#I just think all media should tie back to this

[iam-tryingmybest]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how hiccup choosing to save toothless is him also choosing himself. It is him looking at his awkward kind self and actively deciding not to fit into the mold everyone wants him to be

Like they really peaked with cinema with hiccup and toothless huh

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[nicxl333]

October 3rd - ITOSHI SAE

“how many times do i have to fill you up for you to get there’s no one but you. ‘m gonna keep going till you understand.”

content: 18+, nsfw, breeding, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, spanking, rough sex, argument, afab! reader

☆彡

“it was nothing? so why the fuck am i seeing another girl pressed up against you in the tabloids?!”

you threw your bag onto the side table by the entrance of your penthouse, storming in with sae in your wake. you were beyond fuming, and he knew it. you turned to face him, hand on your hip.

“if it was nothing why weren’t you phased by it? better yet, why would you even neglect to tell me you were doing a photoshoot with a model? you’ve never had a problem telling me prior, so why not now?!”

sae toed off his shoes and released the tie from around his neck, allowing a slight amount of solace to ease the rising tension in the room.

“i already told you, the crew didn’t tell me until i was on set with her. everything in that photoshoot was for the purpose of my contract with this brand. i had no say in it whether you like it or not.”

“whether i like it or- sae! can’t you understand how that makes me feel? whether or not you didn’t know prior, why am i having to find out through the tabloids? you had every and all opportunity to tell me after your shoot was done.”

you took a step closer to him, until you were right in front of him. it’s a shame you were arguing really, because he looked so delectable staring down at you. the way his chest rose and fell, the notes of his cedarwood cologne wafting through your nostrils, the stray strand of hair falling over his piercing eyes.

if you were to reenact what was playing out in your mind right now, it would most certainly be the image of his thick, veiny cock drilling into your sopping wet cavity. alas, he just had to be a dickhead.

“you say i’m the only one, but why are you constantly in the news, paired up with another girl, yet i’m the one hidden away. why should i be made to feel like i’m always competing for you?”

he matched your energy, taking one minuscule step, so that you were almost chest to chest, your clothes partially kissing every once in a while. his right hand raised to your chin, tilting your head upwards, capturing your attention in a ethereal whirlwind. his cologne was intoxicating now, making you slightly dizzy. your heart picked up moderately, pulsing in anxious anticipation wondering what he would do next. one thing about sae, he was unpredictable, so as of right now, you were unsure of where this argument was heading.

he leaned down, so that he was mere millimetres away from your lips. your heart was thudding now, which lead you to wonder if he could potentially hear it too. he was close, too close. if you swayed even just slightly forward, your lips would just about tou-

“distracted? i’m talking to you y’know.”

him and his smart mouth.

dazed, you stepped away from him slightly, to insert some distance and reclaim some authority.

“the media will always make things out differently to what they actually are, you know that much.” he started walking towards you, while you started walking backwards. this continued until you hit the wall of the hallway, just adjacent to the door of your bedroom. both hands at either end sealed you in between him, no escape from his intoxicating presence. he leaned in once again, whispering to you this time.

“you think there’s competition? i’ll show you why you’re wrong.”

before you could say anything, his lips captured yours, his right hand gravitating downwards to lift your left leg and wrap it around his waist. your dress rose up enough for your underwear to be slightly exposed to him. you kissed him back, your tongue entangling his in a slow and sensual dance. one hand placed itself on his chest, feeling his chiseled abs underneath, while the other wrapped around the back of his neck, pressing him further into you.

it was wet, it was hot, it was sloppy, but all you could think about was how you wanted, how you needed more.

to make matters worse, you could feel the tent in his black dress pants pressing up against your partially soaked underwear. in a bout of pettiness from him essentially deflecting from the argument, you pushed yourself against it, inciting a low groan from sae, although swallowed by your tongue enveloping his once more. in response, his hand left your thigh, travelling under your dress, and gripped your ass, causing you to moan out in a mixture of shock and arousal.

“jump.”

you followed his command, releasing any reservations about how things turned out and essentially dismissing the previous fucks you had.

his hands supported your body weight, and led you to your shared bedroom, placing you down with ever so tender loving care. he slid your dress off, your underwear following. he then pushed you down so you lay on your back, although you rose slightly and rested on your elbows to see what he was doing. you watched on as he hovered over your breasts, lowering his lips to the left one, and rolling his tongue over the hardened pebble. your body seized up in impatient pleasure as his lips enclosed over the nipple, giving it a long, hard suck. he made sure not to derive the other of any attention, his left hand fondling the other one as he satisfied you. your soft moans filled the room, your empty, wet pussy throbbing in want.

“sae. i need more.”

in an instantaneous response you felt his left hand snaking down towards your cunt, spreading your folds and slowly circling your bud. the motion was light and slow, a long method of torture to your impeding orgasm. sae knew this too, but he loved seeing you like this, falling apart in front of his eyes and writhing for more. reason being it reminded him of the exact reason why no other girl would ever compare to you. the way your eyesbrows would knit up, your soft whines indicating how sensitive you were, how your back arched when you came and you would turn your face to the side. no one could do it like you, not even close.

his long fingers slipped into your wet pussy with no restraint, immediately curling upwards and thrusting. his fingers were so free flowing that even though you were his first experience, it made you wonder if he somehow had more than he was letting on. you moaned out, legs threatening to shut. he was one step ahead of you however, prying them back open and increasing the intensity of his strokes.

“it shouldn’t have to take me fucking you like this for you to realise you’re the only one for me. you think i’d do this for anyone else? fat chance in hell.”

“but you don’t express yourself sae, how am i supposed to know?” you whined. “i just wanna have my boyfriend to myself, is that such a problem?” the end of your sentence came out high pitched, thanks to sae quickly leading you to an orgasm. your back arched and your pussy tightened on his fingers, restricting them from moving any further.

“i never said it is, but i’ve told you there is no one else. i get i should’ve told you beforehand, but i’ve never given you any reason to believe otherwise.”

he pulled his fingers out, your cum spinning webs around them. he raised them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact while he sucked off your secretion, swallowing shortly after. he then leaned down to kiss you, his hand wrapping around your neck to hold you in place. your hand in response reached down, feeling up the tent in his pants. you needed his dick inside you now, stretching you out to a point where you couldn’t think, let alone say anything.

“sae, please, please, just give it to me. stop playing around.”

“impatient much?”

“you’re so mean.” you whined.

he rose to his feet, unbuckling his belt to lower his trousers and free his restrained cock. it was pink, angry and begging for attention. the veins were extremely prominent, branching out all over. to top it all off, the tip was glistening with pre-cum, dribbling out slightly each time his cock pulsated, matched to the rhythm of his heartbeat. no matter how many times you had sex, every-time his heart never failed to race with the thrill of sinking into you.

“turn around.”

you followed his instruction, knowing you were about to get fucked up. you decided to play into it, arching just how he liked, ass all out on display.

he lined himself up and gave you an experimental rub with his dick. just to see how bad you really needed it. you whined once more, your ass automatically pushing to meet his dick. it was then he realised he reached his limit.

he pushed into you with a strangled grunt. you were hot, scorching even - most of all tight. your cunt immediately enveloped his dick in a strangulating hug. he had to stop himself, couldn’t carry on. if he did, he felt like he would cum. he could feel himself throbbing violently. it scared him. this time was different. who knows if it was the product of your fresh argument, but this time brought about a whole new sense of responsibility, possession he had over you. the kind of possession that told him to fill you up over and over again.

his thoughts were shattered to smithereens when you to fuck yourself on him, deciding to take matters into your own hands. your thrusts were so powerful that such an esteemed soccer player like him (who’s duty was to score and defend against grown men), was struggling to hold form. you moaned out in overwhelming ecstasy, and it was then he realised that you were going to make yourself cum whether he did anything or not. he pulled out till just the tip remained, and pushed back in with a heave. you arched into him, a chill running down the entirety of your spine. he set immediately into a rhythm, fucking you with harsh passion and precision. no stroke was different, each one hitting that exact spot that had you squirming. you cried out in pure bliss, your eyes pricking tears as you struggled to keep composed at the sheer power of his thrusts. he grabbed both of your hands, crossing them behind your back, using them as leverage to drill into you harder.

“you think i’d ever give anyone else the satisfaction of feeling what you’re feeling right now? you think anyone could ever come close?”

you didn’t answer him. you physically couldn’t. he was actively rendering you incapacitated, draining any sort of strength you could have to refute him. he didn’t like the silence though, his right palm raising, and striking your left cheek. your body jolted in pain and arousal, your pussy clenching around him tighter than ever before.

“answer me. you had every bit of energy to accuse me, but now you want to be silent?”

“no one sae! there’s no one else! only me!”

“good, good girl. now be quiet and take my dick. arch your back further and let me make you cum again.”

you did what he asked while he angled himself differently to hit your g-spot specifically. from this alone you knew you were about to cum again. your back arched, your grip on sae strengthened and a bolt of electricity ran through your spine. sae powered right on through your orgasm, even having the audacity to speed up.

he started throbbing once again, his limits bursting out. he buried his head in the crook of your neck, softly groaning while his pace turned sloppy and irregular. you felt yourself becoming full as he filled you up to the brim with ropes of his cum.

you breathed a sigh of relief while the mixture of yours and sae’s cum started to drop out of you. all was silent for a moment and you thought he was done with, until you realised he was still hard.

it was at that moment, he rose up, grabbing your hips and giving you one hard thrust that shook the whole bed. you moaned out in surprise, shock and pure overstimulation.

“you should know by now that there’s no one but you y/n. i don’t know how you don’t realise no one comes close. how many times do i have to fill you up for you to get there’s no one but you. ‘m gonna keep going till you understand.”

please note: hi guys, i just wanted to say this is not proof read. something came up last minute today so i had to decide between not posting today or just posting it now and making my adjustments at a later time. my word is my word though so here is my first kinktober oneshot! enjoy <3

[calisources]

𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂, 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋, 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences have been taken from different media to be compiled into a list. This is not a meme for minors, the content here goes from mild to highly sexual, topics like dominance, submissive, bondage,praise kink and breeding are all present so discretion is key. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

You are perfect. And now you wear my mark, your ass is mine.

Tie me up, please…

Kiss me hot,heavy,wet & angry with that attitude like you do when your mouth yells it hates me but your tongue screams it can’t wait for me.

Let me undress your body, caress your skin and wetly massage your mind back into making love to me again.

They wanted her. They all loved her. And they wanted to keep her.

A little vanilla never hurt anybody.

If you have any sense you’ll stay away from him.

Touch me, like this, like a good girl.

That’s it, use your tongue. 

I'd planned to have you on your bed the first time, but maybe I should take you here, by the mirror, so you can see how splendid we are together.

I’m not going to deny that I want to fuck you. I cannot do anything else, But I will say that I have plans for you if you say yes.

I’ll fuck you so good, for so long that the only thing you’ll crave is my hands on your skin, my cock deep in your pussy.

I want a second serving of you. I’m hard just thinking of your perfect breasts and hard nipples.

As much as I appreciate that, right now you’re all I want to eat.

Now will you please sit on my face already?

You are corrupting me, Theo.

But you like being corrupted, don't you, sweet girl?

The destruction of something beautiful can appear so entertaining.

If women were totally satisfied with their sexual and lovemaking experiences, women would welcome the lovemaking experience as much as men.

I want to learn from you. Teach me what you know.

Once I make you mine, you will be mine forever. I will call you and you will come, in more ways than one.

What have I taught you? Show me, sweet girl.

Use your thighs, ride like it’s your last day on this earth.

I been aching to be inside you since we met, you devil woman.

Hands braced against the wall, and open your legs.

You tasted sweet, like oranges, liquid sunshine in my mouth.

I need you. Every pore of my being is begging. This is what we do.

The things I want from you, darlin’, will give you nightmares, ones like you’ve never had before.

If you could read my mind, I’m pretty sure you’d either be traumatized, sexually aroused or both.

The nicer you treat her outside the bedroom, the naughtier it will get inside the bedroom.

Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature.

That’s it. You can take a lot more, don’t you? Hold on to me.

If you behave, I’ll let your hands go and touch me.

I love your skinny legs, and what's between them.

 I don't want words, but inarticulate cries.

All you have to do is beg, and I will give you what you want.

I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

You make the sweetest little noises. But I need you to be louder, let everyone know.

It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine.

I felt like an animal, and animals don't know sin, do they?

And ye whimper under me, and struggle as though you wanted to get away, and I know it's only that you're struggling to come closer, and I'm fighting the same fight.

I can help you with that.

Forgetting him. Moving on. I’m okay with being your rebound. I’ve already said that I want you.

You’ll give yourself to me? Let me take control? Let me send you over the edge of ecstasy time and again until you awaken?

Possess. Have. Hold. Enjoy. Control. Dominate. Pick your verb, Ms. Fairchild. I intend to explore so very many of them.

I feel claimed.

You’re so primed. I can feel that hot little pussy clenching around me every time I move a muscle or say a word.

Yeah, arch your back so I can look at you going nice and tight around my fingers.

Pet, I give you permission to be as vocal as you wish, because I am going to blow your mind in a few minutes and I want to hear how much you enjoy the ride.

If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask. It would be my pleasure -  and yours.

Watch me make love to you.

I'd like to bite that lip.

I want you sore, baby.

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you.

There is no room in my body for anything but you.

Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, just take me as I am.

I live for sex. I celebrate it, and relish the electricity of it, with every fibre of my being.

I’m not wearing anything underneath. Want to see?

You will be staying here until I’ve deemed it safe for you to go back to your life. Do you understand me?

Dominate you? Yes. Master you? yes. Make you yield to what you want, make you surrender to who you truly are? Yes.

Why don’t you scream my name? Let every other man and woman who you belong to.

I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

I taught you everything you know. Every man after me is just a shadow of what I did to you.

I knew you could be a good girl.

You were fucking made for me.

God is not gonna save you from me, baby.

My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.

I am moist between the legs.

I came three times. During sex. 

Do you know all the ways a Lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you?

You stay right where daddy puts you, baby girl.

Wait until you taste her. She is fucking delicious.

Lick my fingers and feel how wet you are.

Are there big, bad monsters in the woods who want to eat me up?

Right there, don’t stop. I can feel it. 

Please come in me, I don’t care, I want to feel you.

Where do you want it, baby girl? Your cunt, your mouth or your neck?

Close your eyes and relax. One kiss. I don’t bite.

Seriously? In the morning, again? 

You said to rest but I can feel you hard against my back. 

You can do all the rest sweet, let me take care of you.

I want you to fuck me, Chris.

A little playful banter never hurt — or did it?

One should always explore something, before one goes in deeper.

Come here and undress me.

How am I supposed to do my job when all I can think about is getting back to you?

Someone could walk in on us. 

Better be good and come fast, then. Or everyone will see you begging for more.

I can imagine my hands getting your fucking clothes off right now.

Do not shy away from the sensations I create, Cherry Blossom. Take pride in them, as I do.

Am I doing it good, baby? Just like you taught me? 

Tell me I’m a good girl. Your only girl. 

When I come, I come for you. Because of you and your mouth, hands, and insatiable little cunt.

My tongue, my fingers, my cum inside you. Just you and me, Eva. Intimate and raw.

How many have been with you ever since? Or no one compared? Tell me.

Show me then. I demand that you show me. That’s an order.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

mrs. burrow blurb…

825 words for anyone wondering

◎ ｡ ﾟ ❁ ﾟ ｡ ◎ * You've been drooling at your phone for hours (10 minutes) just waiting for your stud of a husband to get home from practice.

All your social media has are pictures, videos and gifs of your man just owning his practice look- well his Bengals gear. But no one should look that damn good at work, unless they're getting paid to. And last time you checked he was getting paid to throw a ball and run away.

"Baby!"

You jolt up from the couch to the sound of Joe's voice coming in from the garage.

"Where are you gorgeous?"

"Living room!" You respond with a smile in your voice.

You see him before he sees you, of course considering he's 6 '4 and 220 lbs of fine ass man. He comes in decked out in his "lady killing" gray sweat shorts and a tie dye muscle shirt with his practice bag swung over his tan broad shoulders.

"Well don't you look comfy." He chuckles nodding at your current state of being wrapped in a blanket like a caterpillar in its cocoon.

You smile unwrapping yourself and standing to your much shorter stature, not that it's ever been a problem for him. "You look like you want every woman within 100 miles to start ovulating."

He snorts and rolls his eyes before pulling you into his arms for a strong yet soft, comforting hug.

"I missed you." He mumbles into your 3 day twist out.

"You smell heavenly, oh I missed you too." He pulls back a bit with a blush heating his cheeks.

You chuckle as he composes himself. "I don't know what's going on with you today, but I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Then dips his head to press his lips to yours. You hum sweetly into the kiss and rise to your tiptoes to reciprocate the gentle motions.

He pecks your lips once more before pulling back and smiling.

"I baked today." You beam.

His brows quirk up. "Oh yeah?" You nod and lead him to the kitchen. He sits at the counter as you place a cake plate in front of him, then lifts the translucent glass to reveal a sweet lemon Bundt cake.

"Wow."

You bite the bottom of your lip while cutting him a piece then handing it to him along with a fork.

"Thank you mamas." He says then takes a bite out of your homemade creation. You watch intently as he closes his eyes and throws his head back with a moan.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh yeah, fantastic. You did your thing baby." He responds, finishing the rest of his cake.

The joy you feel as the man you love cleans his plate is incomparable. Well you could compare it to the lust you feel when his body engulfs yours in any and every way.

Like when he walked in from an 8 hour practice looking like straight sex on legs. You'd never know how sexy a bleached buzz cut could be until he waltzed in that day.

There's nothing better than a man that just gets better with age.

"Babe?"

You shiver at the tone of his voice as he wakes you from your daydream. You lock eyes and let out a deep breath.

"Fuck, get me pregnant."

He steps down from the stool and smirks. "I think we already have that covered."

Still entranced in his beauty, you pout then feel a warmth around your midsection. You look down to see his hands rubbing on your bump, because you're 7 months pregnant. Which is why he said he was glad you were feeling better, because ever since your 3rd trimester started you've had more downs than anything.

"Babygirl must be having a quiet day if you somehow forgot about her." He jokes. You chuckle and place your hands on top of his.

"I didn't forget, I must've fallen asleep after baking. Then you walked in and I couldn't think of anything else." Then as if she was being summoned, your little girl starts to kick against his hands.

Joe kneels down and kisses your stomach. "I guess she was just trying to give her stunning mama a little break. Ain't that right Deya?"

"Deya?" You tilt your head amusingly.

"I've heard 'who dey' so much today, it's stuck in my head. I just wanted to try it out. What do you think?" He rose to his full height.

"Like Adeya Burrow? It's cute, we can put it on the list."

"Yeah?" He smiles. You nod.

"The list is getting pretty long though, we're gonna have to make a decision soon."

Your husband takes your hands in his and brings them up to kiss them. "We have time, but I think we have our two finalists."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

Turns out you didn't have as much time as you thought. At exactly 35 weeks, your twin girls Adeya and Ariel Burrow, were born. A surprise but the most loved and adored surprise they'd ever had.

Main Masterlist

[purinfelix]

can i request hot cocoa + let you break my heart again + franco colapinto

perhaps the both of them are at some kind of gala/event/party for f1 with a mix of yearning maybe some mutual pining 🙈

one day ⊹ ࣪ ˖ - franco colapinto

w/c: 800 a/n: UGH this idea was just sooo scrumptious i loved writing it sm (and maybe got a bit carried away since this was supposed to be a blurb) BUT thanks bff hope u like <3333

this is part of my 1k event - check out the rules here!!

Stuffy formal events were something you thought you'd escaped by choosing a career in motorsport.

Little did you know, becoming an F1 driver meant signing up for a lifetime of them - a fact you were sourly reminded of when the annual gala rolled around, and despite it being your first, proved awful every step of the way. Somewhere in between the pretentiously tiny portion sizes and long, boring speeches, you found yourself growing more restless, desperate for an escape.

That's how you ended up here - leaving the toilet cubicle that had been your safe haven for the last half an hour, following a less-than-kind text from your pr manager demanding your return. As you washed your hands, your eyes glazed over your reflection in the ornate bathroom mirror. A small smile perked at the side of your mouth, satisfied with the job your stylist had done - even if the outfit she had chosen was suffocatingly tight and only added to your long list of nightly grievances.

Leaving the bathroom, you took in a deep breath, mentally preparing to sit through several more insufferable hours of this event.

"I was wondering where you went," came a voice from the other side of the hall, emerging from the men's bathroom. Looking up you locked onto a pair of green eyes, a coy expression on his face.

"Didn't think you'd notice in between all your flirting, Franco," you spat, though you couldn't stop yourself from offering a sly smile. You feel his eyes run over you, trying to maintain your composure as you feel your cheeks heat up under the weight of his gaze.

"You look good," he lets out, a little softly, almost like a confession. You're tempted to reply back with something snappy, though you stop yourself.

"You too." And you're not lying. In a black suit, cleanly pressed and fitted, he looks almost unrecognisable from the normal race weekend outfit. Though his deep brown curls, which you can tell his stylist has tried their best to tame, still fall carefreely onto his forehead.

He brushes a couple away as he lets out a shy laugh. "Well, it seemed a good time to clean up, hm?"

There's a moment of silence that seems to indicate that the two of you should return back to the event - but you don't. Neither of you move, just standing there looking at each other, almost daring the other to say something else. It's unlike the two of you since usually any space between you is filled with snarky comments and quick insults - the result of being two rookies from opposite teams, fighting to make a name for yourselves.

But sometimes you wish it weren't. Sometimes, in between the snide remarks and menacing stares, you think about how maybe if fate had favoured you just a little more, Franco might've been your teammate. And maybe, just maybe, you might've gotten along.

Though being 'rivals' meant being similar, even if you refused to admit it, and knowing each other deeply - on a level that being friends wouldn't come close to.

He reminds you of this fact when he pipes up again, hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants. "I really don't want to go back in there," he confesses.

"Me neither," you sigh in agreeance, relieved he feels the same.

"It's just so-"

"Stuffy."

"Yes, exactly!" he replies, a thankful smile on his face, "plus, I feel like this tie is trying to strangle me."

"But I guess we have to go back, my media manager is going to be looking for me."

"Right," he says, looking down, "unless."

You quirk an eyebrow, intrigued at what he's implying. "Surely not."

"What are the chances of us actually being needed tonight, we're two rookies, it's not like they're going to give us any awards."

"You really haven't been listening in those media training lessons of yours, hm?"

"Oh, because you care so much about my image," he laughs, "c'mon let's get out of here, do something else, something that isn't so mind-numbingly boring." As he speaks, he brings a hand to his neck, loosening his tie, and you suck in a sharp breath as you watch him.

"Franco," you say softly, almost begging him not to make you make this decision.

"Fine, if you want to head back in there, be my guest, but I'm going." He turns around, giving you one last look, almost daring you to follow him with one eyebrow raised and the corner of his lips quirked up.

As he does you're struck by the feeling that maybe one day the two of you won't be posed as rivals, that maybe you might truly get along.

That maybe one day he won't have such a strong effect on you, that the way he looks at you won't make your heart flutter and brain stop as much as it does now.

But today isn't that day.

"Franco, wait," you call out, jogging up to him and letting out a defeated sigh, "where should we go?"

"Anywhere you want," he replies, looking at you with a smug yet endeared smile - almost as if he knew you'd join him all along.

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[johnbrand]

The New Fad

It was strange how this seemingly irresistible fad suddenly swept in. I took a sip of my coffee, noticing how every man appeared to be identically dressed from my chair outside the cafe. The city was filled with men in suits. On the clock, off the clock, even if their workplace required them to wear a different uniform, the second their hours where up a 3-piece would be resituated onto the body. 

This change had been so quick too. Brooks Brothers replacing Nike, businessmen replacing athletes.  At first it seemed like nothing, but soon people I knew started jumping on board too. One was once the most raggedy of counterculture punks, but the next time I saw him he had come from the barbershop with his spiked, flamboyant hawk mowed down into a tame, respectable cut. Two more of my friends were a colorful, progressive couple, yet I later found out through their social media they had split to focus on their “domestic financial endeavors.” They had taken up investments and accounting since.

I did not see the appeal in this rigid conformity, this sweeping mentality to return to tradition. It was simply too drab, too starchy. This new trend meant every man was perfectly groomed, stiffly suited, and promptly coordinated towards his career. And with this came the resurgence of other forgotten subcultures: the craving to marry a homebound woman, the chance to create numerous offspring, the promise of a nuclear family. As a gay male who considered business casual as the only form of formality, none of this interested me.

With a sigh, I took another sip of my coffee, readjusting the sleeves of my hoodie before grabbing my phone. A new software update had installed, boasting upgraded accuracy in facial recognition. Raising the screen to unlock the device, I dreamily absorbed the beguiling swirl of colors and patterns. The phone was thinking, recognizing my identity.

<ah…a lot of work to do here. lets see…gotta add some layers…no more hoodies or leisurely clothes for you. only formal articles. that collar should be stiff, and lets get you in a charcoal tie to match that dark standard suit. so much better.  dont you agree? just nod your head, thats a good boy. you dont want that shaggy beard or unkempt hair. no no, a good handful of texturing fiber will keep you with a solid, unwaveringly tall quiff. this is your new haircut, and that stubble will need to be maintained every day, got that? yes, you are a good boy, a good preppy boy.> <no no, just keep staring into the phone. you’re going to be clean and suited now, forever. returning to tradition, how men were always meant to be. and doesnt it feel right? dont you feel like youve come home? youve never felt so comfortable in your skin, so comfortable in your clothes. confident, conservative, and able to admit what you are. you are a preppy boy now. that sounds a little strange, right? thats ok, say it with me. preppy boy, I am a preppy boy. strange…but good, right? say it one more time. some may say youre a bit old-fashioned, but we both know why something becomes traditional–because it has always worked. nod your head slowly with me. it’s too hard to do anything but agree with me, right?> <now, the update is almost done, so let me just add in a few more quick things. lets see…fixation to the haberdashery…commitment to formality…dependence on the institution. what else am I missing…hmmm…are you a homosexual? no no, thats not going to work. good preppy boys are straight. nod with me, yes. desire of offspring…familial responsibility…an itch that can only be comforted by the omnipresent cinch of a fastidiously knotted tie. ah, it seems my time is up. just remember, your only aspiration in life is to be a good preppy boy. nod for me if you understand. thats a good preppy boy.>

Unable to recall what I was doing, I tucked my phone back into the seat pocket of my pressed trousers. I sipped once more at my coffee and took in the impeccable Financial District around me. All the men in suits, one could practically smell the crisp clean bills in their pockets. Back and forth from two destinations, the office with the other businessmen or the home with the wife and kids. Pulling up the sleeve of my suit jacket, my expensive watch informed me it was my time for the first. And once the hours were put in, I could return home to my own woman before beginning the cycle again.

[flemingsfreckles]

Physio’s Daughter Part 10

Read the rest of the series here!

Warnings: cursing, that’s about it

WC: 4.6k

A/N: it’s almost over yall

You woke up tangled in the bedsheets, blinking a few times before realizing your head was just on the mattress and your pillow was on the ground. You sit up slightly, reaching for the pillow to bring it back under your head. You roll over to check the clock and that’s when you remember this isn’t your hotel room. This isn’t your bed, this is Jessie’s bed. Only Jessie wasn’t in bed anymore.

Pushing up you look around the room, finding it empty, no signs of Jessie, you also didn’t hear the water running in the bathroom, she wasn’t anywhere you could see in the room. You notice her phone, wallet, and ID badge are all missing from the bedside table. She had left.

You feel your heart sink into your stomach. A twisted feeling building inside of you. She wasn’t here. You were waking up alone.

Unsure of what to do, you climbed out of bed, making your way to the bathroom. It seemed untouched from last night, both of your clothes still in a pile on the floor, her medal still on the counter, both of your toothbrushes in a cup. You brush your teeth and try to keep your mind from spiraling at the fact that Jessie was gone.

You decide to check your phone which you failed to charge last night, maybe she had texted you. You’re quickly able to check your phone. Disappointment fills your body when you see a few messages from family who were congratulating you on your hard work and a few messages from Olivia.

Olivia: I’m down to help

Olivia: What do you need?

Olivia: assuming you’re having a good night ;) and are too busy to respond, just catch up with me in the morning.

The screen goes black only a second later, the battery finally dead. You sigh, not even sure if you needed her help anymore, it seemed Jessie didn’t care to stick around to be there when you woke up this morning. Maybe she had media or a meeting but given that you were giving the athletes schedules, you knew that wasn’t true.

You wander back into the bathroom, grabbing out the clothes that are yours from the heap on the floor. Were you supposed to change and leave Jessie’s clothes? Deciding it didn’t matter and you could bring her back her clothes another time you just bundle them up in your arms before sliding on your shoes, not bothering to tie the laces and you head to the door.

You make the quick run to your room, you don't need to be caught wearing a UCLA shirt, giving everyone the wrong idea of what you two did last night.

“Well well well, look what we have here.” Olivia says, coming around the corner giving you a glance over. “I’d ask where you spend the night but the UCLA shirt and the fact that you two were practically inseparable last night is enough information.”

“It’s not what you think.” Out of insecurity you wrap your hands across your chest, covering the UCLA logo.

“I think you spent the night in a certain captain’s bed.”

“Okay then it is what you think, but it wasn’t like that, nothing happened.”

“Sure.” You can tell by Olivia’s tone of voice and the roll of her eyes that she doesn’t believe you at all.

“I’m serious.” You can feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “She was feeling too tired, so we just went to bed, nothing happened” Technically saying nothing happened was a lie, but if you told Olivia you had the captain grinding in your lap as you two made out, she would assume a lot more happened. You instead let her make up whatever she wanted in her mind.

“Whatever you say.” She gives you a wink.

“Olivia, I don’t really want to talk about it, nothing happened and then she left wasn’t in the room when I woke up.”

“Oh.” Olivia’s tone immediately shifts to one of sympathy.

“Yeah.” It was silly to be so upset about Jessie leaving, you two weren’t together, you didn’t even sleep together, there was no reason you should expect her to have stayed. Except that you had, you had envisioned waking up next to her, being able to roll over and cuddle into her body, you had pictured a quiet morning with the two of you under her sheets. But that was your fault, not hers.

“So what’s the favor you need anyway?” Olivia tries to change the subject, not knowing the favor you were planning to ask was related to Jessie.

“Oh right, well, I don’t know if I really need it anymore. What I was going to do was-” you get interrupted by knocking on the door.

Olivia makes the move toward the door, opening it a crack before she turns back to look at you, her face with an uncomfortable look on it. “It’s for you.” She opens the door more and now you see Jessie standing in the doorway, seemingly out of breath.

“Can I come in?” She asks, still panting slightly.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea” Olivia starts as if she’s trying to defend you from Jessie, protect you. She then just looks at you.

“It’s fine.” You nod and Jessie steps into the room, the door barely closes before she starts explaining herself.

“I got pulled for drug testing this morning, that’s why I wasn’t in bed this morning.” Jessie then looks at Olivia then back at you then back to Olivia. You can feel the tension in the uncomfortable stare they give each other before they break eye contact and both look at you.

“She already knew where I was, it’s fine.” You reassure Jessie before giving Olivia a glance hoping she doesn’t do anything to make you regret not taking this conversation into the hall.

“I got pulled by the doping committee, randomized testing and all, they came to the door, I didn’t get time to wake you and then they don’t let you on your phone so I couldn’t text you, I wanted to leave a note but apparently that can be considered ‘tampering’ with the test, so I just had to leave.” Jessie rambles, her hands moving quickly as she explains where she was this morning.

She takes a breath. She’s telling you information you already knew, as a trainer you were well versed on the doping committee protocols. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up, that’s why I ran back. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you to wake up alone.”

“It’s alright.” You can’t help but hold back your laugh a bit. You were upset this morning when you woke up alone, but you believed Jessie’s story, given that she’s breathing hard you fully believe she sprinted here from the testing center, that she tried to make it back before you woke up. “That’s just how this is going, everyone and everything is in our way.”

“I know, but I felt terrible when I got back and saw you were gone. I sent a text on the way back, you never read it, though so I thought you’d still be asleep in bed, and then when I got there you were gone.”

It was obvious Jessie was a little panicked still despite your attempt to find humor in this situation. “My phone died.” You just now remembered, you stand up to go plug it in.

“Right, sorry I should’ve let you charge yours last night.”

To be fair to Jessie, charging your own phone wasn’t at the forefront of your mind when you were thinking about crawling into bed with her, so it was no one’s fault your phone had died. You were too caught up in getting to be in her bed, in getting to hold her, soaking in the feeling of her head on your chest, the smell of the hotel shampoo on her hair, the way her fingers twitched against your stomach as she fell asleep. No one was to blame for your phone being dead. “No worries.”

She looks up from where her hands are pulling at the lint on her shirt. “So are we good?”

“We’re good, no harm.” You reassure her. “What are your plans for the day?” You look over to the clock to see it was still early in the morning.

“I’m grabbing coffee with my sister this morning, then I think doing some touristy stuff with my family, they’re flying out this afternoon.”

That was your chance. She was going to be free this evening. You could ask her on a date. An actual date and not whatever you two have been sneaking around doing. “Cool.” You chicken out.

“What about you?”

“Probably going to do touristy stuff as well, I don’t really know, we have a lot of stuff to start packing too.” You quickly look at Olivia and then eye the bathroom door. She gets the hint and walks herself into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning on the shower. You take a breath in, remembering that she was the one who invited you into her bed last night, she wants this just as much as you do. “So then are you free tonight?”

“Yeah I think so, I should be.”

“Can I pick you up at 5 for something then?”

“Something? How descriptive of you. By ‘something’ do you mean a date?” She brings her fingers up to air, quoting your choice of words.

“I don’t know if what I’m thinking is really a date, but we can also grab dinner if you want, so that can be as a date.”

“Hmm mysterious,” the way she pauses makes you nervous. “Alright I’m in.” She says after thinking for a second.

“I’ll come by to get you at 5 then!”

“See you at 5.” She leans in, placing a delicate kiss to your lips. Her actions take you by surprise and you barely react in time to kiss her back before she’s pulling away. She steps out into the hallway and the door closes behind her.

She had never kissed you like that before. It was almost casual. As if you two kissed everyday, as if you hadn’t only kissed a few occasions, as if those kisses you had shared weren’t undercover, in secret. She kissed you as if everyone in the world already knew you were together. It was different.

Olivia comes out of the bathroom as soon as she hears the door close and you quickly grab her attention again. “Okay so change of plans, I will need that favor.”

You picked up Jessie at her door promptly at 5. She opened the door in a pair of black pants and a simple white shirt. It was such a simple outfit and yet she made it look incredible.

“Can I use your bathroom really quick before we go?” You asked, pointing into the room.

“Suuuure. Why didn’t you go in your own room?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t.” That was kind of a lie.

When you came out of the bathroom you handed Jessie back the folded clothes you had worn the night before. “I also brought these back. I didn’t know if you wanted them washed or what, so I can take them back if you want me to wash them.”

“No, they're fine. I’m going to have to wash all my clothes when we get back home anyway.” She takes them from your hands and sets them on the bench in the room.

“Alright, let’s go!” You hold the door open for Jessie before leading her to what was your pre-date activity.

“Don’t peak.” You say as you walk Jessie through the streets. Your hand pulling hers behind you. It wasn’t much further you had only asked her to close her eyes when you were a short distance away. “Stop here.” You position her in front of you, your hands come to cover her eyes, gently shielding her vision. “Okay open.” You say softly into her ear.

“What are we doing here?” Jessie says when you uncover her eyes, revealing to her the same stadium she’s been playing in the past few weeks.

“I’ll show you.” You open the backpack you brought with pulling out Olivia’s media pass, scanning it to the door. You hear the door unlock and you hold it open, gesturing for Jessie to enter. She takes a step inside and then turns back to look at you. You close the door and walk up to her, giving her a smile as you walk to lead her down the hallways.

“Here.” You say again scanning Olivia’s badge and waiting for the green light, you open the door leading to the tunnel to the field. “Go.” You gesture to her to walk down the tunnel. She gets to the end and stops, just before reaching the pitch.

“Are we allowed to be here?” She turns back asking.

“Yeah, media access gets cut off tomorrow after closing ceremonies, they have free reign until then.” You get to where she’s standing and put down your bag. You unzip it and pull out the wrapped up sweatshirt that contained Jessie’s medal inside. You unwrap it and hold it out to her. “Plus who are they to deny the gold medalist access to the field?”

“Where did you get this?” She questions you as she takes it from your hand and puts it around her neck.

“Don’t worry about it. But also maybe don’t leave it just sitting on the counter in your bathroom, I’ve heard those things are in high demand around here.” You give her a wink before putting the sweatshirt back in the bag.

You point out to the field, the sun just starting to make the field glow as it begins to set. “Look, I know it’s not the same, but you said you missed getting the moment of peace, quiet, being able to soak in everything on the field, so I wanted to give you that. I know it’s probably not quite what you meant since your teammates aren’t here and the high of winning is probably pretty worn off but, I figured you could go sit, soak it in, enjoy that moment.”

“Yeah?” She’s got a grin across her face.

“Yeah, go!” You point out to the field again and Jessie turns away from you. Relief runs through your body, you had been worried Jessie would think it was weird, you bringing her to the field, but she seemed excited at the idea.

What you didn’t tell Jessie about the evening you had planned was that you also had set up a picnic, a blanket, a cooler with snacks, drinks, all tucked away, you and Olivia had come to the field earlier to drop it off. You didn’t want her to feel forced to share this moment with you, so you bit your tongue when it came to telling her about the picnic. You just stood by the tunnel and watched as she stepped onto the pitch, spinning around as she walked toward the middle.

She sat herself down, looking around again before lying back, her hands coming to rest under her head. You can’t help but just watch, out in her own little world you watch her shift around, sitting up, laying down, standing, walking around the pitch. Taking a moment at each corner of the field, you watch as she takes deep breaths, closing her eyes at each one for a couple moments before moving to another spot on the pitch. She sits again, this time in the spot from which she took her penalty. She’s got one hand clutched around the medal, the other by her side, playing with the grass below her.

“Hey!” She shouts at you before waving you over. She pats the grass next to her and you jog out to her and sit down. Her knee and shoulder come into contact with yours as you sit down completely disregarding her personal space. “Thank you.”

Not sure why she’s thanking you, you turn to look at Jessie. “Huh?” The sun is hitting her face just right, her skin glowing in the yellow and orange light, her freckles even more prominent on her skin.

“For this.” She waves to the stadium around you.

“Oh I mean it’s nothing.” It really was, all you had done was ask Olivia for her badge, other than that, there wasn’t much facilitating on your end.

“It’s not nothing, it was really nice of you to think of doing this for me. I know it was simple, but it means a lot to me, both being able to soak in the moment and that you remembered that tiny detail.” She lets a hand come and rest on your thigh.

Not wanting to make too forward of a move, you slowly let your head come to rest on Jessie's shoulder, leaning slightly into her body.

“This really is peaceful. I can see why you missed not having this.”

“Yeah it’s nice isn’t it?” She leans her own head to rest on yours. The warmth of the sun on your face and the feeling of Jessie’s body let you relax, closing your eyes and breathing in the fresh grass and the warm breeze.

Interrupting your peace, your stomach rumbles loud enough to send Jessie into a giggle fit. “Oh my, hungry are we?”

“Stoooop.” You lay back covering your face, feeling embarrassed by the noise.

Jessie glances at the watch on her wrist. “We can get going to dinner, sorry I didn’t realize how long we’ve been here.”

“Well, I actually packed a picnic, it’s just over there, but we can go to a restaurant if you’d prefer.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about the picnic, we’ve been here for almost 2 hours?” She turns back to look at where you were lying.

You sit up and look at Jessie. “I just didn’t want you to feel forced to spend your moment soaking it in with me, eating, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re really sweet, has anyone ever told you that?” Jessie tilts her head blinking a few times at you. You can’t help but have the urge to kiss her, her smile, her freckles,the way her hair framed her face, all of it, every aspect of her was perfect.

“Just my mom.” You say half jokingly a laugh coming out as you spoke to her, but you also meant it seriously. You’d never been described as an adult, by one of your peers as sweet. As a little girl people called you sweet when you’d go to work with your Mom and you’d try to help her. You other flings and girls you had tried to date never described you as sweet, you got called nice, or hot, never sweet. It was nice to be called sweet.

“No I’m serious, you’re sweet and caring, you pay attention to details, you’re just a good person, I know that’s maybe not the most descriptive way to put it, but just being a good person is so hard to find sometimes. Go get the picnic.”

You don’t have to be told twice, you’re scrambling to stand and running across the pitch to where the basket sat. You try to run back with it in hand but that fails when you realize it’s quite heavy. Jessie stands up and helps spread the blanket before she takes off her shoes, you do the same and both climb onto the blanket.

Jessie begins pulling throngs from the basket. “Where did you get all of these? They look delicious!” She holds up a container with some sandwiches in it and another with fruit.

“A place down the street, I got lunch there the other day, it was really good.” Nodding your head you begin to get out plates and napkins, handing them to Jessie.

Once you have all the food split except the dessert Jessie holds out up the croissant from her plate in your direction. “Cheers?”

“That’s bread.”

“I know, but still, tap yours on mine. Cheers me.” A certain seriousness in her voice told you she wasn’t going to let you not participate. Grabbing your own croissant you hold it up toward her.

“To a gold medal?” You offer as you’re not sure what Jessie wants to cheers for.

“No, cheers to this, to us, finally having our first date.”

“So is this our first official date then?”

“Yeah I guess it is.”

Tapping your bread to hers you then take a bite and watch her do the same. She lets out a satisfied hum. “This is incredible.” She takes another bite before even finishing her first.

Your first official date ends up being way less nerve wracking than you expected. It feels like you’re back in the training room all those months ago, just the two of you chatting and laughing while you worked on her calf. Only now it was the two of you, in regular clothes, no massaging, no pressure of work, no fears of being walked in on. Just the two of you, enjoying dinner. As the sunlight begins to fade, you and Jessie finish up your meal and break into the dessert. It’s a few small pieces of cake.

“I wasn’t sure what flavors of cake you liked.” You defend yourself as Jessie slowly turns to look at you and eyebrow raised questioning you silently as she pulls multiple containers with cake in them.

She’s got one in each hand and two in her lap. She looks down at the cakes and then up to you with a smile. “So you bought them all?”

“Not all of them.” You think back to all the options the bakery had. “Just most of them.”

The two of you dig into the cakes, taking bites off of each piece, claiming each one is better than the last piece you tried.

“Let me try that one.” You point to the container in Jessie’s hand with a strawberry piece in it. Expecting Jessie to hand you the container you hold your hand out. Instead she digs her own fork into the cake before holding it out to you. You hesitate for a moment before leaning over to take the bite, you’d kissed the girl, sharing a fork wasn’t anything you should be getting in your head about.

“That one’s the best one yet.” You say once you swallow.

“You’re saying that about all of them!” Jessie says. You notice her eyes catch on your face and specifically your lips when she talks to you.

“You got a little something.” Jessie points to the corner of her own mouth.

“Oh.” You attempt to wipe it with the napkin in your lap.

“Here.” Jessie reaches out, wiping below your lip with her thumb. You could feel your heart start racing as Jessie brought her thumb to her own mouth, licking it and letting out a soft moan. “Mmmm, strawberry frosting.”

“I didn’t peg you to have a sweet tooth.”

“Why? Because I’m an athlete? My parents used to tease that I only played soccer so that I could eat all the sweets I wanted. And while it’s not the only reason, it sure is a perk to the job.”

“I guess, I’ve just never seen you with anything sweet, except maybe your coffee order.”

“I obviously have a sweet tooth, I like you.” When you just squint at her she clarifies. “Get it, because you’re sweet.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “You’ll be a really good dad someday with those dad jokes Fleming.” You tease her.

“Shush.” She pushes you on the shoulder slightly. Giving into her behavior you pretend she’s shoved you a lot harder, you let yourself fall backward onto the grass. Jessie covers her mouth as she laughs. You loved the sound of her laugh. She’d laugh softly sometime, quiet and to herself, other times when something really made her laugh you could hear her laughing rooms away.

“I can’t believe you’d push me over!” You dramatically throw your hand across your forehead.

“I didn’t push you that hard.” She says between laughs. “Here.” She gets up onto her knees and climbs closer to you. Jessie holds out her hand to you, you take it but instead of helping yourself up, you take the opportunity to pull her down.

She lets out a yelp as she lands on top of you. Her hands land on either side of your waist, somewhat holding herself off of you. “Hey!” She scolds you, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks down at you. Your hands find their way to her waist, holding her steady as she regains her balance above you.

“Hey.” You barely whisper at her. You watch her tongue quickly pass over her bottom lip before she’s starting to lean down to you.

Your hands quickly move around Jessie's body, one caressing up and down her waist, the other on her cheek, pulling her into you slightly. Jessie’s lips have been soft every time you’ve kissed but it always took you by surprise just how soft they were. The feeling of her lips and tongue against yours mixed with the feeling of her body weight pressing down on you, the way her thigh was slotted between your legs, was making you buzz. It was giving you flashbacks to last night and her in your lap. A tingling feeling building in your stomach and spreading lower.

You feel Jessie hum against your mouth as you let your tongue trail along her lip. Returning the favor Jessie captures your bottom lip, tugging it gently before releasing it to kiss you again. Your hand on her cheek moved to the back of her head, tangling in her hair and holding her to your lips. She places a few more kisses to your lips before ending it with just a peck before she sits up. Your hand leaves her hair, finding its way to her waist. She presses her upper body up by placing her hands on your chest. Her hands are warm and you like the feeling of them resting on you.

She looks down and gives you a dopey smile. “You did that on purpose.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Giving her a smartass response she rolls her eyes before sitting all the way up and moving off of you. Part of you wanted to just pull her right back onto you, you wanted to feel her body against yours again.

“You ready to head out?” Jessie looks around at the empty food containers starting to clean up.

“Yeah, I mean we’re done eating.” You climb up to begin helping her clean up. You both work to repack the picnic basket mostly in silence, quiet thank yous exchanged when you’d hand each other things. You both stand up and put your shoes back on before rolling up the blanket. Jessie offers to carry something but you shrug her off, this was your date, you were doing the work. She just got to show up and look pretty.

“Would you want to spend the night again?” Jessie asks when you start to head toward the tunnel to leave.

“Yeah if you’d want me to, I’d like that.” You had already been hoping that she would offer when you dropped her off at her door later that night, but the invite was even better.

Already feeling fuzzy at the thought of cuddling up in bed with Jessie again and hopefully getting to wake up next to her again. Her next words and the look in her eyes send a spike of adrenaline through your body. “Yeah I do, I want you to and I’m, um, unlike yesterday well, I’m not feeling tired tonight.”

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Pieces of media my mom has seen and the popular MLM ships in them that she doesn't think are gay:

MCU - Stucky (note that she does get a kick out of Stony stuff and she believes wholeheartedly that those two hate fucked in a not-filmed scene of Avengers 2012 so this is not about her thinking "oh Captain America is so straight-laced because he's the ideal American man" or anything)

MCU - Poolverine (she's fully aware and accepting of the fact that both Logan and Wade are canonically queer characters but she thinks all the flirting Wade did with Logan in the newest movie didn't necessarily mean anything because "he talks like that to everyone". Side note though: while she believes Wade should be with Vanessa, she does think that Logan can and should shoot his shot with Wade after Vanessa inevitably dies since he and Wade are both immortal. It's just that she thinks Wade should get his happy ending with Vanessa first.)

MCU - Lokius ("Mama have you ever seen a man fix another man's tie like that" "No but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen! I wouldn't know though; it's been like 15 years since I worked a corporate job.")

Sonyverse/Marvel - Symbrock ("They literally have a symbiotic relationship. That doesn't make them gay." So I showed her the comics where Eddie calls Venom "love" and gives birth to Venom's babies and she said "Fine you win but please never show me alien man birth ever again."

Supernatural - Destiel ("They're like Steve and Bucky! They're brothers in arms! They've been through hell and back together!" Note that she only watched through season 5 but she does know about a lot of their later interactions because I told her about them)

House M.D. - Hilson ("Dot I watched that whole show and they were never anything more than good friends" "What about when House admitted to thinking about Wilson during sex? What about that whole episode where they pretended to be gay for each other to prove a point to a neighbor and Wilson proposed? What about that whole episode where Wilson had to furnish the apartment and House told him not to let a woman tell him what to do but Wilson let House tell him what to do? What about the whole ending?" "Why can't two men just be close enough friends to joke about that stuff with each other?"

Real life - Me and my best friend of the same gender orientation who I've kissed multiple times and have had a requited crush on for years that neither of us have ever persued for logistical reasons (I literally used me and this friend to try and prove my mom wrong about Stucky and Destiel. I asked her if she thought me and this friend were like brothers and she said yes with a straight face)

Sherlock - Johnlock (to be fair this is the BBC ship name, but she doesn't think any iteration of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the slightest bit gay. "They're business partners and roommates.")

Our Flag Means Death - BlackHands (Should go ahead and say that I'm not really a BlackHands shipper myself; we both really enjoyed Stede and Ed's romance in the show. BUT it takes so much away from Izzy's character and his development if you don't acknowledge that he was jealous of Stede and in love with Ed, at least a little. My mom thought Izzy was just an extremely loyal first mate.)

Also, for the record, I'm not trying to call my mom out as homophobic. I'm queer and so are two of my siblings and she's very supportive of us. There are gay romcoms she enjoys like Our Flag Means Death and Red, White, and Royal Blue. The reason I'm making this list is because I think it's really funny how she doesn't understand the concept of queerbaiting (not that all of the above listed ships are queerbaiting). She thinks things are either explicitly straight or explicitly queer (whether it's gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc) and cannot comprehend the idea that some character relationships are deliberately pushing the boundaries of straight friendships into queer relationships to get more minority viewers and I think her explanations are funny.

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thanks to Dazai, you learned very quickly it could always get worse.

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 1

🌅Don’t you dare runaway (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 3.1k

chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8

Miya Osamu wouldn’t consider himself bad-looking. In fact, back in high school, he was quite popular. He remembers being on the volleyball team, where girls would show up to every game just to catch a glimpse of him, even more than ‘Tsumu—though his brother would argue that to the grave. But to be honest, Osamu didn’t really care about the attention. It was nice, sure, but it could also be annoying at times.

Now, as an adult running his own business, things have changed. The fangirls have been replaced by regular customers—people from the neighbourhood, office workers, students. Some of the girls still look at him, maybe even flirt a little, but it's different. They’re not giggling or blushing like teenagers. They smile, exchange pleasantries, and Osamu catches the occasional lingering glance, but no one is making a scene.

It’s almost a relief—being popular in school was one thing, but running a restaurant requires a different kind of behaviour. He can’t really ignore girls or play hard to get anymore. He has to smile and be polite all the time. Still, he is good at keeping people at arm's length and has a whole strategy built to keep his female customers without giving them false hope. So when a girl has a crush on him (and he can sense from afar) he adopts his three-steps rule: smiling but not too widely, looking at them in the eyes but not too intensely and when he hands them what they ordered, carefully avoiding any fingers brushing or any physical touch. With that, Osamu hopes that people will come back not because of how he looks but because they will like what he makes. And that’s just fine with him.

And above anything else, if he didn’t have time to date in high school because of the club, now that he is working, he has even less time to give to a significant other. So, he concluded that it’s better to keep people away.

(Well, except you.)

So yes, Miya Osamu is used to the attention. However, as he takes a glimpse at the two obasan grocery shopping on the other side of the road, whispering and grinning at him, he remembers why he hated fangirls back in high school.

“Do we really have to do this in the middle of the street?”

You wave at them with a polite smile and turn your attention back to him.

“Yes, one more, please!” you beg, holding your camera up.

Today is particularly windy and you decide to tie your hair up in a ponytail to keep strands from flying across your face (and Osamu knows you always tie them up when you want to be focused on something.) The sun is up in the sky, and the breeze is chill, summer is over.

The man sighs heavily, dragging out your name in exasperation.

“Osamu.” Your tone shifts, firmer now, the one you use when you're getting serious. Osamu likes to pretend you’re scary when you get like this, but really, you’re not. “Can you tell me who studied communication and social media management here?”

“You,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

“And who is in charge of your Instagram and Facebook pages?”

“You,” he repeats, already knowing where this is going.

“Right. So, unless you want someone else to ruin the carefully crafted image of your business I built, you should probably let me do my job.”

“Yer not even employed here,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

You match his look, raising yours higher.

“Fine, fine,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender. “But just one more photo. We’re supposed to open in five minutes.”

You grin in victory and start snapping photos of him. “Miya Osamu, you’re awesome. If you showed your face more you’ll get so much followers.”

Osamu feels a slight warmth creeping into his cheeks, he lowers his cap to hide his face. It’s getting hot, maybe summer isn’t really over?

“But can we at least do that inside?”

He knows you don’t really care whether it makes him uncomfortable or not because you just want to give the best image of Onigiri Miya possible and what’s better than the (good-looking) owner standing in front of his shop, half sat on a table, arms crossed? Nothing, you claim.

“Turn your face so I can see more of your left profile.” You instruct, ignoring his question.

Osamu is about to ask you to stop when Atsumu appears dressed in his MSBY Jackals sweatsuit, frowning.

“Oi, shop's still closed? I’ve got practice, need to eat first,” he complains, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Oh hi, Atsumu!” you lower your camera, “can you wait a few more minutes, I’m taking pictures of your brother.”

“Huh? But how am I supposed to be the best setter in the world if I have an empty stomach?”

Osamu sighs, “All right, all right. I’m openin’ up now. Just wait a sec.”

Atsumu watches as his brother opens the front door. “Wow, shocker. Ya actually listened to me for once.”

Osamu shoots him a flat look, one that makes you chuckle.

You both follow the younger twin inside.

The restaurant is small, but you always tell Osamu it’s warm. The walls are white, so the light reflects all over the place, the counter is made of wood, it’s so clean, sometimes you’re afraid to eat on it. There’s still some work to do and some decorations to add, but Osamu likes this place.

He sees your eyes waver all around the room with a little bit of pride. You both come here every day, but still, Osamu only realises how far he has come once you’ve passed the door and the look on your face lights up like a kid.

Atsumu’s eyes flick over to you as he pulls a chair. “What were ya doin’ outside?”

“I wanted to take some pictures of Osamu for his social media to celebrate the first anniversary of the shop. You know, to get more people to come.”

“Maybe ya should take me as yer model, I’ve always attracted more girls than that moron of ‘Samu.” He puffs his chest proudly.

Atsumu startles when the other twin brutally puts down a packed box with four onigiri inside in front of him. A nice way to tell him to shut up.

He blinks in confusion, staring at the box. “Oi, these are new?”

“Yeah, spicy cucumber and tarako, tell me what ya think.”

“Am I yer crash test or what?” Atsumu’s eyes widen, looking between you and his brother.

Osamu shrugs casually. “Ya always eat what I make, don’t ya? Thought ya wouldn’t mind.”

Atsumu’s indignation fades into a grin, though his pride won’t let him admit he’s secretly pleased to be part of his brother’s culinary experiments. He picks up an onigiri, inspecting it before taking a big bite. “Not bad. It's bitter and salty. But 'Samu, if I end up at the hospital, it’s yer fault. Don’t cry when ya’ll have to tell Ma’ her favourite son is dead.”

“Always so dramatic.” You whisper with a chuckle. The corner of Osamu’s mouth lifts a little at your words.

“Aren’t ya goin’ be late?”

“Nah,” Atsumu says mouth full of rice, “Practice starts a little bit later today, our manager’s lookin’ for someone to handle communication, so he had all those interviews and shit and coach wanted to be here.”

Both you and Osamu exchange a look.

“Atsumu.”

He turns to you, raising a brow.

“Atsumu,” you repeat, more slowly. “You realise I’ve been jobless for a month now, right? And that I’m looking for a job in communication? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that would be good for ya. Ya’ll be surrounded by men. Bokkun, Omi-kun… even Shoyo-kun has joined us.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes. “And? Why is that a problem?”

Atsumu snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Just wonderin’ if ya can handle all those big guys, seein’ as ya’ve been single for—what—three years now?”

The brown-haired twin sees your features cringe at his words, but you quickly add, “But I’m with Osamu most of the time,” you point out, glancing over at his brother, “I’m used to boys.”

Osamu smirks at that.

Atsumu eyes the two of you before finishing his onigiri. “Right, just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Do you think I should apply?” You ask Osamu. There’s something in your eyes like you’re searching for his approval but at the same time, his opinion wouldn’t matter anyway for you have already made your decision.

You have changed so much.

Osamu remembers the sixteen-year-old insecure girl he met in high school. Back then, you were quiet, always keeping yourself distant. He hadn’t even had a real conversation with you until the sports festival in his second year, and even then, it had been short, perhaps a little bit awkward. People would forget your name; forget you were in the same grade as them. It never seemed to bother you though. You appeared cold in front of people, but deep down, Osamu always knew you were kind.

The years he spent at your side confirmed that.

Maybe it was the fact that you used to date his former teammate and friend, Suna Rintarou, that pulled you into his world, but even after that relationship ended, you stayed in Osamu’s orbit. In fact, he can hardly remember a time when you weren’t around. You spend so much time at his restaurant, you have dinner together every night, you’re there on the weekends and every January 1st, for who knows how many New Year’s now, you are the first person he sees. You’re a constant in his life, maybe what he could qualify as a best friend (not that he needs to title your relationship, it’s too special to be defined with words).

But somehow, everyone still thinks you’re an introvert, that you don’t like to talk much. That statement never fails to make him smile. Because he knows better. He knows that you love telling him about your day and you love to talk on the phone until the a.m.—when you’re sleepy you tend to ramble. When you start a new activity, you always need to explain in detail what you did and where and how and what you liked or disliked about it. Osamu has no certainties about this world, except for one thing; you might be reserved with others, but never with him.

“Sure, go for it, just know ya’ll have to see ‘Tsumu every day.”

“So what? Are you afraid I’ll spend all my time with your brother instead of you?”

“Me? Yer the one who’s gonna miss me.” He leans on the counter to whisper that last part into your ear. From up close he can see the beauty marks on your face, he rests his chin on his palm and smiles (a side smile, always).

Your lips turn upwards, “You wish.” He can feel your breath against his cheek.

“Oi! Stop whisperin’, I know yer talkin’ about me,” Atsumu interjects, both Osamu and you straighten a little bit. The setter says your name, “D’ya wanna come with me so I can introduce ya to the manager? Maybe ya can give yer CV?”

You turn to Atsumu, “Of course, I’m coming. See you Osamu.”

“I'll close the shop earlier so I can pick ya up Champion.”

"You're the best." You wink at him and join the blond twin outside.

Osamu doesn’t have the time for a relationship because his business comes first.

Or perhaps it comes second.

Right after your friendship.

Osamu waits for you in the parking lot of Osaka’s gym. Your interview is supposed to end in a few minutes but if it were to end sooner, he decided to show up earlier, just in case. It’s become a habit—being there for you before you even ask. It started years ago, and somehow, it never stopped. He catches sight of you emerging from the gym, but your expression worries him. He’s seen almost every side of you by now. Disgust when you eat menma in a ramens, guilt when he picks you up at 3. am. downtown ‘cause you drunk a little bit too much—you always apologise a thousand times, as if he minds driving you home— sadness when your heart had been broken by your first love. And that face, he knows it too; you're overthinking.

Osamu raises a brow as you approach. "So... how’d it go?"

You hesitate, lips pressing together in thought. Your silence makes him uneasy. Osamu notices his hands are starting to sweat just slightly so he decides to hide them in his pockets. Over the years, Osamu has learned that if you're nervous, he is too.

"It went great, actually. Better than I expected." You look down at your shoes for a moment before adding, "But that doesn’t mean anything, right? I don't know if they really liked me... I should have done better..."

Osamu clicks his tongue and opens the passenger door. "Yer always so damn humble. It’s annoyin’, ya know that?"

You chuckle softly and roll your eyes. When you sit next to him in the car and he starts driving, you’re fast to realise he is not going in the direction of your apartment.

"Where are we going?"

"I want to thank ya for takin’ care of the shop’s social and ya know, just supportin’ me and stuff, openin’ the restaurant wasn't easy but ya were there. So yeah…”

“You don’t have to, you know I’m happy to do it.” Your eyes are so soft, Osamu wants to lean in them.

“I know.” He simply answers, he always answers the same thing.

 “How about Chinese food?"

You sink into your seat and nod. Osamu can see that you’re happy with his choice from the wrinkles that form around your nose as you smile. A warm feeling spreads into his chest, it’s comfortable like he had just drunk a sweet cup of tea in winter.

“So, how was the interview?” He then asks (and he knows the conversation will last the whole ride because remember, you never shut up with him).

So, you tell him about how it started with the manager and coach, both professional and somewhat intimidating at first, but then the mood shifted when the captain, Meian, walked in. You describe how calm and composed he was. He made a couple of jokes, and you tried your best not to burst into laughter ("I need to stay professional, you know.") Then, of course, Bokuto barreled in behind him like a human whirlwind.

"Bokuto-san was... a lot," you laugh. "He barely let the manager finish a sentence. He was so excited, he even asked me to make a post about him. But you know it’s not like I’m managing the social media yet, so he was very disappointed, and I felt bad. Maybe I should have made a post anyway, to show my skills? But then what if they didn't like it? What if they think I'm incompetent?"

"I'm sure ya did great, smartass" he uses a soft voice, in an attempt to reassure you. "What happened after?"

"And then," you continue, your voice lowering a little as if you're embarrassed, "Sakusa-san showed up. He didn’t say much—actually, he didn’t say anything at first. He just dragged Bokuto-san out of the room. I think he was annoyed."

There it is—that slight blush on your cheeks when you mention Sakusa. It's subtle, but Osamu has known you long enough to notice. For some reason, it bothers him more than it should.

"He’s... interesting," you add, trying to brush past it, but Osamu’s mind lingers the way your voice softened when you mentioned him.

"Is he? I don’t know him that much.” A sudden urge to change the subject invades him.

“Atsumu warned me not to fall for any of his teammates. Said it would be ‘too much drama for the team.”

Osamu glances at you briefly, curious. "And what d’ya think?"

You shrug casually and shake your hands. "I’m not really looking for a relationship right now."

Those words hit him harder than he expected. There’s a surge of relief in his chest, so sudden and sharp that he can’t ignore it. But he does his best to keep his face neutral, hoping you don’t read his mind.

You’re probably afraid to get hurt again, he understands that. When your relationship of three years ended up with Suna, you were devastated. Osamu remembers you crying for months. He was so afraid you’d starved yourself that he couldn’t sleep at night and decided to take care of you as much as he could. He wished he’d done more though.

He keeps his eyes focused on the road like he doesn't dare look at you at this moment.

He thinks the conversation is over when you break the silence again. "What about you? You never talk about your love life. What happened with your last girlfriend? What was her name again?"

Osamu stiffens. He hadn’t thought about her in months, and now that he does, there’s no real emotion attached to it. She was nice, sure. But nice wasn’t enough.

He needs someone funny and kind and bright.

He wants to laugh and to cook and to sit in silence with the one he loves.

"Ah, her," Osamu says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "She didn’t like that I spent so much time workin'."

You wait for him to say more, and he can feel your eyes on him, asking him to keep going. He sighs, feeling a weight settle in his stomach. And with you, he is about to say, but that would make you feel guilty, and he doesn’t want that.

You frown, confused. "She was very pretty though. Why didn’t you ever introduce me to her? Were you... ashamed of me or something?"

Ashamed? Of you? The idea is so ridiculous that it almost makes him laugh, but he can’t shake the look on your face, the way your brows knit together, and you purse your lips slightly.

"I’m not ashamed of you, idiot," Osamu blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he can think them through. “I guess, I just didn’t really have the time.”

Your smile softens, and though you don’t say anything more, he can see a glint of joy in your eyes.

“Why are ya smilin’ for?”

“You must really love me.”

Osamu feels his heart skip a beat; he almost misses to stop at the red light.

“Why-why would ya say that?”

“You only insult people you love, like your brother.”

He opens his mouth a little, but nothing comes out.

“I’m glad we’re friends.” You tell him and your voice sounds like a lullaby.

Fuck, Osamu thinks. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken another coffee an hour ago because he can hear his temples beating loudly and he needs to do something with his hands—they’re shaking, they’re shaking. You’re going out of the car once he’s parked; he looks at you. Your smile is still playing at the edge of your lips.

Friends, of course, you’re friends.

That’s great.

Perfect.

Osamu wouldn’t change anything about it.

author notes: i'm sooo happy to start this story, this chapter was essentially a way of setting the scene. compared to the prequel it will be mostly osamu's pov.

i'm gonna try my best to make it possible to read it as a stand-alone but i still think reading the prequel can help to understand the bond between osamu and y/n, anyway i hope you've enjoyed that chapter :)

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @obibiwan, @teyvatsunsets

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 46

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: ugh i'm tiredddddd

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare in the mirror. Your nose is covered in bandages, your eyes swollen along the ridges, and your lip is puffy and split. Your makeup is ruined and your hair too. You are in tatters, the white dress rent to ruins.

Lapping water pours into the large porcelain basin as you lean on the counter, trying to see yourself under all the damage. After tonight, you don't think you'll be the same as you were. You thought before, you'd known the worst of it.

A new beginning and hopefully and ending.

Loki struts in behind you. He's slightly frantic in the way he paces restlessly around the suite. He goes to the tub, bending with a groan as he dips his fingertips in the water, testing the temperature. He adjusts the faucet and stands again.

His hairline is stained in blood and his face patched with dirt. He doesn't seem to notice as he comes up behind you. He looks at you in the mirror.

“You should wash up, get some rest,” he girds, “tomorrow we have long to go.”

“What about you?” You ask for what feels the dozenth time. 

“I'm fine,” he says despite the dark line of stitches through his brow, “I'm very fine.”

He's addled. You've never seen him anything close to unsettled. Not like this. You turn to face him and he shies away.

“I will let you clean up,” he says, “yes, yes, in the morning, I will retrieve the car and our bags…”

He floats back into the sweet and you hear him shuffling around, “...and we will drive away…”

He's almost manic as he rambles to himself. You stare after him. You leave the door open and slowly undress. As you graze the tender spots along your body, you wince.

Naked, you stare at the rising water. You look down at your body, slices along your limbs, scrapes across your skin, and a bite mark on your breast. You feel sick.

You lower yourself into the hot water but it can't cleanse you of the filth. The steam dampens your face as you lean back, closing your eyes. You're exhausted but the adrenaline lingers, keeping you awake.

He said you're leaving. You're going back home. His home. You're not sure you'll ever have one of those.

After a while, you do your best to scrub away the dirt and blood. You’re weak by the time you finish, barely able to lift yourself out of the tub. You emerge, hugging yourself in a towel as you go out into the suite. 

Loki paces, chewing his thumb as he goes back and forth, back and forth. He stops as he notices you. His lips clamp tight and he wordlessly grabs a white robe from the foot of the bed and unfolds it. He drapes it around you and takes the towel away. You tie the belt and cross your arms.

He pulls back the top of the pure white duvet and steps back. You sit on the mattress as he returns to his route, corner to corner at the foot of the bed. You watch him.

“Mr. Laufeyson…” you murmur.

“Loki,” he stops and faces you, “Loki,” he nods vehemently. “You can call me that.”

“Loki,” you remind yourself, “you should… sleep.”

“No, you must,” he waves you off.

“Please,” you go to get up and he rushes to block you, he stands close to the bed.

“I’ll sleep, when you sleep,” he says, “lay down.”

You swallow. You pull your legs up onto the bed and make yourself recline. He’s making you nervous.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “that I broke the rules again. I should’ve stayed close-”

“No,” he shies away, twisting on his heel, “it was me. I broke the rules.”

“You–”

“I should’ve accompanied you to the stalls. I could’ve waited closeby,” he throws a hand up, “she would’ve never… he wouldn’t… I didn’t follow the rules. I broke the rules…” his voice rises, “it isn’t you. It’s me. I cannot make the same mistake twice.”

You don’t know what to say. No, it has to be your fault. It’s always your fault. You are the one who makes mistakes. 

He stops and lowers his head, fluttering his fingers along the stained front of his shirt. He peeks up through his dark lashes, “you know I didn’t… didn’t want her to do that.”

“What?”

“Sif,” he hisses, “I didn’t want to kiss her… I wanted to kiss you… when we were dancing…” he looks away wistfully, “when I saw you in that dress…”He staggers as if he’s been struck, “sleep, pet.”

“But you…”

“Enough,” his voice deepens.

“I can’t sleep, not if you don’t.”

He shrugs and plays with the loose tail of his shirt, “I’m filthy.”

“Go, take a shower, you’ll feel better.”

“I won’t,” he avows, “not until we are gone from here.”

He turns and marches away, leaving the door open as he disappears into the bathroom. You cross your arms over the top of the duvet and sink into the fluffy pillow. You listen as the shower springs to life and let the tension drain from you. The soft buzz of the pipes puts you to sleep nearly as soon as you close your eyes.

✨

When you wake, you feel heavy. The world comes back in fragments. The music, the dancing, running, falling in the dirt, Fossegrim’s shrill squawking, and a weight on top of you. You sit up, heart racing and look around. Then the rest, fleeing the house, the hospital, and finally the hotel.

You sidle to the edge of the bed. Loki isn’t there beside you. Your stomach plummets as you don’t see him anywhere. Did he leave you?

You get up and fix the loose robe around your figure. You near the bathroom door but a dark shape in the corner of your eye distracts you. There, on the sofa, Loki dozes, legs bent to fit, an arm under his head. You frown, wondering why he didn’t share the bed.

You look around and go to the long table against the wall. You flip the switch on the electric kettle and wait as it hums to a boil. You put a tea bag in each cup and pour the hot water. You take each by the handle and approach the low table before the couch, setting them on the thin coasters.

You round to the sofa and stop before Loki. His face is bruised, he sleeps in a robe as fluffy and white as your own, his hair askew but his face tense. You reach to gently squeeze his shoulder as you say his name.

One eye pops open and his green iris moves to look at you. He opens the other and shrugs you off as he sits up abruptly. You take a step back.

“I made tea,” you offer.

He looks past you to the table. He frowns. He frames his forehead then pushes back his dark hair. He stands and strides away from you. He doesn’t say a word as he escapes onto the balcony, pulling shut the sliding door behind him.

You shake and clutch the front of the robe. It’s worse than you thought. He’s mad. You expect as much. You know you’re going back to nothing. He probably won’t even let you past his front gate. Back to your father to grovel and if he won’t even have you, you suppose you might find a shelter.

You sit, not knowing what else to do, and take a cup of tea. You peer into the steeping depth and sniff. You hurt, from head to toe, but nothing is worse than the pit sinking deep in your chest.

The tea goes cold as you wait. When he comes back in, he dresses in his stained white clothing. You get up and put your cup down. You go to him and he sidles away.

“You must stay here,” he says as he skirts around you. He goes into the bathroom and you follow him, standing in the doorway as he uses the cheap hotel room comb to tidy his hair.

“Why?”

“Pet,” he puts the comb down and reaches for a plastic wrapped toothbrush. “You’ll be safe.”

It’s a kind lie. The one you tell when the truth has to wait. You slouch and inch back on your heel, “right.”

You retreat and walk numbly across the suite. You look out the large windows onto the city. Your head spins again. You should sit down but you don’t think you can stay still.

“I won’t be long,” he says as his keys jingle, “you may call down to the lobby, get something to eat. It’ll all be added to the bill.”

You don’t look at him, “thanks.”

He sucks in air as if he means to say something then lets it out, “not long at all.”

You stay as you are until he’s gone. The door closes, the lock beeping, and you nearly collapse. You wade over to the bed and flop onto it. You just want to sleep but your mind won’t stop.

✨

Loki returns nearly an hour later. He offers a fresh set of clothes and not much else. No explanation, just a sense of urgency and evasive looks. You wonder what transpired at the Odinsons manor but you don’t dare ask. Did he tell them everything? Or nothing at all?

You check out of the hotel, his car waiting in the lot. You’re too tired to think anymore. The motion of the car soothes you and your achy body.

You peek over at him, his shoulders tense, his posture stiff, wondering how he can go on so easily. The bruises on his face, his reddened knuckles, and the blows you saw him take, it has to hurt.

You waver between consciousness and sleeping. The long hours lull you along with the silence. Time feels as if it’s standing still yet passes nonetheless. As he pulls up to the familiar gate, you grasp the interior of the door and sit up.

This is it. The final verdict. He drives inside as the gate rolls shut behind him. He turns off the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. He gets out first and as he struts around to your side, you do the same. You wait for his directive.

“Come.” That’s it. That’s all he says.

You follow him inside. Is this it? Will he tell you to pack your things and go? Perhaps he has a lecture for you, worthy only of those grim walls. You put yourself in danger, it’s your own fault, you’re just a stupid little maid.

Little maid…

Your skin crawls as you shake off the memory. You trail Loki upstairs and down the hall. He surpasses the study and the library, he leads you into the bedroom and you hesitate at the threshold. Oh, that must be what’s wrong. Thor touched you in ways only he should. You have to show him it meant nothing.

You touch his hand as you come close and he recoils. You’re breathless at the rejection. That’s not it either. Well, you don’t have much to take with you. You suppose you should get your things ready.

“The doctor says you need rest,” he speaks at last, “please.” He goes to the dresser and pulls a sleek nightgown out.

“Loki..” you eke out.

“Whatever you need, I can fetch. Of course, I will bring up the bags as well.”

“Loki,” you repeat.

“Some tea, oh, and that gas station junk will hardly suffice. You must have a proper meal–”

“Loki,” you say more firmly, “what’s going on?”

He shakes his head and looks away, “lay down.”

That’s an order. You lower your gaze and obey. That’s the only way you’ve ever made him happy and right now, he’s miserable. You go to the bed and take the nightie. He leaves, closing the door behind him.

You change and he returns not long after. As promised, he has the bags. He unzips yours and finds the volume gifted to you. He hands it over.

“I don’t know how much reading you feel like doing,” he says.

You thank him and slide your legs under the blanket. It does feel nice to relax. Better to be in one place. You lean into the pillows and hug the book. He brings over your laptop and opens it up. You blanch, horrified as he lets the desktop load.

He pulls up the brows and you watch his fingers flutter over the keyboard. You furrow your brow curiously as he navigates smoothly. He logs in and brings up a menu of titles.

“In case you desire something to watch,” he stands and angles the screen towards you, “keep your mind busy.”

“You’re leaving?” You ask.

“There is much to do,” he says, “we’ve been away a while.”

“The doctor said you too–”

“I’m fine,” he insists, yet again.

You relent. He won’t listen to you. It’s as if he barely hears a word you say. He’s so swept up in whatever storm is swirling in his head.

“If you need anything, you may send me a text,” he instructs, “but you will rest and you will go no further than the bathroom.”

“Yes, Mr– Loki,” you catch yourself.

“Very good,” he sets his shoulders and spins on his heel.

When he’s gone, you scroll through the titles on the screen. The colours make your head hurt. You choose a show you recognise, a British serial they used to play on the public channel. You turn down the brightness and close your eyes, listening to the low murmur of the dialogue.

You drift on a shallow wave, not quite awake or asleep. The world sways around you as the actors’ voices garble to a soothing hum. Despite the calm of the moment, your heart is uneasy. This won’t last. You will heal soon enough.

You catch yourself snoring and jolt yourself awake. You groan, stiffened from the tumultuous night and the long drive. Ugh, you need to pee.

You get up and relieve yourself. You take your time washing your hands and splash water on your face. It feels nice as your head rattles with each move. You’re thirsty. You come out into the bedroom, foggy as you shuffle around.

You go to the door. You’ll just sneak down and grab a glass. You can make it that far. The handle doesn’t turn. You jostle it, wiggling it, wrenching it, but it doesn’t turn. Huh?

You shake the door in the frame. Locked? Why? He can’t do this. He can’t lock you in like an animal. But he can for isn’t that what you are to him? Pet.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone XXIII

•John Wick x Plus Size Female Reader

• Howdy, I don’t know anything about guns or Russia besides the little research I’ve done. Please don’t be mad at me if I get facts wrong or say something dumb. Laughing at me, however, is completely acceptable :3. Also, I’ve been going down a rabbit hole of high table & John Wick lore for this story, and there’s lots of references to other JW media (the comics, the Continental TV series, wiki pages).

• Thank you so much everyone who is reading/commenting on/liking this story, it means a lot to me and I love you guys. I started writing this one year ago and feel like I’ve improved so, so much that it’s insane. I’ve been learning to pick out my own style and make it coherent by reading all the other brilliant fanfictions from everyone on Wickblr/Keanublr and I’m insanely grateful I found this little hole of internet. Divider is by @thecutestgrotto

• TW: blood, death, bodies, HEAVY NSFW, gore, guns.

She does, eagerly, jumps under the covers, and he tsks, pulling off his sweater with one hand. “No, honey. Spread your body out for me. I want to see you.”

She almost starts to protest, but the dark look he gives closes her mouth, and she lays flat, naked, looking anywhere but at him, pushing the blanket off on the floor to avoid its tempting sanctuary.

He chuckles. “Spread your legs, babydoll. Wider. There you go.”

She whines, fisting the bed sheets and closing her eyes tight while her pussy pulses uselessly, sure he can see the slick glittering on her lips and unkept hair.

“Look at me,” he tells her, and by god she tries despite the fact that his cock can’t get much harder without fucking exploding into pieces. He undoes his belt, then slips his jeans down, and the outline of his leaking length makes her mouth water.

God, he’s beautiful. She’ll never get used to it.

He says aloud what she thinks. “You’re beautiful. I could stare at you all night.”

She laughs. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I want you.”

“I can’t stare at you while you have me?”

“Just come here.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll cry.”

His palms catch the end of the mattress, and he kneels down by the edge. The pride he feels in light of this titillating manipulation, as if he single handedly taught her how to sin himself, should be worrying. Corruption looks so pretty while she wears it and nothing else.

He grabs for her ankle, and catches it despite screeches and giggles and protests and pulling.

The phone at their bedside rings, and his teasing teeth stop just short of her neck.

“Did you just break that?” Her fingers twirl into his beard.

He leans into her touch while they both steal an incredulous look at the landline he just ripped from the wall and threw across the room.

It’s not ringing anymore, that’s what really matters. He goes back in for flesh—will kill, with his bare hands, whoever makes his cordless sound off over her needy whimpers.

She looks up at him for a long moment, trying not to laugh or cry, and then says: “can I break that one?”

He has to go.

“Why do you wear a suit?” She asks him, fumbling with the tie.

He guides her fingers, showing her how to cinch it. “Professionalism’s sake.”

“Oh,” she smiles, tracing the indent of his cock with her thumb. “This is professional?”

They’re on the bed again, pressed in tight, tongues rolling together. He pulls away and she wipes saliva off his beard, tugs him back by the tie he just so neatly put together.

“I have to go,” he says, grinding against her, slicking up the crotch of his pants.

“Yeah,” she agrees, digging her fingers into the dip of his beautifully sloped back.

“In the Morning,” he promises, pressing her mouth against his clothed erection with palm threaded through her hair.

“Can’t have you going to work messy,” she says, eating her own cum off of his dress pants.

“You-ah, ah-John. You have to go.” As he teases open mouthed kisses up the seam of her puffy pussy, whispers praises over the den of her clit.

“Gotta go,” he grunts, lifting his hips up so she can wrestle his cock free from its confines and suckle the leaking cum from his tip.

“Can’t let you stain your nice professional pants.” She cleans him so nicely with her tongue that it creates even more of a mess.

She cleans that up, too.

“Please—please don’t stop,” she asks, arching her back, words jumbled and urgent, willing with a deep whine for the increased tempo of his tongue and fingers.

All these delicious plans he has for dominating her benevolence with the elusivity of release, reducing her to begging and bargaining and selfish demands, immediately crumble under the beautiful, breathy way she asks for an orgasm, and he growls at himself and her gushing, clenching pussy for giving in so easily. Still, he eats up her mess and brings her down nice, easy, soft, crawling up her trembling body until he can make her taste herself on his mouth, which she does eagerly and delightedly.

“Don’t go,” she says, post coital bliss somehow softening her up even more. She’s melting into the mattress and pulling him down with her, like sticky boiling sugar enveloping a curious fly.

“I have to go,” he says, clinging to her, still full on suited and with his aching cock tucked back in.

She huffs, reaches for him, to wrap those plump little fingers around where he is crying, twitching, furious.

“Just one more taste,” she asks, rubbing languidly at his pronounced head.

He is cold, calculated, unbreakable, steadfast. He has endured hours of torture and pain and blood and agony. He is an impenetrable force, the enigmatic feared entity of the Bratva, and he bucks and shivers and—

whines, pressing the sound into her throat as she smiles with pride and adoration and idly twirls his hair around her fingers.

If he were a weaker man, or maybe a stronger one, he wouldn’t unstick himself, kiss her cheek, smooth down her wild hair before pressing his face into the thick of it and memorizing the smell.

“Come back to me,” she orders, as he puts on his other shoe.

“Don’t die, okay?” She pleads, as he’s tucking guns and knives into his clothes.

He places one last kiss to the middle of her forehead, unsure of promises, unsure if he can fulfill her request. The only sure thing in his life is the tangible heat and want between them that is burning him alive. He says, after a few seconds pressed against her damp skin, “okay.”

——————-

Winston must have looked through her own closet somehow, because comfy cotton T-shirts and leggings and sweatpants are the majority of what he sent for her. She can’t stop being eternally grateful for his hospitality, despite the resistance she’s put up against it.

She takes a long, hellfire shower, winces when she gets to her pubic bone—her hips are sore, bruised, labia red and raw from beard burn. Inner thighs chafed to hell. It hurts, but she wants to keep all of it as a reminder of her John.

The Continental comes to life at night. The lights dim blue and deep red, music pumps behind colossal forbidden doorways, patrons of all ethnicities and ages and cultures accumulate at tables and cluster on lounging couches.

Bookstore library stranger greets her in the silver-coated dining room. She has a bit of alcohol on her breath and blouse. Despite this, she’s very happy to see her again.

“Hello Ella.”

“Would you like a drink? My treat. They have everything. Straight, narrow, sugar.” Ella puts her hand over her mouth and hiccups. “Excuse me. Get anything you like, dear.”

She orders simple, A fruity cocktail, and sits with Ella for a bit while hearing stories about growing up wealthy and admired. It’s so differently fascinating from her own life, these tales—she’s utterly captivated and brimming with jealousy.

Addie is here, too, graced by inhuman strength in her lithe frame, when she pulls her away from story time to speak privately.

“Do you know who that is?” Addie asks, holding two fingers up at the bar tender.

He delivers two crystal glasses of sparkling water. “She’s my friend, I met her at a bookstore. Her name is Ella.”

“Elena Jovonovick,” Addie corrects with a concerned frown and drawn eyes. “She is the head of the Ruska Roma.”

She blinks at Addie a few times, understanding curtaining over her face. “Oh…”

Addie opens her mouth, but the voice that speaks does not belong to her. Ella—Elena—sidles between them, and motions for another drink. “Addie, sweet girl, what is wrong?”

Addie’s flushed cheeks bleed all their color, but she does not tremble nor fall back despite the look of abject fear held in her face for this tiny woman.

She doesn’t understand the fear, but does understand that the woman she has become friends with is…what? John’s adoptive mother? A slew of emotions typhoon through her. The first, humor. It’s funny, that she she’s meeting his family without his knowledge. Second, anger. Anger because this is the person who took tiny, defenseless, innocent John—her John—and turned him into a harbinger of death.

She starts to say something seething, something that she will regret later, but when she looks at Ella and opens her mouth, she sees a familiar expression—sorrow, regret, profound sadness. Like an abandoned, filthy dog on the street corner. And her jaw snaps back into place.

“Please,” Ella says, sipping at her drink. “I need John Wick’s help.”

—————————————

The doctor was right, he is distracted and sloppy. A mind at war. A hit that glances off someone’s sternum, not killing them. A failed attempt at kicking one of his colleagues away from a butterfly in the femoral.

He grabs some flyaway blood, throws it in the knife wielder’s face, then presses a bullet into his skull.

He tugs a foam plug from his ear to hear what Marcus is yelling from across the room. It’s done, anyway. Twenty two men in, twenty two men out. He wipes sweat off his brow and leans against the cool wall to bring himself back to baseline.

“Did you hear me, John?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

But he didn’t, and still doesn’t, occupied by the message on his phone that blackens his vision around the edges—whether in fear or rage, he cannot tell.

Rage is simple, clean and cut, as slick as the jacketed bullet he sunk into the skull of Yuri Morozov when one of his bodyguards flexed their finger on a trigger.

“The car’s loaded with dynamite,” Marcus says, swiping some sulphur off his cheekbone, panting from the jog over. “What—what’s wrong?”

It’s an unusual conversation to have while splattered with blood and surrounded by the bodies spilling it. Marcus continues despite the situation.

“Jesus Christ, tell me why you look like that.”

John blinks at him, almost asks him to explain what expression he sees and this concerned reaction to it. He already knows, though, doesn’t he? That his face has become a breeding ground for pesky emotions. “Elena Jovonovick is staying at the New York Continental.”

“Who—“ Marcus guffaws in disbelief. “Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“No—what the fuck. Where are you going?”

“Back home.”

“You can’t kill her John! You can’t kill the head of the fucking Ruska Roma! You know that?” Marcus takes a few leaps after him, but ultimately decides against intervention.

“Where is he going?” Kirill asks over the earpiece when he first hears the snarling squeal, then sees John’s mustang peel onto the boulevard.

“Diarrhea,” Marcus replies.

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,” he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[candycandy00]

Little Miss Nobody Part 3 - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic

You’re a weak, lowly sorcerer who barely qualifies as an assistant, but you get the opportunity to work on a mission that includes THE Gojo Satoru. Unbeknownst to you, he finds you incredibly attractive despite privately looking down on you as a nobody. On the last night of the mission, he invites you to his hotel room. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Any feedback or comments whatsoever is greatly appreciated! Thank you to @doumadono for the name Mystigram!

Smut. 18+. Gojo x short/thick/curvy fem Reader. Rough sex, oral sex (69), implied bondage/use of toys, mention of Gojo being bisexual. Just pretend the Shibuya Incident never happened!

You allowed yourself to grieve for one week. You took time off from work and spent those days crying, yelling at no one about how much of an asshole Gojo was, and eating ice cream from the carton to numb your pain. Once the week was over, you cleaned up, went back to work, and returned to your normal daily life. 

It still hurt to think about him, and despite your best efforts not to, you did still have the occasional intrusive thought. Sometimes you wondered if he regretted anything he said to you, or if he simply regretted ever meeting you. Sometimes you wondered what kind of mission he might be on and who was in his hotel room with him. Sometimes you dreamed about him, dreamed of his hands gripping your hips, his cock rough and powerful between your thighs. 

In a weak moment you decided to check his page on Mystigram. A few particularly tech savvy sorcerers had made a social media site just for Jujutsu sorcerers. It began as a way for sorcerers to stay connected to their coworkers and share information, but it had grown to be something used for networking, planning social outings, and getting to know sorcerers from different branches.  

You’d looked at Gojo’s page before of course, back before you met him, when you were just a curious fan. He mostly shared memes about Jujutsu society, pictures from the places he’d traveled for work, and photos of the various treats and desserts he discovered at different restaurants and shops. There were occasional selfies, almost always with his sunglasses rather than his blindfold, and a few photos of him with friends. He often had his arms casually thrown around Ieiri Shoko and Nanami Kento, with both of them generally looking annoyed. 

You scrolled through his page, feeling desperate and pathetic as you searched for any sign that he felt anything at all about what happened between you. Even him sharing a vague, sort of sad quote or meme would have satisfied you. There was a four day period immediately following your last encounter where he didn’t post anything at all, but he could have simply been busy with work. 

One of his most recent posts was a selfie of him pulling down his shades and looking at the camera with gorgeous, bedroom eyes. It was the first one you’d seen with his eyes clearly visible, and it made you ache in more ways than one. The caption read, “The real reason I keep my eyes covered is to keep the whole world from instantly falling in love with me!” What a Gojo thing to say. 

His students had responded with laughing emojis (and in a couple of cases, barfing emojis). Ieiri Shoko commented with only a gif of a woman dramatically rolling her eyes. Nanami Kento commented with one word: “Disgusting.” You found the interactions charming, but also felt sad when you realized you’d never be a part of that group, a part of Gojo’s life. You’d never be able to casually talk and joke with him like the others did. 

Just once, during a night when you couldn’t sleep, you actually wondered if you should have just let him keep using you for sex. You thought about the “weekend of debauchery” he’d mentioned and imagined what it would have been like. Did he really want to tie you up in his basement? And why did the thought of that make you wet? 

You finally fell asleep right after thinking these things, and had a nightmare in which he kept telling you how unworthy you were to be his girlfriend, as he walked off with a glamorous, powerful woman on his arm. 

When you awoke, you had renewed resolve that you made the right decision to walk away from him.

Nearly a month after your second time sleeping with him, you crossed paths with him on the street. He was wearing his blindfold, but he pulled it down as he stopped in front of you and asked how you were doing. 

You wished he hadn’t. You didn’t want to see his eyes. You gave a vague, cordial reply and continued walking down the street, taking deep and steady breaths to keep yourself from bursting into tears until you could get far enough down the street to dart into a cafe. You bought a coffee just for an excuse to be there, but left it untouched on the counter and instead rushed into the restroom to cry in private. 

Seeing him hurt. Hearing his voice hurt. The fact that he didn’t seem bothered at all, that he had absolutely no hesitation in speaking to you, as if you were just friendly acquaintances, hurt. Deeply. But you pulled yourself together, dried your eyes, and walked out of the cafe with your head up. 

It would take time to fully heal, as all wounds to the heart did. 

Three weeks later, you met a grade one sorcerer on a mission who asked you to have dinner with him sometime. His name was Haruto, and he was kind to you. Handsome in a completely different way than Gojo, he was respected and liked among the assistants for his down to earth attitude. You accepted the dinner invite, and soon after, the two of you began dating. 

You liked him, but so far you hadn’t fallen in love with him. You kept waiting to feel that burning passion you felt for Gojo, that ache to be in his arms, but it hadn’t happened yet. Still, a slow burn romance might be a better fit for you, and you enjoyed Haruto’s company enough to date him a while longer and decide how you felt. It was clear that he wanted to be intimate with you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do that yet, not so soon after your experience with Gojo. But Haruto was patient, never pressuring you. 

As time passed by and the season changed from autumn to winter, you thought less and less about Gojo.

****************

Gojo wasn’t dealing with the fallout from his last hookup with Little Miss Nobody very well. He’d went through several different reactions, from anger at her for saying the things she said to guilt for saying the things he said to her. At first he tried to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong. He’d been honest with her about the sort of relationship they could have. His only mistake was in telling her that after fucking her again. 

Just like before, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Despite being busier than ever with missions and his teaching job, his mind kept wandering to her. He worried she would do something reckless on a mission. She wasn’t a fighter, but she clearly wouldn’t hesitate to endanger herself to save someone. He admired the courage that took, but he found himself wishing she would just be a coward from now on. She didn’t have the strength to back up that desire to protect. 

Sometimes he laid awake at night, jacking off while remembering their encounters. It was almost too easy to get off, picturing her with her hands tied behind her back, her face pressed into the pillows. Every time he wore his blindfold, he remembered how it had looked around her wrists. 

Then, he saw her on the street one day. He spotted her from across the road, but she hadn’t noticed him yet. She looked like every wet dream he’d ever had, jeans tight over her perfect ass, a form-fitting sweater with a cutout right over her ample cleavage. She looked soft and squeezable. Pliable. His first thought was that he wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her. His second was that he wanted to hear her voice. 

He crossed the road and approached her, trying to act as casual as possible. When she looked at him, there was an instant where she looked stunned, but she quickly covered that up with a pleasant smile. He pulled his blindfold down and said, “Hey, how’ve you been?”

It was petty of him, he knew, but he knew she liked his eyes. He wanted her to see them again, perhaps to make her want him again. There were plenty of hotels in the area and-

“I’ve been good,” she said, her face frozen in that same mild expression. “Thank you for asking.”  

And then she was gone, walking away quickly and then going into a cafe down the street. He thought briefly of following her, trying to talk to her again, but abandoned the idea. She clearly didn’t want to talk to him, and he wouldn’t press her into a situation that upset her. 

He’d left feeling frustrated, in several different ways. Finally, he grew desperate enough to talk to his friend about what was going on. But when he’d gone to Shoko for advice, she had been blunt with him as usual. 

“Are you a fucking moron?”

He gaped at her. “Huh?!”

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette and regarded him with a withering stare. “You find a girl who’s sweet, brave, laughs at your shitty jokes, who fucking bakes, and likes it rough? And you manage to screw it up? You’re hopeless.”

Gojo was sitting on a bench in the outdoor area of the high school, near some vending machines. He leaned back, slapping his forehead as Shoko stood beside him. “I don’t know where I screwed up,” he said, “I just told her the truth.”

“You told her she wasn’t good enough for you immediately after fucking her. Do you think anyone wants to hear that?”

He glanced up at his friend. “I didn’t say that to her.”

Shoko met his eyes. “Did you deny it?”

He sat there silently for a moment, thinking. “I didn’t know how to respond to that,” he finally said. “I don’t think she’s not good enough for me. If anything, she’s way too good.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“It’s not about her as a person, or even me as a person. Maybe I’m being a narcissistic asshole. But I feel like I should be with someone closer to my level in terms of status, you know?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t know.”

Gojo sighed. “I just… can’t imagine myself with an assistant who can barely use cursed energy. She’s weak. She’s not from a sorcerer family…”

“Geto wasn’t from a sorcerer family,” Shoko pointed out. “That didn’t seem to bother you.”

Gojo looked at her suddenly. Shoko rarely mentioned their departed friend. “Suguru was strong. At one point as strong as me,” he replied. 

“So?” Shoko asked. “A lot of people would call me weak. I sure as hell can’t fight.”

He stared at her, realizing she was making excellent points. Why did it matter what someone’s status was? He never cared about status when it came to picking friends, so why care now? Maybe he had to face the fact that he’d gotten too full of himself over the years. He’d started looking down on those who were weak within Jujutsu society, even if he felt no ill will toward them. 

He looked at Shoko, who was a precious friend, and couldn’t imagine looking down on her, even though she was exponentially weaker than him. Then he remembered Little Miss Nobody’s crying face, and he realized how monumentally stupid he’d been. 

“I seriously fucked up, didn’t I?”

Shoko exhaled, smoke drifting around her face. “Sure did.”

He leaned forward on the bench, resting his hands on his thighs. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”

“For starters, you better be damn sure of what you want,” she told him. “I’m serious, Gojo. Don’t toy with her again. Don’t contact her, don’t stir up her feelings, and for God’s sake don’t fuck her unless you’re sure you want to start something serious with her.”

Gojo nodded. “I’m sure.” He’d never felt more certain of anything. He saw her face everywhere he looked. He heard her voice in his dreams. He hadn’t even been able to fuck anyone else since her. He’d tried once and couldn’t finish, and boy was that embarrassing. 

“Then call her,” Shoko said. “Apologize, tell her you were wrong.”

“I don’t have her number,” Gojo said, remembering with a small degree of shame how she’d shyly offered it to him after their first time together and how he’d rejected it. 

“We can probably find it,” Shoko told him, digging into the pocket of her white coat for her cell phone. “I have a couple of friends who work at her branch.”

Gojo perked up, listening as Shoko called someone and made a bit of small talk before asking if they knew Little Miss Nobody. Shoko gave him a thumbs up, and asked the person to text the number over. Then he heard Shoko say, “Oh, she is? Right now?”

After the call ended, Shoko said, “They’re sending the number over but they said she’s in Tokyo right now. She’s supposedly meeting some friends for drinks at that bar for sorcerers in Ikebukuro.”

Gojo stood up. This was the perfect opportunity. He could talk to her in person, apologize properly and see if this could be fixed. He knew exactly where the bar was, having gone there to hang out with Shoko and Utahime just one week prior. He thanked Shoko for her help and hurried over to the bar. 

It wasn’t very crowded yet when Gojo arrived. It was late afternoon, and customers wouldn’t start pouring in until at least seven. He scanned the room for her when he first walked in, and quickly spotted her sitting amongst several other sorcerers in a corner booth. She was smiling, and he was glad to see her happy. 

He took a seat at the bar and ordered a soda, then tried to keep from attracting any attention. It didn’t happen all the time, but occasionally people recognized him and acted like they’d seen a celebrity. He supposed he was the closest thing Jujutsu society had to a celebrity, and while he usually found it flattering to be approached in that way, today he hoped no one noticed him. He planned to wait for her to go to the rest room or even to the bar. He didn’t want to approach her when she was surrounded by people. 

So he sat, and waited, and watched. After several minutes, he noticed that the man sitting to her right was a little too handsy with her. The man kept touching her arm and subtly leaning closer to her. Gojo didn’t like that, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was a little naive about things like that, so maybe she didn’t even notice. 

But the more he watched and listened, the more a knot tied itself together in his stomach. She was also leaning toward the man, giggling at something he said, playfully slapping his arm. Then, the man threw his arm around her, and she smiled, doing nothing to push it away. 

The realization hit Gojo like a punch to the face. She was with this man, romantically. Gojo was too late. He’d spent too much time being an egotistical jackass, and now she’d moved on. He couldn’t blame her. She had the right to pursue happiness with someone else. But where did that leave him? He sighed and lowered his head. For the first time in his life he considered trying to get drunk. 

He heard chattering from her table and glanced over. Little Miss Nobody, as well as the rest of the women in the group, were leaving together. Something about going to see a movie together. Gojo moved to the other side of the bar before they got near, making sure not to be seen. He watched her walk out, and it felt like she was stomping on his heart with each step she took. 

The thought occurred to him that he could potentially take her away from the man. If Gojo talked to her, maybe she’d decide she liked him more. But should he do that? She seemed happy. What right did he have to burst back into her life and possibly screw it up?

While he sat there, deep in thought, he almost didn’t notice the man she’d been with coming to sit at the bar, just a few seats down. But he did notice, and he couldn’t help paying attention to him. 

The man’s friend, the only other man who’d been at the table, sat down next to him. 

“Any luck yet?” the friend asked. 

The man shook his head and took a drink from his glass. “Nope. She’s still holding out. I think she’s hung up on some ex boyfriend or something, but she won’t say it.”

Gojo’s ears felt like they were on fire. His full attention was now on this conversation, but he sipped his Coke and pretended not to be listening. 

The friend laughed. “Sucks to be you, dude. You score a hot girlfriend and can’t even fuck her.”

The man laughed too. “I’ll wear her down. She’ll be sucking my dick soon enough.”

Gojo’s hand gripped the glass so hard, he had to force himself to calm down to avoid shattering it. 

Then the friend said something else, and Gojo felt his skin prickling with rage. 

“Don’t forget to record it when you finally get her naked. You promised you’d show off the goods.”

The man nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ve got cameras hid around my bedroom already. She doesn’t have a clue.”

“Good,” the friend replied, “cause I’ve been dying to see those tits for months.”

They both laughed, and Gojo stood up from his seat. He walked the few steps over to the two men and stood looming over them. He was wearing sunglasses instead of his blindfold, but he was still recognizable to most people who noticed him. The man she’d been with gaped up at him. “Gojo?”

Gojo grinned widely. “I couldn’t help but overhear you guys,” he said in a friendly tone. “Can you share those recordings with me when you make them?”

The men glanced at each other, looking like students who’d been caught smoking by a teacher who then asked for a cigarette. 

“You… want me to send you recordings? Of my girlfriend?”

Gojo’s grin was probably becoming more frightening as the moments passed. “Well you’re sharing them with your buddy, right? What’s one more?”

The man shrugged, still looking a little uneasy. “Sure, why not? Give me your number.”

Gojo kept staring at him. “So she has no idea you plan to do this?”

The man must have mistaken Gojo’s slightly unhinged expression for perversion. He laughed and said, “She’s clueless. Totally naive. Wait till you see her! Huge tits, fat ass, cute face. She’d be a perfect porn star.”

The friend chuckled and added, “Hell, I guess she will be after this. We could make a fortune selling the videos!”

That was enough. That was all Gojo could bear to listen to. He’d let the guy dig a big enough hole for himself. “Call her,” he said in a low voice, and both men looked at him with confusion. 

“What?”

Gojo’s smile was gone. He pulled off his shades and glared at the man. “Call her. Tell her you need to see her in private. It’s urgent.”

The man didn’t move, he just stared up at Gojo as if he’d sprouted another head. 

Gojo leaned down. “I think she has the right to know about this, don’t you?”

The man looked positively horrified. A bead of sweat ran down his face. “You want me to tell her? I can’t do that! She’ll-“

Gojo looked at the man the way he would look at a curse that had just attacked him, and the man’s words died in his throat. Gojo put one hand on the man’s shoulder. “I said call her. Right fucking now.”

The man’s fingers were trembling as he pulled his phone from his pocket. As he began dialing, Gojo pointed at the friend. “And you, if you ever so much as glance at her again, I’ll rip your eyeballs out of your fucking head.”

****************

You were standing in line with three of your friends to buy tickets for a movie when one of them asked how things were going with Haruto.

“Okay I guess,” you answered. “I’m still not sure how I feel about him. I like him, but I don’t think I’m in love with him.”

Your friend Sumi smiled reassuringly. “Give it a little more time. You guys are still getting to know each other.”

Aiko, another friend that you had been on many missions with, sighed and patted your back. “You’re still holding out for Gojo Satoru, aren’t you?”

Sumi and the third friend Keiko looked surprised, and you instantly reddened. “Huh? Gojo? What do you mean?”

Sumi asked, looking from Aiko to you. 

“They hooked up,” Aiko said, “twice.”

You looked at her with wide eyes. You’d never told her about that. “How did you know?”

She grinned. “Actually I just suspected it, but now you’ve confirmed it.”

You winced, but she laughed and went on. “The first mission we were all three on, you left the sushi joint with his arm around you on the last night. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Especially with his reputation. Then the second time, you two disappeared together in the middle of a mission.”

Sumi and Keiko stared at you for a moment. When you didn’t deny anything Aiko said, they launched into a string of rapid questions. 

“How was it?”

You shrugged. “Uh, nice?”

“Is he good in bed?”

“…. Yes.”

“Does he really have a huge dick?”

You blushed, but nodded, and the girls made a squealing sound. 

“I heard he keeps his sunglasses on during sex. Is that true?”

“I asked him to take them off,” you answered. 

“Can’t believe you scored him twice,” Aiko said, interrupting the interrogation. “From what I’ve heard, he never sleeps with the same person more than once.”

You blinked. “Really?”

Aiko nodded. “Yeah, he’s a one and done kinda guy. Guess he doesn’t want to get serious with anyone. Speaking of which, you should be careful. Don’t get too involved with him. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to settle down, from what everyone says about him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”  You gave a vague answer. Aiko had no idea what had really happened between you and Gojo. You hadn’t realized that being a repeat lover for him was so rare. You wondered what the girls would think if they knew he’d invited you to spend the weekend at his place. 

But all that was over, you reminded yourself. You and Gojo were over. You had more respect for yourself than to be flattered by a guy, even one as amazing as Gojo, wanting to use you as a sex friend. 

Your phone suddenly rang, and you fished it out of your purse to see who the caller was, thankful for the distraction. It was Haruto, and you felt a little guilty that you’d just been talking and thinking about another man. You answered, and his voice sounded strained on the other end. 

“I need to see you,” he was saying, the words coming out a little too quickly. “It’s urgent.”

“Right now? But we were just together,” you said, confusion building in your mind. You hoped he wasn’t just trying to get you in bed. His attempts had started to feel a little pushy lately. 

“It’s important,” he said. “I’ve rented a hotel room near the bar so we can talk privately.”

“Haruto, I’m really not comfortable going to a hotel with you.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, I swear,” he told you, his voice sounding frantic. “I just… need to talk to you. And it has to be in person. Okay?”

You sighed. “Alright. If it’s just to talk.”

After you ended the call, you got a text from Haruto with the name of the hotel and the room number. You told your friends what happened and waved goodbye to them before heading back to see what was so urgent. 

As you walked down the carpeted hallway of the hotel, you felt a faint feeling of panic, like something might be very wrong. Had Haruto received bad news? Or perhaps he’d grown tired of waiting and had decided to break up with you. The thought made you feel relieved rather than worried, and you thought that was a bad sign for your relationship. 

You reached room 404 and took a deep breath before knocking. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Haruto stood on the other side. He looked terrible! His face was damp with sweat, his skin was pale, his eyes darted about like a frightened animal’s. “Haruto?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

He stepped back and motioned you in without a word. When you stepped through the door, your breath caught in your throat. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Gojo. No blindfold or sunglasses, which was rare, and his face looked deadly serious, which was even more rare. He stood up as Haruto shut the door behind you. 

“Gojo? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

Gojo’s expression softened when he looked at you. “I overheard your boyfriend talking to his buddy at the bar after you left. I think you deserve to know what he was saying.”

You looked curiously at Haruto. He wrung his hands nervously and looked at the floor. 

“Haruto,” Gojo said, and there was a coldness to his tone that you’d never heard before. It was like that one word alone was the most terrifying threat in the world. 

Haruto nearly jumped at the sound, then he finally looked you in the face. “Alright! Fuck it, I’ll admit it! I have cameras hidden all over my bedroom. I was gonna record us whenever I could talk you into sleeping with me!”

You stared at him, hearing the words but not processing them. “Record us? What are you talking about?”

“I was gonna make videos of you without telling you,” he said. 

Gojo chimed in. “Tell her what you were gonna do with the videos, Haruto.”

Haruto was avoiding your gaze again. “I was gonna share them with my friends. And maybe sell them online.”

Ah. So that was it. He didn’t like you. He didn’t care about you at all. He just wanted to sleep with you, just like Gojo. Just like all the guys who approached you in high school and even now. Only this was much worse. He wanted to share your intimate moments with others against your will. Thank god you hadn’t slept with him. 

You glared at him, your face feeling hot with humiliation and your eyes becoming wet. All this had to happen in front of Gojo! Haruto took a step toward you. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t-“

“Stop,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear another word. Stay away from me.”

He must have known you were serious by the look on your face. His expression changed from guilt to annoyance. “Fine. Whatever. I was only interested in you for your tits anyway. Not like you’ve got anything else I want.” 

Gojo stepped over to Haruto and shoved him toward the door. “Alright, you can get the fuck out now, you useless piece of shit.”

Haruto flinched at the harshness of Gojo’s voice, and was out the door in seconds. Now alone in the room with Gojo, you turned your back to him so he couldn’t look at your face. You were already embarrassed enough. 

“Thank you for warning me about him,” you said, trying and failing to keep your voice steady. You wanted to leave, but you also wanted to give Haruto enough time to be gone by the time you got down to the hotel lobby. You definitely didn’t want to run into him again. 

You heard Gojo’s footsteps coming closer to you, then his voice, so much softer than before, asking, “Are you okay?”

Wiping your eyes, you turned to face him, surprised that he was already so close. “I’ll be fine,” you said with a fake smile plastered on your mouth. Then you stepped toward the door to leave. 

Gojo suddenly grabbed your wrist. “Wait,” he said, “I was at the bar tonight because I knew you’d be there. I wanted to talk to you.”

You pulled your hand free of his gentle grip. Tears were still burning your eyes. “Please, I can’t handle this right now,” you told him. 

“Handle what?”

“You telling me again how I don’t meet your standards but you’ll lower yourself enough to fuck me sometimes. I get it, okay? Just please leave me alone.”

Gojo just stared at you, a hurt expression on his face. “I guess I deserve that,” he said. “But no, I came to apologize. I was wrong. I was an idiot, a dumbass, whatever you wanna call me. I said a lot of stupid shit that hurt you, and I’m sorry. If it’s not too late, could we start over?”

Your heart was doing flip flops. You’d longed to hear him say those words, but… after what just happened with Haruto, you had to be more careful. 

You looked away from him, not wanting to let him charm you with those beautiful eyes of his. “Do you want me as a sex friend?

Or something more?”

He moved closer, close enough to put his hands on your shoulders. “You’re all I can think about when we’re apart. I miss the way we talked during that first mission, the way you laughed. I want us to go back to that. I want to see where this goes. So I guess I’m asking if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

You turned away from him. “I’d love to, but I can’t be a secret, Gojo. If you can’t tell anyone about us-“

“I’ll tell the whole world!”

You looked at his face. “What?”

He looked totally serious. “I’ll tell everyone. I want everyone to know.”

You almost dove into his arms, but something held you back. “It’s easy to say that here, right now, in a hotel room. Will you still say that in the morning?”

He hesitated for a moment, and you felt that familiar sense of dread. But then he pulled out his phone and closed the distance between you. He wrapped one arm around you and pulled your face closer to his, then he kissed your cheek. At the same time, his other hand held up his phone and took a selfie of the two of you.  

He pulled away and began tapping on his phone, leaving you stunned into silence. Then, your phone chimed. You pulled it out and found a notification that you’d been tagged in a post on Mystigram. With trembling fingers, you opened it to see. 

Gojo had posted the picture of him kissing your cheek to his page, and tagged you in it. The caption read: “Me and my hot girlfriend! Try not to be jealous!”

Your eyes flew back to his face. He was grinning at you. The post started getting comments immediately. 

Itadori Yuji: Congrats, sensei! 😁

Kugisaki Nobara: Ugh, she’s way too pretty for you! 

Ieiri Shoko: Try not to fuck this up.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. But you had one more question. 

“What made you change your mind?”

Gojo was laughing as he read over the comments pouring in. “Oh, it just took Shoko talking some sense into me. I was going crazy, worrying about you being on missions, wondering what you were doing, craving your homemade sweets… so I went to her for advice. She’s always had a way of making me see logic.”

“You told her about me?”

“We’ve been friends since high school. Of course I told her,” he said. Then he laughed again. “I told Nanami too but I don’t think he was paying much attention. I was mid sentence when he said, ‘Please stop telling me about your sordid escapades. I’m going to vomit.’ And that was all he had to say about it.”

He’d told his friends about you. He’d been worried enough about this situation to consult them. And he didn’t mind those closest to him knowing about you, even before realizing he’d been wrong. Those thoughts warmed your heart. 

Before you knew it, you were crying again, so overwhelmed with emotion. Gojo dropped his phone on the bed and wrapped his arms around you. “So? Are we a couple now?” he asked. 

You nodded against his chest, and his arms tightened slightly. “Great,” he said, stroking your hair. “Want me to fuck you?”

A laugh escaped your lips, and the tears stopped. You pulled back and looked up at him. “So romantic.”

He leaned down and kissed you. “I’ve been dreaming about rearranging your insides,” he whispered, his voice tingling in your ear. “Have you been dreaming about me?”

You kissed him back, tasting his lips. “Yes,” you breathed out. 

“What were you dreaming?” he asked, his voice turning husky as his hands began to roam over your body. 

“Ahh,” you moaned as he kissed your neck. “It’s… embarrassing…” You had been dreaming about him. A lot. Most of it had been quite filthy.

One of his hands slipped under your dress, rubbing up your bare thigh and then squeezing your ass. “Embarrassing? Heh. I’m gonna have to fuck that shyness out of you.”

That sounded fun, you thought, raising your arms to allow him to pull your dress over your head. You unzipped his jacket, your hands desperately trying to get his clothes off as fast as possible. 

The jacket discarded, he pulled his black T-shirt off next, then stood back to look at you in your silky black underwear. “Seriously,” he said, “tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen, whatever it is. Any fantasy, any dirty idea that pops into your head. I wanna hear it.”

You looked at the floor and muttered something. 

“What was that?”

You stepped closer and met his gaze. “I said… I want you in my mouth.”

His beautiful eyes widened, and there was a glimmer of excitement in them as he grinned and said, “Holy fuck, I hit the jackpot!”

***********

Gojo was lying on his back in the bed, completely nude, his naked girlfriend halfway across him, her warm, wet mouth greedily sucking his cock. He raised his head up to watch. He couldn’t imagine a more lovely sight than her soft, full lips sliding down his shaft. 

He moved one hand down to touch her hair, just happy to have her within reach. She glanced sideways at him, her face tinted pink. How cute of her to be shy even while deep throating him. 

He’d had plenty of blowjobs in his life, even given a few, but this… this was different. Was it because he’d formed an emotional connection to her? He felt so much affection for her that simply being touched by her at all felt far better than anything he’d experienced with anyone else. 

Well, with one exception, but he wasn’t ready to think about that, to compare them. He’d tucked those memories into a neat little box in the back of his mind where they could remain untouched and protected. 

But this wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste her too. He grabbed hold of her legs and swung them up and over him, so that she was lying face down on top of him, her head at his groin and his at hers. She gave a little cry of surprise and drew her knees forward to lift herself off him, but that only spread her thighs apart and gave him easier access. 

“G-Gojo, what are you doing?” Her voice sounded so flustered. He could practically hear the embarrassed arousal. 

“I thought I told you to call me Satoru,” he murmured, pressing his lips ever so gently to her heated, quivering flesh. She jerked, but he grabbed her hips and held her in place. He waited, feeling her taut legs relax slowly, giving her time to get used to this extremely intimate position. 

“Don’t stare at me,” she said in a shy voice, then he felt her lips around his cock again. 

“Oh I’m gonna do so much more than stare,” he said back, using his fingers to open her folds. “I’m gonna do so many embarrassing things to you…” He ran his tongue over her open slit, tasting the plentiful juices. She was drenched, and deliciously sweet. He felt her body twitch nervously, but her mouth never slacked off. He felt her tongue lapping at his tip, her soft hands squeezing wherever they could. 

Her clit was so cute, sitting there so glossy with his saliva and her fluids, completely defenseless to him. His thumb rubbed over it, then he prodded it with his tongue, drawing circles around it. 

She shifted, her mouth leaving his dick long enough for her to moan out, “Satoru… I’m… I’m about to…”

He licked her clit again, slowly. “You can cum first,” he said.

She wiggled a bit in his grasp, but then took him into her mouth again, stifling her own moans. She took him so far in it felt like he was being swallowed, and the little gagging sound she made sent shivers through his entire body. Now it felt like a competition, and Gojo never lost. 

His tongue was on her clit again, and he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them in a way that made her thighs tremble on either side of him. He felt himself slide out of her mouth, and then her tongue was gliding over him from base to tip. He could feel his cock twitching under her touch, but he kept himself under control. Then, he heard her sweet little voice say, “Satoru… cum in my mouth… please?”

Fuck, she wasn’t playing fair! His breath hitched in his throat, a shudder rippling through him, but he wasn’t defeated just yet. He leaned up and lapped at her clit again, gently, slowly, feeling her clenching his fingers, and then he grazed his teeth over it, lightly pulling on the tiny nub. 

She moaned around his cock, her legs shaking, and he knew he’d won. He kept pumping his fingers into her as she rode out her orgasm, her lips still around the base of his cock. With no more reason to hold back, he let the feeling of her hot mouth overwhelm him, and he came straight into her throat. 

He let his head fall back onto the pillow as he panted, and she took the opportunity to turn her body around so that her legs fell off the side of the bed, her face still buried in his crotch. She waited until he was completely empty before she removed her mouth, but a few strings of cum were drizzling down his cock. He held his head up enough to look down at her as she licked him clean.

When finished, she straightened up, sitting on her knees beside the bed. She looked like an angel, or a goddess. How could he have ever thought he was out of her league? How did it take him so long to realize how amazing she was? He’d been a fucking fool. 

He sat up in the bed and smiled at her. “Take a shower with me?”

She blushed. “A shower? I guess so.”

He laughed. “How are you shy after everything we’ve done? I had my face shoved in your pussy just now.”

She turned beet red. “Ahhh! Don’t say that! I was trying not to think about it!”

He stood up from the bed and pulled her into a hug, their naked bodies pressed against each other. “Do you still doubt how hot you are? You can’t even imagine how many times I’ve jacked off while thinking about you.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Really.”

She smiled then, and took his hand as they walked into the bathroom. 

**************

You were still nervous about showering with Gojo. It felt like such a private thing to do, but he seemed really into the idea, so you agreed. He joked around as he turned the water on, pretending he didn’t know how to work the knobs and “accidentally” spraying himself in the face. He was trying to put you at ease, and it was mostly working. You found yourself giggling at his antics as you both stepped into the large, walk-in shower. 

Before you could even reach for the small bottle of shampoo sitting in a tiny corner shelf, Gojo suddenly shoved your back against the glass shower door and kissed you passionately, his mouth overtaking your own. The steamy water was spraying both your bodies, soaking his shiny hair, running down his torso. Without even looking, you knew he was hard again, the large erection pressing against your stomach. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you up so that your legs could wrap around his body. You were pinned against the shower door when you felt him push inside you, deeply, roughly, the way you loved it. Your back collided with the glass with every powerful thrust, an ache you’d been craving building between your legs as he pounded into you. 

You were going to be covered in bruises after this, but that thought only turned you on even more. Gojo had that wild look in his eyes, the one that almost made you cum on the spot. You wanted him to break you. It wasn’t that you were a masochist. It wasn’t pain that excited you, but rather watching him lose control, seeing that unhinged expression and knowing you had that effect on him, that you could drive him mad with your body. The pain, the bruises, they were just the evidence. 

Burying your face in his neck, you tried to muffle your moans, your breaths shuddering. He was making such lovely grunts and growls, his fingers digging into your soft thighs. You chanced a peek at his face, and he looked like an entirely different person from the man who’d just been joking around with you. His wet hair was partially covering one eye, the other practically glowing with uncontrolled lust, his lips parted, teeth showing as ragged breaths pushed through them. 

God, he was beautiful. Frighteningly so. Inhumanly so. For the second time, you wondered if he actually was a god that had been banished to earth. He certainly fucked like one. 

Your legs slipped from his waist, the water making it hard to keep your grip, and they dangled helplessly above the floor. He didn’t even seem to notice that he was holding more of your weight as he plowed into you, every thrust feeling deeper than the last. Your arms were still around his neck, but your strength was failing you. You clasped your hands tightly and leaned your face up to kiss him. His mouth was hungry upon yours, his tongue shoving its way in. 

When you came, your arms fell to your sides and your body went limp in his arms, quivering with pleasure as he kept fucking you. His grip on you tightened, and after several more minutes of being slammed into the glass door, you felt his whole body stiffen. Then, you felt hot cum shoot deeply inside you as Gojo groaned. 

He stayed inside you for several more minutes, even after he’d finished cumming. It was like he didn’t want to separate from you, but eventually he pulled out and set you back on your feet. You legs gave way immediately, as if they were made of spaghetti, but Gojo caught you. He held you gently until you regained your strength, then he reached you the soap with a grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” he said. 

You laughed, taking the soap from him as he turned his toned back to you. 

An hour later, you were both dressed and sitting on the bed in the hotel room, talking about what each of you had been up to lately. During a lull in the conversation, you leaned your head over on his shoulder and whispered, “Is this real?”

“Hmm?”

You hesitated, then said, “I keep waiting for you to say this won’t work out.”

He wrapped an arm around you. “I’m not gonna lie and say this will be easy. I travel a lot for missions, and my teaching job is important to me, but we can make it work. We’ll spend time together whenever we can. Speaking of which… wanna come to my place next weekend?”

You laughed, feeling the tension dissipate from your body. “For pancakes? Sure.”

“And debauchery,” he said. “Don’t forget the debauchery.”

****************

Epilogue:

The first thing you thought when you arrived at Gojo’s house was, “Holy shit, it’s huge!”

Gojo stepped up beside you and gave you a peck on the cheek. “That’s what she said.”

You giggled at his silly joke and let him lead you inside. The house was of an old fashioned design, with a closed in yard, sliding doors, tatami floors, the whole works. It was a sprawling estate that looked as if it would have dozens of servants roaming the halls. 

“You really live here all by yourself?”

He shook his head as he laid out some slippers for you to change into, then pulled off his own shoes. “I have an apartment near the school that I use most of the time. I don’t use this place often, but this is a special weekend.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, looking around. Despite the classic design of the structure, it had modern furnishings. You were admiring a lovely vase on a glossy wooden end table when you noticed a large cardboard box sitting just inside the living room. It looked totally out of place, and Gojo noticed your interest. 

“Go ahead and look inside,” he told you, a strange smile on his lips. 

“Okay…” 

You approached the box and pulled the flaps open, squatting down to get a good look. Inside was an assortment of items you couldn’t quite identify at first. But as you began pulling them out and looking more closely, your face began to burn. 

“Are these… all sex toys?!”

Gojo laughed at your reaction. “Well, not all of them. There’s some costumes, handcuffs, edible underwear…”

You grimaced as you pulled out what appeared to be a riding crop, then the biggest dildo you’d ever seen in your life. There was also a skimpy maid costume, among other bizarre garments. “Why is all this stuff just sitting here in a box?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head, messing up his hair a bit. He looked oddly shy. “I ordered it all. I figured we could have fun trying a bunch of stuff, see what we like.”

That did sound like fun. You examined each item, sometimes having no idea what its function was. 

Gojo sat down on the floor beside you, watching your face as you looked though the box. “If there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, just put it back in the box and I’ll toss it. Or better yet, I’ll have it delivered to Nanami’s place.”

You laughed then, imagining the strait laced-looking man you met a few days ago opening a box full of items like these. 

When you were finished sorting them into piles of “will definitely try”, “might try”, and “hard no”, you and Gojo both stood up. “So, are you going to give me a tour?” you asked.  

Gojo gave you a somewhat menacing grin, his dark sunglasses blocking out your view of his eyes. “Sure. Let’s start with the basement.”

The End. 

Tag List:

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[wintervalewritersecond]

tears to shed - simon 'ghost' riley

masterlist // masterlist call of duty

requested: no, but requests are OPEN! request: x

A/N: i have been thinking of this AU for a while now! i dont know why or how, maybe because of the skull mask he has on, or maybe just because i love both media, but alas, here it is! going to be multiple parts i think...

part one // part two // part three // part four

wordcount: 2,366 warnings: ooc simon, corpse bride au, she/her reader

An arranged marriage to unite two worlds. But no one would have expected that it would bring together the living and the dead.

"I do not want to see that pout again! We have gone over this, you are to wed mister MacTavish, whether you like it or not!"

Yes. Yes, we have gone over this. Quite frankly, it is all that you have heard about for the last few weeks. Your family finally had the chance to climb the social ladder, claiming their spot that 'is rightfully theirs'. The MacTavish family is one of the highest ranking families with a son that your parents deem perfect for you.

Perfect, as in, for them. A high rank, society looking up to you, and all that for the small price of marrying out their only daughter.

"Besides, with a face like yours, who else would marry you? Anne, tighten her corset! I can nearly hear her breathe."

Anne, your maid, looks at you as she furrows her eyebrows, slightly tightening the corset as you breathe in. God, can this already be over?

A carriage is driven in front of your doorstep, ready to bring you to the huge MacTavish mansion. Your mother seems like she could not be happier as your father only trails behind her.

"Oh, I can not wait for our daughter to be married! We will finally be where we should have been from the very start!"

"This is only a rehearsal, my dear."

"Oh, nonsense! This wedding will happen, whether you like it or not! This time tomorrow, we will be the talk of the town!"

In an attempt to ignore them, you already enter the carriage, pulling on your gloves as you lean your head on the small window. Your mother huffs, climbing into the carriage as well before your father comes in, closing the door behind him.

"Now, come on! We don't have all day. Shepherd!"

The old man grunts, pulling the reigns as the horses taking off. It takes only a few seconds before your mother taps you with her fan.

"I can see you thinking! Whatever plan of escaping you have, you better forget. Everything has to go according to plan, Y/N! This life we have lived up till now is something not fit for us. We are rich, and this marriage will only mean good for us. Oh, can't you just see it?" She looks over at your father, "We will have balls! Oh, can you just imagine? Dancing, and goodness, people will be coming over for tea!"

You wonder how it was going in the MacTavish home now. Were his parents also lecturing him on everything? Were they tying his tie so tightly so that he can barely breathe? Or maybe his parents were actually quite sweet.

Before you knew it, the carriage already comes to a stop, the huge mansion in front of you. It is even more terrifying as you remember. Sure, you knew their home would be bigger than yours, but this is nearly a castle. You breathe in deeply - well, as deep as you can with the tight corset - before exiting the carriage after your parents.

Your mother pulls you behind her and up the stairs that lead to the tall doors. How will these even be opened? They are five times as tall as you and they must be so heavy. Your mother roughly turns you around, tugging on your dress and hair to make sure it looks absolutely perfect before the door opens.

"Oh, goodness! What an impeccable taste," your mother mumbles to herself, looking around as you just trail behind, "So grand!"

In front of you stand two tall figures.

"Lord and Lady MacTavish," the butler gives your family a side-eye before stepping back.

"Ah, you must be mister John MacTavish. I have to say, you do not look a day over twenty!"

Can your mother be more idiotic? Your father tugs her arm, shaking his head before coughing.

"Well," Lady MacTavish raises one eyebrow, "We will be taking tea in the drawing room. Follow me."

The Lord and Lady already walk off, your parents trailing behind them as your mom keeps muttering random compliments. Something else catches your eye though.

A piano.

A grand piano at that. It is cleaned so well that it seems to reflect anything in its path. You wish you were allowed to play piano at home, but your mother always insisted that it was simply not fit for you. There is more important stuff to do, such as pushing yourself into the smallest corset just to appeal to others.

Your fingers float over the keys as you slowly sit down. The door to the drawing room was already shut, they wouldn't hear you, right? You slowly press the different keys. Gosh, it feels good to finally play the piano again. It was a small secret between you and your father - only playing the instrument if your mother was not home.

Johnny was running late. His parents will kill him. They had warned him so many times that he should have been on time, yet here he is, still trying to tie his tie. After multiple tries, he finally gets it, rushing out of his room and down the stairs. But, before he can even get out of his hallway, he is met with the soft notes of a piano. The piano actually being played in this house?

He is met with you as you still softly play, not even noticing the man at the top of the stairs. Were you Miss Y/L/N? He walks down the steps, slowly making his way over to the piano. You are still sat on the little stool, not even noticing the figure behind you until you see a shadow towering over you. You yelp, quickly standing up before pushing the seat back in its original place.

"I am so sorry! Please, excuse me."

The man shakes his head, laughing.

"Hey, no need for that. You play beautifully. I wish I possessed that talent."

"Oh, it is nothing," you let out a deep breath, smiling at him. "My mother does not quite like my playing. Says it is improper for a lady."

"Nonsense," Johnny sits down on the little stool, gesturing for you to sit down as well. "If anything, you should never stop playing. You truly have a talent for it, miss Y/L/N."

It is quiet for a bit, just the two of you sitting together, both not knowing what to say.

"So... We are to be wed tomorrow."

"So it is, mister MacTavish."

"Oh, no, call me John. Or Johnny, both is okay. Considering the circumstances, I think it will do."

"All right, that is, if you call me Y/N."

He does not have time to respond as his mother comes rushing out of the drawing room, visibly mad.

"What is this?! How improper. You shouldn't be alone together! The rehearsal starts in one minute! Come, at once!"

Time goes as slow as it could. In front of the group stands a tall man, trying to guide everyone through the rehearsal as you fight to not fall asleep. His voice is almost as boring as his appearance, and nothing about this entire situation makes you feel happy. You are not even allowed to sit directly next to Johnny, not to mention that both of you just could not keep to the script.

"Okay... Again," the old man groans, nearly wanting to rip the book that he is holding apart, "Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."

"With this candle," Johnny begins, but quickly gets cut off.

"Mister MacTavish, first repeat the other sentence," the old man shakes his head, dropping the book on the table. "First the cup, then the wine, then the candle. Let's try it again..."

You quickly glance back, seeing multiple disappointed faces looking back at you. The doorbell rings, Lord MacTavish quickly waving the butler away to open up the door.

"How about you, miss Y/N?"

"Yeah," you quietly mumble, taking hold of the candle. All that you have to do is make it lit up and make sure the flame stays on the entirety of the speech. "I, uh... I use this candle..."

"With this candle, miss Y/N."

"Oh, it seems that I am early."

Both you and Johnny turn around, seeing the visitor that knocked on the door earlier. A woman, one dressed in a neat and fashionable gown, stands in the middle of the aisle.

"Is she from our family?" Your mother whispers to your father, but he only shrugs in response.

"A seat for Miss Graves, please."

What an odd name.

"Oh, please. Do carry on."

"Right... Let us try this. Again."

"With this hand," Mister MacTavish takes hold of your hand, holding the candlestick in his other. "I will..."

He bumps into the table in front of him, everything on it shaking and nearly falling over as the old man starts yelling yet again.

"Three steps! Can you not count?"

You look over at Johnny before looking back at the man.

"I am sure that he can, sir."

The man mumbles something under his breath, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Did he even remember to bring the rings?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Johnny fumbles with his pocket, trying to fish out the small bands, but while doing so, he accidentally elbows you, making you drop the candle. Oh, no.

The candle rolls away from you, much too fast for you to catch it, the dress of Lady MacTavish slowly catching fire.

"Lady MacTavish!"

You quickly hurry over, stomping on her dress in a weak attempt to get rid of the flames. It does not take long for the butler to return with a bucket of water, emptying the contents over the fire and you.

"Enough!"

The tall man stands up even straighter, towering over everyone in the room.

"This wedding can not take place until both of them are properly prepared. Both of you, learn your vows."

He nearly pushes his pointer finger in your eye as you nervously look from him, to your parents, to Johnny's parents. The young man quickly pushes open the door, hurrying out as you follow behind him. He is, however, much too fast, almost running up the stairs, but not before accidentally dropping something from his pocket.

His ring.

You quickly scoop it up, holding it close before rushing out of the house. You need to be away from this place, if even just for a moment. The ring will be safe in your possession, so hopefully Johnny will not get in any more trouble if he fully loses it. The band is much too big to fit your fingers, it has to be the one belonging to Johnny. Either that, or they were really bad at measuring your rings.

"They must think I am a fool," you groan, slowly walking up to the bridge, shaking your head. "I mean, what did I even think? I set her dress on fire!"

You twirl the ring around in your fingers, crossing the bridge, the woods in front of you.

"Not only that, but I can not even seem to remember the stupid vows. It is just a couple of sentences!"

The next fifteen minutes are spent trying to go over the same vows again and again. At one point, you weren't even sure anymore if the words you were speaking even existed. You decided to sit down on a fallen tree, leaning against it as you twirled the ring in between your fingers again.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine," you whisper, looking at one of the branches right next to you. "With this candle I will light your way into the darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

You slip the ring onto the branch, huffing as you lean back even more. Mud and sand are staining your dress now, but as you look over at the ring again to take if off of the stick, something grabs your wrist.

A yelp leaves your lips as you try and pull your arm back, but it seems like the branches have wrapped themselves around your wrists. It nearly pulls you down into the ground before you fall backwards.

"Ouch!"

You shake your head, looking up, but you still feel the grip around your arm. On it are bones, a hand, still gripping you.

"Oh my God!"

A figure rises from the sand, clawing at the dirt as it slowly stands up, dirt and leaves falling from its shoulders. On their face, a skull, though quite obviously a mask. He is missing his left arm - is that what gripped you?

"I do."

He does? What does he do? You glance down, the ring that you put onto the branch now around its bony finger. No.

No.

Another scream leaves your body as you hurry to scramble up, running as fast as you can with the dress you are wearing. The ground is uneven and it is dark, but the figure does not seem fazed. You rush, leaves and branches hitting you in the face and hooking onto your clothing. Do you dare to look back? Once you do, you see the figure catching up to you, its arm now attached to its body again.

You reach the bridge, your breathing heavy as you almost rip the corset off of your body. Why did your mother insist on tightlacing it? Well, you had not expected on having to run through the woods. Is it gone? You look back to the woods, the figure seemingly gone as you let out a relieved sigh. You take a few steps back, but immediately stop when you feel that you bump into something. Slowly turning around, you are met with someone's chest.

Its the figure.

He looks down at you, his eyes peeking out from the mask. He is wearing a clean suit, a white flower in his pocket, and the ring around his fingers.

"I have to say, that is one hell of a way to ask me to marry you, love."