#And wanted to be finished with at least the prologue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamiskentos · 6 months ago

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(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

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fluffykitteninabox · 2 years ago

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I'm doing it again btw

I started a new WIP

someone should smack me fr

#and not only that but I decided this WIP needs a sister prologue #because of course what better way to start a new long fic than to immediately start thinking about its spinoff one shots #I will give myself credit though #at least this time I have come up with some great titles #no more 'unnamed circus au' 'unnamed body swap au' or any of that shit #I need a fucking miracle if I ever want to finish any of the shit I've started #let's hope this will be the one #fanfic writing

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goatboard · 2 years ago

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finished the 6k 1st chapter of my stupid fucking au rewrite fic i am going to sleep for one thousand years

I LITERALLY CAN'T WRITE FOR SHIT WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF HHHH

#kitxt #not posting the fic until i have chapter 2 finished #and considering chapter 2 is going to have at least 3 parts #yay!#3 parts min btw it might end up with more because #but yeagh #chapter one has only one part for comparison #then i still want to wrtite an intermission for between chap 2 and 3 #because every chap has a prologue so i want an epilogue kinda thing too #yay #should i do an intermission for between chapter 1 and 2???#i have an idea kinda so i might do it #it's not gonna be long btw #1k words at MOST #because the idea is to do a [klamra kompozycyjna] with them #so #i cant explain it without telling y'all what the project is hhhhhh #im gonna be secretive as shit about it only two people know whats going to happen in it lmao

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la-patrona-magdalena · 9 days ago

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Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist (coming soon)

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You check the time on your phone, waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

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maysileeewrites · 2 months ago

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bittersweet symphony || series masterlist

Haymitch Abernathy x f!reader

“There might be another option, though”, he says hesitantly. “I don’t know whether it’ll work, and you’re sure as hell not going to like it, Princess.”

You sigh, trying to brace yourself for the worst. “Just tell me.”

He laughs dryly, avoiding your gaze. “Well, we could get - you could marry me.”

Or: Eleven years after the second Quarter Quell, Haymitch Abernathy’s life takes a sudden turn for the unexpected when your name is drawn in the Reaping.

After weathering through a less than ideal start, you slowly start to realize that there’s more to Haymitch than just the drunk, cynical recluse you’ve always known him to be. And though he’d never wanted it to happen, Haymitch starts to feel the walls he’d built to keep everyone away crumbling whenever he’s around you as well.

But the Capitol, and especially President Snow is always watching, and soon enough Haymitch finds himself faced with an impossible choice …

contents & t.w.: mentions of canon-typical violence; angst!!, arranged marriage; slow-burn with a sprinkle of enemies to lovers; age gap! (Haymitch is in his late twenties, Reader is 18 at the start of the story); mentions & discussions of alcoholism; mentions of trauma; eventual smut in later parts; lots and lots of pining and mutual notions of unrequited love; spoilers for SotR (we’ll be encountering many familiar faces throughout the story - also there will be some canon-divergence concerning Haymitch’s arc post-SotR)

AN: After finishing SotR, I just wanted to give Haymitch a big hug. And that’s kind of how this incredibly self-indulgent fic came to be.

I will try to do my best to honor his love for Lenore Dove in a way that doesn’t disregard his growing feelings for Reader. Yes, she’s is an incredibly important part of him and he’ll always love her, but he also deserves some happiness.

Also James Gaisford will forever be my og young Haymitch, so I used a pic of him for the moodboard, even though the Haymitch we’ll encounter here is over a decade older than QQ Haymitch.

key: 🦋 fluff || 🪷 angst || 💫 smut

Prologue 🪷🪷 || After being reaped for the 61st Hunger Games, you and your mentor Haymitch Abernathy are off to a rather rocky start … [5.1k]

Chapter 1 🪷🦋 || Surviving the Hunger Games was only the beginning. As you try to navigate through this strange, terrifying new life, you find comfort in someone you least expected it from, but new threats are already rising … [4.7k]

Chapter 2 🪷🪷🦋 || After your interview with Caesar, Haymitch starts to distance himself from you. What will it take for him to let you in again? [5.3k]

taglist: @sundawn1990 @star611 @psychicfartvendor @madz22 @pervigilatrix @bemissconstrued @neonawax @not-the-teen-witch @luvlyluxx @cocastyle @mannythemunchkin @alitaar @juiceboxfullofslime @imonmyvigilanteshh @queenofnightdreamland @chenellearose @bluecookies08 @laramcflyyyy @nikki-is-a-nerd @jaybbygrl @face-the-grace-blog @knights-of-ni @mel3484 @heidiland05 @qtkarma @things-i-will-never-say-to-you @nyra-42 @eatmyheartdear @jarofshells @fanfiction-she-wrote @dreamer0903 @bfintaks @marissa8208

#haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x you #haymitch x y/n #haymitch imagine #haymitch abernathy x y/n #thg sotr #sotr #sunrise on the reaping #thg #the hunger games #sotr spoilers #sotr book #thg x reader #x reader #bittersweet symphony 🎼#maysileeewrites

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vrystalius · 8 months ago

Note

May I request Hashira's reacting too waking up in the middle of the night with their (pre relationship) crush pressed up against them. Like not fully cuddling just subconsciously seeking them out for warmth separate bedrolls be damned (I've personally resorted to sleep walking to steal another person's body heat so no where is safe lmao)

I love all your work btw ✨✨✨

Sleepwalking into the hashira’s futon for warmth

It’s cold and you crave warmth. Where is a better place to sleepwalk into than into the futon of your crush?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x hashira!gn!reader

(Prologue)

The winter in Japan is always extremely cold, especially when you’re sleeping in a room without a heater. Yours broke down a while ago and now your whole estate is frozen over, forcing you to temporarily move into another hashira’s estate. To your luck, you were assigned to stay with your crush until the kakushi manage to repair your heater. Yet, the room you were sleeping in was freezing and your body knew that. You fell into a deep sleep and felt how you were suddenly surrounded by comforting warmth. Opening your eyes and glancing aside, you spotted…

…Sanemi Shinazugawa, who is sleeping without a blanket.

How the hell did you get here? Why do you have five different blankets stacked on top of you? And why is Sanemi sleeping next to you sp nonchalantly? You tried to crawl out beneath of the mountain of blankets, but your lack of energy stopped you from doing so. It was just so comfortable and warm and the smell of him all around you was kind of intoxicating. You’ve been depraved of warmth for too long to crawl away from it again.

You turned your head towards Sanemi again. He was facing away from you and looked to be deeply asleep. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and yet he sacrificed his blanket for you. You felt your face starting to flush, but not because of the blankets on top of you. He, Shinazugawa, the meanest and angriest of them all, tolerated you crawling into his bed like you own it and then hog his blanket, just to give you more blankets. Your heart felt like it was about to explode just from the sheer embarrassment and butterflies that are currently filling up your stomach. You fell back asleep with a bright grin on your face.

…Kyojuro Rengoku’s warm chest and arms being wrapped around you to keep you warm.

Oh gods, he’s so incredibly warm and comfortable! You never want to leave his arms, although you two aren’t dating. At least not yet and you really hope to change that soon. You seemingly sleepwalker into his bed and Kyojuro just welcomed you into his arms. He probably felt how freezing your body was and decided to warm you up with his touch. That’s just how he is, he always helps the one in need. Even the freezing ones that crawl into his bed uninvited.

He still looks so peaceful and deeply asleep, you’re not sure if he even woke up when his arms wrapped around you. Just as you finished the thought, Kyojuro’s arms pulled you a little closer as a quiet snore escaped his lips.

Perhaps he subconsciously is using you as some sort of teddy bear or body pillow. There’ll surely be a very interesting conversation in the morning when you wake up, but for now, you’ll take advantage of this. It’s not everyday that the flame hashira is cuddling and warming you up in his arms!

…Gyomei Himejima sleeping on the floor so you have more space for yourself.

His eyed were closed and he was seemingly asleep, but obviously uncomfortable. You had his large and warmed up bed all to yourself, with all the sheets and pillows. But Gyomei apparently didn’t mind to give all of that up for you and just take the space on the floor. You felt incredibly bad for sleepwalking into his bed and now hog all the warmth and space.

Gyomei trains under extreme conditions snd circumstances, so he deserves a good rest after all his hard work. You moved over to lay right beside him and draped the blanket over you two. You really hoped he didn’t mind to sleep side by side with you. Perhaps that’s the reason he wanted to give you his bed, so that you don’t feel uncomfortable in anyway. That sounds like something he would do.

You leaned your head against his bicep and closed your eyes again, starting to slip back into a deep sleep. Just before you travelled to the land of dreams, you felt the large weight beneath you shift and how you’re being tucked in with a large, warm blanket.

…How Giyu Tomioka was staring into your soul, mortified, sheets pulled over his chest.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

You were just as horrified as he was. Where are you? Is Giyu in your bed or are you in his? How did you even get here? You never wanted to crawl into a hole and bury yourself in it so badly. He moved out of the futon and stood up, looming over you. He looked extremely messy and sleepy, and in your opinion, very adorable.

“You know what? Stay. Keep my bed. I’m sleeping somewhere else.”

He slowly walked around the futon and towards the bedroom door, but you stopped him from leaving by scrambling out of his bed yourself.

“N-No, you can have it, it’s your bed!”

Giyu shook his head and waved you off.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to sleep in it anymore.”

You noticed the faint blush on his face but didn’t dare to point it out. Or else that man just might evaporate. Is the idea of sleeping in the same bed you invited yourself into so bad? Perhaps Giyu just can’t handle the thought of you cuddling up to him again. He won’t mention that to you either or else you both will evaporate out of shame.

💠

I luckily never sleepwalked, so I’m not sure how accurate this is XD This was very fun to write though, tysm for requesting, hope you enjoyed!! I always read your comments and reblogs so don’t be shy to leave some! I always thank you personally (in my mind, if that’s not weird :,) Maybe it’s my tiredness speaking XD)

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

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simpee9000 · 9 months ago

Text

Not Just Friends - 8 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Words 2.6k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

"It's been two weeks," you pointed out, telling yourself and him.

"That doesn't mean you have to be okay already," Katsuki huffed at you, crossing his arms as he leaned against the makeup table in front of you.

You were going on for the interview that you promised that night. Truth quirk and all. They were prepping you right now for it, covering the dark circles under your eyes as they made sure to add highlights.

"I go back to work tomorrow, I want everything to be dealt with before hand," you dismissed. You wanted your plate clean so you could throw yourself fully back into work, you were itching to use the equipment. "Besides, Aizawa is here. He'll make sure to turn off the truth quirk if needed."

He grumbled, watching you intently as you got up, makeup finished and TV ready. "I don't like this." He didn't want you to go back to step one, even if you claimed to be fine.

"I know," you patted his arm, he's been trying to convince you not to. But his PR manager advise you to do it, knowing if you switched up that the public would think the worst.

An assistant knocked on the door, peeking through when you told them it was okay. "You're on in five," and with that, they left.

You swallowed nervously. "It's not to late," Katsuki offered.

"I said I'd do it, so I will," you looked yourself over in the mirror one last time, brushing your clothes smooth before you walked to the door. Katsuki following behind as you waited behind the curtain, ready for your cue. You made eye contact with Aizawa who was on the other side, next to the interviewer with a truth quirk. You gave a small wave and gained a nod back.

"Remember that you can dodge the question, it's not considered lying," Katsuki informed you for the millionth time, going down his prep list, "I studied them, they make you say the truth but not blurt it, so you have time to form your words."

"And now we have Dynamight's girlfriend," the talk show host called your name, greeting you on stage. "She'll be giving us all the details of her juicy relationship with our number two hero! All under a truth quirk." You walked onto the stage, giving Katsuki a nervous smile before turning to wave at the crowd.

It wasn't your first interview but it was the first major one. A huge live audience that filled the room. You shook hands with Gossip, the hostess nickname for the public. Shaking hands with the truth quirk interviewer as well before sitting down. Aizawa stayed off stage, ready to cancel things if needed.

"Nell, here," Gossip called attention to the truth quirk, "Known as 'Spills' will activate her quirk and ask questions about her secret relationship with Dynamight." Nell waved at her introduction, smiling brightly. "We've opened questions to the audience as well, so let's get started," Gossip grabbed a stack of cards from her desk, nodding to Nell to start.

You crossed your legs, hands clasped in your lap as you waited for the effect.

Gossip handed Nell the cards to read out. "You were the one on the phone with Dynamight two weeks ago, correct?"

"Yes, called me while I was making dinner," you laughed trying to add anything you could to the questions because you wanted good press.

"How long have you been dating?"

"Three years," you answered easily, feeling the small buzz of the truth quirk in your mind, "Since second year of high school, even though I liked him way before that." Well, you haven't meant to say that, the truth quirk making the small bit of information slip out.

Gossip grinned at what you were saying. "And you've never liked Deku? No romantic feelings there?"

"He's like my younger brother, absolutely no feelings there," you confirmed.

"You don't even find him attractive?"

"I do, just not like that. I only have eyes for Katsuki really," you didn't even know why you were anxious at this point. Part of you was worried it'd make you slip up, say something in the wrong way and make it seem like you wanted him.

"How cute!" Gossip gushed to the crowd. "Well now that we have that settled, lets get to the nitty gritty." You paled at that.

Opening your mouth the protest before Nell interrupted you, "What about Dynamight annoys you the most?"

You rolled your eyes, "He leaves his socks everywhere. Literally only his socks, everything else he is a neat freak about."

"Anything else?" they pushed for something more.

"He literally argues with himself while getting ready, calling his teeth stupid for getting dirty," you ranted, glad you had no real issue with him.

Nell and Gossip shared a look, unsure of where to go. "What do you love most about him?" the decided to switch from negatives to positives, trying to feed his fan base.

"Oh," you paused, mind swirling with too many truths, "He remembers all the small things," you settled on, talking fondly, "He bought an extra chair for his office because he knew I hated the ones he had. He might not talk a lot but he does so much."

The crowd swooned at how fondly you talked of him.

"Why are you with him?"

"Cause I love him?" you questioned back confused, paleing when you realized you haven't directly said it yet. You've been together for three years and knew you loved each other, it was just hardly, if ever, spoken.

"How about we open questions to the fans?" Gossip turned from you and pointed at someone who raised their hand.

"What's Dynamight's biggest weakness?" the crowd called out, Nell immediately asking you the question.

You froze, Aizawa was being distracted and couldn't save you. You faintly heard Katsuki's loud foot steps coming up, trying to save you.

"He loves his back being popped," you answered, truthfully, the interviews losing the spark in their eye as you didn't give good enough gossip. "Seriously, he loves it. Practically melts afterwards."

Katsuki stood next to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to stand. "This shit is done."

"Dynamight," Nell called out as Katsuki dragged you away. The truth quirk likely making him stop. "Do you seriously love her?" She spit those words out in a manner that reminded you of the break in.

"Yeah, so fuck off," he barked over his shoulder, pulling you off stage.

---

In just the drive home, your phone was blowing up entirely. You were trending on Twitter, Tiktok, and any social media already. All they needed was an hour. You scrolled through TikTok as you curled in on the couch, swiping from one video of you to another video of you. People were gushing over your relationship, loving how he protected you and how you talked about him.

It turned the fan girls more on your side, having gotten a glimpse of your life with him. They concluded that you were one of them. You even saw videos of how you cheered him on during the first-year sports festival. They took any social media post with the two of you and over-analyzed it. Talking about how you looked at each other.

"Still looking at that shit?" Katsuki called from the kitchen. Currently packing up the leftovers of dinner.

"It's cute," you defended, "They found a photo of us during graduation," you lifted your phone over the couch for him to look, hearing him shuffle over to look.

It was a photo of you two hugging after the ceremony, probably seconds after he asked you to move in with you. "This is horrible for my image," he complained as he saw the caption, "Makes me look fuckin' soft."

You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from where he leaned over the couch, "You are soft."

He scoffed, "Sure."

Humming, you got up from the couch, moving to head to your room, wanting to grab a book from a box. You hardly unpacked, your room still empty as you've been spending the past few nights in Katsuki's room.

"Hey Kats," you called from your doorway, seeing more boxes in your room than before. Probably and entire third of boxes that you didn't put there, you were at work all day, busy with meetings while Katsuki got home early.

"What?" he asked when he met you in your doorway, looking over your room.

You stepped in, glancing into an open box and seeing Katsuki's stuff filling it. "What's all this?"

"Figured with you sleepin' in my room all the time we might as well share," he crossed his arms as he shrugged, leaning into the doorframe.

"Really?" you looked up at him, taking your eyes of the open box, lighting up inside as you looked at him.

"Why not?"

You've been waiting for this since he first asked you to move, but you knew that if you freaked out he would back out. You bit back a huge smile, joy seeping through your expression regardless. "Want to set things up then?" you offered, answering his unasked question of it was okay.

He didn't give an answer before he moved in the room fully, grabbing a box of his clothes and going into the walk in closet. You stepped out of your room, seeing how his old room was empty minus a bed. Smiling, you moved back into your room, grabbing another box of his clothes and placing it beside him before grabbing your own clothes and finally unpacking. You took two of the walls of the closet, him taking the last wall, having less clothes.

Cycling through each box until they were all unpacked, your room looking like a mixture of the two of you. His comforter but your sheets on the bed, pillows stacked the way you loved and his limited edition All Might alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The dresser being spilt for the two of you with small touches of each of you adding to the room. Giving it personality.

It made you giddy, to see everything done up as a combined. You let a bright smile grace your features as you changed for bed, Katsuki showering in the connected bathroom while you slid under the covers. You grabbed a book from your nightstand and flipped to the bookmark.

Reading through the rest of the chapter before Katsuki came out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair under a towel as he walked in. Hanging the towel up and shaking his head like a wet dog to fluff it back up. He stayed shirtless, how he's been sleeping the past few nights, and only wore his boxers.

You eyed him over your book, watching his arms flex with any simple motion he made. Eyeing him as he walked to his side of the bed, slipping under the covers fully before wrapping his arms around your waist.

The motion was surprising, filling your stomach with butterflies as you accepted his hug. You were propped up on pillows, making it easier to read with the posture, his arm slipped easily under you, his other going under your book. He squeezed light, wearily of the wound that was still present on your left side.

"Your shower is so much better than the one in the hall," he grumbled, digging his face into your shoulder. His shampoo scenting the air as you leaned your head onto his.

"Our shower," you couldn't help but correct him.

"Do we want the old room to be your office? The other mine?" he questioned.

You closed your book, setting it on the nightstand as you held onto his arm. "Maybe one can be a guest room? Your mom called and said she wants to visit," you suggested.

"That hag been callin' you often?"

You slapped his arm for how he addressed his mom, "She's worried."

"Hm," he dismissed, "I don't care."

"The interview wasn't that bad," you changed topics, "Just made me say softer versions of the truth."

He took his head off you, moving to sit up so he could look at you, "They asked you about my weakness? Do you know how bad that coulda been?"

"But it wasn't, I did what I said and nothing bad happened," you matched his glare.

He rolled his eyes, falling back onto you.

"I surprised how cuddly you are," you said, not to tease but point out.

"Fuck off," he scoffed, moving to flip away from you. You hooked your arms over his shoulders, trying to pull him back but just got flipped back over with him, letting out a squeal of surprised. Situated right on his lap, close to his face. His hands held your thighs as you straddled him unintentionally. "'m not cuddly," he pinched your thigh.

"Sure," you teased now, "That's why you've been all over me."

"I can finally touch you, think I'm not going to take advantage of it?"

You pulled back, sitting up right on his lap as you looked down at him. Brows furrowed, "Is your watch always on?"

He shrugged, "Not always, but most of the time, 'round you."

Your stomach dropped, you moved to grab his hand and saw that it was on. Turning his quirk off. "You can't use it that often," you told him, worried.

"I turn it off before I sleep," he brushed off, moving his hand away from yours.

"When was the last time it was off around me?"

"When I was asleep last night," he answered easily.

"Katsuki," you frowned, "That's not good for you, you need to turn it off." You reached for his hand again.

He snatched it out of your hand, "The fuck's your problem?"

"I don't want every time you touch me you need that stupid watch on," you complained. It made you feel disconnected from him, like he had to hide his true self.

"It's not on all the fuckin' time," he argued.

"Then you should have no problem turning it off right now," you challenged. His face was all scrunched in distaste as he looked at you.

"I don't have shit to prove."

"You're using it as a crutch," you dug, "I shoulda never built it for you."

"So you would of prefered staying how it was? Don't want me to touch you?" he argued, getting frustrated that you were upset. Defaulting into anger.

"I'd prefer you," you clarified, "The actual you that doesn't need to suppress his fucking quirk."

"I don't need anything," he hissed, "I was doing it to make you fuckin' happy but now you're all bitchy about nothing."

You widdened your eyes, pushing yourself off his lap finally and moving to your side of the bed. "You'll kill yourself," you commented, "Not having access to your quirk is deadly."

"No I won't," he huffed, not moving from where he laided.

"You're right, cause you can turn it off," you decided, "I'm not going to touch you until I know it's off."

He sat up right, "Really?" he looked down at you.

"Yep," you popped the 'p', "I only made the watch for work training, not sex training like how you're using it."

"That's ridiculous," he tried to reason.

"Well, I'm going to be 'bitchy' about something that'll kill you," you crossed your arms, standing your ground.

He shifted, "So we're going back to square one? That what you fuckin' want?"

"Sure," your chest felt tight, hating how frustrated he was. But your side made sense. "I want you alive."

"I'm not going to die."

"Yep, cause I'm not encouraging you to turn it off anymore."

"Can't kiss you or anything then," he tried to threaten, failing to change your mind.

"Okay," you shrugged. Internally mourning the loss of it already.

"Seriously?" he was in disbelief.

"Goodnight Katsuki," you turned onto your side, making him unable to look at you anymore.

When he huffed and turned away you were worried he'd leave. Go back on sharing a room. Truly test how far you were willing to go.

But all he did was adjust onto his side of the bed, angrily turning his lamp off, darkness coating the room.

At least you had that, but who knows how long you would. You clutched at your chest as you sunk in on yourself. It would suck to go back to how it was two months ago. Not being able to kiss him, or hug him freely.

You've gotten so far and had to throw it away. But it was necessary. The nitroglycerin made his heart run slowly, he needed to have his quirk flowing or you didn't know what would happen. You weren't trying to risk it so you could feel him up.

---

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

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drchucktingle · 1 year ago

Text

a books with no words

sometimes buds ask how many words they need under belt to be considered a writer. do you need finished book? published book? 2000 words a day? THE ANWSER IS ZERO. you dont need to write a single word to be a writer you can be whatever the heck you want nobody else gets to decide

‘whoa chuck that sounds pretty nuts you dont need at least one word?’ okay well is writing process not also dreaming? is it not also thinking up plots? is it noticing characters? is it taking breaks? IT IS all these things. if you are writing in the future then you can be writer now

ART is not just result, it is also process. WRITING is not just result, it is process. the REAL question is ARE YOU THE WRITER YOU WANT TO BE? that is up to you bud. get out there and be that buckaroo who writes an epic novel, or be that buckaroo who dreams a book with no words.

just like john cage understood a 4 m 33 s song was just as valid with no notes, understand that YOU get to choose what brings your work validity as a creator. rules of prologue vs no prologue or other conventions are YOURS to decide. THAT is your gift. heckin use it bud LETS TROT

#chuck tingle #tingleverse #buckaroo lifestyle #art #writing #art theory

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 1 month ago

Text

Blood singer, part 1

Summary: Two years passed since Y/N left Forks. Despite all odds, she meets someone new, someone who leads her straight back to Forks to face her destiny.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 10k

Prologue

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

2 years later…

Y/N Y/L/N embodies a bored, wealthy girl with daddy issues, gifted by gods with a special talent for blowing through stacks of dead presidents. Growing up with the world at her feet made her spoiled and bratty, something she despised in others yet cultivated within. Some would call it hypocrisy, she'd call it vanity, and she was proud of it.

At least that's what the gossip pages write about her.

Despite the large trust fund, Y/N never found spending money very therapeutic, not unless she could share it with those less fortunate. It was never a public affair, keeping her charitable side hush, hush just in case her family learns of what they'd see as a misdeed. She didn't see it that way.

While Y/N enjoyed pretty things, she never felt attached to any of them. In fact, she wouldn't care if it all burned by the morning. Maybe that's why she found herself at a bar, trying to find the bottom of a fine wine she paid handsomely for. She didn't even like wine, or alcohol for that matter, but her regrets have accumulated. The pressure in her chest won't relent on its own. So despite her better judgment, she finished another glass of red that most would never be able to afford.

Is this what happiness is supposed to be?

Money couldn't buy happiness. Not for her.

Something is missing.

For as long as she could remember, she yearned for more. She wanted love, the kind where someone would go to the moon and back just to make her smile, unafraid to make a fool of themselves in the name of love. She wanted adventure, real friends, not those who clung to her because of the “it girl” status she enjoys. Y/N could see through fake smiles, especially those sweet words spoken to her face before the same mouths trashed her behind her back.

Sighing, she turned to the dance floor. Few men caught her eye, but one stood out. Tall, bulky, rhythmically moving despite his rigidity.

Some nights she just watched, wondering if a day would come when she could dance with someone like him without it ending up on Page Six. Tonight wasn't that night. She was too sober to abandon consequence, too drunk not to feel the weight of regret.

Turning back around, she wraps her hand around the wine glass once again. At least wine never judges her.

"I'll have a beer!"

She jerked at the sudden shout, noting the large man shadowing her. Glancing up, she realized it was him, the dancer who had caught her attention.

He leaned in with a charming smile, his lips brushing her earlobe.

"Wanna dance?"

Chills raced down her spine. His presence alone is disarming and while he seems a little rough around the edges, she finds him enthralling.

Chugging the beer he ordered, a slim trail of golden fluid forms down his chin, and he's quick to wipe it with the back of his hand. Putting the empty glass on the bar, he looks at her expectantly.

"Why not?" Y/N smirks, her mouth faster than her brain. It's unwise, but she takes his hand despite rational thought forcing its way to the surface. Her reputation can weather a single night of unrestrained entertainment. She’ll go back to being the perfect daughter tomorrow.

The music lifted her from reality. She lost count of how many times she squished his foot. Still, he smiled brightly, as her heels threatened death to his toes. He's going to be in pain tomorrow when the alcohol and adrenaline wear off.

Her hair fell from its bun, bouncing with the beat. It felt right. All that mattered was him. She didn't even know his name, but she knew his touch on her hip and she knew the warmth of his lips on her sensitive neck. His scent, woodsy and intoxicating, is searing itself in her memory.

Y/N wraps her arms around him, struggling to clasp her fingers on the back of his neck. He's gorgeous with his dark, short hair and his eyes, like vast pools of darkness with nothing but the disco ball reflecting in them. They're the night sky with a moon reflecting in them, she corrects her initial thought. He might not have gone to the moon and back to make her smile, but maybe… Maybe tonight he’s the right kind of a guy, she feels light in his arms.

She’s not going to forget him. Not for a very long time.

His eyes flicker to her lips and her heart shakes as if a hurricane is about to enter the remnants of her fragile sanity. It's been ages since she’s been kissed, desired with no pretense. She’s questioning if she should let herself go and let him in, to allow vulnerability even if it's for a short time. He's waiting too, patiently and gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Licking her lips, she nods ever so slightly and that's when his lips come crashing against hers. His palm slides possessively around her hip, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he draws her to him.

She melts into it, pressing herself closer to his exquisite body as he slides his hand down her back, to stroke, then cup her bottom, growling possessively as she giggles, breaking up the kiss into a few quicker pecks.

"Wanna get out of here?" He whispers in her ear, forcing her to shudder as she understands the implications of his words.

She shouldn't. She won't. This is not who she is. She’s not a one night stand kind of a girl.

"Come with me", her mouth betrays her.

Holding his hand, she leads him through the crowd. Her driver waited, and he didn't say a word when she winked at him to ignore the fact she was not alone.

"Take me to the apartment." She instructs, struggling with her desire to keep the kissing going with the perfect stranger who keeps his very big hand on her inner thigh. He's warm, but she’s sure it's the heat from the club and their kiss that made his skin operate at a higher temperature.

Lustful glances and cocky smirks seem to be what he's best at. Making her blush is a close second. It's easy to get lost in the idea of a forever with a man like him. She always does the same, dreams a little dream of a perfect world only to watch it fall apart when reality proves to be different than her imagination.

Shaking her head, Y/N draws a deep breath. There will be no dreams this time around. It's evident he's in this for sex and while she wishes otherwise, it won't change one singular fact; he'll be gone when the sun comes up.

She has no other expectations.

"Thank you, Benny." She smiles at the driver when the car stops.

The man is a perfect gentleman, waiting for them to get out of sight before his hand is glued to her left hip. His lips litter kisses from her shoulder to her neck while she presses the elevator button.

"You seem nervous." His voice makes her heart jump, a chill running down her spine. The music drowned out his voice before, a crime really, considering the sweet deepness that excited her more than it should. Never had a man's voice been as attractive as his.

"I don't usually do this," Y/N admits with a drunken giggle, entering the elevator. The handsome stranger follows suit, his hand still on her hip. "I don't even know your name," she notes, glancing up at him.

"Paul." He introduces himself and she can't deny he makes her weak in the knees.

His lips are covered with smudges of her red lipstick and his chest is sparkling with glitter from her hair. He's a perfect little mess and for the next few hours, he's hers.

"Y/N," she smiles as the elevator stops, sliding the door open to the penthouse and his eyes widen at the size.

"This is one hell of an apartment." Paul raises an eyebrow, wetting his lips as she scratches her temple, nodding. They’re clearly from different tax brackets, but she doesn’t care.

She’s damned either way.

"Want a drink or", but before she can finish, Paul's lips claim hers again, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

"Mhmm", she manages to murmur, wrapping arms around his neck fully now that he's bent down. She’s sure his back's not comfortable in this position, but it feels damn good to run her fingers through his short hair. He taps her ass and she takes the hint, jumping up only to wrap her legs around his waist.

"Where am I going", he chuckles, breaking the kiss as she takes a shuddered breath.

"Straight then left."

He nods in acknowledgment before she’s lost in him again, unbothered by his fingers as they pull the zipper of her dress down closer they get to the bedroom. A table clatters beside them, and a vase shatters loudly enough to make her flinch. She looks down at the shards, glancing back at his horrified stare.

"How expensive was that thing?"

Giggling, she shrugs. "Who cares. Kiss me again and you can pay it off," she raises her eyebrows, pecking his chin.

"Oh yeah?" Paul snickers, stepping over one of the shards before opening the door to her room. "It's definitely worth a million or two then."

"Really think a kiss could be worth that much?" she challenges, pushing down against his middle, enjoying his almost pained groan. He's definitely ready to get the talking part out of the way and get down to business. After all, it’s not like they’ll see each other after this night.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and among everyone you've seen tonight, you chose me." Suddenly, without a warning, Paul drops her on the bed and she gasps. "It's a privilege to kiss you and it's going to be even better when you scream my name in pleasure." His devilish smirk reappears and she purses her lips.

"Well then, let's see if your game is as good as you claim it to be."

As one would expect, a pounding headache had set in before she even opened her eyes. Her mouth is dry, her entire body aches and most importantly, she’s trapped under an unnaturally warm mountain of a human who loves to cuddle throughout the night.

She’s not complaining about the cuddles, but she’s definitely complaining about his extremely warm, heavy body half lying on top of her. It’s comforting in a way, knowing he didn’t just leave once the deed was done. Most men would have been gone as soon as they got what they came for, pun intended.

Forcing her heavy eyes open, she’s glad she didn't fully open the curtains the last time she was there. The apartment isn't her favorite place to spend time in, but it's a rare form of autonomy she has outside of her overbearing family. It’s one of two pieces of real estate she actually owns and no one can take it away from her.

Blinking fast, her eyes adjust and focus on the unbelievably handsome man on top of her. Each line of his face is perfect, down to his chiseled jaw. Something about him screams danger and invites caution, yet she pulls him closer and plants a feather like kiss on that sharp jaw girls would write thirst tweets about.

Paul stirs, a sleepy smile forming. He looks careless and happy, something she envies. There are far too many expectations that weigh on her, too heavy to ignore. If anything, Paul’s lighter than the thoughts running inside her mind.

She giggles and kisses his chin. He mumbles, pulling her closer.

Usually, spending the night with a stranger meant cuddling wasn't on the table. Sometimes it's because he was way too unacceptable for her family's standards and she couldn't risk being caught, other times it was a scandalous affair her dad would have a stroke over.

She’s no stranger to sex the past few years. It wasn’t casual sex with strangers, though. There was a boyfriend, one she stayed with for her family’s approval, trying to fill a hole within her chest that’s turned into a void. Nothing she had with her ex could compare to this intimacy. If she’s completely honest, it’s something she never encountered before. In her experience, sex is an act of nature, animalistic, set into human genetic makeup to continue the species.

But with Paul? His touch was both gentle and rough, his lips fiery and passionate, his words sweet and understanding. He didn't make it about getting himself off, quite the opposite. Paul made sure she was the one getting the most out of their encounter. She only ever had five orgasms in her life and he had given her three of those.

Paul offered a night of pleasure and peace, a rare occasion for someone like her.

"I could get used to that." He chuckles, startling her. "The pretty girl staring at me part,” he clarifies.

Paul opens his eyes and his playful persona reappears. It’s dangerous how easily his presence ignites a fire inside her, one she almost forgot she had. If nothing else, he’s given her that – a piece of her old self back.

"I wasn't staring. Staring is creepy." she remarks, adding, "I was gazing. It's meant to be romantic and flattering."

Nodding, a lopsided smirk adorns his lips. "I am very flattered. Even more so with the loving kisses." Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, he leans back. "How are you alive? I’m practically on top of you."

Lightly tinted cheeks, with eyes conveying genuine worry as he looks at her, Paul's lips part. Pushing himself off and to the other side of the bed, he insists. "You should have woken me up!"

"I think I like being smothered. It's like you’re my personal weighted blanket!" she exclaims, propping herself up on her elbow. She feels her bladder is nearly ready to explode, but she doesn't want to end this moment of bliss. It's too pure, too comfortable to be over so soon.

"You're weird." Paul snickers, reaching for his phone.

"You mean unique!" she corrects him.

She crawls closer, but he jolts. He jumps to his feet, mumbling incoherently. Grabbing his clothes a little too quickly.

"You're leaving?" she asks, voice quieter than she means it to be, but the disappointment bleeds through anyway. She doesn't bother hiding it. Not when he’s tripping over her heel in a rush to find his shirt.

"I have a really important meeting I'm gonna be late to," Paul mutters, scanning the room with growing frustration. He tosses her dress, then her panties, across the room without thinking, just collateral damage in his frantic search.

"I have one too, but I figured I could reschedule. What's yours about?"

Her eyes track his movements, noting the growing tension in his shoulders. At the foot of the bed, she spots the shirt, wrinkled and tangled in the covers. She picks it up and stands, holding it out for him without a word.

Paul finally turns, and without speaking, she steps closer. Gently, she pulls the shirt over his arms, smoothing the fabric over his chest. She starts buttoning it from the bottom up, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. He’s still so warm, like a touch of sun under her fingertips.

It's intimate. Achingly so. A small, quiet moment that feels too familiar for two people who’ve only known each other for eight hours. But still, it comforts her, this fragile illusion of something more.

He's about to leave, and she knows she’s never going to see him again.

She told herself she wouldn’t hope. That it was just one night. Just a moment. But that was a lie. She wants more. She wants the soft way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, the heated kisses that curled her toes, and the way he held her like she mattered.

She wants the weight of his body and the warmth of his touch. She wants him, this affectionate, confident man who had no idea how easily he unraveled her.

"It's about proving to my family and friends I'm more than just a fuck up." His voice is low and rough as if saying it aloud hurts him. The words vibrate against her chest as she fastens the last button.

Her fingers still.

She looks up, meeting his eyes. They’re darker than usual, stormy. "I don’t think you’re a fuck up."

He huffs out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t know me well enough, Y/N. I’m not someone you want in your life. Trust me.”

Her expression hardens, a crease forming between her brows. “Maybe that’s not a decision you get to make for me.”

His hand comes up to her face, tender, hesitant. His palm cups her cheek like she’s fragile, like he’s scared he might break her if he isn’t careful. That single touch makes her chest ache.

"I just want to protect you," he whispers.

“No,” she replies, voice sharp and low. Her fingers reach up, tapping his chest with a gentle but deliberate push. “You want to protect yourself. God forbid you let someone get close and risk your heart getting broken.”

She swallows hard and forces a smile, though it trembles at the corners. “It’s not healthy, and it’s going to push away people who actually give a damn. But if that’s your choice, fine. Just… if you’re going to lie to me, Paul, you’ll have to do better than that. My bullshit meter isn’t easy to fool.”

His hand falls away.

So does the moment.

She steps back, breath catching in her throat. There's no point asking for his number, not when he’s already halfway out the door in his mind. Not when he’s looking for a reason to disappear and she’s far too proud to beg. It will be a cold day in hell before she lowers herself like that for any man.

Besides, she really has to pee.

"Hope your meeting goes well," she says with a casual shrug, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water covers the silence he leaves behind. Once she’s done with the shower, he'll be gone and she’ll assume her well-rehearsed role.

She keeps her word. Goes to her own meeting. A quick, warm shower is all she allows herself, trying to replace the heat of Paul’s body with something far more fleeting. It doesn't work.

It doesn't take long for her to get ready, the driver's already prepared as well. Luckily, her meeting was nearby and she desperately needed some pancakes.

The restaurant is familiar, a safe bubble in her otherwise chaotic world. As she strides in, confident and composed, she shrugs off her coat and scans the room. Her usual table’s already prepared.

Occupied.

A man with his back turned.

“I’ll have pancakes, please,” she tells the waiter she’s known for years. He gives her a knowing smile, knowing she’s hangover. She ignores his teasing wink. Pancakes are essential after the night she’s had.

“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late, I -”

She stops.

Her voice dies.

Dark eyes meet hers. Her knees threaten to buckle.

Paul.

"You’re my meeting?" she breathes out, more accusation than a question.

“I know they say the world is small,” he grins, surprised but undeniably amused, “but this? This is a shock for me too.”

He seems a little too delighted with this coincidence.

She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, spine straight, lips set.

"So...what would make your family and friends change their views on you?" she maintains eye contact. This isn't breakfast between lovers, it's a business meeting and she’s not about to act as a ditzy girl for his benefit. She’s in charge of the family’s benefit and she takes her role seriously. It’s the one thing she has left from her late mother, the only one who had a heart in her cold family.

He sighs, shoulders slumping. "A generous donation.” He reaches for her hand, but she retracts it just in time. Inhaling sharply, he continues. "For our reserve…mainly the school. I wanna show the community we can do better, give the kids a better future than what we got." Swallowing thickly, he breaks eye contact first. His gaze falls to the table, and his fingers rake through his hair. He’s nervous. She can feel it radiating off of him.

"And what do you do for a living?" she presses for more information, aware she wouldn't get it otherwise. Maybe she really is as entitled as they say she is, using this situation for her own gain.

"I work with my friend in his lumber company." Paul bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable.

Their history, though brief, is making him sweat. He probably thinks he blew his only chance to secure the funds. He thinks she'll hold it against him. Maybe she would if she wasn't looking for a way out of New York, herself. Being with him reminded her of who she once was, enough to give her strength to get away for a while.

“Where is this reserve?”

“La Push,” he replies and her eyes flash with recognition.

It’s been a long time since she heard that name.

"I'll give you the funds," she says simply, folding her hands on the table before them.

Paul’s eyes widen, lips parting. His relief is immediate, but he tries to play it cool. A smile tugs at his lips anyway. “Thank you. Seriously.”

"I have a condition."

He nods quickly, licking his lips and leaning forward, hanging on her words.

"I want to go with you and see everything myself. The reserve, the school, the people. I want to know exactly where my money is going."

He hesitates. "That might be boring for you. I mean… this is New York. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

Smirking, Y/N tilts her head, eyeing him in suspicion. "I think I'd enjoy the adventure. Besides, I used to live in Forks. It’s the perfect excuse to come home." Tucking her hair behind both ears, she leans back and grins as she notices the waiter coming.

Her pancakes arrive, steam curling upward. She cuts into them, pretending she isn’t watching him squirm.

“It’s your choice,” he says. Then, a pause. “Where would you stay? It’s a tight-knit community.”

She quirks a brow, thinking aloud. “My house is rented out for a few months. Not sure if the motel would have any rooms this close to hunting season.”

She chews thoughtfully. Swallows.

“I’ll figure it out.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Alright. You can come. But you’re not figuring anything out.”

She looks up.

“You’ll stay with me.”

Raising a brow, she stares at him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? My house is close to the school, it’s ideal.”

Clearing her throat, she puts down the utensils. “Logically, yes. But I don’t want to burden you. After last night –“

“You won’t be a burden! Stay until your house is available?”

Reluctantly, she nods. “We leave today.”

Excited and running on a mix of adrenaline and nervous hope, Y/N packed the essentials in record time. She booked the plane tickets, one for herself, and upgraded Paul’s return ticket, before she could second-guess her choice. Her heart wanted this. Her mind wasn’t so sure. It’s painfully clear that Paul isn’t thrilled with the way their meeting ended; his politeness feels more like tolerance, like he’s humoring the spoiled rich girl just to keep the peace. Still, she needs this. More than she’s willing to admit.

Her family is a gilded cage, controlling, suffocating, and insufferably obsessed with appearances. If it were up to them, she’d be locked into some picture-perfect marriage with an Upper East Side trust fund baby, already onto her third child by now. Hosting charity luncheons, planning balls, and posing for society pages like a well-groomed trophy wife. It’s a life drenched in wealth but starved of freedom.

It’s her worst nightmare.

Sitting beside a man who can’t seem to look her in the eye isn’t ideal either, but Paul, brooding and unreadable, is her ticket out. A temporary escape from the suffocating grip of her last name.

She sneaks a glance his way.

He hasn’t said a word since boarding. His posture is stiff, shoulders locked like he’s bracing for turbulence. His jaw clenches, sharp and unforgiving, and his hands grip the armrest so tightly his knuckles have turned white. It’s like he’s trying to hold something in, anger, maybe, or regret.

She can’t take it anymore.

"I knew you didn’t want me to come,” she says softly, breaking the silence. “But I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

She doesn’t bother pretending she’s unaffected. There’s no mask this time. No perfect smile, no carefully rehearsed charm to keep her safe. Just the raw truth. She’s tired of hiding behind walls no one bothers to climb.

Paul’s brows knit together as he turns to her. The tension in his face eases, just slightly, her voice pulls him back from wherever his mind had drifted. His dark eyes lock onto hers, and she feels the weight of his gaze settle in her chest.

She presses her lips together and forces a small, tight-lipped smile, fragile and strained, but it’s all she has left.

"I don't understand," Paul says, his voice low, lips parting as confusion flickers across his face. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he's searching for the right words, but she already knows the excuses he's reaching for.

Y/N raises a hand, cutting him off before he can try. Her expression is calm, but the effort it takes not to crack is exhausting.

"No worries, you’re obviously regretting inviting me," she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm no stranger to being unwanted. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible."

Before he can respond, she slips on her headphones and turns toward the window, grateful she has the view to help her mind wander.

If she lets herself feel the sting behind his silence, she’ll cry. And crying in public? Not an option. She doesn’t do that. Y/N doesn’t cry, not where anyone can see. It probably rains more often in the Sahara than it does behind her eyes. Bottling emotions up until she explodes is who she is. She takes good care to ensure those explosions are few, although deadly, and always, imperatively when she’s on her own.

Closing her eyes, she lets herself drift.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since she left Forks. Since she tried to escape her family, her name, and everything that came with it. She’d graduated from Columbia and made a break for freedom. But that didn’t last long.

One morning, she woke up in a hospital bed, IV in her arm, pain ricocheting through her body, and no memory of how she got there. The story was that she’d gone hiking alone. Except she hates hiking. Bella Cullen had found her, bruised and broken, and brought her to the ER with fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a possible head injury.

She was lucky to survive. That’s what they kept telling her.

She didn’t feel lucky. She felt...erased. Whatever happened that day was gone, just like her plan to start over. Her father pulled her from the hospital the moment she was stable enough to fly, and Forks became just another shadow in her past, one she was never meant to return to.

A light touch on her shoulder makes her jump, her heart pounding as she jerks toward the source.

Paul.

His eyes are softer now. His earlier tension is gone, replaced with something that almost looks like guilt, or maybe understanding. His smile is small, hesitant.

“We’ve landed,” he says gently, pointing toward the passengers standing up around them.

She slides off her headphones, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and musters a tight smile. “Thanks.”

He winks, and something about it, so casual, yet so confident makes her heart flip.

“No problem, Princess,” he says with a smirk.

Her brow rises at the nickname, but she doesn’t protest. There are worse things he could call her. And truthfully? It’s not very original, but she doesn’t hate it.

And it’s not just the nickname she doesn’t mind. It’s him. The wink. The smile. The way he says it is like he sees past her defenses and calls her out in a way that doesn’t hurt. Paul makes her heart flutter in a way she hasn’t felt in years.

“I’ll get the luggage,” he offers, already standing before she can argue.

She doesn’t bother trying to stop him. The last thing she needs is to wrestle with him over two oversized suitcases, both hers, plus two more bags. Her arms are already tired, and maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t mind letting someone take care of her for once.

She glances at the sleek black duffle he swings over his shoulder and tries not to laugh.

“That’s all you brought to New York?” she asks, incredulous.

Paul throws her a look as he lifts her last suitcase. “You said you packed the essentials.”

“I did,” she grins, gesturing to the mountain of bags. “These are my essentials.”

He sighs dramatically, muttering under his breath as he drags the suitcases forward. “Rich girls and their ‘essentials.’ God help me.”

She chuckles, following behind him with her purse and laptop in tow.

"Hey, I carried the important stuff," she teases. "Lip balm, charger, and emotional damage. I’m pulling my weight."

He glances back, and for a split second, he smiles again… a real, warm smile.

“Good to know you packed light.”

She walks ahead, enjoying a few wandering looks from men who shamelessly stare at her and their intentions are just as obvious. A low growl makes her glance back at Paul, smirking as he glares daggers at all the men. Perhaps he does care.

“So, do we call a cab or Uber?” Y/N asks, turning to Paul as she walks after him, phone in hand. The screen reflects her tired eyes and the long drive ahead. Forks isn’t exactly near any major airports. Seattle’s the closest, and even that feels like another world entirely. It’ll take them hours to get to La Push.

“Neither,” Paul replies, nodding past her toward the exit. “A friend’s picking us up.”

She turns, eyebrows raising as she spots it through the glass doors: a big, blue pickup truck that looks like it survived three lifetimes and several apocalypses. The paint is faded, the bumper slightly crooked, and one headlight flickers like it’s trying to quit.

“Oh.” The disappointment escapes before she can stop it, her lips tugging down as she gnaws on the inside of her cheek.

Paul leans in from the side, entertainment clear in his voice. “We don’t do limos where I’m from, Princess. Better get on.”

He walks ahead with that same cocky, unbothered stride that both annoys her and makes her heart trip over itself. Tilting her head back, she glares at the ceiling like it might offer answers. Why? Just why?

The truck’s driver hops out and jogs toward Paul with an easy laugh. He’s just as tall, maybe an inch shorter, a little less ripped and older. It's hard to deny he's not jaw droopingly beautiful, but Paul's charm shines through, making him a clear winner in the looks department. That’s what truly won her over.

Swallowing thickly, she joins the men, keeping her chin up and head held high. It takes a lot more than an old, rusty truck to bring down Y/N Y/L/N. Though she seems fragile, she’s not going to break. And even if she does, glass is only brittle until it breaks. When that happens, it's capable of causing serious injuries and that's exactly why women like her are dangerous. Men seem to forget that easily.

“Wow,” the stranger says, grinning as he looks her over. “I’ve never met an heiress before.”

His tone is teasing, but not unkind, and for some reason, it makes her laugh. Genuine, light.

He holds out a hand, palm up, gentleman-style, and she places hers in it without hesitation. The touch is warm, solid. When he bows slightly and presses his lips to the back of her hand, her heart skips.

“I’m Jared,” he says with a soft smile. Maybe she’s old fashioned, but she’s always been a sucker for men who have their manners intact.

“Y/N,” she replies, lips twitching as she tries to contain a grin. He’s funny. Polite. Knows exactly how to sweep a woman off her feet without even trying. His eyes linger on hers, not in a way that makes her uncomfortable, but in a way that makes her feel seen.

That is, until Paul clears his throat, loudly, dramatically.

Jared lets go of her hand, and she glances at Paul with raised brows, amused by the jealousy practically radiating off of him.

“He’s also married,” Paul adds flatly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And you’re jealous,” she fires back, sticking her tongue out before following Jared to the passenger side. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door for her, and she slides in with a grateful smile.

“No, I’m not!” Paul snaps from behind them, and she just waves him off, turning to Jared instead.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly.

The truck is… cozy, to put it nicely. Once Jared gets in, there’s barely any room left. When Paul opens the door and leans in, it’s obvious someone will need to get creative. She looks at him, then down at the space, and raises an eyebrow. Paul most certainly can't fit unless she sits on his lap. Glancing at Paul who opened the door and looked at her with a smug smirk, she rolled her eyes at him.

Jared doesn’t miss a beat. “Get in the back. The bed. You’re not about to make our heiress benefactor uncomfortable with your hard on, Paul.”

She covers her mouth, trying and failing to stifle her laughter. Her eyes sparkle as she glances at Paul, who looks personally offended.

“Paul does like riding in the back,” she adds, winking. Her voice is light, teasing, but her meaning lands, judging by the way his eyes widen and his jaw tightens.

“I don’t think so,” Paul mutters, eyes locked on hers. “I mean, I’m sure the Princess would love riding on my lap.”

She chokes on her own spit. Literally.

Coughing, eyes watering, she waves a hand in front of her face like that’ll help undo the mental image. Jared, poor soul, looks like he’s just been hit with a wave of secondhand embarrassment and possibly trauma. His jaw drops, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too polite for that.

“Back or you’re walking,” Jared says, deadpan as he stares ahead, probably begging for silence.

Paul rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but he climbs into the bed of the truck. Once they’re moving, Jared tries to lighten the mood again, pointing out buildings and rambling on about La Push’s history, not lingering too much on Forks. His words fade in and out, the static of the radio filling the gaps. It’s not that she’s not listening, she just knows this town too well already.

When they pass the hospital, her gaze lingers a little longer. The Sheriff’s station is next. Jared points it out casually, but she doesn’t say a word. No need to explain that she’s already familiar with both places.

The trees grow thicker, the roads windier, and when they pass the Welcome to La Push sign, something eases in her chest. The air feels different here. Less heavy.

“So this is Paul’s place,” Jared says, pulling into a gravel driveway lined with trees. “If you ever get sick of him, just walk five minutes that way”, he points to the left, “and you’ll find my house. It’s easy to spot. The lawn’s a demolished, full of toys. The kids have declared it their kingdom.”

She grins. "Might take you up on that offer. The grump seems to dislike my presence at this point." Her smile fades slightly as she looks toward Paul, who’s already unloading her luggage

Jared follows her gaze. The resemblance between them is clearer now. They share the same dark eyes, the same broad shoulders and sharp jawlines. Jared’s hair is longer, falling past his shoulders, and his energy is warmer, easier somehow. But it’s obvious they’re connected. Maybe not by blood, but by something just as strong.

Whatever it is, Y/N gets the feeling this town has more tangled threads than she realized. And she’s walking right into the center of it all.

"He doesn't dislike you, just...Paul takes time to warm up to people. He hasn't had it easy in life, okay?" Jared's sympathetic smile lights up the dim atmosphere. "The fact he called me this morning just to tell me he met the most amazing woman says a lot too. I'm guessing that was you." Jared raises an eyebrow and she hides her face, groaning.

"I'm gonna go find a hole to crawl in and die." Laughing in embarrassment, she opens the door and jumps out, her heels instantly sticking into the wet ground. "Oh, look! Found it!"

"Yeah, the heels are gonna have to come off. Unless you wanna sink with every step you take, Princess." Paul teases, striding over. His jacket's already off and a tight T-shirt is tasked with keeping his muscles hidden from view.

"Don't kill each other." Jared jokes, prompting Paul to slam the truck's door closed. "JACKIE DIDN'T DO SHIT TO YOU", Jared screams, starting the truck again.

"C'mon." Paul leans down, picking her up with ease and she yelps, wrapping her arms around his neck in slight panic.

"Don't drop me!" Her voice wavers and his chuckle drowns out the momentary anxiety. She could listen to him laugh for the rest of her life and never wish for the tune to change.

"I didn't drop you last night, now did I?" Paul cocks an eyebrow, the arrogant smirk making a reappearance.

"Uh, you did!" She reminds him, still holding a grudge for when he dropped her on the bed.

"That was intentional." Paul snickers, shutting the front door with his leg before putting her down.

Taking off her impractical, muddy heels, she turns to Paul.

"Alright, so...where do I sleep?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips as her eyes wander around the space.

The house is old, clearly lived in, but surprisingly well kept. There's a quiet elegance to it; muted tones, clean lines, a softness in the way everything fits together. It’s not what she expected from Paul. It’s too... thoughtful. Too curated. A woman’s touch lingers in the details, a throw blanket perfectly folded over the couch, a faint vanilla scent clinging to the air, and the tall, fragile vase sitting dead center on the entryway table like it was placed there with intention.

She tries not to stare at the vase, but she can’t help it. The soft lilac design etched into the glass feels too personal. Was it a gift? Did she bring it? The woman who mattered. The one who maybe curled up beside him at night, who chose these curtains and filled his space with color. Was she beautiful? Did she make him laugh? Did he love her? Does he still?

“I have a bedroom I can prepare for you, but it'll take a few days,” Paul says, dragging her attention back. He licks his lips, then nods toward the vase. “My mom brought that during a recent visit. She lives in Canada.”

The knot in her chest loosens. A small sigh escapes her, and she smiles, almost sheepishly. “Right. That makes more sense.”

She doesn't ask more, even though she wants to. He never gives her much, just enough to keep her curious and guessing. It’s starting to gnaw at her.

“So what happens until it’s ready?”

“I’ll take the couch,” he replies with a shrug, casually resting his hand against the small of her back. The contact is warm and steady, grounding. “You can have my bed.”

She arches a brow, surprised at how easy he makes it sound. “You’re just gonna give it up like that?”

“I’ve had worse nights,” he mutters, already guiding her toward the staircase. She falls into step beside him, quietly holding her breath.

Her eyes narrow. “Is this some sort of reverse psychology trap? You sleep on the couch for one night and then mysteriously find your way back upstairs?”

“Please,” Paul scoffs. “You’d hear me coming a mile away.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” she mutters, cheeks warming.

“Relax.” His voice drops lower, almost teasing. “I can behave.”

She’s not sure if she wants him to.

The stairs creak under their weight as they climb. She half-expects a bachelor’s disaster zone at the top: empty cans, dark walls, a bed that’s more mattress than frame. But when he pushes open the door to his room, she pauses.

It’s… cozy.

Unexpectedly so.

She blinks. Twice.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mumbles.

The walls are baby blue, and the off white carpet looks freshly vacuumed. The bed is massive, covered in bright blue sheets and an ungodly amount of decorative pillows.

This room doesn’t scream Paul. It whispers someone was here before. Someone of importance. The decorative pillows are a sign of a serious relationship. Men see them as unnecessary, but women see them as a way to mark their territory.

She turns to him, fighting the urge to interrogate him.

“The bed’s pretty big,” she says instead, mustering a playful grin. She walks toward it slowly, brushing her hand over the soft fabric before tapping the spot beside her. “I don’t see a problem in sharing.”

She waits for the smirk. The flirty comeback. The spark in his eye when they traded jabs and pushed boundaries before. But it doesn’t come.

Paul’s expression shifts, his shoulders stiffen, and his eyes darken as his jaw tightens.

“I’m not interested in playing house,” he says flatly, voice cool and distant. “I’ll go order us a pizza.”

She watches him walk away without another word, leaving the door open behind him. Her heart sinks a little as the silence settles around her. Maybe she was a little too forward, but his reaction left her wondering.

Whatever softness she'd glimpsed in him earlier, the warmth, the teasing, the way he carried her through the door like it meant something, it’s gone again. Hidden beneath whatever wall he keeps rebuilding every time she gets too close.

And just like that, she’s reminded: she doesn’t know him. Not really. And worse, he doesn’t want her to. It’s becoming apparent New York was his Vegas and he planned to forget all about her when he came back home.

She feels so stupid for thinking it might’ve meant something more.

To her, Paul tasted like freedom. Like laughter. Like the possibility of happiness she hadn’t let herself hope for in too long. He’d been attentive, gentle in ways that caught her off guard. And now? Now he was cold. Distant. Shrugging her off like she was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.

What the hell happened in less than a day?

Was it all an act? Or should she do what Jared said and be patient?

The problem is, she’s never been a patient person. Maybe it’s her fault, for projecting her hopes onto a perfect stranger, for thinking this could be a meet-cute straight out of a movie, but he didn’t have to play along and then make her uncomfortable….unwanted.

Storming downstairs, she purses her lips. She finds him leaning over the kitchen counter, head in hands, the muscles in his back tense. The sight of him like that only fuels her frustration. He’s acting like she forced him to house her, like she didn’t give him a choice.

“We have to talk this through,” she blurts, maybe a little too harshly, but she can't bring herself to care. She wouldn't spend another second in this house if he didn’t want her there.

Paul turns slowly like her anger is nothing more than a passing breeze. “What exactly do we need to talk about?” His voice is low, casual, amused, even. It makes her blood boil.

“This!” she throws her hand toward him, nearly shaking. “I don’t want to be here if you don’t want me to, Paul. Alright? I might look like I’ve got it all together, like I’m confident, but I’m not. And everything you’ve done since breakfast has been… a hard damn pill to swallow.”

She rakes her hands through her hair, trying to pull herself together, only getting more flustered as her fingers snag on a tangle. He still says nothing. Just watches her unravel.

Her chest aches. She’s being stupid again. His actions paint a clear picture, one in which she’s the issue as if he doesn’t make her wonder if he’s got an evil twin running around, intent on breaking her apart.

“Maybe it’s because you just decided to tag along,” Paul finally says, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back. His gaze is sharp, almost cold. “Didn’t even think about how that might mess up my life here.”

The words hit her like a slap, reminding her just how unwanted her presence is.

“I said I’d find my own place!” she snaps. “I wanted to see how bad it was so I could help, Paul! I didn’t come here to screw up your life. And if you didn’t insist I stay with you, I wouldn’t have. In fact, don’t worry about it.”

She spins on her heel, grabbing her bag from beside the door. “I’ll send someone for my stuff,” she throws the bag over her shoulder and puts on her heels before yanking the door open.

Outside, the sky is hazy, clouds rolling in as she tiptoes across the damp grass, her heels useless. She doesn’t look back. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

She considers taking Jared up on his offer, but the last thing she needs is to be vulnerable around more strangers right now, especially Paul's friends. The thought makes her stomach twist.

She needs time to collect herself, to think. To breathe. Then she'll find a way to move her things to the nearest motel… the only motel in Forks. She will not depend on any man, no matter how attractive he is. She misread the situation for the last time.

The trees blur around her as she walks faster, the familiar crash of waves in the distance pulling her forward. The sound is grounding, fierce and steady, like a promise the earth is still turning even when everything feels upside down.

When she finally breaks through the tree line and reaches the edge of the beach, a shaky breath escapes her lungs.

The sun is melting into the horizon, painting the ocean gold and crimson. It's beautiful. She always loved the ocean. It reminded her of herself - usually calm on the surface with an entire world underneath, but when it begins to rage, it can destroy everything in its vicinity. And sunsets are her favorite view. Nothing compares to it. She watched enough of them from these beaches with her mother to know as much.

She kicks off her heels, holding them by the straps as she walks barefoot toward the water. The first wave kisses her skin, and she hisses, the cold seeping up her spine and spreading through her limbs.

But she doesn’t move. She closes her eyes, lets the wind tangle her hair, allows it to take the heat from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, and for the first time all day, a sound escapes her; a faint, broken whimper. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just real.

This wasn’t a breakdown. It was a release.

While it's helpful to clear her head, she wishes she could just walk into the ocean and leave this world behind. She doesn’t want to die, no, it’s not that, but God, sometimes she just wishes she could disappear for a while. Drift beneath the waves and start over. She used to believe in mermaids when she was younger, and now she understands why. The idea of a whole world beneath the surface where no one could touch her? It’s always been tempting. Ariel was a damn fool for giving up an entire ocean for a man who couldn't even love her unless she spoke.

She wraps her arms around herself and keeps walking along the shore, eyes scanning until she spots a small parking lot in the distance. Her phone feels heavy in her hand as she opens the app and calls for an Uber.

Her stomach growls, angry and empty. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it’s catching up to her.

When the car drops her off at the diner, she doesn’t hesitate. She orders a greasy hamburger and a mountain of fries and doesn’t care who’s watching as she devours them. Salt and ketchup, soft bread, sizzling meat, it’s the only thing grounding her now. She ate her emotions to keep them in check. She never coped well with sadness or heartache, that's for sure.

Intent on finding the motel first and figuring out the rest tomorrow, she walks out of the diner and into the darkness of Forks. She pulls her jacket tighter around her body, her heels tapping against the pavement as she rounds the corner.

But she doesn’t get far.

Two steps in and she slams hard into something, someone, as sturdy as a brick wall. She stumbles back, breath knocked out of her chest, but strong hands catch her before she hits the ground.

“Sorry,” she mutters instinctively, blinking up through the shadows. And then she realizes: this isn’t a wall. This is a person. With hands. And a scent like pine after rain.

“Oh,” she breathes.

The man holding her is tall, just as tall as Paul, maybe taller, but leaner, paler. His golden hair gleams under the moonlight, curling ever so slightly at the ends. And his eyes. They’re what truly undo her. Amber, liquid gold, like fire trapped in honey. There's something haunting about them, something achingly familiar. It is the sort of gaze that's warm, a welcome home.They stir a memory she can’t quite place, and for a moment, she forgets how to breathe.

He stares at her like he’s seeing a ghost. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed as though he’s caught in a war with himself. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just holds her with a grip that's almost too tight, too intentional, like letting her go would somehow break him.

Her pulse flutters in her throat. The closeness, the heat between them, she should step away. She knows she should. But instead, she leans in slightly, drawn by the unspoken pull between them, the whisper of something unfinished.

His lips part like he’s about to say something. Like he wants to say everything.

And then, he's gone.

In the time it takes to blink, she finds herself standing alone. He’s already walking away, glancing back over his shoulder with an expression of disbelief and something deeper…grief, maybe. Panic?

She blinks again. Nothing. The night has swallowed him whole.

"Thank God!" Paul’s voice crashes into her daze. She turns sharply, still shaken, to find him jogging across the street with a sheepish grin and a bouquet clutched in his hand.

Roses.

She hates roses.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he pants, slowing down as he reaches her. “Princess, you can’t just walk out like that.”

He looks her over, gaze softening as he registers how rattled she is. He takes a small step closer, cautious.

“Why do you care?” she snaps, eyes still lingering on the spot where the golden-haired man disappeared.

Paul flinches, and for once, he doesn’t snap back. His shoulders slump.

"Because I fucked up,” he says, the words coming out raw and rushed. “I really didn't mean to blow up at you like that. I mean...I'm scared, okay? I'm scared if I let you in, you'll see I'm a piece of shit and leave me. Like everyone else does.”

His voice falters, and he glances down at the bouquet in his hands, suddenly looking so much younger than usual. “I don't want that and I thought keeping you at arm's length would be smart, but it isn't and I do want you here, I just...I have problems, especially with my temper and I'm trying to protect you from it." His eyes meet hers again, and this time, there's no mask. No sarcasm. Just longing. Guilt. A desperate, vulnerable plea. “I’m trying.”

And despite the ache in her chest, she softens.

"Don't ever give me space. I don't need a perfect man, a friend, or more. I'm not perfect either and that's okay...we'll be a mess together, okay? I need honesty. Don’t shut me out."

She steps closer, eyes flicking down to the roses. They’re flawless. Trimmed, wrapped, red and lifeless.

She takes them gently, and then tosses them to the ground without blinking.

“I hate roses.”

Before she can react, he throws his arms around her, pulling her into an unexpected kiss.

It’s not rushed. It’s not needy. It’s a reunion.

“Are you sure,” she asks, but his answer is another kiss.

Her lips are firm, determined, but the kiss is soft, slow, unhurried, like they’re rediscovering each other through touch. She exhales through her nose, overwhelmed by the wave of relief crashing into her, washing away the bitterness of the day. He presses closer, one hand cupping her cheek while the other tangles in her hair, deepening the kiss with an almost reverent pull.

It’s him. All of him. Apologetic. Passionate. Hers. At least for the night.

“Get a room!” someone yells from across the street, and Paul pulls back with a low laugh, forehead resting against hers.

“We do have a bed to put to good use,” he teases, lifting an eyebrow.

She grins, breathless. “Alright,” she murmurs, biting her lower lip. “As long as you realize this is your second chance. I don’t give third chances.”

His face sobers. He nods, solemn and sure. “You won’t need to.”

He tugs her close as he steps to the edge of the street, arm wrapped around her waist as he hails a cab that stops just at the end of the street.

“Race you,” she challenges, her grin returning.

But Paul only shakes his head, smirking. “I have a better idea.”

Before she can question it, she’s airborne, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She shrieks, almost dropping her heels.

“Oh my God, Paul! I ate so much!”

“And you’re going to spend every last calorie tonight!” he laughs, breathless, and breaks into a run, the sound of his laughter carrying them down the street.

Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake to come here, after all.

And just like that, the weight in her chest begins to lift. She can be a lot to handle, she’s aware, but this time Paul best be aware she won’t let him make her feel small. She’ll book that motel room in the morning, just in case.

Meanwhile.

From the shadows beyond the streetlamp, Jasper stood as still as stone. His eyes, darkened with thirst and restraint never left her. She was laughing now, wrapped in the arms of a wolf.

His arms.

Jasper’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching beneath porcelain skin as Paul pulled her closer, lips brushing the crown of her head like he had a right to her. The sight burned hotter than venom in Jasper’s throat. He could hear the wolf’s heartbeat, steady, satisfied, cocky. The kind of rhythm a man has when he thinks he’s already won.

And her.

She was radiant. All flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes, her voice soft and unguarded, like she felt safe there. With him. With a wolf.

But her scent, her blood told another story.

It wasn’t just her blood. It was the pull, primal and unbearable. Her very existence called to something ancient and possessive buried deep in Jasper’s chest. Her emotions, raw and crackling like lightning under his skin, made his head spin. He could feel every flicker of happiness, of comfort, of lust… and it twisted inside him like a blade.

She should have felt that with him.

She should have looked up and seen him waiting in the shadows, not the creature whose kind Jasper was forced to hate. Fate isn’t playing fair if this is how it brings her back to him.

Next to him, Alice stepped quietly, her presence like a hand on his shoulder he couldn’t shake off. Her gaze followed his, unreadable, but her voice was steady and soft.

“Told you it wouldn’t change anything,” she murmured. “Her future is set.”

Jasper didn’t look at her.

His eyes remained locked on Y/N.

The way her fingers curled in Paul’s shirt, the way she leaned while kissing him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Jasper’s hands balled into fists at his sides. The wolf’s scent clung to her like a brand, like a fucking claim.

And it was wrong.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t feel this. But everything in him, the soldier, the vampire, the man, was screaming mine.

A low, almost inaudible growl curled up from his chest before he could stop it. Alice heard it, of course. She always did.

She touched his arm gently. “We have to go.”

Still, he didn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until he burned every second of the moment into his mind, the wolf’s grin, her kiss, the way she didn’t even look back.

Then, slowly, Jasper turned away, the cold of the forest pressing in like punishment. His steps were silent, but inside, his thoughts roared.

Because it didn’t matter what Alice saw in her visions.

Jasper had already felt it then, the connection, the pull, the truth. He spent the last two years learning control, fighting his urge to hunt her down and claim her for himself in any way possible. Jasper was consumed by it – the vision, the scent he so vividly conjured up in his mind, and her beauty that haunted him.

After all this time, he was ready. He proved it when he didn’t rip into her jugular when he held her earlier. The scent had lured him closer, too close for him to properly understand as it was buried under the wolf’s stench. It’s hidden her from him almost too well, but the sweetness of her blood’s song is undeniable. It calls to him, inviting him to crave her, to taste the heavenly liquid he’s been trying to forget.

Two years ago, he protected her from himself. Now? Jasper knew one thing with absolute certainty: She might think she belongs to the wolf now. But she was his. And before long, she will know it too.

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

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch

A/N: If you want to be tagged for future parts, leave a comment and make sure your blog's visibility is on (in settings) otherwise Tumblr won't allow me to tag you.

#jasper cullen #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper hale x reader #twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilight fandom #the twilight saga #twilight saga #jasper hale x y/n #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader

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