside and took out another one, another red heart shaped box. He felt a little embarrassed as he looked at the box, that color was was so much flashier than yours.

“Yeah, it is pretty cliché too, but hey, it's also my suit.”

He holds the box with one hand and takes the other to the tip of the heart where there was a protrusion that served as a handle. He pulls it, opening the box like a drawer. The box is empty except for a folded piece of paper. You pick it up, unfold it, and read the message: ‘Sorry, I already ate them all. Should have been quicker!’ and a drawing of a smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Ace laughs at your reaction.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding.” he defends himself when you playfully hit him on the arm. He closes that drawer and when he opens it again it is full of little chubby hearts made of your favorite chocolate. You reach out to pick one up but stop and look at him suspiciously. “Fine, fine. No more tricks with these chocolates, I promise.” he smiles.

You take out one of the chocolate hearts and bite into it to discover that it has your favorite filling. They were very good... too good. You sigh, feigning (or not) disappointment, and comment that for a moment you thought those were chocolates made by him.

“What?! What do you mean?! Of course I was the one who made them!”

You say they're too good for someone who you know doesn't like to cook or has a knack for it. They're more like sweets that... Trey would make.

“Ah... ugh... Okay, fine, I asked Trey-senpai for help. And... maybe kind of... tried to make him do most of the work... B-but that's because... um... *sigh* You said it yourself, I don't like cooking and I don't have a knack for it. I wanted to make sure your chocolates turned out as good as possible. And what's better than a sweet made by a professional like my Vice-Housewarden?” he smiles hoping that would save him from a scolding.

You may not scold him, but if he sees you upset or sad about it, he will feel really bad for having done that to you.

“Hey, I really tried to make them, I swear. The crooked ones are mine, haha. What happened was that Trey-senpai caught me making them in the kitchen at night and offered to help me. I really wanted to give you something that would show how much I love you, but...” He falls silent and blushes when he realizes what he just said. His instinct is to kinda change the subject. “Y-You know, I could have lost my head if it had been the Housewarden who caught me there and not him! I put my neck on the line for you. That should, at least, be a mitigating factor in this case.”

If you give him a kiss on the cheek to show that you forgive him, he will be stunned for a second, but then he will smile seductively, grab you by the waist and give you a real kiss.

Knowing that Deuce’s favorite food is anything with eggs, you look for recipes with eggs and chocolate. The first results are for chocolate eggs until you come across a recipe for Egg Yolk Chocolate Chip Cookies. Maybe you could even shape them into hearts, or better yet, into the shape of the suit of swords.

Meanwhile, Deuce isn't shy about asking Trey for help making your chocolates... okay, maybe a little bit, because it's basically telling him that he has a crush on you, although Trey kind of already knew. The only thing he asks is that they manage to make the chocolates without Ace knowing, so as not to make fun of him. Luckily for him, Cater is also willing to help that cute little freshman of his distracting Ace.

On Valentine's Day, you were putting the boxes of chocolates in a bag to give to the Heartslabyul boys, including the blue heart-shaped box you bought to put Deuce's cookies in, when someone knocks on your door.

“H-hey. G-good morning (Y/N).” Deuce greeted you with a hint of nervousness and shyness when you open the door. “I hope I'm not bothering you, hum, I mean, so soon.”

You reassure him that he never bothers you and that makes him blush a little.

“I'm glad... hum... Since today is Valentine's Day I... I wanted to... give you this.” He takes his hand from behind his back and offers you a quite cute heart-shaped box.

He feels more at ease when he sees that you liked the surprise and happier when you accepted it willingly. You open the box and see several hearts of your favorite chocolate. Many look good, but others are a little crooked. This makes you chuckle.

“Ha ha. Yeah, I know, I'm not very good at shaping them.” he says slightly embarrassed. “P-please try them, tell me what you think. I asked for Trey-senpai's help to make sure I did them the best I could.”

You pick one up and take a bite. It was pretty good, not as good as Trey could make them, but you could tell he had a hand in helping him. Besides that, they had clearly been made by Deuce.

“So, you like it?” He asks with a shy smile even though he can see the way you're smiling. You confirm and his smile widens. “I'm glad!”

You take the opportunity to turn around, pick up the blue heart-shaped box you had puted in the bag and offer it to him. Deuce widens his eyes in surprise.

“Oh? You...? It’s for me?”

Regardless of whether you cutely or sarcastically say yes, he will laugh embarrassedly and flattered, and blush a little if you call him ‘silly’. He picks up the box with a cute smile and is surprised again when he sees cookies shaped like the suit of spades and hearts instead of regular chocolates.

You tell him they are egg yolk chocolate chip cookies and that you made them because you wanted to do something that combines chocolate and his favorite food: eggs. He beams with happiness just hearing you say you made them, and even more so that you made them so thoughtfully.

“They look delicious, I'm sure they taste as good as they look.” he says excitedly to try one, and as soon as he does it you see one of the most sincere and adorable smiles you've ever seen on him.

“THEY'RE GREAT!” he shouts too excitedly and then gets a little embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to say it so loud. It's just... you made these for me. Hmm... is that because... are you following the rules of this day?” he blushes. “You know, about, if the chocolates are handmade it must mean that...”

He's too flustered to finish his sentences, so he'll need you to be the one to take the next step and kiss him on the cheek. If you do, he will look at you in amazement for a second, before smiling broadly, hugging you and giving you a kiss on the cheek as well, but extremely passionately.

You know that Jack’s favorite food is pear compote, so you look for something that combines this and chocolate. The closest thing you can find is chocolate pear cake. Maybe if you cut it into smaller cubes it will be more like classic chocolates than giving him a whole cake. You also bought a yellow box in Sam's Mystery Shop to put them in.

Meanwhile, Jack was making your chocolates in Savanaclaw’s kitchen and would growl menacingly at anyone who messed with him about it, or even tried to. With the sole exception of Ruggie who offered to eat the chocolates that turned out so badly that Jack wouldn't want to offer them to you.

On Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolates to deliver to the Savanaclaw boys, when you heard someone knocking on your door.

“Hey, (Y/N). Hum, good morning.” Jack greets you slightly tense, despite trying to hide it. “Happy Valentine's Day. I... uh...” His impassive expression began to fade as his ears lowered, giving way to a more shy one. “I came here because I wanted to give you this.” He takes his hand from behind his back and hands you a red heart-shaped box with a pink bow. “Sorry if it's too cliché, but, uh, I thought you would like it anyway.” he rubs the back of his neck.

He starts to wag his tail a little when he sees that you enjoyed receiving that gift from him. You open it and find hearts of your favorite chocolate. However, they all have slightly different sizes and shapes, maybe only one or two could have an almost perfect, cymetrical shape of a heart, now all the others... You couldn't contain a little laugh.

“I know, I know.” he says embarrassedly, running a hand over the back of his neck again. “I'm terrible at delicate work. And these chocolates are too small for my hands.”

You pick one up and take a bite out of it. You say it tastes really good and his tail wags a little more as he smiles proudly. You take the opportunity to take his yellow box out of the bag and hand it to him. His tail wags again when he sees the box.

“I shouldn't be surprised that you'd want to give me something today too, should I?” He chuckles. “Thanks.” He picks up the box with a big smile and opens it. “Hmm? They look like little slices of cake.”

You tell him that you wanted to make something with pear compote since it is his favorite, but the most you could find were recipes for chocolate pear cake. So you thought that if you cut them a little smaller it would be the closest thing to regular chocolates.

“You're saying...” His tail begins to lose its shyness and takes up more space when wagging. “That you were the one who made them? And you tried so hard to make something I would like?” His big smile returns. “They look great. Let's see how good a cook you are!”

He takes one of the small slices but doesn't bite into it, as they are small enough for him to put them whole in his mouth, completely confident that it will taste good. And by the smile, the crazy wagging tail and the erect ears, this seems to be the case.

“They taste great too!” He was clearly overjoyed with your ‘chocolates’, but then the tail slowed down, the ears lowered slightly and his shyness returned. “Hey, I... I just wanted to make sure...” He looked away from you and his free hands went back to rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s said that if the chocolates are handmade it must mean...”

He seems to be struggling to continue that sentence and, knowing the Tsundere that he is, you realize that you need to be the one to help him.

“That the person has feelings for the other?” you finish for him. “Or even a crush?”

He finally starts to blush for real, but when he sees your reassuring smile he realizes and is sure that the feeling is mutual. This makes him loosen up, letting his tail wag like it wanted to wag all along, and he... laughs heartily, like you've never seen before. But you were surprised once again when he practically attacked you with a hug.

You have to be careful not to drop the chocolates as he covers your face with kisses, just as he has to be careful not to drop his.

You knew macarons were one of Epel’s favorite foods. So chocolate macarons seemed like a good Valentine's Day chocolate option. However, they are difficult to make and require care and skill, which means you have put a lot of work into making them.

You were going to put them in a lavender box that you bought at Sam's Mystery Shop. But you didn't buy a normal, cute box. Sam ‘just happened’ to have a lavender box in stock with a lineart of two dragons forming a heart, but in a way that reminds you of a cool tattoo rather than a cute drawing.

Meanwhile, in Pomefiore's kitchen, Epel was making his chocolates feeling very tense. Because he wanted to make your chocolates as perfect as possible to prove himself worthy of praise and of you? It could have been, if he hadn't had something, or rather someones, who made him even more tense than that thought.

Epel could feel Rook's watchful gaze, even if he was watching Epel through the window from a tree branch. But that wasn't necessary because he made a deal with Epel: If he let Rook watch him cook without worrying about him interrupting or interfering, Rook would keep any and all other Pomefiore students out of the kitchen until Epel was finished. So he silently watched Epel from the corner... which wasn't exactly a comfortable feeling.

But another person from whom he couldn't hide what he wanted to do in the kitchen was the Housewarden of Pomefiore himself.

“If a Pomefiore student is going to give Valentine's Day chocolates to a crush...” Vil said and Epel tried to deny that last word without much conviction, which made Vil chuckle in amusement. “Fine, to someone they really like, then they will have to be the most beautiful sweets that said student is humanly capable of making. And that's why I'll be evaluating them once they're finished. You don't want to give (Y/N) anything less than your best, do you?”

He reluctantly agreed. This plus Rook's observation only put more pressure on him. However, this is the kind of pressure that motivates Epel even more, which ends up being a good thing.

On Valentine's Day, you're putting the boxes of chocolates in the bag to deliver to the Pomefiore boys, when you hear someone knocking on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” Epel greets you with that sweet, enthusiastic smile, but then he gets a little shy. “Happy Valentine's Day. I just, uh, came here because I wanted to give you this.”

He takes his hands from behind his back and hands you a beautiful heart-shaped box with a classic design. He is very happy that you liked his gift so much. You pick up the box and open it to find beautiful, plump hearts made from what looks like your favorite chocolate and beautiful, carefully crafted lineart. You comment that it must have been a lot of work to do.

“You have no idea...” he says through gritted teeth and with a smile that tries to hide his frustration. And you ask if he wants to talk about it. “I... How about you try them first?” he diverts the subject momentarily with an awkward smile.

You pick up one of the chocolates and bite into it to discover that it has your favorite filling. And indeed, they taste as good as they look. He turns his back to you and mutters, in an irritated triumph, a few phrases in his dialect. You only catch something about him being right and ‘he’ not knowing what ‘he’ was talking about. And something about diet, maybe. You ask if everything was okay and what he was saying. He turns back to you.

“I was talking about my Housewarden!” He says bluntly. “Vil was like: ‘are you going to make them such high-calorie chocolates?’” he imitates him in an affected voice that would certainly get him into trouble if Vil heard it. “And like ‘Don't you think you made many considering their poor nutrition?’. I was lucky that Rook defended me on many points, saying things like: 'This shows how sweet Monsieur Pommette’s love is’.” He made another eccentric voice to imitate Rook. “And cheesy things like that... And... I may or may not have talked back to Vil because of his criticisms.”

You ask what he did or said.

“At first the criticism was constructive, like whether the chocolates were pretty or not. But then he started criticizing the chocolates because of the calories. You know, stupid ideas because of his diets or something. It even got to the point where he almost told me to do something that I knew you wouldn't like and that's when I told him: ‘THESE CHOCOLATES ARE NOT FOR YOU! AND YOU CAN'T FORCE YOUR TASTES ON OTHERS!’”

He reenacted the way he said that to Vil and you can only imagine how he reacted when he saw Epel yelling at him with that furious face. Then he calmed down again and sighed.

“Right after that he wanted me to apologize. I apologized for the way I spoke, but not for what I said. And do you know what he said to me? ‘And that is exactly the apology you should make to me.’” He imitated Vil again to the point of making that gesture with his index finger next to his chin and put a smug face on. “ ‘What you said is more than correct, now the way you said it needs to be worked on.’ HE WAS PURPOSELY IRRITATING ME TO TEST ME! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?! And Rook even helped by praising the passionate way I expressed myself and yada, yada, yada.”

You can no longer contain your laughter when you imagine that scene. And Epel laughs with you. Oh, you almost forgot! You turn around and go to the bag to get Epel’s box to give to him.

“WOW! IT'S SO COOL!” Epel smiled excitedly when he sees the drawing of dragons on the box.

Then he looked at you and his smile became sweeter, having been reminded that you actually know the real him. He wasted no time in opening the box and he genuinely smiles so cutely when he sees the chocolate macarons. But then you see him pick up one of the macarons and analyze it. You ask if there's something wrong.

“Did you make them?” he asks with a really puzzled look, but soon his eyes widen and the big smile returns as you confirm. “So that's why they are a little crooked and with some cracks. Hahaha.”

You pout at him and notices his cheeks starting to turn pink.

“Hey, I'm not making fun of you." he says, still with a slightly mocking smile. "Macarons are hard to make. And honestly, you did such a good job that I almost thought they were bought." Then he smirked. “But they wouldn't sell macarons in this state.” He laughs at your annoyed reaction. “They look delicious, tho. Let's dig in!”

He tastes the macaron in his hand and once again his eyes widen, accompanied by a huge smile.

“Mmm, that's darn good!” he says in his accent. “But, tell me just one more thing.” he says with a smug smile. “Do you know what it means to give someone chocolates made by yourself today?” You confirm. “That's what I was hoping for!”

And in a surprising movement of grabbing you by the waist with his free hand, he pulls you and kisses your cheek with confidence.

Knowing that Sebek’s favorite food is Salmon carpaccio doesn't help you know exactly what you should do, but knowing that his least favorite food is Black coffee helps you conclude that dark chocolate is not a good option. But with that maybe you can think more about the shape of the chocolates... Does Sam have any dragon molds for sale?

Meanwhile, no Diasomnia’s student approaches the kitchen so that their eardrums wouldn't be ruptured by Sebek's voice. Just the energy of ‘Don't you dare bother me, humans!’ was enough for them to reach the door and immediately turn around. With only 3 exceptions. But luckily for him one of those exceptions wasn't even around at the time. Luckily because he was thinking about making chocolates for Malleus too.

Silver doesn't really get involved in other people's business. At most, he gives a little smile on the corner of his mouth, thinking it's amusing, and leaves him alone.

Lilia, on the other hand, really, really, REALLY wanted to mess with him a little. He couldn't contain his desire to stay in the kitchen and watch him cook, which on the one hand put more pressure on Sebek, but also made him more determined to make everything perfect. Lilia even offered to help him.

“I-It is very generous of you to offer me your precious aid, Lilia-sama.” he said, and he always feels guilty and dishonored for avoiding Lilia's cooking. “But, as honorable as it would be, I will have to decline the offer. For I intend to strive to make the chocolates with the greatest perfection through my solo effort and improving skills.”

He may have saved himself from Lilia 'helping' him make your chocolates, but he couldn't save himself from Lilia's comments insinuating that he (as the youngsters say) ships the two of you. Part of Lilia also wanted to trick him a little bit to make him court you in a weird and funny way, but he held himself back. He wasn't one to abuse Sebek's trust to the point of actually ruining things between you.

On Valentine's Day, you were putting the boxes of chocolates in the bag to deliver to the Diasomnia boys when you heard someone knocking on your door.

“HUMAN!” Sebek shouts with a slight blush of embarrassment on his face and as if he were doing it almost out of obligation. “I'm here to fulfill the chocolate delivery ritual.” He hands you the black heart-shaped box with green lineart that he didn't even bother to hide behind his back. “P-please accept my offering.” he stuttered for an almost imperceptible second.

You pick up the box with a little smile, finding it all funny. You open the box and find hearts made with your favorite chocolate. You pick one up and bite into it, discovering that it also has your favorite filling inside.

“Well, I may conclude that you are perfectly satisfied with my cooking.” He says with a smug smile that tries to hide the real delight he feels at seeing you smile like that. But then he became serious again. “With this, my visit to you comes to its conclusion. Have a good day.”

He immediately turns to start walking to the gate, but you stop him. He turns around alarmed by the way you asked him to wait.

“WHAT IS IT?! Is there something missing?! I knew I should have gotten flowers too!”

And so his composed mask falls, at least for that moment. He really seems worried that he did something wrong and is sorry for whatever mistake he made. However, you can't help but laugh at that drastic change in behavior.

“WHA- NOW YOU ARE MOCKING ME?!” He makes that angry face that is so common of him that it doesn't even worry you anymore. “For what motive did you ask me to detain myself?!”

You turn to grab his box from the bag and hand it to him. It's a green heart-shaped box with a black bow. He almost jumps in surprise.

“You...” he says in a lower voice (which to anyone would be just a regular volume) “You got me chocolates too?”

He picks up your box with a delicacy you've never seen before and a little glint of wonder in his eyes. He opens the box to find chocolates, some milk, others white, shaped like little dragon heads. And with that he made that emotional face that he practically only directed at Malleus or Lilia.

“HOW MAJESTIC! Such a sublime creature recreated in its glory! You... human... are so... CRUEL!”

You ask why he is saying that, worried and above all confused.

“How do you expect me to ruin a work of art such as this? And worst of all through INGESTION?! I CAN NOT! This must be preserved!”

You try to convince him to eat them because if he doesn't they'll spoil. And you even say that you didn't know he would see things that way, you just thought he would like those molds because of, well, Malleus. And you comment that maybe you should have chosen something else because you really want him to taste what you did for him.

“They... they were made by you?” His face contorts into even more emotional pain and indecision.

You say you have the molds and can make more if he wants. This makes his eyes widen, almost filling with tears, and shine with joy and relief.

“THAT WOULD BE SIMPLY WONDERFUL! ... GH!... hu-hum. I mean, I would be very grateful if you did.” he smiles with a slight blush. “Now,” he smirks. “I should uncover the result of your labor.”

He takes one of the chocolates and bites into it. And you can see from his emotional expression that he's trying hard not to start showering you with praise like he does with Malleus.

“I must confess, for a human devoid of any magic or enviable abilities, your cooking is more than satisfactory.”

You look at him with that face of someone asking if that really is the best thing he can say to you. He sighs and blushes a little again.

“Very well. You desire to hear my most genuine opinion, correct?” he smiles, in a rather sweet way. “I truly enjoyed it. I didn't want to inflate your ego, but since you insist, they are some of the best homemade chocolates I've ever had. It is an honor to be worthy of tasting something like this and with the exclusivity of having it made especially for me. Thank you very much, (Y/N).”

You're surprised for a moment that he said your name and not ‘human’. And in the meantime, his posture changes, at first he seems uncertain about something but then he becomes surprisingly confident to the point of smiling smugly at you.

“Well, I assume you are well aware of the rules of  chocolate giving on Valentine's Day. And what implies delivering chocolates made by the offeror to the offeree.”

Seeing your expression of confirmation, he takes your hand, leans in and kisses the back of it. When he looks at you again, in the eyes, you see a shine and affection that you never thought you would see in him.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[bambi-lamb]

over the phone

Summary: Ever since Wanda left for a routine work trip, things have felt off—even compared to previous trips. Things come to a head one day and you can't help but ring her up. Just to talk... well, at first anyway.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, phone sex, dacryphilia, mommy kink, nipple play (is that a tag idk), implied sadomasochism (just a lil bit), remote vibrator, fingering

WC: 3,165

A/N: i know the tags are a little crazier than usual... and the length is double what i normally have. i don't know what happened— hopefully someone is into this though

"Detka? Are you there?"

The phone speaker crackles in the following silence, breaking you out of your stupor.

"Sorry, Wanda. I'm here."

She hums softly on the other side of the line, sounding amused.

"So, why did you call me, sweetheart?"

The honey-sweet words trickle into your ears and you sigh, leaning back against the headboard and fidgeting restlessly with the edge of the duvet.

"Just missed you. Wanted to hear your voice," you respond quietly, hoping that the phone catches it.

Evidently, you're not entirely successful.

"Hmm? Say that again, baby?"

You slump down against the pillow, sliding underneath the covers and turning to the side. The phone finds its way between your hands, still on speaker, and you cradle it closer to your face, staring unblinking at the caller ID screen as you repeat yourself.

Wanda chuckles softly, and the phone slides out of your loose grasp. You melt into the mattress before reaching out to readjust the phone until it's in place again.

"I missed you too, detka. What have you been up to today?"

You hum softly, squeezing a second pillow between your arms as you think over your response.

"Not much. I went out and bought groceries. Nothing special. Everything feels so stale without you here," you lament.

A soft huff of breath crackles through the speakers.

"I'll be back soon, detka. I'm only here for one more day, I promise."

You sigh and turn onto your back again, hugging the pillow tighter.

"I just miss you so much."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

The soft warmth spreading in your chest is all-too-eager to branch as far as it can go, and a low ache settles at the bottom of your stomach. Wanda's voice has always been a weak spot for you, and even through crackling phone speakers that hasn't changed.

"Miss you in all the ways," you murmur, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of your need.

Wanda coos softly, but doesn't say anything further. As her raspy voice echoes through the speaker, tears spring to your eyes. It hurts to miss someone this much. You've never had much issue with Wanda leaving before. It's not like you don't understand that she's busy.

But for some reason, this time has felt different from all the others. Your everyday life feels emptier, hollow, surreal. Without Wanda to anchor you down, you feel like you're a phantom, coasting on muscle memory to get through the day until you can get in bed and dream of green eyes.

"Wish you could just come home already," you whine, trying to tamp down your rising emotions.

"Detka," Wanda murmurs. "It's okay. I'm here. Stay with me, okay? Mommy's here."

You battle with your conflicting desires, desperation and desire coursing through your veins in equal measure. You flip back onto your side again, clutching the phone like a lifeline, thumbs pressed into the screen as if that will somehow bring you closer to Wanda.

"Mommy," you whisper back, taking solace in the title as your breathing evens out again.

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm here," Wanda reassures.

Lust roars to life suddenly and you squeeze your thighs together, mind blank as Wanda's soft voice washes over you.

"Mommy," you whisper again, heavier this time, weighted down by desire.

"My baby," she murmurs in response, low and firm.

"Need you. Please." You've been reduced to short phrases already, finally letting your mind take a backseat and just letting yourself feel.

"What do you need from mommy, detka?"

"Want mommy, please. Want to hear— want…" you can't find the right words, overwhelmed by just how much you need Wanda in this moment. You just need her, need to anchor yourself.

Luckily, Wanda understands what you're asking for all too well.

"You want mommy to tell you what to do? Is that it, detka?"

You nod limply, before realizing Wanda can't see you.

"Mhmm," you hum into the screen instead, fingers still digging into the phone case as you pull it even closer.

"How badly do you need it, sweetheart?"

Wanda's voice is teasing, and you can hear shuffling on the other side of the line then the click of a door locking.

"Need you so bad, please mommy." The words tumble out in a rushed mess, but at this point you can hardly bear to think of this phone call ending in anything other than an orgasm.

Wanda chuckles again.

"You're so lovely for me, detka. So needy. So sweet. You know what mommy would do to you if she could be there with you?"

You shiver, pillow long-forgotten as you clutch the phone between your fingers.

"I would take it so slow, sweetheart. Draw it out a little bit, just tug down the top of your shirt and play with your pretty little nipples until you're squirming and crying."

Wanda sounds delighted; you can hear the smile in her voice as she describes how she would touch you.

"Just softly at first, only the best for my baby. I'd use my mouth and tongue, and then when you're squirming for more, mommy would use her fingers to pinch and squeeze and roll. The way you like it, baby," she hums, and you shiver again.

"Can you do that for mommy, sweetheart? Can you pinch your pretty nipples for her?"

You whine high in your throat, listening to the way Wanda laughs softly through the phone.

"Mommy," you whimper, tugging your tank top down and setting down the phone next to your head. You know exactly what Wanda means, and you pinch and squeeze, rolling your own nipples roughly between the pads of your fingers, the way you know Wanda always does, the way you like it.

"Oh god, mommy—" the moan gets caught in the back of your throat, coming out choked as bolts of white-hot electricity course up your spine.

"You're doing so good for me, detka," she coos, and you sob desperately, already overwhelmed.

"Just keep it up for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you cry."

You acquiesce obediently, squeezing your nipples until they're swelling, reddened by the abuse, until you can feel tears welling up and spilling over. Wanda keeps whispering soft encouragements through the speaker even as you pant and moan, broken only by soft sobbing and crying.

It never surprised you, but you're sure anyone else in the neighborhood who knows Wanda would be startled to discover her sadistic streak. She's always liked seeing you cry, and it only helps that you like it when she makes you hurt—when she tears you apart and builds you back up again.

"Mommy," you whimper again, a broken noise that makes Wanda moan softly on the other end of the line.

"Oh, detka, you sound so pretty," she coos, enjoyment sparkling in her voice.

"Please," you beg, shivering and shaking with every new jolt of sensation.

"Mmh, good girl," she murmurs. "You can stop now, just for a little bit."

You moan with relief as you're finally given permission to pull your hands away from your chest.

"And then mommy would touch you lower, wouldn't she? You know how mommy likes you, baby. Legs tucked up against your chest so you're nice and open for mommy. Go ahead, sweetheart, why don't you start now, hm?"

You pant softly as your pull your own legs up and apart, kicking off the duvet and whimpering when cold air meets your sticky cunt.

"Mommy would start slow, just keep you spread open with her fingers, and just watch. Wait until you're squirming and wiggling before she touches you. Just keep yourself open, baby, you can listen to how mommy wants to touch you first. No touching yet."

You hum and abide by her rules, reaching down only to spread yourself even further apart, shivering as you imagine Wanda's lazer-sharp gaze on your spread cunt.

"And then mommy would touch you so softly, just gently rub with her fingers where you're nice and open for mommy. Never inside, just right outside, where your pretty cunt opens up for mommy."

You shiver as you imagine the sensation, all-too-familiar with how it feels.

"Do you think you could ever come like that, baby? With mommy's mouth on your nipples and her fingers rubbing your cunt just like that?"

Wanda moans softly at her own words, and you whimper loudly into the speaker. It sounds torturous and delicious all in the same.

"Hmm, maybe once mommy gets home," she murmurs. "How's my detka feeling now, hm? Are you being a good girl? You're not touching yourself, are you?"

Her words are edged with danger.

"No, mommy. I'm being good. Not touching myself. Keeping myself spread open with my fingers, just like mommy would," you profess earnestly.

Wanda hums thoughtfully.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you baby?"

"Promise I'm being honest, mommy."

Wanda coos softly, reassured.

"Good girl, detka."

You moan softly in the back of your throat. Without realizing it, you've started rocking your hips against the empty air, searching for more stimulation.

"Now where were we? Ah, right, mommy would rub your pretty cunt until you're crying again, and then keep rubbing. Just until she's satisfied. You'd have to be a good girl and beg for more. Beg for mommy's fingers."

"Please," you moan. "Please, mommy, please." Mindless even though you haven't even begun to touch yourself.

"You can touch yourself now, baby," she coos gently. "Just like mommy said, okay? Don't go inside just yet. Just outside. Nice and soft."

You agree quietly, letting go of where you're stretching yourself open to reach down further. You take your index and middle fingers and begin to rub in careful circles, moaning at the touch.

You've heard about this before, know just how many nerve endings exist in just this region, and it feels like you're on fire. Desperation seizes you. You want more. You want so badly to feel full, to come already, but Wanda hasn't given you permission to do anything beyond this, and you're nothing if not a good girl for her.

"Good girl," Wanda hums, and then continues to describe more, dropping her voice torturously low as she paints new visuals through the speaker.

"And then mommy would press inside, so so slow, bit by bit until you're all filled up. But as soon as mommy's inside, she'd pull right back out, all the way. Rub your pretty little clit with those same fingers until you're crying again, so close, and then stop. Once you're calmed down, mommy would do it again, and again, and again. Over and over."

"Mommy," you sob desperately. "Mommy, please."

Wanda hums softly, but doesn't acknowledge your pleas.

"You don't have to do it so many times tonight, baby. Just a couple. Just so mommy can hear you cry again. And then mommy wants you to go get your vibrator. Mommy will make you come like that, okay?"

You shiver and gasp as you continue to work yourself up.

"Yes, mommy. Please, mommy."

Wanda seems to be feeling merciful tonight, because she doesn't wait very long.

"You can go in now, detka. Just like mommy said, okay? Nice and slow."

You nod eagerly, forgetting Wanda can't see you, and begin to nudge your fingers inside, torturously slow, exactly the way Wanda has so many dozens of times in the past.

The stretch burns, just a little bit, even with how slick you are, and you moan into the speaker. It takes nearly a full minute just to seat your fingers in completely, and you sigh as you clench down, finally feeling full.

"Pull out, baby," Wanda orders firmly.

You whine, crying out in disappointment, but you don't disobey.

"Mommy," you beg, even as you pull back out completely, leaving your cunt empty and needy again.

"No, baby. Not yet. Be good for mommy. Now you have to rub your pretty little clit. Soft. Gentle. Mommy wants you to edge yourself three times, okay? She can count for you, baby." Wanda's breathing sounds labored on the other side of the line, and you briefly have time to think about whether or not she's touching herself, too.

Then your fingers are on your clit and your thoughts wash away again.

You rub just as she instructed. Slowly, gently, cautiously. Just enough to slowly build you up to an orgasm. Never enough to tip you over. Desire throbs low and slow in your stomach, but Wanda's low voice keeps your orgasm at bay. Slower. Lighter. Hold it.

Soon enough, her voice is all you can think about. It replaces the voice in your own head, guiding every movement of every part of your body. No coming. Never coming. Just rubbing, slowly.

When you whimper a little too loud into the speaker, Wanda makes you stop. Pulling your hand away feels like hell, but you do it anyway. When your breathing settles to an acceptable degree—Wanda makes you hold the phone up to your mouth until you stop panting—she has you start again.

Slow and steady. Stretching yourself open with two fingers until you're spreading around your knuckles, and then out and away. And then once again, rubbing your clit until you can feel just how empty you are, clenching down around nothing. The tears well up this time, and Wanda coos softly when you hiccup soft sobs into the phone.

She still makes you stop.

"That's two, detka. Just one more. One more. You can do it, can't you?"

You nod limply, fingers seated deep inside your cunt. It feels glorious, to be full just for this one moment, walls fluttering around something until Wanda orders you to pull them back out, and then you're hollow again, incomplete.

This time, she has you rub even longer, twice as long as you had to before. She makes you pause whenever your breathing speeds to much, or you moan too loud. She tells you to keep your fingers on your clit no matter what, even if you're paused, just to feel the way it throbs underneath your fingertips.

When it does, she asks you to count each pulse out loud, to tell her exactly how much you need her, how much you need more.

"Okay, baby, you can stop now," she orders, after making you count for the fifth time.

"Get your vibrator, sweetheart. Press it in as far as it will go, okay?"

You reach over to the bedside table, fumbling with the drawer until you find the small vibe, sucking on the tip for only a moment before you're eagerly cramming it into your cunt. It feels heavenly, to finally have something inside again, and you moan softly.

"Good girl," Wanda coos from the phone, and you feel the way the vibrator comes to life.

It's slow, probably at the lowest setting, but you're still grateful for the way the vibrations pulse outward, rippling through your nerves deliciously.

"Oh, sweetheart," Wanda murmurs. "You've been so good for mommy today. So sweet. So obedient. Do you want to come?"

You whine eagerly, half-sentences forming in your throat.

"Please, mommy, please. Want. Wanna come. Please."

Wanda chuckles softly, and the vibrator jacks up to the highest setting. You sob gratefully into the phone, your entire body shivering as pleasure finally floods into you.

"Whenever you want, detka," she hums.

The orgasm is aggressive, fast, overpowering. It crashes through your entire body, your toes curling and back arching as all the tension you've built up for the past hour is finally released.

But even after you've come down, panting loudly into the speaker, Wanda doesn't stop the vibrator. She lets it run, still thrumming harshly deep inside of you, until you're tipped over into a second orgasm. The second orgasm is just a tinge of painful, but that ache quickly bleeds into euphoria again.

When she still doesn't stop, you begin to beg, pleading incoherently with Wanda to turn down the vibrator, to stop completely.

Wanda gives no indication at all that she's heard you.

The third orgasm is an all-consuming heatwave, burning through every raw nerve ending as your entire body is left twitching in the aftermath. The fourth and fifth completely remove all sense of coherency and reality from you. Even still, the vibrator keeps buzzing away, tucked deep in your cunt. Wanda murmurs the whole way through, reassurances sweet in her mouth.

She still doesn't stop, though, even when you've lost your voice from how much you've moaned and cried through each orgasm.

You don't even know how many times you actually come. At least 7 times, you think. When she finally turns the vibrator off, you're a complete mess, drenched in sweat and tears, your thighs coated in sticky arousal and come.

"You're okay, detka," she murmurs through the phone.

"You've been so lovely for me. Can you do just one more, baby? Just one more? Mommy wants to hear another one, pretty please?"

You whimper hoarsely, already overstimulated beyond belief, but it doesn't even matter, because the vibrator is buzzing to life yet again.

"Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it. Mommy knows you can. You're so good for me."

You manage to choke out a moan as pleasure builds in your gut yet again, aching and burning. It hurts, but it also feels euphoric.

"Be a darling and rub your clit for mommy, okay? Nice and hard, baby."

You cry out when you do, fingers pressed into your clit as you nudge along another orgasm. It's all too much, but Wanda only turns the vibrator higher. All of a sudden, the orgasm crashes through you, and you shudder one last time, squeezing down on the pulsing vibrator inside you.

You cry out unintelligibly, and Wanda turns the vibrator down, letting you ride out your final orgasm before shutting it off.

"Such a good girl for me, detka," she coos softly. "You're so lovely for me, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

You hum into the phone, listening to the way it crackles with sound. You have half a mind to pull the vibrator back out and you leave it on the nightstand, but your uncooperative legs won't let you stand, let alone walk to the bathroom to clean up.

"It's okay, baby. You can go to sleep now. Mommy will be back in no time, okay?"

"Love you, Wanda," you murmur, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion.

As you drift off, vision swimming and blurring, you hear Wanda's honeyed voice come through the speakers again.

"Love you too, detka."

Slipping away into dreamland, you're met with the same dream as you have been for days now. When you're met with green eyes and red hair this time, you no longer feel so hollow—instead, warmth floods through you. The world around the two of you takes shape, changes colors, blissful and bright.

Wanda's eyes sparkle as she laughs at you, tugging you along to nowhere in particular, and you find yourself smiling—genuine and full.

[lovebittenbyevans]

Bittersweet Reunion | Intro

Summary: Nanami Kento, a wealthy and laid-back charmer, seems to have it all. But when you two cross paths again, doubts begin to surface, leaving you wondering: was the connection and love you shared ever genuine?

Pairing: ex-sugardaddy/sunshine! Nanami Kento x ex-sugarbaby/grumpy! Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words, a little angst

Author note: I know it has been a while since I written anything. Welcome to BitterSweet Reunion Universe

Series Masterlist

Intro

For whatever reason, you can't look at him. Before you touch the doorknob, you notice he standing close behind you, his voice cracking and gruff. “Honey.”

Your chest rose and fell. You swallow then, unsure of your own words coming out. “Nanami.” It almost felt like your breath caught up in your throat, you barely heard your own heart pounding a bit fast.

Fuck!

“This is it? You’re done with me?” He touches your hand and gently turns you to face him. His thumb brushes against your lower lip as you look at him.

You cleared your throat and said. “I told you this was it for me for months now. No more contracts and money. I don’t need it.” You were doing good on your own without him for a few months now.

You did not see yourself being his forever. You had your own plans.

He cupped your cheeks as his gaze fixated on you. “And I told you I was serious about you.” He leaned in toward you as he caressed your cheeks.

“This is goodbye, Nan.” Your voice cracked a bit.

Dropping his forehead against yours, you exhaled softly. “Y/N, please don’t.”

A tear trickled down your cheek when you heard the door open, a voice that made you startled and you took a step back. “Baby, can we talk?”

Shit! You completely forgot he had a girlfriend that he was supposedly dating.

His jaw tightened. “Give me a minute, Gabby.” You sniffled and wiped your tears away. “No, No. Go ahead.” You turned on your heels feeling his gaze still on you.

He tried to grab your hand but you were already at the door looking at Gabby. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you again.” She smirked.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Fuck off, Gabby.” You walked out of his office door not looking back.

Bitch!

Something flared inside Nanami's chest. He wanted to go after you but he couldn’t. He had to respect your wishes and boundaries.

This was beginning to feel very real for him and he did not like it one bit. He sat down at his desk and glared at Gabby. “What is it, G?” He had no energy to deal with her right now.

“Well, I need a favor daddy N.” She went around his desk and leaned against his desk.

He glanced at her. “What do you need, G?”

Gabby cupped his chin. “Well, the girls and I want to go on a trip to Italy and I was wondering if–”

“I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t mean to cut her off but he just wanted to be left alone right now.

Gabby tried to give him a kiss but he turned his head. “Thank you. Thank you, N.” Hurt showed on her face but she covered it with a smile.

He nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Uh huh, now get out!” He took a look at his phone while he heard the door shut.

nanami.y/nupdates tagged you in a posted

Nanami clicked on his notification and saw the photo along with a caption he was tagged in along with y/n name.

nanami.y/nupdates it looks like y/n unfollow her sugar daddy nanami and remove all their pictures together. Oops trouble in paradise?

He slid his phone across his desk and rubbed his jaw. “Fuck!”

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 3

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Slow burn, mentions of injury, threats, sickness. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x Healer

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello angels! I hope you enjoyed chapter 2 and now enjoy this. I've been writing these on my commutes to work which has been super fun. I'm going to try and get a chapter out every week if i can! Enjoy <3

For days, Aemond floated in and out of consciousness. Each time his eye flickered open, only to roll shut again, the healer took it as a sign that he would survive. She had seen men fade into death before. How their bodies went still, how their breathing grew shallow and thin until it simply stopped.

But Aemond was not one of those men. He lingered, clung to life like a beast caught in a trap, refusing to die despite the ruin of his body.

At first, he barely stirred. She forced water between his cracked lips, tipping it carefully so he would not choke. She fed him broth, the rich scent of marrow and herbs filling the cottage as she coaxed him to swallow. At one point, she had feared he would slip into a sleep he would never wake from, lost to his wounds and the fever that burned at his skin. But as the days passed, his fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.

And then finally his eye opened.

Outside, the air had turned sharp and biting, winter creeping closer with every shortened day. The fire in her hearth struggled against the chill that bled up from the earth, and the furs wrapped around her shoulders did little to keep it out.

Soon, the snow would come.

And snow meant death for those who could not prepare for it.

Food was already scarce. Crops had withered in the wake of war, and what little remained was taken by the desperate or the cruel. She had coin, but even coin could not conjure wheat from barren fields or meat from hollowed-out forests. She often thought of selling the long sword she had taken from him, knowing it would fetch more than enough to keep her through the winter. For many winters to come. But carrying a sword like that, his sword, was as dangerous as wielding a traitor’s banner.

Lords and commoners alike who had supported the Green cause had been rounded up and slaughtered. If she was caught with the weapon of a kinslayer, she would be met with the same fate.

And yet… she had kept him alive.

She did not know why. She only knew that she had to.

Would he repay her kindness with a blade to her throat once he could stand again?

Would he lead men to her door, reveal that a woman in the woods had nursed the enemy back to health?

Would he seek vengeance?

She did not want to think about it.

Unease seemed to follow her however, ever since she found the young Prince. It was if the air itself had shifted when Rhaenyra had been slain.

When the war had ended.

It could be, she reasoned with herself, the unsettling feeling after a war. The sudden silence and stillness that clung to people after such uproar. It could also be that the dragons that once flew in great numbers above had greatly dwindled after the war, their shadows and roars missing from the sky. The thought left something heavy in her chest.

It did not bode well when the symbols of gods died.

A low groan pulled her from her thoughts.

She did not rush to his side. She had learned in the first few days that his body remembered the war even if his mind did not. He twitched in his sleep, breath hitching, murmuring half-formed words to ghosts that did not answer. But she knew this sound, this was different.

He was waking.

She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, watching as his eye fluttered open, violet, sharp despite the dazed, fevered haze clinging to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, suddenly, he tried to sit up.

A harsh cry of pain tore from his lips, and he collapsed back against the bed, his breath ragged, chest jerking in uneven gasps. His fingers twisted into the furs, knuckles white with strain, but his body refused to obey him. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, and tried again. This time, his injured leg jerked upward, and the pain hit him like a tidal wave.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws against the mattress, all those fine furs she had bought having their hairs town from their pelts. His eye was squeezed shut, his body taut with the unbearable humiliation of weakness and pain.

She looked down upon him, cloth still held aloft and hoped that this wouldn’t inspire a desperate instinct to attack her. She was certain he would likely not react well, waking up to the unfamiliar scent of her hut, his body aching, and his mind clouded.

A Prince waking in a cottage in the woods and not the chambers of the palace was certain to turn someone of his standings head. Especially since his last memory would have been the war at its peak.

If she woke up one day in a room in the Red Keep, injured and alone, she was sure she would be just as alarmed, if not more so. 

Aemond's lips were chapped, face having grown pale, and breathed a ragged breath, his violet eye flicking around the room as rapidly as his weakness would permit, searching for immediate signs of danger.

When he finally stilled, his breathing shallow but controlled, she let her gaze drift lower. His movement had shifted the furs on the bed so she now had a clear view of the wrappings on his chest. She looked over them searching for any sign of split stitches and found them.

Blood had begun to seep from beneath the rags she had replaced from the fish skin, and without even looking up she turned around to gather her supplies.

Behind her, his voice was hoarse, raw with pain and something darker.

"Where am I?"

She did not answer immediately. She was already assessing the damage, her fingers steady as they lifted the bloodied wrappings from his skin.

"Riverlands." She said flatly.

The silence stretched.

"Where?" His tone sharpened, demanding now.

She did not look at him. "Near Harrenhal."

The shift was immediate.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched, but the worst of it was in his eye. The moment the word left her lips, his expression twisted into something dangerous. Hatred, rage, loathing, all bleeding into one as his nostrils flared, as the muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth.

She braced herself, already anticipating the bite of his fury.

"Are you a Maester?" The question was sharp, calculated. Even now, flat on his back, broken, helpless, he was still testing her.

She did not fear the question, nor the weight of his stare. Instead, she did something unexpected, she laughed. A quiet, breathy sound that barely reached the space between them.

It was not amusement, not quite. But there was something in it; a warning, perhaps.

He hated it.

"As a follower of the Seven, you should know women cannot swear such an oath."

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was joined by something else. Something assessing.

He was measuring her.

Calculating.

She could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eye, the realisation sinking in. He was in a stranger’s home, far from his kin, with wounds he could not fight past, and a body that refused to obey him.

And worst of all; he was at her mercy.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the bruises look darker, the scar across his cheekbone deeper, and him gaunter. He looked like something feral, something barely restrained by the thin thread of his own will.

She wondered, briefly, if she had saved a dying man or a dying beast.

The answer did not matter.

She would soon find out.

“Who tends to me?” His voice was distrustful, thick with uncertainty. Sharp.

Commanding.

She gave him her name and only her name.

“Who is your sworn lord?” Voice thick with impatience.

She smirked as she lifted the bandages from his chest, watching his fingers twitch, wary as if he might lurch forward and grab her.

She hummed, unfazed. “Sworn lord? I’ve sworn no oaths.”

His eye burned into her, “Who holds Harrenhal?”

She had to hold back a laugh.

Men often made demands when they were injured. Often promised vengeance for the shame of their own vulnerability. When she had first taken her mother’s place, it had made her cautious, fearful. But time had taught her something else. Empty words and empty threats were more deserving of mirth than worry.

But this man… this man was different. His reputation alone would have been enough to put her on edge. And yet, more than that, it was the feel of him. The way the air thickened around him, charged with something unspoken.

A warning.

Even still, she answered as she would any other.

“The ghosts that haunt its walls.”

Her fingers pinched his torn skin together, assessing what to do next.

He did not whimper this time.

Aemond gave her a scathing look, the scar over his eye crinkling. “The war...Has it been won?”

She hummed in amusement.

His face dissolved into fury.

He was a prince, and had clearly never spoken to in such a way, least of all by someone lowborn like herseld. But within these four walls, titles held no power.

All men bled.

All men died.

Birth and rank meant naught to the gods.

“There is no winning in a war.”

"Who?" His voice, a blade’s edge, barely restrained.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and it irked him. “The son of the dead Queen. Her blood will rule. The Gods do not favour kinslayers and usurpers.”

Violence flared in his eye, “It is treason to speak her name with victory.”

Aemond tried once again to sit up too quickly, succeeding and she sighed as she watched two new stitches burst, blood pooling to the surface. The Prince tried valiantly to ignore the pain, teeth gritted as his body betrayed him, but she could see that it made his consciousness swim.

He swayed and fell back onto on elbow, wheezing at the agonised angle, one arm coming to clutch his broken ribs. But even in the immense pain he seemed to be suffering, his stubbornness won out, and even she had to admit that he had faired better than men who had suffered less.

"You lie."

If he weren’t so pathetic in that moment, she might have humoured him like a petulant child. She didn’t dignify it with a response. Just inhaled deeply, eyes sweeping the rest of his injuries. She lingered on his leg.

Horror flickered in his violet eye.

He knew.

The loss of an eye had been something to overcome. A wound to be turned into a weapon. A show of his strength. Something to reveal to strike fear amongst his enemies.

But this…

A leg was different. A leg made a warrior. And without it, without the strength to stand, to fight, what was he?

"Answer me." His voice wavered this time.

She wished he would pass out so she could work in silence.

"The false king was slain by his own men," She said coolly, "All your kin are dead."

Silence.

His eye searched hers, desperate for deception, for any trace of a lie.

There was none.

Something in his face shifted. Darkened.

Gone.

All of them.

His mother. His brothers. His grandfather Otto.

Perhaps Criston Cole, too. The man who had been a father in all but name and blood.

But most of all;

Helaena.

Had she been slain with the rest?

His sister.

His gentle sister.

A harsh, bitter breath left him. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Aemond was not a man who wept. His grief hardened into fury.

And she had been prepared for it.

"Then I should have died."

She lifted a brow, lazy, “Aye. If the Gods had willed it.”

The sneer returned, but his strength waned, and he collapsed back onto the bed, glaring at her.

"You willed it."

"I do as the Gods command me."

She reached for him and he recoiled.

"I am not some wounded beast for you to keep." Aemond snarled, pink blooming across his cheeks where they had once been colourless.

Amused she replied, "No. You snarl and snap like one. But a true beast still has its claws."

He swatted at her as she reached for his side, shifting away. But she was persistent, stronger than he expected, and he sank, reluctant, into compliance.

At a loss.

At a loss of who he was.

He had lost everything. The war. His kin. His title.

His purpose.

And for the first time, he felt it. The emptiness. The hollow absence where Vhagar had been.

The ache of the bond was silent. And he just knew to his bones she was gone.

The one being who understood him.

Gone.

And now, after all he had done, after Lucerys, after Sharp Point, after every drop of blood spilled in his name, his half-sister’s son sat the throne.

And when they found him?

It would be public. Very public. A trial. A spectacle.

A kinslayer’s fate.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was quieter now, loss leaking in at the edges.

She knew what he was thinking.

Could he still fight? Could he still win?

Would there be any left who would fight for him?

Unlikely.

She met his eye. “Several days. You’ve been asleep for most.”

His teeth clenched. “Days…”

Frustration sparked in his voice, and she readied herself for cruelty.

"Why did you save me?" He sneered, and she ignored his question, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful. What do you want, coin? Gold? A jewel to buy your way out of this hovel?"

There it was.

She ignored him again. Dipped a rag into boiling water, wrung it out, and reached for his wound. She met his eye briefly before pressing the cloth to his skin.

His stomach clenched beneath her hands.

"You lie." He hissed again.

"I don’t have time for lies."

"Say it again."

She flicked her eyes up to his, unimpressed, "Have you gone deaf, m’lord?" She mocked his now lack of title.

His voice was low, dangerous, “You will say it again.”

Coolly, she obliged, "You have lost. Your family is dead. The war is over. The Blacks sit the throne. And you… you are alone."

His jaw tightened as he inhaled sharply.

"And I am expected to take the word of some common healer in some nameless hut?" His eye flicked around the cottage in distaste, “Who’s to say my brother hasn’t won and you are a sympathiser to the whore Queen?”

Now she smiled, and despite the hatred he felt for her, he noted that it was a pretty smile.

"My word means nothing, Aemond."

His eye narrowed at the sound of his name on her tongue.

But she continued, for the first time speaking longer than he had expected, "I could tell you many things. Promise you more. But it wouldn’t change my station or yours."

She leaned in, voice calm.

"And if I were the sympathiser you accuse me of being," Her voice dipped almost to a whisper, almost sultrily, "I would have slit your throat where you lay."

Aemond laughed, humourless, "You think I will stay here? That I will rot in this hut?"

Her eyes flicked to his leg, then to the door, "You’re free to leave, kinslayer."

His breath caught.

He went utterly still.

"Say that again."

She raised her brows, "How many times are you going to ask me to repeat myself? I'm not a parrot from High Garden, m'lord. You don’t like the truth I speak?"

With her hands, she pinched his wound together and readied her needle, not asking if he was ready. She could feel his heated glare atop her skull.

The healer could admit that she had stitched the first stitch more roughly than she could have, knowing it would have pained him. She felt his stomach clench beneath her as she worked, the heat from his skin almost scolding her hands like the water in the basin.

Lips curling, seething, he hissed lowly in threat, "Watch your tongue, woman."

A large hand snapped out and wrapped around the wrist holding the needle and squeezed painfully.

We have finally reached the threats, she mused to herself dryly and hummed an amused laugh.

Aemond moved to sit up again and she managed to move a well placed, albeit cruel, hand against one of his broken ribs and pressed, which made the prince gasp in pain and stiffen against the bed stilling.

"If you’re going to undo my work," She said smoothly, "I should’ve left you to die as your men did."

She paused for a moment.

She knew his distrust of her would prove to be an issue with him now being conscious. He would fight her at every turn and spit vitriol her way. She no doubted that he would test her patience and she would consider dosing his food with a sleeping draught. Perhaps even some milk of the poppy.

She would have offered it to him sooner if he had not been so aggressive in his questioning. 

"You knew who I was."

Her lips twitched into a smile.

His eye narrowed, "Why?"

Why did she save him?

Why did she tend to him?

What was her motive?

The mystery surrounding her set his hair on end.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. He was not sure he liked it, the way she looked at him. As though he was a question to be answered, a thing to be fixed. Rather than a man to be feared.

“Would you have preferred to die?"

Aemond did not answer.

He should say no.

Should say he still has vengeance to take, a name to reclaim, a war to fight. A throne to win. But the truth sat thickly in his throat.

There was nothing left.

“You want me to trust your word?” Aemond scoffed, the colour in his cheeks fading again.

With a sigh she worked his wound, stitching it back together methodically, "You may recall I never asked for your trust. I couldn’t care for your thoughts of me." Her tone cool and emotionless, "Feel free to die now if you wish, it would save me the trouble and herbs.” She tied shut the final stitch.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, only the sound of the cracking fire.

He was left to stew in his shattered pride and frustration, the knowledge that he would never be the same, and the added humiliation that he now depended upon a woman such as her. 

His voice was a blade at her throat. "I have killed men for less."

A smirk played at her lips. "And yet here I stand," She straightened, looking down at his broken body to prove her point. He could not stand, not without help.

Not without her.

"And there you lay."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[berryispunk]

Your Home's Only a Town You're a Guest In

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

quick note: this fic contains heavy topics such as grief and parental death so be warned before reading but I swear she's worth it 🤍

tags: parental death, stages of grief, brief mention of addiction, teenager love, falling in love again, small town, rekindling romance, soft! Frankie, girl dad! Frankie, swearing, ANGST, bad jokes, nicknames, yearning, mutual pining, kissing, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), did i mention angst?, all the emotions, reader has longer wavy hair and a fuller figure but no further physical description

summary: You never planned to return to your hometown but things change when you've got life-changing news and soon you find yourself trying to navigate the past colliding with the present.

word count: 10,6 k (don't ask me any questions 😅 idk what happened)

When you had left your hometown almost ten years ago you had never planned to come back. 

But when one day your mom called and told you that your father was in hospice care, you thought it was the worst day of your life. It felt like a cruel joke. Out of all the reasons you would find yourself returning, it had to be because your dad was literally dying? 

All the unspoken words and feelings between you and your father were crashing down on you, taking you the air to breathe immediately. Your mother had made it clear that nobody could say for sure how much time your father had left and it would be best if you came down quickly. 

Whenever you told your friends in the big city about the town you grew up in, the beach and the waves’ constant presence during your adolescence, they would be jealous. You couldn’t blame them. How could they know all the downsides of growing up in an uptight town like Tidehaven? 

The neighbors’ judging glances on the daily and them knowing stuff about you before you even knew them yourself? 

Or how uneasy you felt the older you got? 

How you never belonged, your spirit too wild and free for the norms of this small place. 

You wanted to spread your wings but staying in this Godforsaken coast town would’ve cut them right off. 

So you left one day and never looked back, no matter how many times your mom called crying and pleaded for you to come back. 

You dreamed about the ocean often, because you missed the salty and harsh breeze. 

You missed the calmness of sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crushing at the shore and the vast nothingness when you overlooked the horizon. 

In contrast to that, the city was always buzzing. It never slept and that was one of the hardest parts you had to deal with when you first moved there. It was a whole different life and when you felt too big for your hometown, you felt entirely too small in the city. Almost like a nobody, like an anonymous person under all these many different people. 

You missed the feeling of belonging, being part of a friend group. Because that was another thing you had left behind: your friends. 

You stayed in contact for a while - hooray to tech - but it wasn’t the same. 

Eventually you found new friends at college but they couldn’t understand your struggles like the friends back in Tidehaven did. They would never be able to share your pain.

You laid awake for days on end, dreading the journey to your coastal hometown. But you couldn’t run and you couldn't hide - not from this one. As much as you really didn’t want to, the responsible part in you won and you sat on the next plane to the closest airport of the little town. 

On this late summer day, when the breeze was still somehow warm but the air already had notes of autumn in it, you returned “home”. 

Well, it used to be home but now it felt like something that wore its costume but instead felt foreign and cold. 

When you walked through your childhood home's front door, the screaking sound still the same, your mother looked around the corner and her face looked so much older even from a distance. Her hair was much greyer than you remembered. 

The worry written all over her features had made her age like a forgotten piece of furniture tarnished by the tides. You felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you let your luggage fall to the ground and walked over to her and hugged her close. 

She almost crushed you with her arms and murmured, “My girl is home…” You had to bite your lip real hard not to sob. “Hey mama,” you whispered and she kissed your wavy hair repeatedly. This, you thought, felt like coming home. 

You settled down in your childhood bedroom you had outgrown long ago, everything still looked like you remembered: the posters of your teen crushes, the pink floral throw blanket, all the books scattered around the small room. It felt like stepping into a time machine of your youth. Everything was neatly preserved and it tightened the knot in your chest even further. 

You decided to visit the only place in this hellhole you were certain that had some alcohol you so desperately needed, the local bar. 

So you threw on a fleece jacket before you walked through the empty streets of Tidehaven. The night air was almost too crisp for the shorts you were wearing but you didn’t have time to worry about it. 

As soon as you reached the bar you slumped onto a stool at the bar and ordered some beverage strong enough to help you numb the gnawing pain of responsibility and regret. Halfway through your glass you suddenly heard it: a deep, familiar voice ringing in your ear. It was faint, almost not noticeable if you hadn’t listened close enough. But you listened very closely. The voice was deeper but still unmistakingly recognizable. So you whirled around on your bar stool and spotted him in a booth in the back of the bar, together with the same shared group of friends he had always been with. You froze in your seat and contemplated simply leaving, but you couldn't. 

Could it really be him? 

You tried to watch him as unobtrusively as you could but of course he noticed you staring  and as your eyes locked it felt like time stood still, your chest immediately constricting, almost suffocating as you turned around and prayed that he hadn’t seen you. But of course you weren’t so lucky. When were you ever lucky? You emptied your drink quickly before you gestured to the barkeeper to give you a refill. 

“Do you mind?” The voice from earlier, now dangerously close, asked you. 

You shook your head, but you didn’t dare to look up. You knew it was him without looking. 

“I’d say it feels like seeing a ghost, but I guess seeing ghosts should be scary. This isn’t scary, this is–” 

“Sick? Twisted?” You interrupted him and you felt his confused eyes on you without ever having to look up. He laughed softly, the sound deep and rich as he ordered a drink for himself before sitting down on the stool next to yours. 

“That wasn’t what I would’ve gone for but okay,” he said and you finally decided to look at him and immediately wished you hadn’t. It was him, no doubt. The same dark brown tousled locks poking out from under the old, worn-down baseball cap. The same warm brown eyes, slightly glimmering in the dim light of the bar. A slight stubble on his chin and cheeks that looked like it might need a trim soon. The same almost pouty lips, slightly dry looking and you wondered if this man knew chapsticks existed? His shoulders were so broad, his biceps so muscular when they flexed slightly under the jeans button-down he was wearing. You couldn't help but stare at him when he crossed his arms in front of his chest. This wasn’t the Frankie you’d last seen the night before you left. It was a new version, Frankie 2.0. The adult version. 

He didn’t even flinch when you checked him out, your eyes dancing over every one of his unique features, trying to make sense of it. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the old Frankie and this rendition in front of you. He looked nothing like the tall, slender guy you had a huge crush on when you were a teenager but still it was him. 

The warm expression on his face, an identical lopsided smile you remembered. But there was more to it. It was the way he handled himself - much more confident, taking in his rightful space. And the way his frame was built made him almost intimidating, if you hadn’t known better. 

Well, you used to know him but how could you know if he wasn’t able to break you in half with these arms of his? Ten years had done a lot to his frame and you had a really hard time searching for words when you finally turned back around to sip at your drink. 

“You know steroids are dangerous, right?” you scoffed and he gave you a deep, rumbling laugh. 

“I guess you refer to my arms with that? I wanna let you know that it’s all just training and nothing illegal, I promise” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark. 

“What did you train for? A bodybuilder contest?” you quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head, a grin still on his face. “Army,” he answered and you searched for his eyes. 

“You’re in the army?”

“I was. I left last year. Wasn't useful anymore after this grenade exploded near me and the debris hit my leg during battle.“

“I am sorry.”

“No need,” he shrugged you off with a wave of his hand. “But you know, being in it for years and getting spit out like you didn’t literally sacrifice your life for the country isn’t a good feeling,” he said as he sipped his drink. 

“Sounds awful…”

“It is.” 

There’s a beat of silence before he asked, “What are you even doing here? You made it very clear that you’d never return.” 

Was his tone accusatory or hurt? You couldn’t really tell. 

You scoffed scornfully. 

“Believe me, wasn’t my first choice,” you rolled your eyes before you sipped at your drink again. 

He didn’t answer, instead he took a sip from his own drink, the ice in it clinking against the glass. 

“My dad, he–” You couldn’t finish the sentence, too painful, too uncertain. 

“I heard about your dad,” he said cautiously, his words measured. 

“Of course you did,” you said bitterly. “This is Tidehaven, gossip spreads faster than a damn wildfire.” 

“I am sorry, hermosa.” 

The nickname made you nauseous immediately and you glared at him, your gaze probably full of venom. He had the audacity to sound sincere.

“Save your words for someone who cares,” you spit out, slamming money on the bar and standing up so abruptly the stool scratched loudly on the floor. His eyes were on you in an instant, eyebrows furrowed deep. 

You headed towards the exit with fast steps, wanting to create some distance between him and all the feelings you had kept buried for so long. Out of all people it had to be him.

You didn’t have time for this, you couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

When you reached the doorway of the bar his hand grabbed your arm, determined but not painful as he said, “Please, stay. I just… I just want to talk. I am sorry if I said something wrong. We just met again, please.” 

His eyes were nothing less than pleading and you frowned heavily. 

Under any other circumstance you would have loved to stay and talk, catch up on what you’ve missed over the years but right now the weight of everything threatened to crush you any minute and you were too tired for all that. 

“I can’t Frankie, I am sorry,” you said and you meant it even when you freed your arm from his grip and walked down the steps to the road. The gravel crunching under your shoes, echoing through the eerie silence of the night as you walked as fast as your feet and equilibrium could handle. 

You didn’t know if he’d kept standing in the doorway and watched you walking away or not, but something told you he had. Even if everything in you screamed to turn around you didn’t, because you knew that he’d be the one person able to tear down your walls that you had so arduously built around you. 

As you laid in bed later that night with your window open the sound of the waves lulled you into a restless sleep and you found yourself in a common dream landscape. The beach. 

But this time it was different. Somebody sat on the sand, the person’s back turned but you immediately knew it was Frankie, only he wore a cap at the beach. But as you approached him his figure dissolved, turning into smoke and when you finally stood where he had sat he’s gone fully and you sank to your knees, burying your head in your hands and starting crying. 

When you wake up the next morning your pillow is full of tears and you felt like you got hit by a truck. A silent bing from your nightstand catched your attention when you lift your phone to see the notification and you immediately sat up in your small bed. 

“Hey, this is Frankie. Sorry, got your number from your mom. 😅 Let’s meet at our place at the beach at 3 pm.” 

__

Frankie was a pilot. He served in the army. He faced life threatening situations, learned to stay calm under any condition. But today, when he sat at the pier, his feet dangled in the water, his heart was racing like he just ran a damn marathon. He checked his digital watch. It was two minutes before 3 and he started patting his jeans clad thigh nervously. What if she didn’t show up? What if he made a total idiot of himself ? When he saw you yesterday in the bar it was like he got hit by lightning. It made his chest painfully tight, almost as bad as his panic attacks did  when he had flashbacks from his army days. Maybe even worse. He overlooked the ocean, the waves crushing and creating a calming enough atmosphere he allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. The images of you as a younger girl and the women he saw yesterday were burned into his subconscious and he wasn’t really sure how this could be the same person he was in love with as a teen? Your eyes were still sad but also curious. Your hair still a wavy long mane past your shoulders and you still had this ever existing slight frown on your face like you were carrying the weight of the world on your face. 

But to be fair, you probably had the same thoughts about him, at least given the way you looked at him last night. Almost pure disbelief, maybe even mild shock. When he was deeply lost in thought he sensed a weight next to him on the pier and his eyes opened immediately to watch you taking a seat, slumping onto the hard wood with a loud sigh.

He didn’t dare to say anything, afraid you may leave as soon as he opened his mouth. 

Your gaze was fixed on the horizon as well before you started speaking “Wasn’t sure if I really came until the last minute.” 

“I am glad you did” he replied, his own gaze still on the horizon before he added “How are–”

“Are you seriously asking me how I’m doing, Frankie?” your tone was biting.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he mumbles “Guess so.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “I am doing absolutely great. I am back in this hellhole, my dad is dying but I don’t know when so I’m stuck at the one place on earth I don’t wanna be at,” you rumbled. 

Frankie could feel your frustration and hurt seeping out of every word. But mostly he could feel the sadness. You had a way of covering your real feelings under a heavy load of sarcasm, you always did. Some things never change, he thought. Even if the woman sitting next to him looked and handled herself so different from the girl he used to know, under all the layers of pain and heartbreak it was still you. 

“I am sorry, hermosa. I really am,” he said sincerely and for a fragment your facade crumbled, the worry and all the other negative emotions flickering over your face. 

“Can I do something?” he asks tentatively. You shook your head again.

You straightened a bit in your seat, putting your hands under your thighs, your feet still dangling down as you look onto the water before you ask “How have you been ? Did you never leave Tidehaven, or…?”

He took a deep breath. “I did leave for basic training in the military. Was gone for most of the time, overseas missions, fought a lot of wars in and out of my job. But hey, at least I can fly an aircraft.”

“Wait…” you chimed in. “You are a pilot?” 

“Yes ma’am. I can fly any aircraft, but I prefer helicopters if I have the choice.” “Wow”, you exhaled and his mouth lifted up to a faint,proud smile. 

“Well, technically I was able to fly an aircraft. Lost my license a while back.”

“Oh, why’s that?” you didn’t shy away from asking the real questions, you never did. 

“Drugs.”

“Drugs? Consuming or smuggling ?”

“Consuming, coke to be exact. Yeah, definitely not my brightest moment. I have been clean for over two years now though.” 

“That’s… great” you say thinly and he couldn’t quite interpret your answer. Were you just surprised or was it judgement ?

“Do you… have a family? A wife?” you asked so quietly he almost thought he didn’t hear it correctly.

Another sore point. 

“I have a daughter, Sofía. She's two years old now and lives with her mom. We’re divorced for almost as long as she’s old. I married her mom Ella because I thought I needed to, my parents doing the rest, you know how old-fashioned they are.We have shared custody and I see her as often as I can.” 

You chuckled. Of course you remembered about his parents. You weren’t allowed to stay overnight at his house when the two of you were younger, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking around anyway and finding other places to make out at.

“I thought I’m doing the right thing, you know. Being responsible. Truth was, even if Sofía is my everything, she wasn’t exactly planned and her mom and I were already thinking about breaking up before she found out that she was expecting. So, I felt the need to stay and I really tried to be the man Ella needed me to be but I failed miserably. Being coked out all the time doing the rest. The short temper and not to mention the financial aspect of the addiction. All my money I earned went straight to drugs or stuff we needed for our child. So I quit the drugs cold turkey, being clean as soon as Sofía was born and by God, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But as soon as I held this little girl in my arms everything kind of fell into place. I know it probably sounds super cheesy, but it’s the truth. This little girl was my new anchor, my reason to keep clean and to show up. And it worked out for a few months. But her mom and I didn’t. We kept fighting over the smallest things and I was so close to relapsing because of the emotional turmoil that we, in good terms, decided to call it quits. To be honest, I think we never were a good match anyway, but I’ll be forever thankful for the result of it: my daughter. Her mom is with this guy called Clint now and honestly, they really found each other. She even married him last year and is expecting her second child. And I hope she’s happy, it seems that she is at least. She deserves the good life I wasn’t able to give her.” 

He took a deep breath. It’s been a long time since he talked this much and over his life in general. But you had this way of coaxing something out of him without pressuring. You would’ve had the right to judge, to ask more questions he would answer truthfully even if it hurt, but you didn’t. He looked at you for a moment, studying you, contemplating if he may have bored you with his rambling or anything, but you just kept your gaze fixed on the vast expense of the ocean and the ghost of a smile before you turned to him. “So, Frankie Morales is a daddy?” you asked, almost a bit mocking and he grinned in response. 

“I am a daddy. Does that make me a hot dilf now?” he joked and promptly earned a shoulder bump and an eye roll from you. That was the sassy side of you he missed so much. 

“And you? Do you—?” 

“Hell no”, you laughed. “Kids aren’t for me. At least I never saw myself as a mom and to be fair I never had a partner long enough to even have to worry about the possibility of that.” 

He nodded, maybe frowning a little bit too.

“Where have you been the last ten years?” 

You wiggled a bit on your place before you answered “The city. I went there for college and stayed for the job I got after graduating. It’s so so different from here. All the lights, endless possibilities of wasting money and getting wasted yourself. The city is…” you drifted off a bit, your gaze suddenly so far away. 

“The city is anonymous, buzzing. She’s like an animal, alive and thriving as long as it’s getting fed, which in my case were with my hopes and dreams, I guess” you tried to joke, to make it sound casual but Frankie looked right through it. You were disappointed. 

“The city always was your dream. Your light was too bright and your spirit way too big for this sleepy town. What changed?” 

“I did,” you answered sharply and the words hung heavy in the air. It was eerie silent for a long moment, the only sound the ones from the waves crashing against the pier. 

“It’s not that I regret going away, really. But it turned out to be so different from what I expected it to be. I thought moving to the city would magically make me feel better but to be honest it only made it worse. I felt so lost and so alone. The friends I had, our friends, still here or scattered around the country. I thought fulfilling my dream in the city would make me feel complete, but it shattered me even more. Because I now call two places “home” and none really feels like it.” 

Your words struck a chord deep inside of him. He knew the feeling of not belonging, especially after leaving the military. 

He stayed silent, waiting if you maybe opened up some more, but you didn’t.

“So, do you have someone in the city waiting for you when-if- you return ?”

“No”, you answered and somehow it filled Frankie with relief. 

“How about you?” you asked, your eyes roaming over him for a moment, wandering over his whole body and it made him unusually nervous.

“No one,” he said quietly. 

“Good” you said and a small smile tugged at your lips before your gaze was back at the horizon before you added “Where do you live ? Your parents' house?” 

“Si, it’s only my dad now you know. My mom died last autumn.”

“Oh shit” you mumbled quietly and your brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, Frankie.” 

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slagging. The memory of his mom’s passing was still undoubtedly painful.

“I–” he paused, “I don’t know how much longer my dad is around. They were together their whole life, he’s so lost without her and I can’t fill the space up she left behind, no matter how hard I try.” 

��“That’s not your job. Your job is to be present and let him know he’s not alone. And I’m certain you’re doing everything you can, he knows that too. It’ll never be the same again, sadly. Just cherish the time you have with him now, yeah?” 

There you were. Beneath all the stoicism, the tough exterior, the big sadness. You cared, you always did and you always made his problems feel less big. It was one of the things he always adored about you and something he deeply missed. 

“I may count on you now, you know. In the ‘I lost a parent’-department. Haven’t got any experience in that.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t recommend this experience. I’d rate this a 0 out of 5 stars but I am here for you. If you want me to, that is.”

You turned your face to him again, your lips pressed tightly together in a small line when you held his gaze for a long moment before you answered. “I’d love to have you around. After all you may be the best thing this place ever had, well, besides the beach of course.”

“Is that a compliment?” he raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“Oooh, Morales. Don’t get cocky now, I just wanted to be nice you know. After everything you told me you may be as equally lost as I am.”

“Noted”, he gently nudged your shoulder. “You’re also the best thing this place has ever seen, just for the record and I–” he lowered his gaze, fixing a point onto the water beneath his feet. “I missed you.” 

Maybe he said too much, was too straight forward, overestimating the small bond that blossomed between the two of you. But if he learnt one thing after the loss of his mom it was that you never know when you’ll have the chance again to say something nice to the people you care about, so he did just that. 

Just when he thought about adding something to make the meaning of his words less heavy, he felt your head on his shoulder, slightly leaning against him, your voice almost swallowed by the ocean. “I missed you too.” 

And Frankie’s heart skipped a beat at your little confession. The two of you stayed like this until the sun set behind the horizon, tinting everything in orange hues and it was exactly what he needed without knowing before. 

__

Days blended into weeks with Frankie by your side. You spent every waking hour together. Eating with his dad, cooking together, going for walks at the beach. If you weren’t at his house, he was at yours, eating with your mom, making her laugh even if anything else felt so grey and heavy and the health of your dad was quickly deteriorating. The first time he came over for dinner he apologized for intruding, but your mom shrugged it off and said it was typical for you to bring anyone home like strays. Frankie shooted you a look at the word ‘stray’ and you smirked in response. It was this day his nickname ‘stray cat’ was born and it became a habit calling him that ever since.  

Frankie was the light in the darkness for you. He was your lighthouse guiding you in the rough sea that called itself your life and even if you swore you wouldn’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again, Frankie tore down your walls brick by brick without your alarm bells ringing. He was patient, he was understanding and he never demanded anything. He was happy with what you offered him as long as it meant he could be by your side. 

One evening when the two of you sat on the front porch of his house, the breeze was now way too cold for summer clothing, but you stupidly didn’t pack anything warmer in your hurry, you shivered in the harsh ocean air. Frankie rose up from his seat on the bench without saying a word and went inside. Holding a hoodie of his and offering it to you. “You’re freezing, hermosa” he said and you looked at him, so deeply touched by this gesture, the pure thoughtfulness of it made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You quickly threw the piece of clothing over your head and as soon as you had it on it felt like a warm hug. His smell was so present, wrapping you up in it like a cocoon it made your chest tight with affection. You cared for him so deeply, maybe even fell in love with him again, but you kept a respectful distance because he was the one good thing in your life you had right now and you couldn’t afford to lose him because of the disaster you usually were in relationships. 

“Thank you” you smiled softly at him and he nodded, the charming boyish grin on his face making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked tentatively. 

“Sure.” 

You took a deep breath to collect some courage. 

“Why did you never reach out to me? After I left, I mean. Our friends did, they texted and sent me photos. But you…” 

Frankies face darkened, his brows furrowed deep. Something unreadable in his expression. “Honestly? I thought you didn’t want me to do that. You were so convinced to leave everything connected to Tidehaven behind I thought it included me. I had your number,my thumb hovered over the call button more times than I would care to admit. I wrote probably hundreds of texts but ended up deleting them all. And the more time passed, the more silly I felt. So I just checked in with Santi or Benny, who knew how you were and even if I was happy to hear that you were good I still selfishly wished I would know it myself.”

“Frankie,” you interrupted, “I cried my eyes out for weeks because I didn’t hear from you again. I thought you just forgot about me that easily, I thought you never really cared for me in the first place or at least not enough to reach out. Santi told me you joined the army, he gave me your number and I wanted to call you, but what could I possibly have said ? ‘hey, it’s me, you remember me? i was the girl helplessly in love with you but you just ditched me like a fucking prom date’”

Frankie audibly inhaled, his gaze fixed on the ground under his feet. 

“I didn’t ditch you. You were the one that left, remember? I never forgot about you, never.”

“It would’ve been so easy. One message, one call, anything that showed me you still cared” you said, every word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“I never stopped caring, hermosa.”

He could’ve shot you or stabbed you it would've hurt the same as his words just did. Hot, angry tears blur your vision as you stand up and leave his home. With every step you took the vice around your heart tightened further and when you reached your own house you quickly ran upstairs into your room and fell into your pillow headfirst and started crying everything out. 

The frustration, the hurt, the anger. It was a dangerous cocktail of feelings. Your phone on the nightstand buzzed multiple times, you knew it was probably Frankie but you weren’t ready to talk to him. You needed time to process this.

You didn’t know what hurted more: his absence or the fact your mother kept asking if he’s okay because he didn’t eat with you for a few days. She should ask you how you felt  instead. 

One evening the doorbell rang just when you were setting the table for dinner. Maybe it was one of the neighbors returning a container your mom gave them when she shared some left-over food with them because she used to cook for a whole football team. 

“I’ve got it” you hollered towards the kitchen to your mom as you opened the door. It wasn’t a neighbor, it was Frankie. Live and in color. 

“Hey” he murmured, lifting his baseball cap, running a hand through his locks before he put it back on. He always did that, even back in highschool when he was nervous. Some things seem to still stay the same, even if the adult Frankie was physically so far away from the slender boy ten years ago, somewhere beneath the broad shoulders and the strong arms was still the same boyish heart. 

“Hey”, you answered sharply, contempt probably written all over your face. 

“Honey, is that…?” the voice of your mom joining the two of you in the hallway and her whole face lit up immediately as she spotted Frankie standing in the doorway.

“Frankie, come on in. Food is ready” she beckoned him in with her hand and Frankie looked over to you first, as if he was silently asking for permission but you just huffed and rolled your eyes as you stepped aside and closed the door behind him. 

He followed your mom into the living room, moving his weight indecisively from one foot to another as he stood there. His tall, broad frame filled out so much room but still he looked so small compared to how confident he usually was. 

“Have a seat, Frankie” your mom said as she placed the food onto the table. It smelt absolutely delicious and your stomach growled in anticipation. 

“Thank you Mrs. Davis,” he said politely as he took a seat across from you. 

You watched him hawk eyed as your mom put some food on his plate, like it was the most normal thing in the world and you weren’t still seething under the surface. The poor woman was painfully unaware of the little talk you just had a few days ago. 

“How’s your dad doing, hun’?” she asked while she started eating. Small talk, great. 

“He’s alright. Maybe a bit lonely, but he started doing crosswords and sometimes I can talk him into taking a walk with me. But he misses my mom and so do I, honestly” his eyes were suddenly so sad, so sorrowful you forgot your anger for a moment. 

“Yeah, I can imagine…” your mom answered, her gaze fixed on the plate in front of her, toying with her food. She felt it too. The impending grief, the waiting for the day your dad’s heart stopped beating. It was like looking in a mirror, hearing Frankie talk about his parents and his mom’s death. She would feel lonely too, there was no doubt in that. You reached out to gently pat her thigh under the table in silent reassurance and earned a small lipped smile in return. You turned your head towards Frankie, almost on instinct but he was already looking at you.

After a while of uncomfortable silence your mom changed the topic and asked Frankie about his daughter and suddenly the man in front of you was changed. He straightened his seat, a wide smile on his face the whole time he talked about Sofía. He was so proud, telling you about her love for animals and drawing and you felt something glimmering in your chest. Daddy Frankie was a whole different guy, he was so genuinely happy to just talk about his child it was contagious. You couldn’t help but smile too the wider his grin got when he told stories about the potty training of her or when she accidentally made a somersault when she wanted to reach for something. It was absolutely adorable and at the end of the evening everyone was in good spirits and your mom demanded that if Sofía visited Frankie the next time he should come around so she could meet her and he agreed happily.

When you brought Frankie to your front door, he stood in the doorway, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Thanks for not kicking me out…” he stifled a laugh and you shook your head. 

“Thank my mom, not me. If it were up to me you wouldn’t even make it in,” you crossed your arms.

“I know, I– look,” he started taking a deep breath. “I am sorry. And I know no amount of words I can say will undo the damage I did. I was an idiot. But I like you so damn much and it’s killing me to not be around you, especially now that I finally got you back. Please, yell at me, hit me ,do anything you want but don’t push me away again.” 

His eyes. His damn puppy dog eyes were lethal as he searched for yours and you sighed. 

You crossed your arms before you answered. “We were young and dumb. We both made mistakes. I guess I can forgive you, stray cat”, you even managed a small smile and he mirrored it with a soft one of his own. “Thank you” he murmured. 

“Don’t make me regret this” you warned, lifting your index finger in a warning gesture and he raised his hands in mock resignation before he said: “Come here.”

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and you hugged him back, your face buried against his shirt, smiling as you inhaled his familiar scent. 

“You’re so God damn stubborn, hermosa” 

“I am well aware”, you mumbled but the grin on your face was brighter than the porch light you two stood under. 

You lifted your head, your chin resting against his chest and he looked down on you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you leaned into his touch, your head resting in his big hand and his breath hitched slightly at the simple but undeniably intimate gesture. His hand wandered from your cheek to your chin, pinching it slightly as he grinned at you. 

“You’re as infuriating as you're beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes so quickly you may have not noticed if you weren’t in this close proximity. You bit your lip, your own eyes hanging onto his lips which looked so plush and kisseable in the dim light of the front porch. He bit his lip for a moment, his gaze drifting away. He was battling with himself, you could see it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me now or what ,Morales?” you challenged. 

His head tilted back towards you immediately, his eyes confused for a second before they turned soft again and he dipped his head to kiss you. A quick, cautious peck first, kind of testing the waters, assessing the damage he may have done but you just grinned at him and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you and kissing him deeply. It was incredible. If you thought kissing him as a teenager was an experience then this was a whole damn revelation. 

His lips worked against yours with so much gentleness and purpose, but still left absolutely no room for his intentions. His hand tangled in your hair when he walked you back until you hit the facade of your house with your back. His knee between your legs and his hard frame pressing you against the wall. His tongue now seeking entrance into your mouth, exploring every inch of you as you tightened the grip in the ape of his neck, gasping softly into the kiss. It felt like burning up from the inside, but it was worth it. “Dios”, he cursed against your lips. “We have to stop,” he almost whimpered as your foreheads rested against each other, both of you panting. You opened your eyes back up and his gaze on you was dark as you caressed the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop” you mewled and his eyebrows raised up, almost disappearing under the visor of his cap before he murmured “Are you sure?” 

“I am” you reassured him and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and led you through the empty streets of Tidehaven towards his house. The street lights illuminating your way and tinting everything in a mysterious glow.  

When you arrived at his house it was dark, no light on despite the one on the front porch when he impatiently fumbled with his keys to let you both inside. You giggled softly and suddenly it felt like all the years back when you were teenagers that were afraid to get caught. 

His hand was on the small of your back when he ushered you inside and as soon as the door was closed he found your lips in the dark again, pressing you against the closed front door. His hand rested on your cheek and he devoured your mouth like he was starving. You couldn’t help but giggle again at both his eagerness and the situation as you whispered “And your dad ? What if he–?” 

His lips trailed down from your mouth to your jaw and then your neck as he answered hoarsley “He’s taking sleeping pills, he won’t wake up that easily. If you’re too loud I have to find a way to keep you quiet though” he grinned and sucked at the place right behind your ear that was one of your most sensitive spots and elicited a soft moan out of you. 

It was like a flip switched inside of Frankie as he hooked his hands under your thighs to hoist you up, his mouth still attached to your neck as he carried you down the hall and opened the door with one hand while he still held you up with the other. He kicked it close with his foot as soon as the two of you were inside. He didn’t even bother to turn on any lights as he gently let you down onto his bed. The only light illuminating the room was the cold blue moonlight from outside. He hovered over you, his eyes, although it was dark, were intense on you and it made your heart race in anticipation. 

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked again. You never were more sure of anything.

You just nodded as you started to undress him, starting by pulling his shirt over his head revealing a strong chest and a softer belly. You traced your fingers along his sides and he flexed under your touch. This body was different from the one you remembered. It changed, made room for some extra weight around his midsection and some scars adoring his beautiful lightly tanned skin which weren’t there the last time you saw him naked. 

But he was still undeniably attractive, if not more with the strong arms and broad shoulders. A trail of dark, soft hair along his stomach, around his belly button and ending right over the belt of his jeans. You started kissing his neck, nibbling at his collarbone and he rewarded you with a sharp inhale of air. You took your time, drinking him in and he started kissing you back, his teeth grazing over your soft skin as soon as he discarded your shirt, leaving you only in your black lace bralette. He kissed down between the valley of your breasts, his breath hot against your skin as his hand found the clasp of your underwear. “Can I take this off?” he asked. 

“Yes”, you breathed and he opened the clasp, the straps gliding down your shoulders, his fingertips never leaving your skin as the fabric slid off and left you exposed for his exploring hands and hungry gaze. 

He was transfixed, his gaze almost reverential as he took you in. 

“You’re even more gorgeous than I remember, hermosa” he whispered as he started kissing your shoulder. It made you feel desired but also so vulnerable. You weren’t used to praise and most importantly not to someone being this gentle with you. 

“Well, I was still a teen back then. I changed… got fatter,” you complained but he quickly shushed you with a kiss.

“You may have gotten more soft but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Give yourself some credit.” 

He was sincere in the way he looked at you, his fingers still tracing over every dip and curve of your exposed skin, every stretch mark you hated so much and your heart constricted in your chest at his gentleness and the way he didn’t seem to care at all. 

You tried so hard to not let the old feelings bubble up again but it was a hopeless battle. He didn’t even need to try, he was naturally attentive, he always has been and it’s one of the things you adored the most about him. 

His lips trailed down to your breasts, kissing every one of them softly before his tongue swirled around your hardened nipples, giving every breast the same attention. 

He kneaded the one he wasn’t spoiling with his mouth and groaned softly against your skin. His hips start rolling against you, seeking the friction you both so desperately needed. 

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to meet him and you were greeted with the rock hard outlines of his dick, even noticeable through the fabric of his jeans. You opened the belt and the zipper, pulled the fabric down, quickly followed by his boxers as well. 

He wiggled a bit to kick off the pants and was above you again in an instant, doing the same with your shorts and underwear. 

As soon as the last bit of fabric was gone the air was even more electrified. It was a strange mix of anticipation and something more you couldn’t quite put into words.

He stopped his administration on your chest and kissed all the way back up to your neck and to your jaw until he found your lips again. It was a messy, open mouthed kiss as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pressing him als close against you as you could, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

His skin hot and melting yours, every nerve ending of yours on fire.

“Do you need me to get a condom or are you on birth control?” he asked and in every other circumstance this would be a mood killer, not with Frankie though. 

He was responsible and you appreciated that greatly. 

“I am, don’t worry” you breathed into the dark. 

He searched for your eyes before his hand wandered down your body, his fat fingers sliding between your folds, already wet and leaking just from making out with him as he grinned satisfied, his teeth flashing in the pale moonlight.

“Damn, so wet all because of me?” he teased and you glared at him. 

“Don’t tease me, Morales”, you warned, trying to sound at least a bit firmer than you felt inside but you clearly failed. 

“‘m sorry” he purred as he latched onto your neck again, his flat thumb now pressing against your clit while the other two digits glided inside of you. You moaned instantly at the impact, one hand finding his soft locks, helplessly pulling at them as he pushed them in-and out of your slick with practiced ease.

The noise it was creating was almost obscene but you couldn’t find yourself to care. After a few movements you felt him shifting slightly, his hand now on his hardened cock, giving himself a few strokes before his tip teased your entrance and your grip on his hair only tightened. 

“Frankie, please” you whimpered pathetically. 

“I know”, he assured you, gripping your thighs and pulling you just a tiny bit closer to him, lifting your hips slightly before he finally, torturously slow, eased into you and stretched you out completely. 

You didn’t remember if he was that big when you still were younger, but god damn that hurt. “Fuck”, he hissed. “You’re so damn tight I can’t–” he rambled helplessly as his head rested against your shoulder. 

You wiggled impatiently, wanting so desperately for him to start moving. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You’re not hurting me.”

Your confirmation was what he needed so he bottomed out completely, his pubic hair tickling your most sensitive area and it was heavenly. 

He moaned deeply as your nails found his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh as his grip on your hips tightened as well, the intensity almost bruising. 

“I wanted this for so long, dreamed about this…” he whispered against your hot skin, like it wouldn’t change everything. 

It made your heart skip and you inhaled sharply. 

What were you even supposed to answer when he was balls deep into you and your mind too dazed to form any coherent thought? 

His thrusts were deep and powerful as if he wanted to show you with every single one how much he cared for you, how much he needed you. It was unlike anything else, the air thick and sultry with the smell of both of you and all the unspoken words between you. 

This was a declaration on its own, one you weren’t even sure you were ready for, but there was turning back now. 

You held desperately onto him as his movements fastened and grew more determined. 

He gritted his teeth thrusting into you relentlessly while still making sure you never felt uncared for when he placed soft kisses everywhere he could reach. 

“I-I’m so close, please don’t stop…” you moaned, pressing yourself against his hard frame. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered and without warning he took you at your ankles, pulling you up until your heels were resting against his shoulders and the new angle was incredible. He stroked your cervix with every snap of his hips, deliciously deep and mind altering. 

In this position he grabbed your tits with his big, calloused hands, kneading them before his thumbs played with your nipples and it was all you needed to find your release. 

You clenched tightly around him and he hissed in response. 

“Yes, I need you to come for me. I need to– fuck!” he cursed as you felt him pulsating inside of you and following your climax just seconds later. He painted your inner walls with thick ropes of his cum and didn’t stop spilling into you as you cried out his name almost too loud for the quietness of the night. 

His whole body shuddered against you before he gently let your legs sink down and collapsed next to you, panting heavily from exertion. His cheeks slightly flushed.

You turned onto your side to face him. Your hand reached out, stroking some damp strands that stuck against his forehead from his face as you grinned widely. Utterly satisfied and spent you mumbled “Not bad, stray cat” and it was a weak attempt at a joke because you were still equally as breathless.

“Not bad?” he choked out, his face mock shock as he turned his head towards you. 

“I am wounded, hermosa,” and you both laughed in unison. 

He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and kissing your hair. 

It should feel foreign, maybe even a bit awkward but it didn’t. You felt contendly like you probably never did before and it equally scared you and made you feel at ease. 

You drifted into a deep sleep while he was holding you and tracing circles with his thumb over your back. You didn’t know how long you even slept, probably not so much but when you opened your eyes back up it almost burnt your eyesight. 

You groaned and blinked a few times into the bright sunlight. 

Doesn’t this man have some blinds? 

Still pretty much naked you turned around and stretched, feeling the impact of last night in every fiber of your body. You reached next to you, expecting Frankie still laying there but the bedside was empty. You turned your head abruptly before you sat up, only the blanket covering your modesty. 

You outstretched an arm to reach for your phone to check the time or maybe expecting a message from him, but there was none. It was 7a.m and you fell back into the pillow with a heavy sigh, blowing a wild strand of your hair out of your face. 

The fall was deep and hurted more than you cared to admit. You should’ve known better. He got what he wanted and now he is gone. Leaving you alone in his damn bed in his parents’ house and disposing you like you were some trash. Like all the other men before him did too.

You felt the hot feeling of anger building up inside of you when the door of his bedroom opened with a soft screak. 

You didn’t even bother to look up, your arms crossed as you started at the ceiling. 

Suddenly you felt a weight on the edge of the bed and the next thing your senses catched was the smell of freshly brewed coffee before his voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, I made us some coffee. Thought you may appreciate the liquid gold after last night”,his voice nothing more than a soft gravelly rumble in the stillness. 

You propped up on an elbow to be able to look at him. His hair was a messy mop on his head, wearing the same t-shirt from last night and his boxers only. 

It was a delightfully disheveled sight to behold. 

His eyes were tired but his smile, God his smile, was brighter than the sun shining through the windows. 

“I thought you changed your mind”, you pouted. 

His brows creased in confusion. “Changing my mind about what? You? This?” 

You nodded as you reached for the coffee cup he placed onto the bedside table. 

“Never. I was just up a bit earlier and made sure to get us some coffee and maybe some breakfast too if you’re up for it.” 

You sipped at the coffee, the hot liquid almost burning your lips. “Breakfast sounds great” you mumbled but not looking up from your mug. The steam dancing between the two of you he extended his free hand to rake it through your hair, a soft but mischievous smile on his lips. 

“What is this smile about, Morales?” you asked and his smile turned into a full blown grin.

“I was thinking maybe we can go for round two before we grab some breakfast. Unless you’re too tired–” 

You placed the coffee mug on the bedside table again before he even finished his sentence. You climbed into his lap, straddling him and his arms wrapped around you immediately. The sun was shining through the windows, creating a soft halo around you as his hands danced up and down over your bare back, the golden hues in his brown eyes sparkling when he looked up to you, tilting his head slightly to have a better look. “I could get used to this” he murmured against your skin, kissing your forehead, your temple, followed by your nose before he captured your lips in a soft kiss. 

“You better do, because you won’t get rid of me that easily from now on” and it was a promise. 

Five days later your dad died. He stopped breathing during the night and when your mom entered the bedroom her scream echoed through the whole house. It was exactly as awful as you imagined it to be, maybe even worse. You tried your best to be there for her,making sure she ate enough. But most of the time she was staring out of the window or playing absentmindedly with her wedding ring when she sat at the diner table, the same tea cup in front of her as in the morning. The days dragged on, functioning on autopilot and everything felt heavy and tinted in grey. Frankie never left your side, held you close the whole night until your tears subsided and you passed out from exhaustion. 

At his funeral it was raining. How fitting, you thought to yourself. The sky mirroring your agony. 

Everyone in Tidehaven attended the funeral and you didn’t want to see any of them. No one cared for you or your mom when he still was alive, they didn’t need to pretend they did now. It was hypocritical and your contempt grew even more. This was all this town could do after all, pretending. 

Frankie’s hand was on the small of your back the whole time, his intense gaze flickering through the crowd to check for any potential misbehavior, but nobody acted up thankfully. It were just the same old judging, tired glances as usual.

As the casket was lowered into the soil you couldn’t hold back a silent sob as your mom reached for your hand and squeezed it so tight it almost felt like breaking. You didn’t dare to say a word the whole day. You felt paralyzed for a time after that.

Frankie’s presence was a silent shadow at your back, when you asked your mom if she needed anything, he did the same for you. It was this day you were certain, despite not believing in it before, you would marry this man because he was your rock through it all. Never complaining, never demanding anything. Just offering silent support whenever needed. 

When the worst was over, the grief only an unwelcome guest in the back of your mind you started to find some solace again. Sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crashing, even some music. You would probably never be the same again, but maybe that was okay. The old you never felt at ease somewhere. Not in the city, not in Tidehaven. But you felt at home in one place: Frankie’s arms. 

You ended up staying in Tidehaven for way longer than you would’ve imagined. Weeks turned into months, into a year. You watched nature go through the seasons while you did the same. You changed, in more ways than one. When they were disappointment and sadness before it evolved into something more positive. Frankie made you see things differently. You started to experience real joy again. Not every day was perfect, of course not. But you finally felt like you belonged. Something you searched for your whole life. Turns out the only thing missing was him. All the pain you endured in his absence led you back into his arms after all. When it was almost summer again, the two of you sitting at the pier, watching the sunset he fell down onto one knee and asked you if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. It wasn’t a grand romantic gesture, but you didn’t need that anyway. You knew he was sincere in his words and actions and that was all you needed as you agreed when tears streamed down your face. He hasn't stopped smiling ever since. 

“Hey dad,” you said as you kneeled down onto his tombstone, placing fresh lilies, his favorite flowers, onto it. You gently removed some fallen leaves from his grave. “Just came to tell you the news. Frankie asked me to be his wife and I said yes. How could I not? I wish you could see how happy he makes me, daddy. He’s also a damn menace sometimes, but he…he can handle me. And you know, how hard that is. After all I come after you with my stubbornness,” you chuckled softly. “I would’ve loved to have you walking me down the aisle. I know you and I weren't always on good terms, but I think this is something so special for a daughter and her dad and I am sad we can’t experience that together,” your voice was slightly breaking as you played with your engagement ring. A simple silver band with a small diamond princess cut. “I love him, dad. So so so much. But I also love you and I miss you and I am sorry I wasn’t always the best daughter and I am sorry I left you alone with mom for so long. I wish I could go back in time to spend more time with you. Even watch these damn quiz shows you loved so much with you where nobody really ever won something for real. I’m gonna keep a chair empty for you at the ceremony. You can imagine how excited mom is for this damn wedding. I guess for a time she lost hope her daughter would ever settle down. Well, for a long time I did too. But he changed my outlook on things. Oh and, I am also a stepmom now. You know I never wanted kids, but I love Frankie’s daughter endlessly and I think maybe she doesn’t find me that bad as well, at least I hope so,” you exhaled deeply before you finally rose back to your feet again, spotting Frankie standing a bit far off, a soft smile on his face, his hands folded demurely in front of his pants crotch. 

You lifted a questioning eyebrow. “How long are you standing there already?”

“Not for long”, he answered as he stepped towards you. “You okay?” his brown eyes worried. 

“I am. Just told my dad about all that happened. Give him a quick summary, you know,” your left hand resting on Frankie’s chest, your thumb gently stroking the fabric of his Henley, your gaze fixed there. “It’s getting easier, you know. Coming here.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of healing isn’t it ? Having a place to still be able to talk to them.”

You nodded. “Did you visit your mom already?” 

“No, I was hoping you would come with me. So I could show her your ring and all,” he took your hand that was on his chest, kissing your knuckles, his thumb tracing over your engagement ring. 

“Yeah, sure,” you retorted as you searched for his eyes. “You think she’ll approve ?” 

His lips lifted up into a lopsided smile. “No doubt.” 

He took your hand in his as you walked over the cemetery. It was quiet and peaceful. In the past you kind of avoided places like this because your thoughts would be too loud when your surroundings were silent like this but that finally changed now. 

As you reached the grave of his mom, fresh flowers in the vase he must’ve put in there before you came here, you stopped. His hand still holding yours, his grip slightly tightening when he looked at you, his gaze a mix of different emotions. 

He never brought you here before and you knew how important this was for him. 

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, giving him a tender smile, trying to give him the same amount of support like he always did. He lowered his gaze a bit as you turned your head towards the grave, still holding his hand, not budging even a bit as you hugged his arm now with your other hand. 

“Hey, Mrs. Morales. I don’t know if you’re aware but I am pretty much in love with your son and I can’t wait to marry him even if I never thought I’d do that honestly”, you snickered and Frankie scoffed softly next to you. 

“He’s a good person. The best if I may say so myself. You would be so proud of him, I know that, because I am. And I am also so damn grateful to be able to call him mine.” 

It was silent for a long, meaningful moment after you finished speaking, the only sound was the soft pattering of the starting rain and Frankie’s breathing which was a bit ragged. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?” he spoke silently, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

You tightened your grip on his arm and placed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, your breath ghosting over his skin.  “I am already home.”

thanks so so much for taking the time to read. please show some love, we writers live for that <3

my masterlist - in case you’re hungry for more :)

[angelltheninth]

HELLOOOO GOOD MORNNNNNN (even if its prolly not morning there) huge fan, love your hoyo posts LOVE UR WRITING IN GENERAL!!!!!!!! feel free to ignore if ur not taking any reqs rn but i wanted to know your take on the batboys having a meet-cute with their s/o!!! hope u have a good day btw 🫶

I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. Really makes my day.

Pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x Reader

Tags: fluff, meet-cute, flirting, difference of opinion, banter, dancing, pets

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I thought it would be funny to give them something more normal rather than the regula superhero things.

DICK GRAYSON

You meet him at the local dog shelter. Both of you want to adopt the same dog and neither of you want to back off. Dick is pretty well built and argues that he would take the dog out on walks a lot more than you, but on the other hand you live in a bigger house with a backyard so the dog wouldn't need to be cooped up in an apartment while Dick does, whatever he does for a living. When you hear he already has one dog you tell him then it's only fair that you get this one. The only way to settle this is to let the dog choose. And the dog chose you, much to your apparent rival's disappointment. Well since you both have a dog now, perhaps luck will have it and you'll meet at the park. He looks like a fun dog dad.

JASON TODD

Jason was someone you saw a few times at the bar that you both frequent. You never approached him before, despite really wanting to, so he approached you first. He called you out on staring at him like some pervert, and if you claim you're not then you should have no problem dancing with him. One dance isn't gonna kill you, or maybe you're a horrible dancer and you're hiding it. Well he might be an asshole, but you're the one who's been eyeing him ever since he stepped into the bar. So he gets to tease you for tonight. All he wants actually, since it's so fun to watch you blush. In exchange for being your dance and drinking buddy for the night, how about you repay him with a date.

TIM DRAKE

Tim and you go to the same classes at college so you see each other pretty often, or whenever he shows up actually. You never talked much, outside of when you needed to, you just knew of each other, more than knowing each other. In fact the first time you first talked to each other, for a long period of time, was in the library when you were both looking for the same book. Since you both had project deadlines and he was too busy at night, for some reason, you agreed to work on your projects in the afternoons. As it turns out he's a pretty nice guy, not at all the rich loner you thought he'd be. Not only that but he is very helpful when it came to your own project. So helpful in fact that you had to ask him on a date to thank him.

DAMIAN WAYNE

He really likes books and proving that he has better taste and understanding than anyone else. So of course you get into a debate with him over the book you read for this months book club. Damian is loud and has plenty of opinions, you and everyone else will hear them out regardless if you want to or not. This your first time seeing him at your book club so he has to be new and already making enemies. Of course you knew who he was, his last name was a dead giveaway, but just because his dad is one of the richest men in Gotham doesn't mean he gets to be rude. A fight almost breaks out between you two but he has a smirk on his face the whole time, a rather cute smirk. Part of you hopes that he'll show up to the next meeting.

[milessunflowers]

photographer lando x model reader plsplsplssss 🥰🥰

-bear 🐻

BEAR, MY LOVE, YES 1000% (and i got the photo to work!!)

photographer!lando norris x gn!model!reader

synopsis: headcannons of meeting, falling in love with, and loving photographer!lando

author's note: we came up with the idea in dms over the adorable picture of lando with the camera and here we are now!

starts simple really

he is assigned to you for your first gig and his first gig professionally

you kind of just bond really well and go to every event/shoot together

you guys worked so well together no one even questioned it anymore

your shoots turned out ten times better than they did when lando wasn't your photographer

the entire shoot you guys are giggling and yapping so a good portion of the pictures have to be redone

they turn out incredible as always

nobody minds the constant giggles/yapping as long as you guys get the work done

which you do

it just takes you longer

no one complains though because the pictures bring in good profit so they pay you both reasonably well

he absolutely adores you so he puts even more effort into showing off how naturally stunning you are

of course, they still get edited because magazines you know

but like you are just amazing and he wants to show it off to people, and you guys, at this point, haven't even started dating yet

but when you do, it's ten times worse for everyone around you guys

because you are head over heels entirely in love and no one can stop it

always holding hands, always smiling, always talking

max f is happy for lando but man, lando is so much more gigglier than before

like giggling constantly everytime he sees a picture he took of you and gushes over you

or when you guys go on dates and he's still playing photographer because he wants to capture every single moment with you

you guys have like fifteen photo albums already

because even though you aren't typically behind the camera, you still want loads of memories of lando too

they aren't the best and lando teases you for it but you love them anyways

and there is so much pda, not like the hardcore stuff just hand holding and quick kisses here and there

like constantly holding hands

and he's even more giggling taking your photos now because he keeps thinking about how he gets to come home with such an amazing and stunning person

like he genuinely feels like the luckiest man alive

and you are absolutely the same way

when you look at the camera you focus on him, absolutely fawning over his smile and laugh and the little gap in his teeth

you also feel like the luckiest person alive

and all this because one random day yall were paired up

you couldn't ask for anything more

except maybe that he wasn't such a picky eater

always ordering the chicken strips 😔

TAGS! (if you want to be added lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[utilitycaster]

can you explain what you mesn by monkey ladder in reference to the CR fandom? as someone from C1 i would probably be able to give you the insight you asked for in your tags but im unsure of the angle you are coming from.

Oh yeah, it describes a phenomenon I've repeatedly seen in all aspects of my life but I wasn't aware there was an idiom for it. Basically, it describes how communities/institutions continue following patterns of behavior even when said behaviors are in response to a no-longer relevant problem and even when the people who originated said behaviors and remember the original reason are gone.

So: imagine an experiment with five monkeys, a ladder, and bananas on top of the ladder. Whenever a monkey goes for the ladder to reach the bananas, a researcher sprays all the monkeys with ice water. After enough attempts, the monkeys, understandably, begin attacking any one of them that reaches for the ladder in order to avoid this punishment.

The researchers then swap out one of the monkeys for a new monkey. When the new monkey reaches for the ladder, the other monkeys attack them and prevent them from reaching it.

They then swap out another monkey, and when the second new monkey reaches for the ladder, not only do the other monkeys attack them - the first "new" monkey joins in. And so on. Eventually, you can reach a point where all five monkeys in the room have never even been sprayed with ice water. They don't know why they are attacking people who reach for the ladder other than that they were attacked for reaching for the ladder. And here's the kicker: the researchers haven't sprayed anyone in ages, and actually, they've turned off the water, and if someone reached for the ladder, they'd be fine. But they won't.

So it's about groups enforcing behaviors that arose in response to something specific that is no longer present, even after the group no longer recalls, necessarily, why it was present.

Anyway: as someone with the specific experience of watching campaign 1 and early campaign 2 concurrently, having started with Campaign 2, ie, joined the fandom in Campaign 2 and have been here ever since, the following viewpoints are all imo "monkey-ladder" problems: people carrying forward stereotypes/fandom behaviors that I think originated in Campaign 1 but which many new fans never actually experienced:

specifically the one I mentioned in my previous post - the idea that Sam and Travis make stupid joke characters and aren't taking this seriously. (This sometimes splits into Sam Makes Dumb Joke Characters And Travis Is Himself A Stupid Person. The latter has fortunately abated but it was still alive and kicking as late as early C3)

The idea that Marisha and Laura; or Taliesin and Liam, make characters with exceptional romantic chemistry with each other. (They didn't have this in C1 either; while chemistry is obviously a subjective metric I find these specifically two of the weakest cases of cast romantic chemistry and definitely the two weakest of same gender cast romantic chemistry but they were held up as the only viable PC/PC queer romances given that Ashley was often absent, Grog wasn't interested, and people wrote off Scanlan as a dumb joke and Tary came around after Percy and Vex were already together)

Any criticism of Marisha is Forbidden Forever due to the harassment she received in C1 (we got monkeys who joined the fandom mid-C3 beating up people who were like I'm Not Vibing With Laudna who had been staunch Keyleth defenders during the actual run of C1, for example)

I'm sure there's others that aren't coming to mind but this is a good starting point: basically, it's people who weren't in the fandom in C1 and might not even have seen Campaign 1 carrying over opinions that really only made sense in Campaign 1 and honestly weren't even good then.

For a fun interrogation of this (carryover of an opinion/behavior with no other reason than This Is What I Was Told When I Joined) within the context of an actual play, see Iga Lisowski in The Unsleeping City 2.

[13thdoodle]

I kept getting this shader tutorial on my youtube rec so im like fuck it lets try 3D again why not

it's uh.. it's sure is going....

i was just gonna put it in the tags yelling but uh fuck it this is my practice documentation now

This rectangle at the bottom is not supposed to be there!! it's not on the shader preview but it only show up when I render it QAQ

[ screenshots from the gif render, a higher quality render, and from shader preview ]

The reflections also moves in such awkward way bc I had to add.. another rotation to the thing and its just askdjjdaks its just weird man I know its just a simulation but for fuck sake

The ambient color toooo gooodddd I don't have screenshots of it but that fcking red tint shading just won't move to the bottom at all qwq it just stayed at the top right side specifically and just... rotate in a weird way

It pivots specifically from that (X) mark and only rotates that way and I can't convince it to rotates any other way 😭😭

OH GODH IM YELLING EVEN THE MODEL WAS FCKED NOOOO I only realized this as I'm taking screenshots for this post kajbfasbdsjkdfb YELLING

It has N-gon on the front bc I added bevels on the side askjdbaskjdn

[ In 3D modelling, you can only have 3 to 4 dots to make a face/surface. More than that it's called N-gon and it basically gonna fck up the calculation or sth and it's bad. You have to avoid N-gons ]

so you see on the right picture there, on the orange dots, there is one at the bottom, and two on each side. That's 5 dots, that's an N-gon. So this gem is already doomed from the start sakjdanksd

(I don't know if that's the main reason it got fcked up, but it surely didn't help 😭) (You can easily fix N-gons but adding more lines around which is fine but I didn't caught on until way after so like ksajdfjkasbd yeagh qwq) (My attempts at fixing the corners N-gons has instead added more orz)

3D modelling hard man what the fuck 😭😭😭

it's just shader practice its fine its fine its just shader practice not modelling practice its fiiinnnnnneeeee

[wttt-week]

Presenting the official list of WTTT Week prompts!

What is WTTT Week? #WTTT Week is a week to celebrate the U.S. state-themed video series of YouTuber and comedian Ben Brainard, including Table News, Welcome to the Statehouse, Florida Man in SoCal, etc., as well as the small but dedicated fandom these works have inspired!

Are there any rules? The only rules are to be creative and have fun! You can submit any kind of fan work, including art, fic, edits, headcanons, memes, etc, etc. You do NOT need to follow the prompts exactly; consider them more as a rough guide. They’re pretty broad for a reason! The main rule is just to create and to keep this fandom alive.

Please don’t feel obligated to participate; and if you do, it’s okay to only do one or two of the days! If you choose to participate, tag your works as #wttt week! You can post as much (or as little) as you want each day!

Main Themes/Prompts: Based around the different “sub-series” of WTTT:

Day 1: Table News- Take inspiration from a recent or current event to make your own “Table” episode or scene!

Day 2: [State] Joins the Table- Time to showcase your favorite character!

Day 3: Table History- Put a “WTTT” spin on a historic event or theme

Day 4: Weird Laws- They say that every weird law was made for a reason. Showcase some State hijinks/shenanigans that may have led to the creation of some weird laws…(historical accuracy *not* required)

Day 5: Dating Games- Your favorite ship/relationship, whether that be romantic, platonic, etc.

Day 6: “Meanwhile In…”- Anything about non-canon characters/OCs. Cities, other countries, etc. Now’s the time to share your own ideas!)

Day 7: Free Day! (Freedom, baby! 🦅)

What are the secondary/alternate themes?

The secondary themes are to help provide more specific ideas for each day. Do NOT feel obligated to use them. If you have an idea for a day already that has nothing to do with the secondary theme, that’s okay! But they’re there in case you need something a bit more specific.

Day 1: Weather/Natural Disasters

Day 2: State Symbols

Day 3: Folklore

Day 4: Animals

Day 5: Music

Day 6: Regions

That’s all for now! Go forth and have fun!

[tkomptgoedluv]

tear you apart.

grumpycafeworkervampire! joost x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, internetcafe & vampire au, very much the ‘he hates everyone but her’ trope, even more so the ‘who did this to you?’ trope, reader’s boyfriend is an asshole and deserves everything he gets, joostie has a crush and it’s bad, light stalking, hurt angst and comfort all in one, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 5,040.

warnings: descriptions of an un-specific mental illness, cheating, descriptions of self harm, mentions of & scenes of DV, violence, gore, rpf.

notes: hello!! thank you guys so much for waiting on this even though it’s been over a month since we all lost our minds a little over vampire joost. i’m very proud of this one, even if the ending is kind of rushed, and i may or may not have already planned out parts 2 & 3 as well so please lemme know if you want a series out of this! (if you don’t say yes then juno might kill you btw). this fic also comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING so please read at your own risk and stay safe!

love you all lots — enjoy!! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

the whole point of joost setting up his little internet cafe was that he needed something simple, for a while. something quiet, something normal. he needed to get away from his life with the band, and away from all of the blood and guts that came right along with it. for once, he wanted to be invisible.

that’s what the cafe was supposed to do for him; become an escape, of sorts. he wanted to spend all day, everyday, sat behind that desk of his, with earphones in his ears and a magazine in his hands. if someone needed help with one of the computers or something, then he’d do so, but only with a roll of his eyes and a scowl on his face. anything more than that and he’d flip them off, flash his fangs at them maybe, and laugh as they’d run out the door, screaming.

he didn’t want to talk to these people, his customers — a lot of them he actually couldn’t stand. they were messy and far too loud for his liking, always leaving their rubbish on the floor and shouting at each other. but at the very least they were simple, so he could handle teaching them how to find youtube and cleaning up after them if it meant that they’d all leave him alone. besides, he still had his ways of disposing of the ones that just wouldn’t behave themselves.

but then you had to come along, didn’t you?

you, with your big sad eyes and your soft, soft smile that was such a rarity to see. this plan of his, you were ruining it and you didn’t even know it.

joost could never admit it to himself, but he was a little infatuated with you. all you ever did was just sit in the corner, as far away from everyone else as you could possibly get, and stare at the computer screen until your eyes would grow too heavy. it made you such a stark contrast to the rest of them that joost couldn’t help but feel something towards you, even if he wouldn’t show it.

he found himself quickly learning your routine, making a note of how you only ever came in at night, no earlier than nine o’clock, and always left before the early hours of the morning. he had no choice but to notice how you always had the same heartbroken look on your face, with red-rimmed eyes and a frown pulling down at your lips. and he could never ignore how you only ever seemed to wear clothes that were at least a few sizes too big for you, always drowning in the fabric of old hoodies and sweatpants.

all of these little things that he couldn’t stop himself from knowing about you…well it was all a little bit weird, wasn’t it? because joost, he was yet to speak to you, to even acknowledge you, really. only when your back was turned would he ever dare to glance in your direction, and even then it was quick, only ever from the corner of his eye.

whatever this was, this thing joost had for you, it was starting to blur the lines between a normal, human crush and borderline stalking. that was why no matter what, it could never be anything more than just a few glances here and there. no matter what, he had to stay away.

joost wanted simple, and you just weren’t that.

but like all of his other plans, you had to go and ruin that one too, because then you started to smell.

not of anything bad, of course, just of blood. and to joost, everyone smelt like blood to some extent; it was one of the many consequences of his particular…lifestyle. he should’ve been used to it by then. the sweet, sweet smell of you shouldn’t have almost knocked him off of his chair when you walked in that day.

at first he just assumed it was nature taking its course; you were a girl after all, and it explained the constant grimace on your face. but after a week, the smell hadn’t gone away — now four months later, it was still there. if anything, it was only getting stronger.

like tonight, there you were, sat in your usual spot right by the window, and joost could smell it. he could barely concentrate on reading his magazine the way it was making his head spin and his heart race. for a human,

a scent like that wasn’t normal; despite his better judgment, joost found himself worrying about you.

even more so when you started to cry at your desk.

your head was down and your hands were hiding your face, muffling the sound. no one else around you could hear it, they were too engrossed in playing their silly little video games to really notice. but joost wasn’t like them, was he? he could hear it. he could hear it over the sound of a ‘SUM 41’ song playing on full blast in his ears, in fact.

it made him freeze in his seat, his hands grip the pages of his ‘SPICE’ magazine a little too tightly. then he looked over at you only because he knew that you wouldn’t see it, and caught a glimpse of your shoulders shaking slightly. the sight alone made his eyebrows crease and his knuckles turn white, but it was your small gasp of breath that made him growl.

everyone’s head turned at the sound as the click-clacking of the keyboards ceased, and suddenly joost had sixteen pairs of eyes all staring at him. the only one that hadn’t looked up was you, who merely flinched at the sudden noise as you finally lowered your hands, only to wipe your nose and go back to staring at your computer screen.

in slow movements, joost slammed his magazine down and kicked his feet up off of his desk, muttering a low ‘we’re closing, everyone get out.’ with a cigarette still hanging from his lips. when nobody moved he rose from his chair and stubbed out his cig into his garfield-shaped ashtray, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

that was all it took to get everyone up, shoving their shit into their pockets, and heading out the door. you went to stand as well, having already pulled your hood well up over your head in preparation for the hard-falling rain outside. but you stopped when you heard the guy at the reception desk clear his throat not just once but twice, his attention only on you as everybody else made their exits.

“not you, grey hoodie. you stay.”

joost could hear a ringing in his ears from how silent the room became once the last person had left, the cafe door swinging shut behind them, it’s sign now reading ‘closed: come again soon!”

there was a certain…hesitation behind the way that he moved closer to you. behind the way that he grabbed a new cigarette from his pack, letting it dangle between his lips as he pulled up a chair next to you. the absolute last thing that he wanted was to wind up scaring you, somehow, even if the look on your face told him that you already were.

joost could see you shaking, could see all of the tears welling up in your eyes no matter how many times you tried to blink them away. he could hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, the rush of warm blood inside your veins. for once, maybe for even the first time, joost was starting to regret having the reputation that he did.

“i know i’m not exactly known for my ‘outstanding customer service’, but i just want to make sure that you’re okay.” he paused only to take a drag of his cigarette, the ash falling down and dirtying the denim of his jeans. “are you okay?”

no, you really weren’t.

without a word you turned away to press the ‘on’ button of your computer screen, its cold, blue light casting a dark shadow across your face. it showed him exactly what you had been looking at before you’d tried to leave, having forgotten to properly log out first. whilst the receptionist leaned forward and squinted at the screen, you let your head hang low to hide the fresh tears that burned along your waterline.

you’d been scrolling through facebook rather aimlessly when you came across the picture. at first, you thought that it was just an old one someone had reshared simply for nostalgia sake; one of those ‘on this day five years ago’ type things. then you had seen that it had only been posted an hour ago, so you tried convincing yourself that it wasn’t actually him in the photo — even though he’d been tagged in the fucking thing.

whether you could accept it or not, it was very much him. it was him sucking on the neck of your best friend, at a party he insisted that you couldn’t go to.

“what exactly am i looking at here?”

but to joost, it was just a picture of what he guessed was a house party. the girls were half dressed, the guys were clutching onto their beer cans, and nobody in sight looked sober. not exactly something worth crying over, he thought.

“that’s uh, that’s my boyfriend right there…and that’s my best friend next to him.”

he didn’t say anything for a minute; he didn’t really know what to say. joost just kept glancing back and forth between you and the computer screen, with his lips ever so slightly parted and the cigarette between his fingertips long forgotten about. he understood it now, and couldn’t blame you for any of the tears running down your cheeks anymore.

“for what it’s worth, i’m sorry. dude’s a fucking scumbag for doing that to you.”

you merely chuckled, the laugh coming out all dry and hoarse. “you have no idea.”

it was a small comment, maybe just your own way of saying ‘yeah, i know’, but something about your choice of words made joost frown. he didn’t like the gut feeling it gave him, nor did he like the way he saw you flinch again, this time at the way he raised his hand, though only to toss his now burnt-out cigarette into the bin.

it was making him think, making him realise that, that definitely wasn’t the first time you’d reacted to something so minuscule like that. how even the slightest of movements normally had you ducking your head and cowering, with your shoulders all bunched up by your ears. and it was making him wonder if there was maybe another reason behind the clothes that you wore, besides how you just ran a little colder than the average person.

the crease in joost’s eyebrows deepened as he swivelled his seat more to face you rather than the computer, and rested a careful hand on your knee. as you looked up, he swapped his frown for a smile that you just about managed to mirror.

“i’m here if you wanna talk about anything, okay? i’m joost.”

when you told him your name back, he acted as though he hadn’t know what it was already.

the sudden ringing of your phone cut through the soft silence like a jagged knife, the sound of your shitty, pirated ‘AFI’ ringtone bringing a genuine smile to joost’s face as he got up to walk away. it was merely a formality at this point, stepping away to give someone a bit of ‘privacy’ whilst they took a phone call. joost could be all the way across the street and he’d still hear it, whether he was trying to or not.

although admittedly, this was one he was purposefully trying to eavesdrop on. he caught a glimpse of the caller ID — saw the bright red love heart next to the name ‘levi’. since it matched the name tagged in the photos, it was a safe assumption to presume it was the boyfriend calling.

he hoped to hear the guy grovel, begging on his knees for your forgiveness or at the very least offering you some kind of explanation. anything to prove this gut feeling of his wrong. but even the shouting from the other end of the line made joost wince, his palms starting to sweat as he began tidying up the other desks.

it started out as just pure name calling, accusing you of facebook-stalking his friends and not trusting him, that you were ‘fucking crazy’ and a ‘stupid little bitch’. then it became about how he’d already made it clear that you weren’t to go to the cafe tonight, not under any circumstances, and he could see online that you were.

joost really did try to busy himself, tried to grit his teeth and bear with what he was hearing this asshole scream at you. he wasn’t supposed to have been listening, anyway. he was supposed to have been staying away, like he was always meant to.

but he just couldn’t take it though, could he? he couldn’t handle hearing this boyfriend of yours threaten to beat you black and blue, and not for the first time this week. he had to storm across the room and snatch the phone right out of your hands, flipping it shut to disconnect the call. honestly, he probably would’ve smashed the fucking thing had you not taken it back from him and slipped it into your trouser pocket.

“tell me he didn’t mean that.”

you weren’t given a chance to scold him for his eavesdropping, even though you weren’t entirely sure how he was able to hear your conversation in the first place. joost was already staring you down, his arms crossed and chest heaving as he towered over you. you could almost feel the anger he radiated; see the darkening of his eyes and flare of his nostrils.

it was no wonder that you couldn’t look at him; you didn’t have the guts to.

“tell me he doesn’t fucking hit you.”

you couldn’t.

you couldn’t lie to him like that. you weren’t quite sure why, you were lying to everybody else in your life about it. he wasn’t the first to ask you that kind of question, and he wouldn’t be the last, either. but you just didn’t have it in you to try and feed him the same old bullshit that you always fed anyone else that asks you about it. chances were, he wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

so instead, you showed him. still with your eyes focused on the wall behind him, you peeled off that god-awful hoodie and let it fall to the floor, leaving you to shiver in a thin, white t-shirt. it exposed each and every single one of the bruises that levi had given you, both old and new, as well as those half-a-dozen little cuts that you’d given yourself.

you felt joost’s fingertips trail along every single one of the marks, gently brushing along the skin of your arms and only stopping once he reached your wrists. he hesitated then, though only because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore than you already had yourself. it was with such a delicate hold that he took your arms in his hands, turning them over in the light just so that he could see it all a little easier.

“this wasn’t him, was it?”

you already knew what he was referring to and so you shook your head, still too scared to meet his eyes. if you had, you would’ve seen his own tears welling up in his.

this was what he had been smelling. all those spots of blood pooling underneath your skin, slowly turning into bruises. the thin, red lines that ran up and down each one of your arms; some old and scabbed over, some not. all of it, every single mark, was why he could always smell so much blood on you.

joost didn’t even know he still knew how to cry, it had been so long. he hadn’t shed a tear in years; not since way before the…change. and you were the reason that streak was broken now, because he soon found himself dropping your arms to wipe the wet from his face, further smudging the dark eyeliner around his eyes.

“fuck, okay, we’re gonna…there’s a pull-out bed in the back, we’re gonna make you a bed for the night — for as long as you need. you’re not going back there.”

he was pacing around as he rambled, wiping the snot from his nose as he did so. by the time you’d pulled your hoodie back on he had a whole plan laid out for you, the kind that had you moving into the cafe, sleeping in the staff room, never to see your boyfriend again.

it was getting harder and harder to believe that this was the same guy that you’d heard so many horror stories about. all the gossip, the whispers, the rumours, they all painted joost out to be some kind of monster. yet here he was in tears over you, doing laps of the room with his hands pulling at his hair in a panic, all because he knew your secret now. knew that you’d been dealing with enough monsters of your own to know that he wasn’t one.

“why do you care, joost?” your voice betrayed you as you spoke because with each word it waivered, coming out all cracked and broken until you could barely say anything at all. “you don’t know me.”

“i do! i mean, i know enough to know that a guy like that is gonna fucking kill you one day and that can’t happen, okay? it can’t. do you understand that?”

in a moment of weakness he made his way back over to you and placed his hands on either side of your face, gently tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. under the warm, yellow lights of the cafe you could see every ounce of fear in his eyes, feel the shake in his hands as he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“i’m sorry. i know that this is a lot and you don’t really know me like that but i need you to trust me, liefde. i’m gonna keep you safe, i promise.”

just like that, every single one of those little promises that he’d made himself about staying away from you, gone.

you found yourself nodding before you’d really even given a thought to what it was you were actually agreeing to. just as long as joost kept looking at you like that, you’d probably agree to anything.

“okay, okay, that’s good. just…stay here, alright? i’ll be right back.”

you blinked, and you were alone.

the staff room door was open ajar now, with a dimmer, yellow light spilling out. there was a lot of faint rustling around; a few little bangs and crashes followed by some muffled swearing. besides that and the rain hitting against the cafe windows, it was silent — almost eerily so.

it gave you the space to actually try to understand what it was that was happening. joost was back there setting up that bed for you, turning the cafe's staff room into a makeshift bedroom, just as he promised. you wouldn’t be going home tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. as for levi? it was hard to wrap your head around the fact that you weren’t ever going to see him again.

you took a seat back at your desk, closing each one of your tabs and logging out of whatever websites that you needed to. myspace, youtube, facebook; you had to stop and stare when that fucking picture popped up again.

calling her your best friend was a stretch, she was always more his friend than she ever was yours, but still, it stung. besides joost now, she was the only one who knew your secret, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen him hit you so hard it knocked you clean off your feet. she still convinced you to stay, giving you the exact same excuses for it that levi did.

he was always stressed and going through something that you just wouldn’t understand, and you were always the one making him feel worse, so it really couldn’t be his fault then, could it?

you were just about to close that very last tab, the cursor hovering over the big red ‘x’ in the top right-hand corner, when the front door swung back open. the sudden ding of the electronic doorbell made you jump, as did the bang of the door frame slamming against the wall. you heard his voice before you saw him standing there on the worn-out welcome mat, soaking wet and seething.

“i fucking knew you were here.”

levi.

even from where you were sitting you could smell the alcohol on him, see the glazed-over look in his bloodshot eyes. peaking out from the collar of his jacket were small, dark hickies dotted all across his neck and there was a faint smudge of pink smeared across his bottom lip. he hadn’t even had the decency to clean himself up, to wipe the last speck of her literal fucking lipstick from off of his face.

“you little fucking bitch, what did i say to you, huh? i told you to stay home. why is it that you can’t ever fucking listen?”

“i’m not doing this with you, levi.”

he laughed at what you said, more so chuckled, darkly underneath his breath. he always found it funny when you tried to talk back to him, refusing to do whatever it was he demanded or throwing back any of his endless insults right back at him. it didn’t happen often because when it did, you’d pay for it.

“oh yeah? you’re not gonna ‘do’ this with me? who the fuck do you think you are to say that to me?” when you didn’t say anything else and turned away from him, deciding to instead face the now black screen of your computer, he continued. “cmon, get the fuck up, we’re going home.”

you didn’t move. you focused on your breathing, focused on the feeling of the grey cotton between your fingers as you played with the fraying threads of your hoodie’s sleeves.

“i’m not talking to myself here. i said get up!”

levi’s voice bellowed from all the way across the room and you could’ve sworn that it made the keyboards shake. still, you stayed exactly where you were, making it clear to him that you weren’t going to be going anywhere tonight — especially not home, especially not with him.

being ignored like this was almost worse than anything you could’ve possibly said back to him. you've never done that before, never tried to disobey him quite so outrightly. you had always been one to break as soon as he’d raise his voice, a shadow of a smirk curling the corners of his lips as he’d dare you to say whatever it was again.

only this time, you weren’t saying anything at all, and he really didn’t like that.

his strides over to you were so quick that you didn’t have any time at all to react before you were being yanked out of your seat and dragged back over to the door. you were tripping over all of the other chairs as you tried to pull your arm free, begging for him to stop and to let you go whilst he dug his nails deeper into the flesh of your forearm.

it hadn’t even occurred to you that the background noise of joost moving furniture around couldn’t be heard anymore, that the staff room door was no longer closed ajar and instead now wide open. it hadn’t even occurred to you, not until levi was being teared away from you, leaving behind a small rip in your hoodie and faint claw marks in your skin.

from where you were standing now, you couldn’t see much anymore. tall, broad shoulders became the barrier that separated you from levi, keeping you hidden away from him. you weren’t sure how long joost had been back there listening, how he was able to intervene so quickly or how he had the strength to toss your boyfriend almost to the other side of the room. you were just grateful for it, for him, and tightly clutched onto one of his arms so that he couldn’t disappear on you again.

“woah, what the fuck is this? who the fuck are you?”

levi had knocked into a couple of desks as he stumbled but eventually found his footing, his leather jacket hanging off of his shoulders from where joost had yanked at it. he shrugged it back on, eyes glued onto and glaring at the man you were cowering behind. neither of you expected him to start laughing like how he did, a deep, bitter chuckle that somehow made the air around you feel colder.

“so this is what she’s been doing here all this time, huh? been fucking around with some freak behind my back?”

“get out.”

there was no laughter in joost’s voice, no humour peaking through the cracks of his expression. there was only a silent begging behind his anger, a slight pleading in his words because joost already knew how this would end if levi didn’t turn on his heel and run.

but levi just wasn’t one to listen, was he?

instead he made a beeline for what was now your bedroom, supposedly, with no regard for the ‘staff only’ sign that was stuck to the door. without even taking a full step inside he could see the sofa bed that had been pulled out for you, decorated with scattered cushions and a messed up, old white duvet. it didn’t matter that it actually wasn’t what it looked like, because he’d already made his mind up and seeing that was all the ‘proof��� that he needed.

so levi wasn’t laughing anymore as he slowly turned around, now in a position where you were in his full view. he could see how you had yourself wrapped around joost’s arm, almost hugging it, and was starting to shrink under his gaze. he stared you both down for a moment before he locked eyes with you, his teeth gritted and jaw twitching.

“you fucking whore, you’re so fucking dead -”

he’d charged at you with one hand balled up into a fist and the other stretched out, a single finger pointing right at you. you jumped back and away from joost, your arms up and shielding your head as you turned away and readied yourself to feel it. a hard knee to the stomach, a sharp pull at your hair, something.

you only moved again when you heard a small whimper; an impossibly pathetic sound that you’d never heard before, but one that only levi could have made. you lowered your arms and raised your head, and immediately crashed into the desk behind you, choking on a cry that became lodged in your throat.

joost; sweet, misunderstood joost had his hand plunged inside levi’s chest, his fingers wrapped around and squeezing at his heart. those once soft blue eyes of his were now a deep, glowing shade of red, and as he grinned, you caught a glimpse of two long, sharp fangs. blood stained his lips and dribbled down his chin as he took a chunk out of levi’s neck, swallowing down every last piece of flesh and spitting out the odd little bone.

and he started to moan into it with each large gulp that he took, becoming so lost in the pleasure of it all that for just a moment, he seemed to forget that you were there. it had just been so long since he’d last indulged like this — feeling that warm rush of blood slide down the back of his throat, the heavy pulse of his prey slowly growing weaker and weaker.

joost didn’t stop until whatever was left of levi’s head was in one hand and his still heart was in the other, his body already turning cold at his feet. he easily could have stayed there for a little while longer, gone in for seconds and thirds perhaps, when he finally hears you. he hears you choking on your tears, on the single breath that you were holding.

you hadn’t been able to look away even though you had so desperately wanted to; you could feel the image of levi standing there all helpless, his mouth bobbing up and down as he tried so hard to scream out, burning into your eyes.

“liefde?…”

his voice was so gentle, sounding almost frightened, and yet you still jumped when joost finally spoke. he was just standing there staring at you, eyes all wide, with blood smeared across his face and splattered across his button-up shirt. even as he stood above the body parts of your boyfriend, joost somehow looked small now, like a dog that had been found chained to a fence for a few too many days.

for every step that he tried to take towards you, you took another five back, carefully inching your way closer and closer towards the front door as you did so. you could see it start to click in his head, the welling up of tears in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between you and the door.

“no no no, please, please don’t do that. i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. please, i’m not gonna hurt you, please don’t go.”

joost took another step forward and you shrieked, bumping hard into the wall behind you, scraping your elbow against the brick. you hadn’t needed to say anything after that, hadn’t needed to beg for him to let you go because you watched him recoil, his hands held up in surrender.

you took one last look at levi, at what was left of him.

“fuck, i didn’t…i’m so sorry, liefde.”

and you ran, without ever looking back.

[exquisink]

When The Daylight's Gone, Ch2 - Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Fem!Sorcerer Reader

warnings. nothing in particular in this chapter, except for a brief mention of masturbation. but heed the tags on AO3. This chapter has been already posted there but I forgot to cross-post. Whoops.

wc. almost 11K this chapter, lmao.

Adjusting to life at Jujutsu Tech may not have been the smoothest ride for you, but everyone has been kind, considerate, and helpful with you; everyone has been ready to help and practically at your beck and call. Especially Gojo-sama. You’re not oblivious to how much he seems to be interested in helping you feel part of the organization—or whatever you’d call this (it’s definitely not truly a school)—and you let him know that his efforts don’t go unnoticed, which seems to change something in him every time you do. It’s almost as if he doesn’t get enough gratitude for all of the effort he puts into making a change around here. While his colleagues don’t seem all that impressed with him for a myriad of reasons removed from his role, you find that you think of him as more and more compelling of a person. 

You notice it in his little mannerisms around his students, in particular. He and Kento Nanami share a common goal: they want to protect those flames within the students, they want to protect their youth and allow them room to just be kids. You have a feeling that in the world of jujutsu, you are forced to grow up far too quickly as you are thrust into some of the most gruesome situations that most people honestly cannot fathom experiencing themselves. It’s why you have removed yourself from hunting curses, much like Ijichi-sama. It’s not something you can stomach. Having the curse of seeing spirits is something you already wish you didn’t have, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find a way to help others. That’s the whole reason you’ve taken this job in the first place. 

But Gojo-sama…it absolutely doesn’t take a genius to see that the way he acts around others is a mask. It’s painfully obvious the more you hang around him, the more you observe from the sidelines, and you wonder if somewhere in all of that haughty, obnoxious, condescending as fuck facade of his that he wishes someone else had done the same for him. Maybe back in his days as a student here, he hasn’t had someone to shield him from the horrors of the world and he’s witnessed them far too early in his life.

“So! I think the students are going to enjoy a quick trip to Shinjuku!” Gojo suggests, drawing your attention back to the present as he leans so far back into his office chair that it begins to creak against the wooden floor. His hands clasp together as he continues to speak. “And while Nanami is off babysitting them, that means I have a lot more free time to spend with y—I mean you guys!” 

Shoko shakes her head. “I can’t guarantee I’ll have my schedule freed up for your sake, Satoru.”

“Not even if drinks are on me?” Gojo-sama offers with a little smirk playing on his lips. Now you’re the one shaking your head, a hint of a twinkle in your eyes. They may be authority figures in their own rights, but they all have their own vices, you suppose. They probably don’t expect to be the greatest role models to the students, and perhaps these are behaviors or habits of theirs they keep shielded from the impressionable youth as much as possible.

“Yes, not even after that,” Shoko deadpans, her expression serious. That’s a sign to take to heart, and Gojo backs off. Smart move. “I need to cut back.”

“Such a shame,” Gojo pouts, before grinning wide at you as Shoko takes her leave. With that fucking devastatingly beautiful smile of his that seems to just hide so much deep-seated loneliness that you can’t believe people are outright refusing his offers. Oh, curse you and your tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt (even if they have continually shown you reasons not to, but right now Gojo doesn’t appear to fit that description). “Guess that just leaves you and me.”

“So it does,” you reply with a lazy smile. The last thing anyone wants to feel like is an obligation, and you don’t want to make anyone feel like that; you’ve known what that’s like with past friendships yourself. Honestly, you still aren’t sure why you’re making a point in accompanying him. But you also feel like it’s just basic decency as a person. As a participant in the human experience overall, if you must go so far as to say so. 

No one wants to be lonely, not even a guy as boisterous and annoying as Satoru Gojo. (Even if you don’t personally find him as such like the others do.) With a life like his, that seems to keep him on some higher plane of existence as everyone else around him, that must keep him feeling isolated from everyone else. That doesn’t feel good no matter how much someone likes being powerful.

There is a thought that keeps popping up in your mind with each exchange you share with Satoru Gojo.

Is his status all that is cracked up to be for him?

Is he lonelier than he would ever admit to anyone in his life? Even to you–or anyone else in his life he ever considered close to his heart? 

Doesn’t he wish he could drop the act and show people who he really is, or is he already so accustomed to the icy cold backhanded slap of rejection that he may as well play into the role jujutsu society imposed on him? 

There’s so much more you want to know about Satoru Gojo, but you don’t know if you’re jumping into things too quickly. It’s already been a few months, but you still feel out of the loop in a lot of aspects. The more you get acquainted with everything and everyone around you, you find the less you truly understand or truly know much of anything. When Ijichi takes you under his wing for training, you’re not sure how to utilize your own cursed energy–what little you believe you have of it. But Ijichi reminds you–that you are more powerful than you think you are–after all Gojo insists that you might be better off labeled as Grade 2 or Grade 1 with the potential your cursed technique has. 

Should you take his words to heart, though? Better not to let it get to your ego (however little you have).

“Hey,” Gojo waves his hand in front of your face. “You kind of zoned out for a little bit there–everything good?”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly; you have been lost in your mind a lot lately huh? “Yeah! I”m okay. So what are we doing now?”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve seen any progress with your cursed technique,” Gojo replies like he’s been reading your mind, but you doubt that’s how the Six Eyes technique of his works. Maybe it’s just a hunch or a feeling he’s got and he just happens to be right about what you’ve been drifting off into thought about in that small pocket of time. 

“Er…don’t you ever check in with Ijichi-san?” you inquire in a wobbly tone. You honestly have not been keeping as much track of your progress as you should have been… you didn’t expect to be quizzed on it like this so soon but then again…maybe you should have.

“Of course I do!” Gojo scoffs, “I just can’t hear your perspective? I want to know what you think and you forget I’m here to help you out too if you’re not sure what you’re doing.”

You shake your head. “I really have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with any of this! All I can do right now is create veils, and that’s as far as it goes right now.”

“Hey! That’s still progress,” Gojo insists with a thumbs up. “I mean, did you have any exposure to anything related to jujutsu before all of this?” 

Another shake of your head. Nope. You’re pretty much fresh meat in regards to any of this, and from what you understand, sorcerers themselves are extremely rare breeds of humanity. You are stunned to see how small the classes in both Tokyo and Kyoto are. 

“See?” Gojo beams at you so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It may be slow progress, but it’s still progress.”

You laugh at that bit. “You actually sound like a real teacher, Gojo-sama.”

“Come on, you know I told you that you don’t have to call me that,” he counters, “We may be working together, but we’re friends too, remember?”

You bite into your cheek as you chew on a proper response. 

“Are you not my superior?” you point out not in an accusatory way, but isn’t it not too intimate to do something like that? After all, it’s already feeling too intimate for you to be calling Ijichi ‘Ijichi’ or ‘Ijichi-san,’ but he’s also insisting on disregarding formalities. Maybe you are too much of a stickler for the traditions, but it’s mostly out of respect for everyone here. After all they have gone through experiences and trials and tribulations you have yet to experience yourself. You have so much to learn from all of them.

“I mean, yeah! But that doesn’t mean you have to get all formal. You’re not with Shoko!” he reflects for a moment, then adds: “Or Ijichi or Nanami!” 

“Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll work on it, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on. I”m working so hard to make you comfortable around here.”

“I’m just trying to respect your authority, Gojo,” you counter with a smile. Gojo just stares at you for a few moments before surrendering.

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying. It’s not necessary, you know? You’re not a student or anything either. At least, you’re not mine .”

“But I am still learning a thing or two from you and Ijichi,” you remark, “And Principal Yaga especially.”

“Still, since you’re so new to all of this, don’t expect anything to happen overnight, you know? Not everyone can be me, I guess,” he scoffs again, rubbing his nose and you find yourself rolling your eyes in jest. Yeah, there it is. That (honestly warranted) self-confidence. 

Most everyone around him finds it obnoxious, but you can’t help but find it refreshing. A lot of people are afraid of keeping that flame burning inside them, but he isn’t. People always want to play small to make others comfortable but he’s not interested in that, not necessarily in the way someone expects. 

Satoru Gojo is an instructor, first and foremost, and the goal of an instructor is to mold his students to become stronger, faster, and better versions of themselves–in fact he has stated on several occasions to you that he wants them all to surpass him. Because one day he’s not going to be here just like anyone else, and since he’s also not shy about droning on and on about how he wants to reset and reshape jujutsu society as it stands now, he channels all of his energy into this one singular goal. 

You can’t help but admire him for that kind of dedication, that kind of passion. You are curious what made him choose this kind of path because if you had to be honest with yourself, Gojo doesn’t seem the teaching or Sensei type. Far too lax, far too easy going and goofy. But maybe the students need a personality like that. Still, he deserves something where he can really let loose and not lose so much sleep over. (Yes, you have caught wind about his wild sleep schedule that would put most soldiers to shame.)

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Sensei ,” you tease with a little smirk twitching on your lips as he appears aghast at that address. Just pouting like some petulant child who’s just been denied his favorite snack. “So seriously, since it’s just us, what’s the plan for today? I don’t have much going on, so you better make this worth my time.”

Of course you mean it in jest. You don’t plan to bail on him, not when you’ve already made it a point to yourself that you aren’t going to leave him hanging. Even everyone else has made some remark about how ‘brave’ you’re being just enduring extra time with Gojo, but you don’t view it that way at all. You might be the odd one out here, but thus far you just don’t get it.

The big deal, you mean.

He finally speaks up again.

“Come on, seriously? I’m going to have to beat Gojo or Sensei out of your system. You’re a student in a way, sure, but like I just told you, you’re not my student, you know?” 

You hide your smirk into your palm. “Whatever you say…”

In spite of himself, he’s smiling at your antics, and that’s really your only goal. Just like he gives everyone else a hard time all on purpose, you’re returning that energy, and the good news is that he doesn’t seem to mind it all that much. That’s progress more than anything, right? Here you are, doing a better job at adjusting to your new environment than you expected to be doing, and he’s honestly made this new life a lot easier for you too–even if he doesn’t know it just yet. 

Actually, why not change that right now? 

“Gojo, I um…” you start a bit tentatively before you break into a fit of giggles again at his melodrama. “Seriously, thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that as he adjusts his blindfold. “What for?” 

“Making me feel like part of the group,” you answer, “You work really hard to make sure I don’t feel left behind, and I just appreciate it. That’s all.” 

He looks at you like he’s in a bit of a daze before shaking himself out of his stupor. He probably doesn’t get recognized for his efforts enough; teachers are an underappreciated profession in every aspect of life, it seems like, even in the world of jujutsu.

“It’s kind of, you know, basic human decency and all,” he reasons, but somehow he keeps an even tone with an underlying layer of playfulness. “Plus that’s kind of my job too, or at least part of it.”

”So what?” you challenge him, but you don’t mean to in a negative way. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be recognized for something like that.”

”For doing the bare minimum?” he nearly scoffs at that notion, but you do catch him smiling a little, which is the goal here. “All right, whatever you say, Princess.”

”Princess?” you repeat, your lips curling into a little bit of a pout. This time it’s you raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I gave off that vibe.”

”A vibe of…?” he beckons you to finish that statement for him.

”Spoiled rotten?” you try to fill in the blanks with the first thing that pops in your mind and he once again looks aghast that that is the first thing you would even consider! “Bratty? Mean?” 

”No! You don’t act like that at all,” he counters, a hand over his heart as you feel his eyes scanning you through his blindfold. “You give Pretty Princess vibes, though.”

”Pretty Princess, huh?” Is he just trying to flatter you or wiggle his way out of something else? 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “You’re pretty. I thought you’re aware of that fact.”

”Am I?” Your gaze flits to your feet as they shift, his words settling in. He does sound genuine. You have to admit—you don’t get called that often, or at all as far as you remember.

”You are,” he insists, poking your cheek, brushing the tip of his finger along your skin. “You should really believe that a little more, you know? Being humble is so out these days.”

”Of course Satoru Gojo would say something like that,” you snark back with a roll of your eyes. “But that is sweet.”

”Well yeah, I’m Satoru fucking Gojo, and what I say is definitely law,” he retorts with a playful smile twitching on his lips again. 

“Weren’t we supposed to be doing something?” you remind him after a beat of silence, and Gojo hums in thought after he mulls over what you might have meant by that. 

“If you want, I could help you train today. Ijichi’s working with Itadori and Nanami right now with something…” he trails off, “Unless you’d rather do something fun instead, like I could show you some of my favorite places with all of the best sweets in the world!”

”I think we should train first, Sensei ,” you reply, “I’ve been slacking and I want to make sure I can make my veils actually last long enough.”

”Oh for fuck’s sake, I told you—I’m not your Sensei at least.”

”Uh huh,” you quip, “But you know what, you’re right, you’re not my Sensei because people might assume you’re trying to fraternize with a student because you just admitted you think I’m pretty.”

”Or I was just merely making an obvious statement,” he insists, “You just happen to have a hard time believing that you are with the way you carry yourself. Easy to tell when someone doesn’t know who they are or what they want, you know?” 

“Oh, and I suppose then that means you’re an expert at that kind of thing?” you probe while batting your eyelashes. 

Gojo nods, “Of course! That’s my whole role in society after all.” 

 “Is it?” You scoot in closer to him, ignoring the way your heart is racing beneath your breasts as your nose barely brushes against his. His Infinity is down with you, and his skin does feel so soft just from that. “Then enlighten me, Gojo. Is this going to help me perfect my cursed technique if I have a better sense of identity or of my desires in life?” 

“Well yeah,” Gojo starts, but you do catch him faltering slightly, likely from the sudden proximity. “I mean, knowing who you are and what sets you off is a major key in harnessing your cursed energy. I mean, cursed energy is all about keeping your emotions in check. Cursed energy is primarily negative energy so learning how to channel that energy into something against a spirit is important. And you know, low self esteem counts as negativity and that can cause curses to spawn. I mean, didn’t you hear about Okkatsu and how he cursed a normal girl because he didn’t want her to die? Curses can come from both sorcerers and non sorcerers. Until Okkatsu, all we knew was that curse spirits are often a manifestation of non sorcerer cursed energy…”

You nod along as he rambles on. “Uh huh. So how does someone go about managing their negative feelings then?”

“Well, I remember helping Itadori out by having him watch a bunch of terribly boring or annoying movies,” he explains as taps his finger against his chin. “We could do that but I think you need something a little more advanced than that. Like I mean you already seem to have a good handle on your emotions since you’re spending all of this time with me and you seem more charmed than irked by my presence.”

”Why would I be irked by your presence?” you interject, “I didn’t give off that vibe to you, did I?” 

“I may be the world’s strongest sorcerer but that doesn’t earn me brownie points in popularity,” he admits, but he’s acting like it doesn’t affect him when it likely definitely does. “Even Megumi gets easily ticked off at me and I’m raising the kid.” 

You huff at that. “I mean, you know what they say, Gojo. You could be the juiciest peach, and there’ll still be someone who doesn’t like peaches. So who cares!” 

”And Megumi definitely doesn’t like peaches,” he snorts with a shake of his head.

”Oh, please. Don’t say that!” you retort with a playful shove to his shoulder. “He adores you. Kind of like how he behaves like he’s annoyed by Itadori all the time but he didn’t want him to die for a reason.”

“A fair point, m’lady.” 

“First Princess, and now m’lady?” you tease, “Come on, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Alright, alright!” Gojo surrenders while clasping his hands together.  “Okay, so are we training or what?”

“Of course,” you reply, “Just tell me where we can start and then as a reward for staying consistent, we can go grab all of those sweets you keep talking to me about, because now I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Gojo laughs, “Deal.”

It’s not outright obvious to anyone or even you at first, but Gojo has been tagging along with you wherever you went like an over excited little puppy dog. He behaves more like your guard dog in much more public areas though. You don’t mind his constant shadow at first, thinking it as a nice refreshing change of pace after spending most of your time in solitude. It can either be comforting or it can be suffocating. But you don’t find Gojo suffocating, not like how everyone else seems to. 

And maybe he has taken that to heart, which is another thing about him you don’t find yourself minding. Clearly, he just hasn’t been used to someone actually actively wanting to be around him after who knows how long since you waltzed into Satoru Gojo’s world and maybe a part of you finds it flattering that he enjoys your company so much. 

“Hey,” Gojo stops you while you’re strolling side by side down a street with many jewelry, makeup, or designer clothing stores down the strip. “Didn’t you say you needed to restock on some makeup?”

A record breaks in your mind. Say what now? He actually listens to your mindless ramblings? Why are you so shocked every time someone pays attention to you, especially someone as esteemed as Satoru Gojo? Moreover, why are you still gawking at him like he’s just sprouted three extra heads? 

You blink once at him. Then twice. You glance up at the store he’s stopped you for and your breath hitches. A Sephora, huh? Is he sure about this? What is he even thinking about, splurging so much money on you like it’s not a big deal to him? Your eyes scan the rows upon rows of various brands you have only watched Youtube influencers review and can only dream of owning yourself. The Dior row is especially calling out to you like a siren in the Dead Sea. 

This is so dangerous… you pout, gaze flitting between Gojo and the entrance to the store. Your gaze lingers on the Dior aisle once more. You long for some of those lip oils. Or their blushes even if a lot of influencers have admitted they suck for their price points… 

“Yeah, but…” you trail off, frowning as you peek through the windows, fearing for the total costs if you actually do follow up on his offer. “Their stuff is usually out of my budget.”

A brief silence stretches over the two of you. You’re about to turn but he stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you glance up at him through your lashes. 

“Don’t sweat it. I got it,” he offers with a small smirk, pushing the door open for you and your feet stop you just short of entering the store. 

“Seriously,”—he places an arm on your shoulder—“I got it.”

“I can’t pay you back,” you reply, biting on your lip. 

“You don’t have to. Come on,” he declares as he grabs your wrist, yanking you inside. The dozens of stares falling on the two of you make your heart flutter but it’s probably not you they’re really paying attention to. In fact you’re absolutely positive it’s probably because of Gojo. He’s a show stopper in a lot of ways. Maybe they’re gawking at how tall or handsome he is, how shock snow white his hair is. Wondering what shade his eyes are beneath his blindfold that he wears all the time. 

Wondering what he’s doing with a puny little thing like you in a cosmetics store. Maybe they’re all wondering if you’re a couple and he’s just your sweet patient boyfriend humoring your love for cosmetics. 

As if you can ever be with someone as untouchable as Satoru Gojo. You can only dream of being with someone like him, someone so otherworldly and ethereal and practically regarded as some kind of Messiah. 

Gojo stands close to you, and you observe him. It’s hard to figure out what anyone’s thinking without seeing their eyes. You wonder how his Six Eyes must be unbearable for him a lot of the time that he has to wear a blindfold. 

As if he senses you staring, he peels his blindfold back and hums as if lost in thought. 

“I think you talked about loving lipstick the most, right? What brand do you like to wear? Gucci? YSL?” he inquires idly while lifting his blindfold; he scans the aisles before walking toward one of the more expensive luxury brands you can never hope to afford a first time around already. You grab his elbow and stop him in place, and he peers down at you, those blue eyes appearing to admit a kind of glow. 

“I can’t afford to wear any of those!” you protest, flabbergasted, “Can we just stick to the mid-range priced items? You really don’t have to buy me anything!”

“You can now! So name the brand and we’ll look at it, yeah?” he retaliates with a goofy grin that is convincing enough to let him win you entirely over. This is not something you can easily accept from anyone! Not even him! Especially not him! It feels all kinds of wrong to you if you can’t return the favor in any way and you know you can’t. He knows you can’t either and he’s doing this anyway all because he wants to. There is no hint of obligation or feeling like he has to repay you for spending so much time with him.

You almost want to shrivel up and die in that very moment, but he’s being kind of pushy and you don’t really know why. It’s not like you can’t go get makeup at some affordable drugstore, and he can just pay for those, something you can easily return the favor for with enough time. 

You’re not all that picky. And you know one taste of luxury is going to have you hooked for life . There’s no going back. 

Although, like you have been fantasizing about already, you have been dying for anything from Tom Ford or YSL or Dior… 

You drag out a sigh as you weigh out your options. 

“You’re not going to let me get out of here until I let you buy me things, aren’t you?” you inquire in a flat tone. 

Gojo’s still grinning ridiculously and you kind of hate how cute he looks getting all giddy at the prospect of spoiling a friend just because. 

“Now you’re getting it! So seriously, what are we feeling?” he asks again, that stupid grin of his unmoving. 

Yet you find it more endearing than annoying like everyone else seems to… 

“Slow down,” you reply. He relaxes his grip on your wrist and you release it. You don’t miss that unreadable expression flashing in a nanosecond. “There have been some shades I’ve been needing. But we are not going overboard here. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers almost robotically with a mock salute. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

You lead him to one of the Dior aisles where a classic red lip shade catches your eye. You have two defaults, and you don’t need too much makeup: a flattering red lip for an occasion and a flattering nude shade for everyday is really all you’re going to need in this department. Then you know you need the rest—new foundation, new concealer, mascara, etc. etc. 

And since Gojo is being so pushy you may as well take advantage of the opportunity. Even if does feel all kinds of wrong in your soul you know he’s not letting you get off that easily. So you decide to reframe it this way: you’re really only allowing this because Gojo’s resolve about this isn’t going to budge. 

“Oh! This shade is gorgeous,” you muse out loud as you pry one of the tester red lipsticks and grab one of the free lip applicators to test the color on your lips. You glance around for a mirror and find one just down the aisle, pouting your lips into it as you assess the shade you chose. You hum in thought. 

Then you turn to Gojo, who’s keeping a fair distance but watching your every move. 

“Do you like it?” you inquire, pointing to the shade painting your lips.

“It’s nice,” he replies, “Totally evens out, um, your complexion!”

You giggle into your hand. He’s trying , which is better than most men who have ever walked into your life. Most of them think makeup is fake or stupid or pointless or just plain lying. Then in the same breath claim they like a natural girl but most of them don’t understand what a natural girl looks like. 

Gojo seems a smidge less ignorant about that kind of thing though. Just a smidge. 

“C’mere,” you declare as you gesture with a come hither motion. He obliges, and you have to prop yourself up on your tippy toes just to reach his cheek, where you smack your lips against. A bold move, perhaps, but he deserves it for all of this generosity he apparently isn’t known for at all amongst his colleagues. 

“How ‘bout now?” you ask with a sultry purr, fluttering your lashes. Which both definitely feel naked. You love mascara. They definitely need a good mascara… something both lengthening and volumizing, perhaps? You haven’t been exploring much in that regard…  

“It’s perfect ,” he purrs smoothly, not skipping a beat. He doesn’t even bother wiping off the stain and it’s not like you two are an item or something. You just want to give something back. “Aren’t you going to try more shades?”

You deflate, flushing a little at that as you twiddle your fingers. Oh, he sounds a little too interested now. Should you back off? 

You pull back. Absently you run your tongue around your teeth as you eye your reflection. Oh wow, this shade kind of makes your teeth look way whiter so you’re definitely snagging it. This really is so dangerous and it’s not fair hat Gojo is making you go through with committing such a sin. Grabbing a basket and tossing the tube of lipstick into it while swiping a makeup remover wipe from a nearby dispenser and cleaning the color off. Gojo snags the basket out of your hands. 

“Hey!” you protest again with another pout of your lips. There’s some blotches of leftover lipstick you missed but Gojo can’t help but find it cute. Almost a complete idea of what those pretty lips of yours might look like when he’s the one kissing the color off and not some damn makeup remover. 

“I got it,” he insists, keeping the shopping basket just out of your reach. “You enjoy more shopping, alright?”

Your eyes begin to twinkle and you don’t notice that Gojo’s heart must have skipped a beat in that moment. 

“Can we window shop at the designer stores here too?” you beg him eagerly, eyes sparkling like a child winning a plush toy in a claw machine.

“Yeah,” he breathes in reply, composing himself. “Anything.”

You’re not paying attention to him now as you’re already sprinting to check out the mascaras you’ve seen online and can only dream of owning yourself. This is already more power you can ever hope to have!

You snag the one you hear is best for your kind of lashes. 

But you find yourself scattering around all of the aisles but don’t buy that many things out of common decency. Even if someone like Gojo comes from a lot of money, it isn’t right. You just can’t help it though. He’s given you a taste already and you wish you could buy with your own money but that’s not a reality for you. You are going to allow yourself to indulge just this one time and then never again. As nice of a gesture it is from Gojo, you have not been raised a leech, and you’re not going to take advantage of someone’s generosity like that. So you give yourself an item limit but that doesn’t stop you from trying all of the samples of makeup and swatching the colors, asking for Gojo’s opinions and he tries to seem interested which is the nicest thing he could do for you.

All while you’re browsing, Gojo hangs back just to observe you. Admiring how lost you get in such a simple hobby to him and probably to everyone else. 

You just don’t realize how much he is truly paying attention to you. How much he wants to know more and more about you. Your likes. Your dislikes. What makes your eyes keep shining like that like they are here. 

Snapping discrete photos of the things you eye with longing but don’t toss into the basket for future reference. 

You test another lipstick shade in another brand aisle, then test it on Gojo’s cheek like you did before. A classic nude shade is something every girl needs, you tell him, and that’s all for the lipsticks. 

Once you grab all of your essentials you don’t even dare to so much glance at the receipt and neither does Gojo. Tossing it into the trash as soon as you both walk out. 

“So you don’t try to return anything out of guilt,” he explains with a little wink. “So, you still want to check out those designer stores?”

“Yes! Can we go to Chanel?” You clasp your hands together, doing your best to contain the fact that you may be a little too excited.

“Of course,” Gojo replies easily once again, “Anything.”

“I’m not buying anything! I just want to look,” you remind him as your hands rest on your hips, chin slightly raised. “You got me enough.”

You gesture to the bag he’s clutching with that huge hand of his, you can’t help but point out to yourself. And dang, you never have noticed before how long his fingers actually are… 

He follows your gaze, before glancing back at you and you catch onto what is a bit of a judgy stare in that he’s such a fucking nepo baby way. 

“There’s not even 10 items in here!” he argues with a fret. 

“Yeah but you forget my budget isn’t usually made for these items. You got me enough. Way more than enough,” you assure him, “Trust me. Let it go, Gojo. I let you buy me stuff already.”

“Fine, fine, waving the little white flag,” he quips while wagging a finger. “Now come on, we still have a whole day since that mission was cut short for us and the students.” 

“Alright, alright. Bossy,” you tease while flashing him a little smile and then planting another kiss on his cheek. Where this time he leans in completely prepared for. “Thank you, Gojo. You really didn’t have to. But this isn’t happening again.”

“Fine,” he relents, sagging his shoulders; he’s saying so to your face at least. You don’t know what he’s plotting behind that blindfold. But you choose to take his words at face value to spare him some dignity. 

You beam at him again, grabbing his free hand and leading him to the closest designer store. The same cycle continues. Your eyes twinkle like brilliant little galaxies upon the endless choices but you know you can’t really have them and you emphasized to Gojo again as you waltzed into the store together that you won’t let him buy anything more for you. 

But you still let yourself loose! Putting on a little fashion show for him. You grab an item you wish you could have for yourself. This piece feels vintage and soft, delicately crafted and sophisticated like everything else in these stores. You strike a few poses in front of a tall mirror and Gojo just watches idly on the sidelines as you enjoy yourself. Sometimes still capturing little snippets of you unguarded and you haven’t the slightest clue as you’re living out what you can only define as your dream life. These might make beautiful candids in his office or somewhere more private in his estate, but you have no idea he’s thinking that right then. You’re too busy having the time of your life. Grinning madly like you’re alight and carefree and you look absolutely stunning. 

And you don’t know that it’s absolutely killing him . It’s maddening, how well you flaunt yourself like this, like you’re dangling yourself in front of him, all his for the taking. 

You don’t know how he wants to bend you over and blow your back out in the middle of this fucking store, in the middle of the mall, in the back parking lot, or the parking deck. Anywhere. Everywhere. But you’re not his yet, but you’re dangling yourself in front of him like a tempting sin and he can’t take it. 

Not his mind, his body, his heart, his soul, and definitely not his aching cock straining through his boxers. 

It doesn’t seem like you notice either as you stride up to him, stars in your eyes as you show him another bag before putting it back. 

“Are we going to the other stores? Are you getting bored?” you ask, looking very much like you’re bouncing off the walls. Much like him when he’s consumed way too much sugar. 

“Of course. Anything,” he replies immediately repeating the same damn line but not before glancing away. “I have to take a quick trip to the washroom first. Do you want to grab a bite to eat too?”

You nod, following him out. You take the bag he was holding and wait for him by the restrooms. 

Thank God, you’re out of his line of sight for the moment. And the stalls are empty. Doubly thank God . No one has to watch someone as esteemed as Satoru Goio (not that the mortal world would know anything at all about someone like him) fist a few just because he can’t control himself. What is he, some kind of hormonal schoolboy? What the fuck! He’s got more class than this! 

Resorting to something like this… 

It’s unbecoming. So very unbecoming of a man known to be the strongest in this physical and metaphysical world. 

He can be quiet about all of this, even still. He just… 

He just needs to take care of this before he loses his fucking mind and takes you for himself. 

(Maybe he might have already been plotting how to do that. To shield you from a world who only looks at you one way and no other way.)

On some occasions, Shoko joins you and Gojo when he wants a little company. Shoko has said before that she considers him dear even if she playfully declares he’s trash like any other man. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t make time for him, though. Especially when there’s alcohol involved and she doesn’t have to worry about paying those ridiculously expensive tabs. 

You have gotten used to going out with them on work nights (which is honestly every night with Gojo, at least), and you have come to realize his expectations each time. This time you have gotten some pointers on how to make yourself a bit more put together with these transitions from Shoko and you can’t be more grateful. You haven’t delved into the world of beauty all that much before this, mostly because you’ve had no reason to and you only stuck to the bare basics, but now you have a bit more of a social life than you once had. 

And maybe you want to catch Gojo’s eye in another way and not just in terms of your potential as a sorcerer. 

You glance over your shoulder, frowning as you take note that Gojo has yet to pop out into the front schoolyard where you planned to meet together before driving off. The nighttime air is crisp but a bit nippy; you’re scrunching your nose each time you feel a feathery light gust of wind tickle your face, and the thick layer of foundation you beat all over your face to death with a beauty sponge isn’t doing you many favors in the world of uncomfortable sensory feelings. A part of you wants to claw your face off because you’re not used to full glam looks, even if this is a softer glam look. You prefer the light every day getup, ‘no makeup makeup’ or whatever these trendy girls call it, you wish you were as cool and trendy as they are but you feel like you fall behind on what’s cool all the time. 

You twist back around while admiring Shoko with stars in your eyes. God, you have so much inner work to do yourself! She seems to know everything about how to bring out your best self and she embodies an absolute goddess in your eyes. She’s an ethereal presence. Her chestnut brown hair flowing down to her buttocks, her slim figure and her heart shaped face are all downright enviable. She can have anyone she wants, and she probably knows it too. 

Man, what you’d give for confidence like hers. Gojo does have a point from before–a negative self image is no good and can interfere with your progress as a sorcerer yourself. Even if you’re not all that interested in power scaling, you still want to be able to protect the students and yourself when the situation calls for it. 

Shoko calls your name, and you snap back to reality, blinking owlishly as she lights herself another cigarette to burn through–how many of those has she had in one day already? Is she one of those types to smoke entire packs within a night or a whole 24 hours? It’s not like they’re actually going to kill her or anything from what you understand about reverse cursed technique, but that doesn’t mean destroying your body over and over just for the shits and giggles. 

“Why do you go hang out with Gojo without another thought?” Shoko asks you out of the blue as you grow increasingly impatient waiting for Gojo to get here–he’s probably working on wrapping up some things for future missions this week or something–and you purse your lips as you shrug off her question. 

“Everyone needs a friend,” you decide is your simple response. Shoko stares blankly at you but you remain firm in your answer. You don’t believe it needs any further elaboration. And technically, it really shouldn’t. You’re just not that kind of girl. The kind to just take advantage of someone just because you can get away with it. There’s nothing “in it” for you at all. Stripping away all of your layers, you’re truly just a simple girl at your core. 

But for some reason, Shoko doesn’t buy that answer right away. 

“Really? Are you absolutely sure about that? Is there something in it for you?” she prods, and of course you’re right on the money of her being unsure, but her tone isn’t accusatory or anything—she’s just trying to seek an understanding of your motives and truthfully you have none. Nothing outright malicious or self-motivating, anyway, like she likely suspects. “Don’t get me wrong. Satoru’s a dear friend of mine but he usually bribes me with drinks or the nicer cigarettes when I’m not particularly interested in doing something with him involved.”

“No,” you declare, once again, with full confidence, swiping a pocket mirror from your clutch and pouting your lips, touching up on your lipstick which has already smudged off a bit. It’s a nude shade that complements your features; you’re still a student when it comes to these things but the tips Shoko has offered you for a more “office appropriate” look has helped plenty. Besides, Gojo has bought you all of those nice luxury brands that are typically so out of your budget; why not put them to daily use like you should so they don’t go to waste and expire because you’re too afraid to use such nice things? 

You recall all of those suggestions of hers—a medium-buildable coverage skin tint, a natural, luminary blush, two mascaras that separate, lengthen, thicken, and hold your curls without getting too clumpy or smudge throughout the day. All put together with a soft glam eye shadow look. It’s perfect. The girl’s a fucking genius at this stuff. 

“Then why?” Shoko prods again, a little too insistently. You wonder why the fuss. Just like she must wonder why the fuss! Is Gojo that bad of a person to be around because you genuinely haven’t gotten that vibe? If anything else, he’s become a comfort to you. You have been kind of used to being alone too. It doesn’t feel as sad as it sounds, not like how it must feel for Gojo. 

You try not to seem a little dejected by the fact that Shoko is suspicious of you. It’s not like she knows you well, though… 

“Because it’s like I just said, everyone needs a friend! The kind of friend who doesn’t want anything from them in return, or at least doesn’t expect it,” you continue to her after stashing the tube of lipstick and pocket mirror back into the Chanel clutch you still are absolutely positive Gojo sent you after your last outing together. “He just, I don’t know. He seems kind of… I don’t know. Alone. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“We hardly have the time for our own struggles,” Shoko remarks, turning away with a wistful expression. “Why do you think I smoke so much?”

“Maybe that’s the problem with all of you guys,” you point out, not meaning to try to read people to filth here or anything like that as you’re fluffing your hair a little bit. You’re just starting to see a pattern. Ugh, these fucking flyaways! How does Shoko’s hair always look so perfect even in these conditions? That’s something else to ask advice about from her later… “You guys are too caught up in your own lives to notice what’s going on right in front of you. I’m not saying that to call anyone out; it’s just the way everyone’s wired, anyway. Human nature and stuff. We are too busy worrying about ourselves to worry about everyone else all the time. if we did that then we can’t live our damned lives, and that just can’t do. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to remind the people in your life that you care about them.”

Shoko frowns in response to that, burning through her current cigarette which is already halfway gone. Bits of ashes drop unceremoniously to the ground as she puffs out some smoke, mulling over your words, and something flashes in her eyes, like she’s flipping channels of so many memories in her mind but for some reason you doubt it involves Gojo and probably some other people she considers close to her.

“That’s a fair point, I guess,” she grunts, her eyes flashing again with something–something like grief or regret ? Over what? Do you pry or just keep it to yourself? 

“Is there something I’m missing about Gojo?” you finally demand of her, your tone thick with curiosity as ever like you’re trying to debug some kind of code. “You guys all keep rambling on about how he’s this peculiar character and yeah, I’m not denying it but what sorcerer isn’t a little crazy? Don’t you have to be in a profession like this, one where the majority of the population would write off as utter hocus pocus?” 

Shoko processes more of your rapid fire questions before shrugging, taking another shot at her cancer stick between her fingers which is nearly gone now. She burns through those like Gojo burns through all those sugary foods he ingests practically every second of every day.

“Spend more time with him and find out,” Shoko answers, probably more flippantly than she intends to sound, flicking more ash off of her cigarette as a wry smile plays on those juicily glossed lips of hers. You almost want to pout at how she seems to have everything figured out for herself–from the way she carries herself to the way she shows up for herself too. Dark sultry eye makeup with a flawless makeup base and when she decks herself out, she decks herself out . You can’t recognize her sometimes outside of work when she’s having too much fun cutting up dead bodies and putting together autopsies or beautifying dead bodies or whatever else she does as a healer  “It’s never a dull moment. Love the guy to death, but even I have my limits with him.”

“No one is easy to be around,” you admonish with a sigh. “Not even me. I know my shortcomings or at least the ones I’ve been made aware of thus far. With that kind of logic, you won’t have anyone around you.”

“That’s…also a fair point,” Shoko acknowledges with a nod, more bits of ashes dropping to the concrete below. “I guess I might have some reflecting to do. But you know, I have noticed Gojo becoming a little more relaxed these days. You’re probably why.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggle, hinting at a bit of uncertainty. “I’m just little old me.”

“And that might be someone Gojo needs,” she adds with a little wink, before her gaze flits to your purse. “You still haven’t made a guess on who’s been sending you these expensive gifts? Who else do you know likes to spend money without any regard for how much it is?”

You follow her gaze to the purse before shaking your head in response. 

“Well of course I know it’s Gojo,” you admit bashfully as you ponder her other words. Gojo is a perfectly capable man who doesn’t rely on anyone. Surely he doesn’t need someone like you around, right? “No one else around here is made of money like he is. And I doubt someone like Gojo needs someone like me.”

“How can you be so sure?” she teases in a singsong tone. “I’m just saying—he clearly doesn’t hide the fact, either.”

You don’t really know how to respond or react to that. You aren’t going to deny it, not really. Gojo has been a lot more attentive with you than anyone else, and he’s known Shoko since they went to high school right here at Jujutsu Tech together. She has to know so much more about him than even she cares to know about Satoru Gojo and maybe there’s a part of you that wants to badger her for all of the information she might have on him for… reasons .

Hm. Maybe there is something in it for you, but you expect absolutely nothing regardless. You don’t want to be like those people who try to be someone’s friend just to get with them. That’s not really being someone’s friend. That’s being a total weirdo and no one wants to be that guy.

“I should say I also commend you for a character like yours,” Shoko admits after a moment of reflection–maybe she does have to check in with herself too more than you realize. There must be a lot she’s hiding from everyone too. “We don’t see authenticity like that around here these days so it’s probably a breath of fresh air for Satoru too.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are, Miss Ie—I mean, Shoko,” you stammer as a blush rushes to your cheeks. 

“I’m not insinuating anything,” she teases, pinching your cheek. “But it has been a while since Satoru has acted like this. Not since…” She holds off on finishing that thought, which again piques your interest but you don’t poke and prod the bear with the stick, and instead she settles with: “Yeah, not since a while.”

Your forehead wrinkles a bit as you ponder her words. 

Now you’re only left in the dark much more than you already have been in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. You are still a fledgling yourself, yet right off the bat Gojo determines you should be bumped up to grade 2. Not only that but you learn that Satoru Gojo is something like a quasi-religious figure around here, possessing both the Limitless and Six Eyes cursed techniques which hasn’t been a thing for centuries, apparently. He’s the strongest special grade out there to exist, but he has admitted to you and to the higher ups that there are going to be many who surpass the special grade rank and by extension may surpass him. He expects that of Itadori, Fushiguro, and Okkatsu, in particular, but he hopes for that for the future generations as a whole. 

Still, these don’t really fill in many blanks for you. You don’t understand why everyone’s got their reservations over Gojo; if anything, he’s so arrogant and haughty because he can back up his claims and that must grind everyone’s gears. To a certain extent you can understand the frustration everyone has with him, but that can’t be all there is to it. Then again, you have only been on Jujutsu Tech grounds for what, five months or something like that now, tops? You still have so much to see in how he interacts with the others. Other superiors, other colleagues, but with his students, they seem to enjoy his company… (well, at least Itadori seems to; the second years have a few choice words on how to describe him.)

“Did I leave you ladies waiting?” you hear a voice call out to the two of you. 

Your head snaps up to find Gojo carrying dozens of bags hooked around all of his slender fingers. You can’t help but giggle at the sight because it reminds you of the times you did the same thing to spare you another trip to the trunk with all of your purchases. 

“What’s all this?” you question with a smile. Gojo pauses before answering, as if a little taken aback by a change in you. Probably he’s noticed you put a little more effort to look more business appropriate, actually with a full face of (hopefully passable) makeup… 

“You look lovely, I-I mean, as always, of course,” he coughs before he sets all of the bags aside. “And ah, I just tend to splurge a little. Stuff for the school, stuff for the students, stuff for me…” 

“That’s sweet of you,” you comment before you cradle the Chanel clutch in both your hands and present it to him. “So does this mean you actually are the one responsible for this?”

Gojo’s face falls for a split second before bouncing back. “Did you not like the color choice? I still have the receipt and I can change it o—!”

—You raise your hand to cut him off. 

“I only started using these because I have no idea if I should return these to you, but now I do,” you interject with a little chuckle. “If this is your way to thank me for hanging out with you all of those times, I don’t need an incentive for it, Gojo. I’m happy to hang out with you because we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Gojo beams at that. “Of course we are! Just, you know! Don’t worry about the gifts. Use ‘em or don’t—I just like giving gifts, and um, you deserve them, and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Shoko quips, shooting Gojo a look with a little wraggle of those perfectly groomed eyebrows of hers. Gods you’re so jealous of her effortless beauty. “Real suave, Satoru.”

“Like you know how to charm a girl’s pants off,” Satoru shoots back. 

“I think we know who gets more pussy between the two of us,” Shoko deadpans.

You can’t help snorting at that. Why do people find this guy so off-putting? It honestly seems like he tries really hard to bring some light into the situation since life as a sorcerer is far from peaceful. If he finds you refreshing, then you find his character just as refreshing right back. 

“Girl, yes, show ‘em,” you cackle into your hand. Shoko grins at your words of encouragement and Gojo’s posture slumps at that. 

“No more expensive alcohol for you,” he huffs like an insolent toddler, folding his arms over his chest. Shoko doesn’t seem all that bothered, shrugging him off. 

“I’ve been meaning to swear off that stuff anyway.” At some point between all of the silly banter she’s tossed the butt of her cigarette away and admits that she’s finished another pack. 

“God, you really have to nip that nasty habit in the bud,” Gojo suggests with a sly little grin and a cock of his head. Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“Cry me a river. We all have our thing. Mine’s smoking. Yours is sweets. One step at a time or whatever,” she answers, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Are you two ready to go?”

“Where do you plan to keep all of those bags?” you query, and Gojo’s eyebrows flash. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies after considering your question. “Let me do that real quick, actually.”

Gojo strolls off with those items and returns just moments later with a thumbs up. Shoko has a look on her face that you almost want to call her out on but you decide to hold your tongue for the time being. You tap your foot on the earth beneath you as Gojo shuffles back to the two of you after storing away all of those various ‘goods’ he’s stocked up on that you can’t help but be a little curious about. Gojo tosses you a little grin and you find yourself grinning back, and as soon as that happens you can feel Shoko’s scrutiny seep deeper and deeper into your soul and you are absolutely tempted to call her out on it until Gojo speaks up.

“Okay, now I’m ready to go!” Gojo announces, his gaze fixing on you, which Shoko definitely takes into account as she’s still assessing you with that fucking look in her eyes that says ‘ nothing in it for you, huh? ’  “I was just kidding about the no expensive alcohol part, Shoko.”

“I figured,” Shoko chuckles, “Now stop eye fucking her and let’s go.”

You hide your face as it reddens an even darker shade, if that’s even possible at thai point.

“I-I was not!” Gojo blubbers and Shoko cackles back at his face as his posture slumps a bit again. Even if you're suppressing the urge to bust up laughing at his reaction, mostly because you do not expect it, acting like he’s been caught red handed doing something completely unforgivable. 

“Uh-huh,” Shoko scoffs as she saunters off with the two of you following close behind her. 

You catch Gojo sneaking a few glances at you. You don’t seem to mind that at all and are actually feeling your heart soar to the heavens. But you notice something else. Him inching a pinky toward yours. You try to bite back a little hint of a grin but fail, so you initiate, curling yours around his and you can hear the faintest sound of a contented sigh escape his lips. 

Shoko’s back is still to the both of you, her hips flouncing as she walks like she has no care for the world what the two of you do. You hope you’re not giving her the impression that she’s the third wheel because it’s not like the two of you are together or anything like that. As far as you know. You have already written off the possibility of you and Gojo ever being a thing. He’s so far out of your reach but he seems happy being all touchy with you like he is your boyfriend and for some reason you don’t have an issue with that. 

Well of course you don’t have an issue with that. This is the closest you’re ever going to get, and that’s perfectly all fine and good with you. Besides, you have reminded yourself that you’re not in it for yourself. Gojo is happy to have found some kind of comfort in you, and that’s your goal. 

“Sheesh, Shoko’s too eager to get absolutely shitfaced on all that beer,” Gojo leans in and whispers into your ear. “But she has the strongest alcohol tolerance I have ever seen. Reverse cursed technique is pretty dang awesome once you get the hang of it, but it’s easier said than done. Took me forever to figure out how to use it.”

”Are you gossiping about me back there, Satoru?” Shoko accuses as she tosses her head over her shoulder. 

“No ma’am,” he vows, “Just giving her the 411 on your drinking abilities.”

”So you’re admitting to gossiping, you useless shitstain,” Shoko snorts but she doesn’t seem to take it that seriously. You still aren’t sure what the dynamic is between them, but they do seem closer than everyone else here. 

“Oops!” Gojo hollers back at her with a little snicker. “Keep walking those thick ass fucking thighs of yours so we can get to our ride, pissface.”

”Oh, that’s a new one! And you wish you had these thighs, fuckface!” Shoko shouts with her tone laced in sarcasm as they approach the parking deck. She refuses to allow Gojo to ‘warp’ them everywhere. You have yet to experience what that’s like. Having cursed techniques like Gojo’s must come with so many perks like getting to mimic flying and shit. You still are not sure what you can do with your techniques.

Now you’re practically in stitches at their exchanges. They’re riots around each other. Shoko’s not kidding about there never being a dull moment, but why does she say so with it laced with some negative connotations? There must be something you’re missing in this picture but you’re not putting two and two together. All you know is that you enjoy Gojo’s company and Gojo enjoys your company just as much, and just because everyone else keeps their distance doesn’t mean that you have to because you don’t find Gojo burdensome like everyone around you seems to. Maybe there’s something there, something where you have yet to scratch the surface and unravel, but who the hell knows? 

As you follow Shoko, you don’t miss Gojo’s hand grazing your pinky now dropping to rest on the small of your back. You peer up at him with curiosity twinkling in your stare; what’s going on in his mind? Why’s he–? Suddenly that sharp prickle of goosebumps scatter across your arms as you catch onto some men staring you down around the block. 

Your eyes flit to different areas of the street ahead once you exit Jujutsu Tech grounds; is he trying to make a statement, or something? 

“Gojo?” you mutter, as you attempt to shy away from his touch. “No one’s going to try anything, you know?”

His mouth twitches as he glances down at you, slipping his hand away and allowing it to fall back to its side. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, “You never know with men , you know? You can trust me on that one.”

Should you have paid closer attention you may have caught onto the fact that he might be calling himself out there. But you shrug off his behavior as you finally approach where Shoko parked her sedan in one of the parking garages, but Gojo’s still on high alert, scouting any potential threats like you’re easy prey or something.

You just give him one final curious glance before hopping into the backseat, Gojo deciding to join you back there. Shoko starts her car and pulls out of the parking area, not before making some quip to Gojo about something you have no context over, and neither bother to fill you in on the topic. It’s probably not something that concerns you anyway; you’re going to focus on a night out with your friends.

And they are your friends. You’re glad Shoko considers you as one, and that Gojo thinks of you as one. Even if it is still way too intimate to call him Satoru for some reason no matter how much he insists you absolutely can call him that. You really are adjusting to life here a little better than you think, and while the progress may be gradual, you have a feeling it’s just going to get better for you from here.

[starweaversguidetothehazbinhotel]

More drabbles for the radioapple “Princess and the Frog AU”

Part of the reason I think Angel Dust NEEDS to play Ray, is specifically because of the scene where he is introduced…

THIS SCENE

Can you imagine?

Lucifer(Naveen) and Alastor(Tiana)- Horrified, tangled together in a murky swamp.

While Angel makes BDSM jokes?

Original post on Angel tagged below ⬇️

Inspo from @bookishcatcafe

[justmylvr]

lock and key.

band au!touya todoroki x gn reader.

a/n: I LOVE THIS !! DONTTRUSTME by 3OH!3 was a huge inspiration. it does get a little nsfw.

you were all too familiar with this area. the smell of sweat and weed filled your nose, bringing your already hazy mind to a place of nostalgia. you and touya broke up three weeks ago, he didn't say much about why though. so what better to do than to show up at his gig?

he would always come back to this place, the first time he ever got a real audience. that night was clear in your mind: the smudged eyeshadow under his eyes, the way his gaze always found its way back to you, how he sang a little louder during the more romantic songs. you two had matching necklaces: one decorated with a small key charm and the other a lock. you didn't have the strength to take it off yet, especially not after it had remained there for years.

you weaved through the crowds, your fingers reaching for the bar to find something stable. a sweet smile flashed at the bartender helped him remember exactly who you were so it made ordering easier. once you got your drink, gently swirling it with one of those neon pink straws. you finally made your way to the stage, or atleast infront of it. your fingers ran over the initials carved into the stage floor, jagged but done with love, as he intended. though you stepped back quickly, not trying to be entirely noticed immediately.

maybe fifteen minutes later, they all appeared on stage, touyas eyes searching the crowd. a small part of you hoped that maybe he was looking for you like he used to. he hadn't noticed you yet, talking to the crowd like he always did when everybody was getting comfortable. as he walked around the stage, paying attention to different areas of the crowd, you couldn't help but notice what he was wearing. not his clothing but he still had the necklace on, just like you did. the lock was obvious, small but obvious.

sometime through the show, he found his voice quiet when he sang the song he wrote for you. a sort of longing tinged his lyrics, his eyes looking through the crowd. as if everybody had moved away from you, singling you out, he found you. a small, genuine smile graced his face. it wasn't very noticeable behind a microphone but when you heard his voice get slightly louder, more confident, you knew.

the show ended after an hour and a half, people waiting outside with hopes of meeting the band. not you, though. he knew where you'd be. appearing at your side with an almost superhuman speed, your lips were caught in a kiss you couldn't deny. his hand held you gently despite his fingers digging into the plushness of your hips, desperate for you. the kiss was all too quick despite it being so heavy, he wasn't quick to let go of you though.

"you came, why?" he asked, his voice a little raspy from the singing.

"you know why. it's the same reason you're wearing this." you hummed. your finger gently pulling at the necklace he wore.

he chuckled, shaking his head. he placed his forehead against yours which you weren't entirely against, a quiet and content sigh coming from you both. one of his hands found the small of your back, his fingers gently running that spine tattoo he knew was there.

it was a quiet show that you two both wanted eachother terribly, that you needed eachother. with quiet whispers of 'i love you', you were happy.

a key isn't anything without it's lock, is it?

tags: @rueclfer

[bullet-prooflove]

For Sale: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not fine.

Closure - Gibbs supports you in the aftermath of the arrest.

Save Me San Francisco - Gibbs is forced to confront his feelings when you leave for San Franisco.

Eurydice - Your relationship with Gibbs come to a head when you ask him a question he doesn't know how to answer.

Gibbs still runs past your house, it’s a habit he got into when he first settled in the area, one he maintains in your absence. Your sabbatical was supposed to be over a month ago but you’d extended it according to Franks. Gibbs knows it’s because of him.

You haven’t spoken since your last phone, not since you asked him that question, the one that keeps him up at night.

Do you want me Jethro? Do you want me the way that I want you?

He’d frozen in the moment, not been able to give you an answer and you’d taken it as a rejection, cutting off contact completely. The only reason he even knows you’re alive is because Franks still gets postcards of the landmarks you’ve been visiting. He sticks them to the filing cabinet with tape and Gibbs spends the hours in between cases trying to ascertain where you plan to visit next.

He's just starting to break a sweat on his run when he sees the For Sale sign propped up on your lawn. It hits him like a gut punch because he knows what it means, you’ve run out of reasons to return home now Violet’s murder is resolved. He cuts his run short, heads into the office early hoping to catch Mike Franks before anyone comes in.

“I ran past Maeve’s this morning.” He says, dogging the other man’s footsteps up the corridor. “There’s a For Sale sign outside her house.”

 “Yea.” Franks says as he takes off his sunglasses, tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. “She asked me to help with sale, she’s been looking at some property in San Franciso.”

“So she’s staying?” Gibbs questions as Franks drops into his chair, shuffling through the night shift’s reports.

“Looks like it.”

Franks may as well have carved a hole in his chest, torn his heart out and stomped on it.

It’s later that afternoon he asks Franks if he can take some leave. He has a couple of weeks saved up and they don’t have anything on the docket so Franks agrees. He packs  his duffle bag, snatching up one of the postcards from the filing cabinet before mapping out his journey from the front seat of his pickup truck.

It takes him nine hours to get San Francisco. He pulls up outside of a small grey house, with white trimmings, a set of steps leading up to the porch. His heart thuds in his chest as he takes them two at a time. He doesn’t make it to the top because the front door is already opening and there you are, stepping out onto the wooden slats clad in a light, navy blue skater dress that falls mid-thigh. Your hair is loose, flowing like burnished copper across your features and for a moment it feels like he can’t breathe because you, you’re absolutely stunning.

“Gibbs.” You say surprised, tucking your keys inside your purse. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He says as he stops on the step below you. “You look… You look god damn beautiful.”

You’re almost the same height at this angle. The fabric of the dress you’re wearing swishes in the nighttime air, brushing against his clothing in a way that’s almost sensual. His hands coming to rest on your hips as he looks into your eyes, drinking in that pretty shade of cornflower blue.  

“I’m supposed to be going on a date.” You tell him and he shakes his head in response to your words because he didn’t come all this way to fall at the final hurdle.

“No Maeve.” He says, his voice thick with want. “We’re staying in tonight.”

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