#I want Blue Diamond to sit on me

[cookieblobber]

The Defense of Steven Universe’s (OG Show) Ending

(This is basically a post where I put everything I said in a large Twitter thread so it’s more easily readable, with maybe a few changes and additions.

Spoilers BTW)

So I’ve been drawing a lot of stuff lately and in doing so, I’ve been rewatching a lot of old shows I used to watch and finishing whatever I missed out on. Steven Universe was an interesting one, as I recall having some form of obsession with it as a kid on Google+, however I barely remembered watching a lot of it or if I even watched it on TV or on websites like Kisscartoon. And after doing so,

I barely see the hate for it that it’s gotten for years.

It has its flaws, and issues that have plagued the show outside of what’s within it, but it’s no doubt memorable with a great cast of characters and very unique and fascinating lore and story telling. Now, I don’t wanna really get into a whole deep dive review on the whole show, as even though I’ve made a couple of essays lately (mainly on Sonic the Hedgehog), I don’t think I’m that experienced to go over an entire 5 seasons explaining each and every episode’s strengths and weaknesses and allat (though maybe I might discuss the amazing character development of each crystal gem in the future, who knows?), rather I want to discuss something that is partially why I started watching this show again: The Ending - Change Your Mind (S5E29).

——————————————

Now, the ending is understandably mixed, I understand the critiques of it being weird and anticlimactic and all and how it doesn’t feel like the diamonds’ actions on gem history was fully acknowledged and been punished for it. I completely get the criticism here and I don’t want to drive away people from making actual critiques on the show and where it could’ve improved upon.

What I mainly want to focus on is the notion that the ending can be summed up to, “Steven forgave Gem Hitler”

That is very incorrect.

See, the whole reason why White Diamond (the “Gem Hitler”) was involved with the story was because after Steven was able to prove to Blue and Yellow Diamond that he’s Pink Diamond, he takes the opportunity to use their stronger powers to restore one of the corrupted gems (Centipede). This works…for a moment, as they’re only restored once all 3 put their healing powers to use, but upon letting go of the gem, they reform back into their corrupted version. With Steven technically being part of the Diamond Authroity, he thinks maybe he can take advantage of his position to be able to speak to White Diamond, the highest gem in the patriarchy, and convince her to come to Earth to help the corrupted gems.

Throughout these last episodes, it’s clear this is all for a demand to help gems that were stuck on Earth. While Steven wanted to just try and talk to White, and convinced Blue and Yellow to express how they feel about how White has handled their civilization, there’s never a point where he’s all like “look inside your heart, please you have so much good in you I can feel it” or whatever. Considering how he had to fuse with the Crystal Gems and team up with others who showed up to be able to fight her mech and barely reach to the top of it to meet her, this whole plan wasn’t really as pacifist as many have made it out to be.

———————————

Sorry to stray off a little but, funny thing is, as much as people make fun of Steven Universe for being a show where characters just talk their feelings out and suddenly everything is good, they acknowledge in one of the episodes that not every gem has this deep trauma or pain they try to hold in.

In the episode, “Stuck Together” he and Lars get caught by Aquamarine and Topaz, they both open up to each other about how no matter what happens, they got each other. This leads Topaz who throughout her introduction has been mute and serious and who has them held hostage, to start crying and vent about how much emotional pain she’s been holding in so much because it’s her job. When Aquamarine finds out she’s trying to help them escape, they desperately start trying to convince her that she’s allowed to open up about whatever she feels, that they’re here to listen and talk.

This is was her reaction.

And I have yet to watch Future right now, but from what I’m reading, even after a lot has changed since the original show and tons of gems live peacefully with Beach City, she shows up again to get her revenge.

At no point is she ever redeemed in any way.

———————————

Anyways, the only reason why Steven was able to convince White to do something to corrupted gems on Earth was because he bested her and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Her whole ordeal was how she wants to have this flawless world where nothing goes out of line, even if it means having to mind control them so they act just like her. She views herself as being the perfect gem of all time who knows what’s best for everyone. However, due to how she’s acted with Steven, being an adult gem constantly picking on a literal child because she refuses to accept he’s not Pink Diamond or is part human; how it’s all just a disguise and Pink Diamond is just lying to herself, she’s embarrassed and realizes she indeed does have a flaw. She’s shaken up with guilt over how petty and childish she’s been acting, being exactly what she’s been criticizing Pink Diamond, to the point where she questions who she is. If she’s not this flawless perfect gem who knows what’s best, then what is she? What should she be since throughout her whole life she’s been obsessed with perfection? She can’t be leader of a whole gem civilization trying to make everyone flawless if she herself is flawed. What further solidified it was how she was unable to control Pink Steven no matter how much she tried, and once she started blushing and feeling embarrassed, she lost control on the other gems she had brainwashed. Blue and Yellow even react in disgust/fear seeing her become “off-color” due to her blush, basically for a moment them losing respect for her.

Steven goes up to her and tries to tell her to just, let people be who they are, without trying to “fix” them, and maybe she can be whoever she wants to be. White is still in distraught, wanting to be someone who knows better, be better, and wanting to make everything better, which Steven offers her a way to do so (which is coming to Earth to help the corrupted gems), but first needing to leave your own head - literally and figuratively.

————————————

At no point throughout the ending is White crying about trauma or begging for forgiveness to Steven and having him go “it’s ok we all make mistakes 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰”, all that happens is Steven sees her essentially having an identity crisis now that she cracked and realized she isn’t as perfect as she thought she was, and being the good natured kid he is, offers to show her how she can be a better person, taking the opportunity to make her do what he set out to demand from her. To say they should’ve shattered her would’ve defeated the whole point as to why Steven even went back to Homeworld to begin with, cuz he needed White’s help. Plus, still haven’t watched Future but,

There is a scene where Steven actually attempts to SHATTER White Diamond upon taking control of her body for everything she has done to him, he CLEARLY doesn’t find her to be in the clear of everything she’s done.

TL;DR They can’t just shatter her cuz she’s the big bad villain, the whole point of the final episodes was Steven needing her in order to restore all the corrupted gems they’ve saved throughout the show. No matter what it took, he was going to find a way to do it. While I do agree that there could’ve been better acknowledgment on everything that she’s done to Homeworld and all, same goes for Blue and Yellow, as they’re immediately relegated to out of touch aunts, to make the massive stretch that this is supposed to be Steven forgiving Hitler or proof that Rebecca Sugar (a Jewish person) is a Nazi apologist…come on bro.

EDIT: I really recommend btw watching this video I recently just viewed discussing the show’s ending and really diving in about the topic of Steven’s identity and White’s identity. It’s informative summarizing a lot of what’s been hinted at and led up to the final episode and goes over stuff I could never even attempt to bring to light with how amateurish I am at this sorta junk 💀

And even if with everything being said, you still believe in the notion that “Steven forgave Gen Hitler” or whatever, I’m about to bring up an argument so earth shattering that it will make you re-evaluate everything you know about the show. So, here it goes:

IT’S A FUCKING PG CARTOON SHOW

———————————

Listen, I know it’s very cliche to use the, “it’s a kids show it’s not that deep!!” argument or whatever idiots say to avoid people from discussing further about their favorite things, especially in an era where many are pushing the “Animation is Cinema” phrase and proving its not just kiddie shit only babies like, but what I mean is

At what point is it crossing the line when making comparisons from a thing in fiction to something in real life?

What makes a great story is how it’s able to draw connections to realistic issues or problems many face with unique metaphors and analogies and all of that, Steven Universe is no different. However, at what point are the metaphors or references to real life supposed to stop? At what point does it become stretching really hard? I can understand how people have had ideas that “fusion is a metaphor for sex” or whatever to some degree.

But going as far as to compare this obviously over the top dictator to the world’s worst man to have ever lived on planet earth who is responsible for the death of millions just because he so happens to also be a dictator, doesn’t that seem so…psychotic to even try to relate when it’s obvious that was never the intention? I mean look at this whole world of the show, it’s a futuristic jewelry space civilization filled with advanced technology and bright colors, how do you look at all of this and first thing that comes to mind is Nazi Germany? How do you look at a giant voluptuous white woman who’s existed for millenniums and think “yea that’s Hitler right there”, all because she’s simply a textbook definition of a dictator?

Trying to make her whole country this flawless world where no one goes out of line and disallows any form of diversity? Like any typical villain? Is that really all it takes to be considered as “animated Hitler”?

Does that mean the abandoned flawed gems in the abandoned Kindergarten that Steven and Lars met at the very bottom of Homeworld are supposed to be a reference to Anne Frank’s family hiding from nazis? One would say that’s a massive stretch to make and they’d be right, cuz it is…just like what people say about White Diamond.

These kinds of massive stretches and comparisons have been made in the past constantly, and for what? To gang up on a show that just wanted to teach kids the values of showing love and positivity, being there for your friends and families and trying to accept people’s flaws or differences in how they live? To make excuses to be blatantly anti-semetic towards the Jewish person who created this show? All because over shit like the fanbase was infamous at one point for how they treated each other and the show producers or because the ending wasn’t how many wanted it to be or how it debatably pushes the idea of positivity way too much in places where it shouldn’t try to?

At what point do people who criticize this show for it’s apparent farfetched ideologies of being kind to everyone, start sounding farfetched themselves for making these insane leaps in logic to make a blatantly slanderous argument and label on the show? If something like “White Diamond is supposed to be Gem Hitler” is something many easily gave into believing, what kind of fucked up comparisons would people make next about the entirety of Homeworld or gems as a species till these start to sound like psychotic conspiracy theories?

————————————

Steven Universe is no doubt a flawed show, I won’t deny that, will never deny that. As much as I defend the ending and go against how people have slandered the show, I can admit stuff could’ve been done better. However, like I’ve said at the beginning, I fail to see how all the hate the show’s gotten for years has ever been deserved or warrented. It’s clear that even with its flaws in storytelling, pacing, (sometimes animation), there is still so much to love about this show. It’s characters, it’s music, it’s themes, it’s lore, etc. There’s good reason as to why people love and still fondly remember it and consider it to be just as important as the other shows that brought in this renaissance era for Cartoon Network (Gumball, Regular Show, and Adventure Time).

After all, just like what the ending taught people, things aren’t always going to be perfect, and that’s ok. Flaws make things what they are, and unless said flaws actively have negative effects on things, there’s no reason to fight against them so excruciatingly. We may strive hard for perfection and flawlessness, to be considered perfect or for a thing we like to be considered perfect, but at some point, trying to do so much just to achieve said perfection will down the road start to become an issue and affect ourselves and the ones around us, the ones we love.

When you think about it, a lot of what has happened within the fanbase and the critics of the show mimic similar attitude to White Diamond. This want for perfection, for nothing to be going out of line, but all it’s done is damage the show’s reputation to many.

Fans on here long ago harassing an artist for the way they drew one of the characters of the show as she wasn’t in this “perfect” body shape they wanted her in. Or harassing producers of the show for how they’d handle things like (iirc) Lapis and Peridot’s “relationship” because it didn’t match their “perfect” connection between the two, and more.

On the other side, critics like the infamous Lily Orchard blasting the show for not being this “perfectly” told story and going out of her way to make these insane comparisons to have some leverage in this giant attack on the show and what it stands for.

These wild and out of pocket attempts to make everything perfect for the show, and what has it done? It heavily soured how people view the show, making people want to stay away from getting into it as from the POV of the outside looking in, it’s a whole rabbit hole they probably shouldn’t get into…for their sake of their mental health. This mindset to be caught up in selfish outlandish views of what’s deemed as being perfect has only made things worse for everyone on every side of discussion on this show. And while as of lately things seem to be recovering, as more people are giving the show a second chance and realizing how messed up people like Lily Orchard were, still the effects of what happened back in the mid-late 2010s are noticeable in some areas.

——————————

If it gets to a point where we’re fighting a flaw that barely affects anyone, is it really a flaw that is that important or even a flaw at all to begin with? We can strive to be better people and learn from mistakes, but a perfect person who can do no wrong is just impossible.

Flaws are what help make everything feel unique in it’s own right. That’s not to say some flaws can’t be acknowledged and called out, but as for flaws that sum up to “someone/something is different from what I expected”, it seems over the top to go so hard to fight against it, as we’d be fighting against having diversity among each and every one of us.

If every pork-chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs.

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[katsukistofu]

peanut butter and jellyfish

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ h. shinsou x fem reader. 5k words — fluff. cursing. comforting insecurities. friends to secret lovers.

⭑ shenanigans with your not-so-secret boyfriend ft. sleepovers with eri, a cat eating pizza on you at 3am, your classmates being nosy, and an aquarium date.

note: your quirk is forensic sight! so ur gc name is the way it is bc ur eyes lol get it

You choke back a laugh as a very focused Eri puts yet another sticker on Hitoshi’s face. 

Snacks and pillows are strewn around the inside of the blanket fort the three of you finished building moments before. Stiller than a rock, your calm best friend sits there cross-legged so that Eri can give him a makeover of unicorns, stars, and rainbows. 

“Do you think he looks pretty yet?” Eri tilts her head at you.

“Like a real-life princess.” You giggle. “Good job, Eri!” 

“Yay!” She happily high fives the hand you hold up for her. “Do you feel pretty yet, Hito-nii?”

“I feel so bonita.” Hitoshi deadpans, sending you two into another fit of giggles.

“You were pretty already, Toshi,” you coo, rubbing a thumb over the sticker of a cat making sushi on his cheekbone. Mr. Aizawa must have bought that one for her.

Hitoshi pretends to shyly gaze at you from under his long lashes. “Aw, really?”

His lips curve into a lazy smile, and a heat that you’re all too familiar with rises up your neck, you turn away–a little too quickly, to Hitoshi’s amusement.

“Nevermind you’re ugly.”

He laughs and the heat creeps up to your cheeks.

Such a simple sound, yet that soft, husky voice of his always manages to make your insides a mushy mess, even when you had painfully tripped over his cat, Celery, when he transferred and first moved into the dorms with your class.

The normally stoic, reserved purple-haired boy had doubled over with an uncontrollable wheeze, supporting himself on the sofa as your groaning self was sprawled across the floor. 

God, they were lucky they were both cute.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile as he reached a hand out to help you up, the other still covering his mouth. 

That was the first time you made him laugh, and now, you’ve heard it so many times that you could finally stop counting on both your hands’ fingers but you still wanted more.

“Want me to paint your nails, Eri?” You ask, scooting over to your bedroom’s drawer. 

You open it, your own light blue nails painted a color that reminds you of the sea against the pastel pink of the treasure box you take out. It had a heart-shaped diamond on the latch. 

The heavy box was filled with a collection of nail polish the girls in your class usually used for their sleepovers as well, and new bottles, mostly varying shades of apple red, started mysteriously appearing the day after Eri said she had never gotten painted her nails before. 

“Yes!” Eri’s eyes sparkle. “Can I please have matchy nails with Hito-nii?”

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile. She was adorable. 

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “You sure you want yours black this time, Eri?”

“Yes!” She huffs stubbornly. “Like dad’s clothes and those things under your eyes!”

“Hey!” He protests. She shares a mischievous look with you and you both giggle, catching the pillow Hitoshi gently throws at you. 

“Oreo wouldn’t treat me like this.” Hitoshi reaches out to ruffle Eri’s hair and she squeals in protest, batting his hand away. 

Eri holds up the oversized panda plushie he was talking about. It was comically bigger than her, and you had to bite back a laugh.

The moment you two spotted it in the claw machine outside Shinsou’s favorite cat cafe near campus, you knew you had to win it to add to her ever growing collection of stuffed animals.

With a grin, you remember the huge sigh of relief Shinsou let out when it finally fell into the chute.

“Duh he wouldn’t ‘cause you’re his twin!”

Hitoshi mock gasps. “Take that back.” And tickles her neck, barely dodging as you throw the pillow he threw earlier back at him. 

“Woah!”

Except much, much harder.

“Don’t worry Eri, I'll protect you!” You grab another nearby pillow and throw it at him, which he easily catches in mid-air with one hand like it was a frisbee.

“Aw.” You pout. Mr. Aizawa was training him a little too good now.

Eri pats your arm to console you. “It’s okay I appre-shee—apree-shee—“

“Appreciate?” You offer, and her face brightens as she nods.

“Appree-shee-ate. You. For trying.” She finishes shyly.

“Aw, thank you Eri. I appreciate you too.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes soften at the sight of you two. 

“What about me?”

You scowl. “You can go duck yourself, Toshi.”

“Love you too.”

Eri suddenly gasps. 

“Dad says that to Uncle Zashi too!”

Despite already knowing the answer, Hitoshi and you turn to look at her suspiciously.

“…Which one?”

As if he knows you’re talking about him, Aizawa yells down the hallway.

“Eri, brats, pizza’s here!”

───────── 

“Can I have another hug?” Hitoshi asks coyly after class one day. 

The bell had just rung, and you roll your eyes at his leaning form on the wall of the almost empty hallway. 

Everyone was leaving for lunch.

Except you two, but that was Hitoshi’s fault.

“I just gave you one!”

“Oh no.” He places a dramatic palm to his forehead. “I think I’m going to pass out because of someone if I don’t get a hug in the next five seconds.”

“Greedy ass.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

He hides a grin, shuffling closer to close the gap between your bodies. 

Hitoshi smells like fresh linen with hints of sunshine, probably from his daily bike ride he took around campus before class started, and the coffee he brewed this morning. 

A sense of comfort settles into your bones as the familiar scent envelopes you, and you breathe it in. 

He softly tucks your head under his chin as you nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, your headache from taking the quiz in Ectoplasm’s class earlier now long gone.

“Did you know that when cats see that it's raining outside a window, they go to another window in the same room to check if it's still raining outside?” Hitoshi randomly whispers.

“I did not know that.” You giggle. His lips feel ticklish on your hair. “Does Celery do that too?”

“All the time.” Hitoshi grins. “I have a video from yesterday’s storm, I’ll show you in the cafeteria.”

“Ooh okay!”

He straightens, and takes your hand, your fingers easily lacing through his as you both start to head in the direction of the dining hall. 

When you trip over nothing, he snorts, already expecting it, and catches your waist before you take a fall that will be difficult for your ego and your knees to recover from.

“Careful,” he says as you clutch onto his school uniform in relief, and you swear that already deep, smooth voice of his drops an octave on purpose, almost sending you to the ground again.

Hitoshi’s thumb is still tracing small circles on the back of your hand as the both of you join the line for the traditional school lunch. You could try a different cuisine tomorrow. On today’s menu was miso seaweed soup with a side of grilled fish and a milk bread roll along with, of course, rice.

You feel a vibration on the side of your leg, and for the umpteenth time this school year you thank UA for adding pockets to the school uniform’s skirts as you slip your phone out. The jellyfish charm Hitoshi got for your birthday last year dangles from your case.

Surprise, surprise, it’s the class group chat.

-forklift uncertified -

it’s barbie bitch 

guysss guess what i sawwww

invisi-girl 

IS IT TODOROKI IN A PINK TUTU

 

pikachew

girl what 

invisi-girl 

u guys don’t get the vision

i saw it in a dream last night

the rock 

nah i get it dude

that would be so manly

ice spice 

I would not be completely opposed to the idea

invisi-girl 

SEE

it’s barbie bitch 

it’s even better >_<

it’s barbie bitch 

hitoshituckingyourhair

behindearwithasoftsmile.png

mochi cheeks

OHMYGOD!?1?2?2

SOCUTEEEEETES

airpods with wires

i saw that

airpods with wires 

can yall not flirt before lunch 

next time i’m gonna throw 

up before i get to eat

sue you 

AWWWW OUR LITTLE BABYS ALL GROWN UP

forensic balls [you]

FUCK U GUYS IM 17

yaomomo

exactly

a Baby :)

forensic balls [you]

yaoyao ur supposed

to be on my side </3

yaomomo 

sorry my love i cannot 

deny the facts </3

pikachew

Nahhh only shinsou can call her that guys ;))))

airpods with wires

wah wah wah

forensic balls [you]

one more word and i’m gonna change the gc name to fornite jiggle physics 

sue you

NO

yaomomo

No thank you

my chemical romance

what a mad banquet of darkness

it’s barbie bitch

babe look me in the

eyes this isn’t like you 

forensic balls [you]

try me. 

pikachew

DO ITTTTTTT

forensic balls [you]

ok just bc u told me to 

i won’t now 

scotch tape 

dayum rip denks

forensic balls [you]

also not my fault u guys 

have early ass birthdays smh

shirt guy

Senior citizen core fr

forensic balls [you]

ily midoriya

shirt guy

ilyt pookie xx 

kazoo-ki

Girl u aint slick

shirt guy

You’re so late omg

pikachew

bro has us on mute

kazoo-ki

shut up dunce face

kazoo-ki

How tf do I change my name

mochi cheeks

LMFAO

wiki-how

Bakugo it is fairly simple. 

wiki-how

First you click on your profile, then your personal settings. 

wiki-how

From there you press “Change Display Name” and you should be able to enter your name of preference. 

kazoo-ki 

K

better than you

Thanks glasses ig

wiki-how

You are very welcome.

kiri the rock

nice one dude!

sue you

wow egotistical much

better than you

You wish yours was as big as mine

pikachew

that’s what he said

it’s barbie bitch

omg it just hit me

it’s barbie bitch

the first person to 

finally get bitches in our class 

it’s barbie bitch

i’m so happy i could cry

pikachew

I GET BITCHES

sue you

yeah over the screen 

we're talking irl

pikachew

leave me and my otome games alone

forensic balls [you]

real 

forensic balls [you]

AND IM NOT DATING HITOSHI

it’s barbie bitch

HITOSHI????????

airpods with wires

first name basis is crazy

forensic balls [you]

fuck i mean *shinsou

scotch tape

y’all smell that

the rock

peeeyew

pikachew

smells like sum bullshiiii

kazoo-ki

Could’ve fooled me

yaomomo

You aren’t??? :(

yaomomo

But I wrote a reminder to wish 

you two happy anniversary and 

even bought tea to celebrate!

forensic balls [you]

….for what date

yaomomo

April 1st :(

forensic balls [you]

………………

airpods with wires  

@ it’s barbie bitch we can see u

across the cafeteria u are BAWLING

eyebags

what the fuck

Hitoshi bites back a laugh as your widened eyes meet his, glancing up from your phone.

“Not dating, huh?” He grins.

You groan and pinch his arm. “I panicked okay! I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“Hmm, do you want me to?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You shyly play with his fingers. 

“I kind of like us being a secret from them for a little longer. It feels… nice.”

Hitoshi smiles. “I know what you mean.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though they’re so nosy it looks like they figured it out already.”

“Pffft, yeah.” Mina could definitely sniff out a relationship from miles away, no matter how much PDA you tried to sneakily do in empty hallways.

Hitoshi squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“I like it too.” He leans over, and your eyes are forced to meet the dark violet of his.

The side of Hitoshi’s soft-looking lips, courtesy of the strawberry chapstick he stole from you before class this morning, quirk up as he looks down at you with soft eyes, the ones he reserves for you and random cats he sees on the road.

“Chapstick thief,” you mutter.

“Oh, you want it back?” Hitoshi grins. “Kiss it off me then.”

Your cheeks grown warm. “Not here!”

“Good,” He smirks.

“I prefer keeping you all to myself, anyway.”

   ───────── 

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s crouching down so that your eyes have no choice but to meet his from your spot on the bean bag.

He gently pushes the switch in your hands down to your lap and pokes your thigh. You squirm away ticklishly. 

“Tell me.”

“No.” You huff, picking your switch back up. “I just wanna play Stardew, leave me alone.”

“Darling.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, and he smirks. His secret weapon still works without fail. Hitoshi didn’t even need to activate his quirk to have you under his thumb. 

“You’re not going to feel better if you keep it in. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His nails are still pink, you faintly notice, trying to distract yourself from your very attractive, very insistent boyfriend in front of you with his comforting hands placed on your thighs.

You painted his left hand, and Eri painted his right at the last sleepover you had together. She had insisted that he should match nails with her this time, since she matched with him last week.

It was already terrible and impressive that Hitoshi was a people-reader, even worse that he knew what to do to make you fold so easily and open up.

Curse you Hitoshi, you and your disposition for healthy communication.

You should have never recommended that therapist to him.

“I don’t know,” you finally mumble. He tilts his head, showing you that he’s listening. 

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what, sweetheart?” He asks. The softness in his voice is unbearable and what you've been bottling up for weeks finally spills out.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it when good things happen to me.”

Hitoshi blinks, then lets out a snort. Which turns into a full blown laugh coming from his chest.

You shove his face away and he falls on his butt, still chuckling. 

“You’re making fun of me!” You say indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He coughs, and takes a breath to recollect himself. 

“You say a lot of dumb shit and I think that's the worst thing I’ve heard you say.”

You pout. “I’m feeling very invalidated right now.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, and his hands reclaim their spot on your skin, except this time he’s gently cupping your face in his hands. 

He’s not used to comforting people, but you can see that he’s trying.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, and I see you try so hard everyday. You always do a good job when you set your sights on something. Why don’t you deserve good things?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze is numbly pinned to the silver chain around his neck, the one with a little crescent moon on it that he wears everyday, not even taking it off when he goes to sleep. The one you gave to him. 

“That’s okay.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and you think you can breathe a little easier. 

“Let's think of it this way,” Hitoshi says, still cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. Do you want it?”

You finally meet his eyes, and answer with a voice shakier than you’d like it to be. 

“I do. I want good things for myself.”

“Atta girl,” Hitoshi says with a proud quirk of his lips. 

You stare at him, your heart suspended in your chest, feeling better but still looking a bit unsure.

Hitoshi notices this from the way you start biting the inside of your cheek, and he leans his forehead against yours. You freeze. 

He smells like fruit, like freshly washed blueberries and those ripe strawberries in the kitchen in the dorm’s fridge. “That’s more than enough. We can work from there.”

There’s still a worried furrow between your eyebrows.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can go to the aquarium you love this weekend.”

He smirks as you perk up at that, drinking up the rare, shy expression suddenly on your face again, and leans down to your ear. 

“You’re so easy,” Hitoshi whispers. 

You grumble, you could hear that stupid grin in his voice.

“Sorry, I can't hear you with your face in my chest.”

You raise your head to glare at him and his heart soars. There was his girl.

God, his smug face was starting to irritate you more and more. "I said that if you were my husband I'd poison your tea!" 

“If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

   ───────── 

-thot pockets -

it's barbie bitch

omg guess who i just saw 

cuddling in front of the tv

it's barbie bitch

youwrappedlikeaburritoinhitoshisarms.png

dating allegation #1 

MINA WTF DELETE THAT

dating allegation #1 

WHY R U STALKING US

[dating allegation #2 saved an image]

dating allegation #1 

BRO WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

dating allegation #1 

PURPLE MINION LOOKING BITCH

dating allegation #2

ok forensic penis

dating allegation #2

who changed my user

pikachew

me

cuz u guys are NOT beating 

them :laughcry::laughcry:

ice spice

I am just confused as to why 

you two are sitting on each other 

ice spice

When the rest of the couch 

appears to be unoccupied

ice spice

Perhaps this is a new 

procreation method?

mochi cheeks

TODORKIWHATHAHVDHSHA

pikachew

LMDFAOOOOOOOOO

ice spice

? 

dating allegation #1 

WHATTHEFUKC

the rock

never change bro 

sue you

IACTAULKYLCANT BREATHE HELP

it’s barbie bitch

ME NEITEHHR

dating allegation #2

Whenever my eyebags get darker

dating allegation #2

Just know I blame it on all of you

   ───────── 

“Celery?” You mutter, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Mrow.” The cat continues eating the slice of… pizza? On your chest.

It looks like the one that you and Hitoshi ordered earlier after quizzing each other for Present Mic’s exam.

 

“I love you so much but I am so confused.”

You reach for your phone to text Hitoshi, your still-asleep hands fumbling a bit on the nightstand.

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

us 

you [12 hrs ago]

literally us <3

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

want to order takeout and 

watch ouran highschool after

we study for tmrws exam

you [12 hrs ago]

yes please omg

you [now – 03:24]

hey

can u explain why ur daughter

is eating pizza on my boobs

at 3am

toshi [03:30]

whar

?

toshi [03:31]

OHfMGOD

CELERU

Not even five minutes later, he’s knocking on the door to your room. You open it, and the sight of a very sleepy looking Hitoshi greets you. His already unruly bedhead is even messier than usual and you’re pretty sure he’s wearing his shirt backwards. Did he put it on before coming over? 

Wait.

You blink, long and hard, banishing the thoughts of a groggy, very shirtless Hitoshi lying in his bed, with the light of his phone screen illuminating his handsome features as he replies to your text. Those four hours of sleep must finally be hitting you.

Hitoshi sees you blinking, and takes it as a sign you’re still in shock at the pizza monster in your lap.

He gives an awkward pat to your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think this is just how she shows affection.” Hitoshi stares down at Celery fondly.

The way you stroke her fur so softly makes his chest feel warm and tingly.

“Does she eat leftover pizza off your chest at three in the morning?”

“...No.”

“Hah. She said she likes me better. ” You smirk victoriously. “Isn’t that right sweetie?”

The calico cat purrs as you scratch her ears, a bit of tomato sauce under her chin. Hitoshi exaggeratedly puts his hand over his heart at this scene of betrayal.

“Seriously? Celery, I took you off those streets and raised you like I was the one pregnant with you for nine months.”

“Mrow.” She bumps her head against your hand.

“Pfft, give it up Toshi. It’s time for you to hand over the adoption papers.”

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “Or we could just share custody.”

“What?” Your cheeks grow warm. “You want me to be her mom?”

“I mean you kind of already are. Look at her,” he says, eyes softening as he looks at the two of you. 

Celery has her paw on your arm. After eating until her little tummy was full, she was already starting to doze off.

“She takes after me.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah you looked just like that after our binge marathon today too."

“Not in that way.”

He smirks at your confused reaction.

“Then what do you mean–”

At that moment, Celery decides it’s the perfect time to snuggle into your tank top, smearing what’s left of the pizza on her face all over it.

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He laughs, covering his mouth.

You’ve never been so glad you chose to wear black to sleep.

   ───────── 

“Trouble child, you’re here.”

“Hi Mr. Aizawa.” You roll your eyes. “When are you going to stop calling me that, it’s getting old.”

“When you stop getting into trouble.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“The kid’s almost ready.” He snorts. “About damn time. Been up since six.”

“He has?” Your eyes widen. “For what?”

Your teacher smirks. “Nerves. Isn’t this his, what, tenth time taking you out though?”

A flustered Hitoshi suddenly appears from behind him with a light pink dusting his cheeks and steers Aizawa back to the door. “O-okay dad that’s enough.” 

He’s cutely dressed in a soft-looking grey cardigan over a white shirt and black wide-legged pants. 

This had to be the most boyfriend he’s looked, ever, and he looked very boyfriend all of the time. 

“Hitoshi?” You do a little twirl for him in your own outfit. “Fire or nah?”

He looks up from his phone, where he’s googling the bus route to the aquarium, except his eyes linger. Without skipping a beat, he responds.

 “Fire.”

“Toshi, you’re staring.”

“Of course I’m staring.” He says it with a tone like 'what else would I be doing?'

You shyly fidget with the edge of your shorts. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Hitoshi reaches out a hand, like he hasn't just casually left you breathless, and his own eyes soften as he notices your starry-eyed look. 

“Let’s go, you crybaby.”

“Damn. I was going to say you look handsome too, but I don’t remember being the one who sobbed my eyes out watching Your Name last night.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

“Shut up.”

“Was like our fifth rewatch too.”

“Shut up before I kiss you.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

‧₊˚ 🐚 ✩ ₊˚ 🌊 ⊹ 𓇼

Hitoshi’s lips twitch as he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the sign pointing in the jellyfish exhibit’s direction. “You’re adorable.”

“Thanks.” You grin. “You’re slow.”

You take him by the arm, your brain faintly registering how muscular his bicep is despite holding it so many times, and drag him along. 

In their tanks, the glow of the moon jellies fills the darkness in front of them as other visitors murmur around you two in awe. Blue light reflects off the water and through the glass, illuminating your boyfriend’s dreamy features and you can’t help but admire how pretty he looks.

Hitoshi turns from watching the jellyfish to face you, fingers now lacing through yours. You don’t look away. 

A soft smile flickers across his face when he catches you staring at him.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

You smile. You remember. He was the one Mina relentlessly teased you for staring at, which you completely denied at the time.

“Why’re you so thirsty?” You remember her whispering into your ear at the Sports Festival in your first year. The both of you were sitting in your class’s designated spots in the stands.

Your eyes had widened, scandalized. 

“I am not!”

“Please. You’re totally staring at him.”

“Who?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” She grinned. “Cute, right?”

Of course she paid attention when they announced his name specifically. 

You could never remember anyone’s, and she probably saw you looking at his picture for a little too long when it appeared on the Jumbotron’s screen, announcing that his match with Oijiro was about to begin. 

“Not really,” you lied, a bad attempt at feigning disinterest. 

Like your eyes hadn’t been trailing down his lean figure the moment his next match started. 

Or noticing how attractive it was the way he casually folded his arms when he taunted Midoriya, or wondering in your mind if his perpetual bed-head was as soft as it looks. 

Mina turned to you, smirking at your slightly dazed expression.

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I told him you had some questions about his quirk and wanted to talk about it after this, riiight?”

“What?” You shake your head furiously. “I mean his quirk is really interesting but–ugh Mina, no!” 

“For the plot!” She waggled her eyebrows.

You nudged her knee with a huff. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Nooo, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Mina eyed you cheekily. “I won’t call him over.”

“Oh thank god.”

“But only if you admit he’s your type.”

You groan. “Okay fine. I think he’s hot, happy?”

“Very.” Your best friend laughs, pure happiness indeed written all over her face. You can see the matchmaking gears already turning in her head. “I just know you too well, babe.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes I really wish you didn’t.”

“Come on, you guys would be so cute together though.” She sighs dreamily. “Forensic sight and mind-control? Plus you’re both hot as fuck? Talk about a power couple.”

“....I think I’m going to go sit with Yaomomo instead.”

Recalling the memory, you laugh. “I know, we kept accidentally making eye contact after your second match because our seats were right across from each other.”

“That awkward prolonged eye contact in the stands might’ve been how I started crushing on you.”

You smirk. “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes, softly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Worst decision of my life.”

You hold Hitoshi’s hand tighter as you step closer to his side to get a better view of the tank. 

“Glad the feeling is mutual.” 

You spot it before he does.

“Oh my god Toshi. We need to get this for Eri.”

He spins around from the collection of the aquarium’s official shirts for sale, a shirt with a print of a whale shark in his hands. 

“Wha–oh my god.”

Hitoshi stares at the giant penguin plushie you’re holding in front of you. 

It was bigger than you–no, bigger than him even.

“Not sure if it’s going to fit on the train home, but we’ll make it work.”

   ───────── 

"Can you teach me how to draw a unicorn too, Eri?" Hitoshi asks.

You had already asked Eri before him seconds ago so you stick your tongue out at Hitoshi, mouthing ��copycat,’ and he tilts his head down to quickly kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

He still has a pink bow wrapped around his bicep from when you three played dress up an hour ago, and you fight the urge to laugh again at how silly he looks.

Eri is too focused on her drawings to care about either of you, and after she scribbles around a little more, she turns to face her older brother.

“Yeah!” She hands him a red crayon. “Okay, so first you draw half of a circle.”

Hitoshi follows Eri’s instructions.

He lifts his hand, which nearly covers the paper, to reveal a red ‘C’ that looks like it got run over by a truck.

“No, no not like that! Erase it.” She frowns disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “You’re really bad at this Hito-nii.”

“Please Eri-sensei. I'm trying my best.”

“Try harder!” She turns away with a huff, then peers over at your paper. 

“Ooh yours looks so good!” Eri claps, and you smile proudly. 

“It’s all thanks to you, Eri.” You reach out to fix her pigtail that was starting to slip out of the cat-patterned scrunchie, and she giggles, holding still for you. 

Hitoshi grumbles. “This smells like favoritism.”

“That’s ‘cause your unicorn looks Celery’s poop!” Eri chirps. Then she runs away to the kitchen right before you double over in laughter at Hitoshi’s extremely offended face, clutching onto his broad shoulders for support. 

“She said your drawing looks like shit!” You snort, and he groans.

Celery’s ears perk up in Hitoshi’s lap and she meows, looking in your direction. You hold out your arms. “Celery, you want uppies?”

She ignores them and decides to sit in your lap instead, purring softly.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah? And then what?” You coo, gently rubbing her fuzzy forehead, and her eyes close in contentment.

She mewls again, pawing at your sock and you laugh.

“Okay, okay I’ll tell him.” 

Looking up at Hitoshi, he tilts his head the same way Celery does when you talk to her. 

You bite back a laugh, you’re not sure who’s the cat in the room at this point.

“What did she say?” He asks you curiously.

All you do is blink slowly at him in response.

Hitoshi’s brows knit in confusion.

Then his eyes widen, a soft pink starting to color his cheeks.

Shyly, he slowly blinks back.

Suddenly, the gray-haired girl comes back from the kitchen, apples Aizawa sliced like rabbits for her on a plate in her hands. 

You’re still slowly blinking at each other as she walks through the door.

Eri looks at the both of you weirdly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Mrow.”

teehee hitoshi’s the pb to ur jelly(fish) get it

[kurooh]

INTERRUPTED ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. he hates it when someone (or something) interrupts his time with you.

⟡ feat. gojo satoru, kento nanami, fushiguro toji, kamo choso.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), modern au, roommates! satosugu in gojo’s, stupidity, phone calls, being walked in on, oral [m&f]. not proofread

⟡ xoxo juno: first time writing for jjk.. i’m nervous about the characterizations; i’ll write more characters for hcs if i get reqs. rbs are loved !!

— GOJO SATORU.

“t-toru, that’s perfect, faster please,” you plea, tangling your fingers in his snowy hair and pressing his head closer to your dripping pussy. gojo lets you, whining a little as he scissors his fingers in and out of you and licks at your clit.

you inhale sharply, back bowing right off the bed; a large hand spreads your thighs impossibly wider and press them into the duvet beneath you.

“oh, i’m gonna cum,” you whine, hips jerking towards his fingers desperately. bright blue eyes latch onto yours, and he’s about to watch you fall apart when—

“yo, satoru!” your boyfriend’s roommate, geto, calls breezily from behind the door. before either of you can respond, the door opens and he strides in, looking at his phone. “what do you want for dinner tonight? i’m going to head out to go shopping and—” he looks up, and a pillow nails him right in the face.

“get out, suguru!” gojo yells, covering you with part of the duvet.

geto laughs awkwardly, a blush blooming across his face, and he apologizes quickly before stepping out and closing the door.

“also!” gojo calls, facing the door as he sits down beside you, “tonkotsu for dinner tonight!”

— NANAMI KENTO.

“fuuuck,” kento groans lowly, pressing your head further into his pelvis, his cock sliding down your throat. blond strands fan out around his head as it drops back onto the couch cushions behind him, his eyes fluttering shut.

your soft hands stroke the parts of his cock you can’t fit in your mouth, wet sounds mingling with your choking and filling the room. “angel,” he sighs, fingers soothingly rubbing against your scalp, “this is perfect, i love it when you—”

a familiar ringtone cuts his sentence off, and his face twists in aggravation as he lifts his hips, fishing his phone out of his back pocket with his free hand.

“i’m sorry. it’s ijichi.” kento answers the phone, his cock starting to soften in your mouth.

your eyes meet his as you mischievously slide off the length of his cock, your lips gently suctioned around his tip. kento sits up, his eyes widening, and he’s about to mouth something to you when you slam all the way down, placing your hands on his thighs for support.

he gasps sharply, nearly letting out a moan; he reassures ijichi, who sounds worried.

“oh, yes i’m alright. something nearly fell off my shelf is all..” his voice drifts off and his eyes become lidded, his cock hard enough to cut diamonds.

a heat rushes through your body, and you clench your thighs, removing a hand from his own. you fingers slip into your panties, rubbing at your clit as you look up at him, mouth full. on the phone, ijichi rambles on frantically about something that’s probably not even important, and kento bites his lip, slamming you down hard.

the sudden movement and force of his tip plowing into the back of your throat has you choking, pussy clenching as tears build in your eyes. he looks at you, hearts practically in his eyes, and moves the phone as far as he can from him.

“please, angel— make me cum, just like you always do.”

— FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“you like bein’ fucked like this, huh?” toji grunts, his breath coming out in hard pants, warmth fanning over your face. moaning, and desperately attempting to feel him deeper, you spread your legs impossibly wider.

“yes, toji!” you whimper, hands running down his muscled back; your nails bite crescent moons into the sweaty skin before they rake down his back as your eyes roll back into your head. “a-ah, i want you to fill me up, please—”

“don’t worry doll,” toji murmurs, beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he fucks into you much harder and unforgiving than earlier. “i-i’m gonna fuckin’ stuff you until you can’t breathe. gonna take it all like a good girl, yeah?”

you nod eagerly, eyes shining with tears while your pussy clamps down on his thick cock. he can barely breathe when you’re like this, so pretty and pliant and willing beneath him, taking his cock greedily. your tits bounce, smacking against each other due to the force of his thrusts; he palms at your ass with a large hand of his, squeezing the plush skin before slapping it.

toji can’t wait to fuck all his cum back into you.

“baby, i’m gonna fuckin’ cum—SHIT!”

his face contorts in pain, the cum rushing back down into his balls, and before you can even register what’s happening he’s pulling back and choking out curses.

“what happened, toji?” you’re at his side immediately, rubbing at his back soothingly before he pushes you away, clearly embarrassed and unhappy.

“fuckin’ hamstring cramp, god damn it.”

he rubs at the back of his thigh angrily, his cock deflating between his legs as he grunts out something scathing below his breath.

“i’m fine,” he hisses, punching the back of his leg before finally laying on his back. “fuck, i don’t know where that shit came from.”

“well, you’re getting to that age..” you tease lightly, a smile splitting your lips when he glares at you, hard, and roughly yanks you between his legs, raising them both carefully, for fear of another debilitating cramp. his half hard cock rests against his pelvis, and you stare at it briefly before he pushes you towards it.

“let’s hope you don’t have any more old man cramps, toji.” you stick your tongue out at him before leaning your head towards his tip.

“you better shut that mouth before i fill it for you, princess.”

— KAMO CHOSO.

“o-oh, fuck,” choso heaves from beneath you, his jaw slack with drool trailing down as he watches you ride his cock. the ripple of the muscle beneath the plush skin of your thighs and the soft bounce of your tits always leaves him stuttering and unable to look away from you.

“you like it, baby? want me to go a little faster?” your voice is sweet and soft as your small hands press into the muscle of his pecs for balance.

“mm mm, this is perfect..” he sighs, his back arching uncontrollably as you slowly slide upwards, leaving his tip inside you. then you sit all the way back down, shivering. “are you getting tired?”

“a little,” you smile, giggling softly as he places his hands on your hips. your voice promptly breaks into a whimper when he starts to thrust upwards, erratic and strong as his cock stretches you out and fills you up.

close to going dumb on his cock, you gasp, fingers reaching up to pinch and tweak your nipples for extra pleasure.

“c-choso, right there,” you choke out helplessly, pressure building inside you, all over and racing through each limb.

he finds himself gasping after a particularly rough drag of his cock against your ridged walls, leaving him thickening and throbbing inside you. the room fills with the heavy sound of skin smacking against skin, choso’s deep groans, and your whiny moans.

“so good, s-so good,” he mumbles, back bowing off the bed. strands of his dark brown hair are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead and temples, the rest bouncing against his head and the pillow as he fucks you.

your mouth opens in a plea, eyes half lidded; but you snap your mouth shut and your eyes widen in some kind of panic that has him sitting up, the mood practically ruined. choso’s about to ask what went wrong when he hears a loud pounding at the door and a whiny voice calling for him.

“chosoooo!” the voice is unmistakably yūji’s, and his knocks only grow louder and rougher. “you comin’ out here or what? you’ve been gone for a while and everyone’s looking for you!”

oh, right. the party that he and yūji were hosting at their shared apartment, which is full of their closest friends and the sound of happy voices downstairs.

“i’ll be downstairs in a bit,” choso fights against the urge to snap at him, “five minutes, okay?”

“alright,” yūji finally calls back, sounding disappointed as he stops knocking and leaves you and his brother in bed together.

your eyes widen as he slowly lifts himself out of bed, clearly disappointed but gritting his teeth through it nonetheless. he pulls at the hair bands on his wrists, tying his hair into its usual spiky buns on either side of his head.

“cho!” you gasp, thighs clenching, “we’re not gonna finish up?”

“can’t,” he huffs, rubbing a hand over his face as he makes himself accept it. “we need to go downstairs, we’ve been gone for far too long.”

“i-i was gonna cum,” you whine, peeling yourself away from the bed against your will. tears form in your eyes in absolute frustration. “please don’t do this..”

he sighs before he leans in to kiss you hard. he looks at you, his face flushed and clearly just as unhappy as you are, though his feelings are hidden. “later, when everyone’s gone, i promise i’ll make you cum again and again.. you’ll be begging for me to stop, crying and shaking.”

your face heats quickly, and you look towards him happily, eagerly anticipating later.

with a sexy little laugh, he asks, “does that sound good, baby?”

[sanarsi]

We Have It All

pre/post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: You and Joel were separated by the outbreak. Warnings: angst but with happy ending, mention of killing, use of weapon Wordcount: 3k An: I've always wondered what it would be like to experience the start of the outbreak as someone close to Joel, which is why we are here. Music I worked with: We Have It All - Pim Stones

Masterlist

"My flight got canceled," you sighed, throwing your clothes carelessly into your suitcase. You were furious. All your plans were gone to hell. "I'm sorry, baby."

"You don't have to apologize to me," Joel's amused voice echoed in your ear. You winced, still feeling guilty.

"I know, but I wanted us to spend your birthday together," you said calmly and sat down heavily on the bed. "Sarah and I were supposed to make a cake and humiliate you by singing happy birthday in front of the house." Joel snorted with laughter. You smiled to yourself, anxiously picking at your cuticles.

"Yeah, that sounds awful." You fell silent, staring blankly at the floor. "Babe, it's not the end of the world. We can celebrate my birthday when you get there," he assured you, knowing full well that you felt bad about how the whole situation had turned out. "I won't get any older in a few days," he added with amusement. You snorted quietly.

"I don't know. I recently found one gray hair."

"What?" he asked suddenly concerned.

"I'm joking," you laughed at his reaction. You heard him breathe heavily. "I booked tickets for tomorrow's flight."

"Then we'll pick you up from the airport. Sarah can't wait." In the background you could hear a cheerful screams of a girl. "She misses you," he added, making you feel warm in your heart. Joel always knew how to cheer you up. "I miss you too," he said more quietly, with different emotions. With real longing. You felt something inside you clench.

"Fuck you, Joel. You can't say things like that to me when I'm on the verge of a breakdown," you pointed out, smiling under your breath. His laughter echoed in your ear again.

“Yeah, sorry babe.” You could hear some chatter in the background. After a moment you heard Joel sigh heavily. “We have to go. Sarah’s gonna be late,” he said in his typical tired tone. You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You could hear some murmurs in the background. “I love you.”

“Love you, old man.” His snort brought a wider smile to your face.

“Lovely,” he commented, probably rolling his eyes before he hung up.

You pushed your phone away with a quiet sigh. The screen displayed a wallpaper with a picture of the three of you on vacation a few months ago. You smiled at the memories that flooded your head. You looked around the hotel room and then fell back onto the mattress. You cursed the whole world for today, all your plans went to hell.

Today, of the whole fucking year.

Meanwhile, Joel was sitting in the car, looking at a small ring in a navy blue suede box. A few diamonds sparkled in the sunlight. Tommy glanced at his brother with a smirk.

"So when are you going to propose?" he asked, and Sarah's head immediately appeared between their seats.

"I wanted to do it today," he sighed, closing the box and putting it in his pocket. "But as you can see, it'll have to wait."

He glanced at Tommy and his daughter, then rolled his eyes at their stupid smiles.

"What?" he asked when they didn't say anything for a long time.

"Nothing. I'm just happy for you," Tommy replied with a shrug. Joel didn't comment on his words.

"Will she have the same last name as us?" Sarah asked.

"I hope so," Joel agreed, looking out the window.

"Cool. I'll be able to call her my mom," she said happily, and fell back into her seat.

And Joel couldn't help but smile a little at the vision she planted in his head.

In the middle of the night, you were woken up by loud noises. You mumbled in dissatisfaction, turning towards the window. You winced when you saw any lights. After a moment, you heard an explosion. You woke up immediately, throwing the blanket aside and went to the window.

A few blocks away, you could see that one of the buildings was on fire. You watched it calmly until another explosion engulfed another skyscraper, this time closer to your hotel. The silence was drowned out by car alarms and people's screams.

Your first thought was a terrorist attack.

You felt a surge of stress, observing everything from a distance. The loud sound of several fighter jets cut through the sky, catching your attention. And then the first shot came.

You watched in horror as more buildings in the city center burst into flames. You swallowed hard, tightening your fingers on the curtain. And then the loud sound of the phone ringing echoed through the room.

You almost jumped on the spot, turning towards the bed. The screen lit up the dark room. You quickly answered the call, seeing Joel's photo.

"Hello?" you spoke, swallowing the lump in your throat. Someone's curses and murmurs could be heard on the other end.

"Hello? Baby, are you okay?" Joel's breathless voice rang out in your ear. You immediately looked towards the window and felt your pulse quicken.

"Y-yes, I'm okay. Joel, what's going on?" you asked, looking out at the city. Another explosion. You flinched, looking towards the building that was in flames. Just a few dozen meters away. A quiet curse sounded on the phone. "Joel?" you spoke uncertainly.

"We don't know. There's a lot of soldiers everywhere. They've blocked the highways."

With each word he spoke, you felt more and more panic.

Another thought was war.

"They say it's some kind of virus. People are going crazy and attacking each other like animals."

You looked down at the street where people were running. Screams mixed with the howl of sirens. Your breath trembled as you moved away from the window.

“Joel, I’m scared,” were the first words you said after realizing how bad things were. If it was happening here and in Texas, then it was everywhere.

And you were alone on the other side of the country.

“Listen to me,” he began calmly. You began to breathe deeply to control your growing fear. “Grab the most necessary things. Get in the car and drive out of town on the side roads. You need to get out of the city center, do you understand?” he explained slowly so you could understand every word. You mumbled something in confirmation. “Baby, I need you to take a few deep breaths and do as I said. You need to get out of town. As soon as possible.”

"Okay," you said, feeling your stomach tighten painfully. You looked around the room in panic and then another explosion occurred. That's when you shook yourself. You quickly moved towards your suitcase and started putting on your clothes.

"Stay off the country roads," he continued explaining as you put on your sneakers. You went to your locker and threw everything into your bag in one move.

"Okay," you nodded, grabbing your car keys. You left the hotel room and looked around the hallway until you saw a sign for an emergency exit. You quickly headed in that direction.

"Tommy and I are going for Sarah."

"What?" you stopped, frowning. "She's not with you?" Silence fell on the other end. You looked at your phone to check the time. It was the middle of the night and Sarah was home alone. How on earth?

"I had to get Tommy out of the arrest," he finally spoke. You closed your eyes, sighing heavily.

Of course it was always about Tommy.

You shook your head and headed down the stairs. You had to get to the underground parking lot. You ran out the door, looking around. It was quiet here. You quickly got into your car and looked around like it was your first time driving. After a few tries and a few panicked curses, you finally got the key in the ignition and screeched to the exit.

You looked around the street before you pulled out onto the road and turned on the navigation. You looked around nervously in every possible direction as you started driving through different housing estates.

"I should be leaving the city in a few minutes," you said, driving more carefully than usual. The further you got from the center, the quieter it was. Fewer and fewer police sirens and people.

"Okay, baby, listen," he started slowly. "Head toward Kansas."

"Okay," you nodded, swallowing hard.

"We'll meet exactly halfway, yeah?"

"Okay," you nodded again, feeling your voice start to shake.

"I will find you," he assured you. He wanted to sound confident. He wanted you to feel safe because of him. But his voice trembled as well.

"Okay," you said again, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

"I will find you, I promise," he repeated. You nodded, feeling tears start to flow down your cheeks. You pressed your lips together to hold back a sob. "I lo-"

Silence.

You looked at your phone in panic.

"Joel?" you said, but no one answered you.

You felt panic shake your body. You began to breathe quickly, trying to fight off more and more tears.

It wasn't until you passed the sign informing you to leave the city that you felt adrenaline take over your body. You rubbed your wet cheeks and took a few deep breaths.

"You will be fine," you said confidently and pressed the gas pedal, leaving the burning city behind you.

One year later.

You looked at the map again and cursed under your breath, looking around.

Everywhere fucking forests and fields.

With a sigh, you put the map in your backpack and slowly set off through the tall grass. There was silence all around. The wind gently moved the treetops and the birds sang merrily. Nothing had changed here. Nature continued to live as if nothing had changed at all.

But everything had changed.

The world had stopped and started to fall apart.

At least for those who had managed to survive.

You were one of those people.

You had been fighting to survive for a year. Starving, fighting and killing. Who would have expected that? If someone had told you a year ago what you would become, you would have thought they were mentally ill.

And yet, you were where you were. Which was currently in the middle of fucking nowhere.

After a few hours, you were sitting by a small stream, filling a bottle with cold water. As usual, you took the opportunity to wash your body of dirt. If you could even call it that. At least you didn't feel everything sticking to your skin so you considered it as a success.

You sat leaning against a tree, looking at the map, waiting for the fire to fry the fish you had caught sufficiently. You traced the path you had to take to cross the Missouri-Kansas border with your finger.

You still had a long way to go. But you had already come a lot further. You were getting closer to the goal that had kept you alive for a year.

You knew Joel was alive. You could feel it in your bones.

Joel was a tough motherfucker.

He certainly wouldn't let himself be killed and he was on his way to Kansas.

If he wasn't already waiting for you there.

That's what you hoped.

The next few days passed on a lonely journey. Your legs hurt terribly, but you had gotten used to it. You had gotten used to many things. But it probably took you the longest to get used to the smell.

Another sunset was approaching as you slowly walked along the dirt road kicking a small stone. The sky turned orange as you left the road and headed towards the forest. You had learned that it was safest to sleep in trees. Even though you hadn't seen a living soul in weeks, you were always prepared. No one ever looked up when looking for potential threats. So when you found a suitable thick tree, you began preparing ropes.

You were concentrating on tying knots when suddenly the sound of a branch breaking echoed through the forest. You looked around but didn't see anything that caught your attention.

Despite everything, you slowly and quietly lifted your backpack from the ground. You put the ropes away looking around for threats.

And then you heard another crack of branches.

Your senses sharpened and adrenaline hit you like a bolt of lightning. You slung your backpack over your shoulders and pulled your gun from your belt.

You slowly and carefully took steps not making a sound and hid under a group of trees. And you waited. For some time, all you heard was your calm breathing and the last birdsongs. You began to wonder if you had accidentally run into a deer or some other animal, but then you heard the next branches breaking under someone's weight. You immediately recognized the male footsteps.

Wary and heavy.

You slowly uncocked the gun and looked out through the gap between the trunks. You saw movement. A few dozen meters away from you. And unfortunately for you, he was walking in your direction.

You cursed in your mind at your luck and took a few deep breaths.

Another rustle of dry leaves getting closer to you. You tightened your grip on the gun and listened.

The snapping of branches. You glanced one last time through the gap in the trees to determine how far he was. He was definitely too close.

One last deep breath before you emerged from your hiding place.

“Stop and drop your weapon,” you said sharply, aiming it straight at the man in front of you. But you weren’t the only one prepared. You both stood, aiming your weapons at each other. You both had each other perfectly in your sights. And you were both alone.

"I just want to get to Kansas," he said in a hoarse, loud voice.

"Then you got your sides mixed up," you replied, keeping him carefully in your sights. To your detriment, the setting sun and the fog didn't help.

"What?" he was surprised, slightly taken aback.

"Kansas is the other way," you explained, frowning when you noticed he lowered his gun slightly. "No tricks. Throw the gun in my direction and take a few steps back," you ordered, carefully watching his every move. For a moment, there was complete silence. His hands finally fell loosely along his body.

"Fuck. Baby?" he said in a completely different tone. You frowned, lowering the gun when you heard a familiar voice. A gentle wind stirred the fog, giving you a better view of the man a dozen meters in front of you.

"Joel," you whispered in shock, the gun falling from your hand. Your heart stopped for a moment only to start beating like crazy when you saw his look of relief.

"Fuck," he cursed with a trembling voice before he confidently took a step towards you. And you started running.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. His arms wrapped around you so tightly you could barely catch your breath. You sobbed with happiness feeling your body overcome with relief. How his arms finally brought you the desired safety. Joel groaned, burying his face in your neck.

Tears of happiness welled up in your eyes as you finally held him in your arms. Alive. Healthy.

You tangled your fingers in his hair pulling him even closer starting to laugh with happiness. His fingers dug painfully into your skin as he pressed you closer to his chest. The amount of relief he felt holding you in his arms was indescribable. Like a huge weight from his shoulders fell apart in a second finally allowing him to breathe.

"I knew I'd find you" he whispered almost moaning with happiness.

You could barely see through your tears as he pulled you away, taking your face in his hands. He looked at you closely. Same eyes, same smile, and a few more scars. Other than that, nothing had changed.

He sighed in relief, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. You wrapped your arms around his wrists, letting out a shaky breath that disappeared a moment later into his mouth as he pressed them tightly against yours.

He immediately deepened the kiss, kissing you with everything he had in him. Longing, relief, pain and love. It wasn't a gentle kiss, but the best you've ever had in your life.

His lips tasted like home.

And that kiss was a promise that you'd never be alone again.

He finally pulled away and pulled you to his chest. He tangled his fingers in your hair and rested his cheek on your head. You snuggled into his chest, closing your eyes.

"I was so fucking scared," he whispered, hugging you tighter and planting a strong kiss on the top of your head. "I was so fucking scared you'd die," he stroked your back and a few tears ran down his cheeks, soaking into your hair. You sobbed, burying your face in his chest.

His fingers stroked your hair soothingly.

"Shhh," he whispered, placing kisses on your head.

You were in his arms.

Safe and sound.

After a year of separation, you were finally safe.

"Everything will be fine now," he assured you, believing in his own words like never before. "I will take care of you."

[madamechrissy]

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you - in this chap it's Satoru Gojo x mistress, Suguru Geto x you It's messy and will get messier :)

♔ Warnings: Mentions of sex, infidelity, mentions of past self harm, reader has an illness, mentions of eating habits, some descriptions of readers looks (not completely ambiguous) cruelty from Duke Gojo. OOC. So much ANGST. Gojo is TERRIBLE you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 6.2 k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Det in 1800s England. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

♔Part One - ♔ Playlist ♔ Masterlist

Part Two

You’re sitting at the long, elegant breakfast table in the Gojo manor, cutting up a delectable crepe that you’d help make, just a week later. You’re blissfully alone, until you hear giggling down the hall, and it’s your ‘husband’ Duke Gojo, and one of his mistresses. She seems to be the main one he enjoys, a short little redhead who dresses most scandalously.

He pauses as he’s near the table, looking at you now. You elegantly dab the corner of your mouth with a napkin, smiling at them. “Hello Miss Catherine, would you enjoy breakfast?” You ask, earning Gojo’s icy blue glare, he just hates it so much when you offer in the morning.

“I cannot impose your grace, but thank you kindly.” She curtseys, and is flushed pink, you nod with a little smile, at least she had manners… aside from fucking your husband of course.

“Of course. I hope you have safe travels.” Her eyes glisten then, as she looks at Gojo, then at you, then down at her feet, wringing her hands.

“Thank you, your grace is far kinder than you should be.” She leaves then, excusing herself to Gojo, who comes and sits next to you, plopping down and glaring, long legs spread wide.

“Why are you so bloody cordial to her?” He demands, you just give him a look, pursing your lips.

“You want me to be rude to your lover? That would displease you.”

“But you’re nice… how-”

“I shall not displease you as a wife, even if I cannot fulfill all duties.” You turn your nose up then, tilting your chin up, feeling his glare bore through you as you bite another piece, moaning softly. His eyes drop to your lips, just staring, making you nervous. “Have something on my face?”

“Syrup, you’re quite messy.” You lick your lip then, and he’s glaring as if you’ve created such a transgression. “How can you be so nice!?”

“I’m stuck in this situation, miserable… Why be more miserable.” You mumble, then curse yourself internally, you’ve revealed too much. You clear your throat then with a little smile. “Would you like breakfast, dear husband?”

“I suppose, you’re over there feasting, going to have to tie your corset strings tight to accommodate.’ Your fork clatters to your plate then, gaze locking with his, and he’s raised a thin white brow.

“Eating is unattractive, perfect, I’ll continue on. I’m unattractive to you anyway.” You shove another bite in your mouth, closing your eyes and making a show of moaning in pleasure as you do.

“Everything you do is unattractive.” He quips, earning a quirk of your lips.

“Splendid, everything is in order then.” You brightly smile, hiding the intense pain you feel every day next to this cruel man. You will never allow him to see you weak, hurt, ever again though.

“I’ll have some, if it has you stuffing your face so. I don’t usually see you eat much.” He grumbles then, and you ring for one of the servants to bring more, asking her with a polite smile.

“True, my appetite is small usually.” You say, and soon a plate of crepes is in front of Gojo, and he cuts it elegantly, biting and chewing thoughtfully, before moaning, lapping up the cream on top with a tongue along his lip.

“It’s delicious. Thank the cook for me.” He says to the servant then, Gojo was actually very kind to them all, it’s only you who earns his ire.

“Your grace. It’s the Duchess who prepared this.” She curtsies then leaves, and Gojo scowls at you, those vivid blue eyes boring through your soul.

“You?” He speaks as if you've truly been doing something terrible. You can't stop your eye roll.

“Indeed. No worries, it's not poisoned.” You take a sip of your coffee, sighing as it hits your throat. You’re asthmatic and at times coffee is all that can help, it’s been flaring lately from all the upset of living with him.

“Why would you cook? You’re a lady, a duchess. Not a kitchen wench.” You scoff a bit, leaning back in your chair.

“I enjoy cooking, my parents allowed me to always spend time in the kitchens. Is this unacceptable as a wife?”

“I… I mean… no. I’ll not stop you from cooking.” He bites it again, sighing happily, long white lashes fluttering shut. “I’d prefer you as a cook than a wife.”

Ah, there it is, the knife twisting. Daily.

“I’m sure you would. I would also, then I could happily marry some baker somewhere, couldn’t I?” He’s back to scowling, hand taking the juice in his crystal glass and sipping, scowling over the rim.

“A baker over a Duke?”

“Indeed, anyone that looks at me kindly would do. As you look at Miss Catherine in fact. But she is beautiful, isn’t she?” You raise a challenging brow.

“Indeed she is.” He huffs, looking away then, snatching up a newspaper and pretending to read it. He does this every morning. “You think you’re so beautiful.”

“I think everyone is beautiful in their own way.” He peeks up, pursing full lips at you now. “I’m not beautiful to you, but I am to others. That’s fine for me. I do not presume such desire from you, and I never will. Even when we’re not having babies, and they ask. I assume you’ll have some with your very loud mistress.”

“I will not have babies with my mistress, blasted you’re a fool.” Satoru Gojo brushes his hair back now, frustratedly. “I suppose if we’re forced at some point…”

“I’ll just blame it on me. Don’t worry, we’ll never have to.” You sip your bitter coffee again as his lips part. “I’ll never force that upon you.”

“Well… I…” He looks flushed suddenly, not even meeting your gaze, throwing down his newspaper. “Good, we’re in agreement.”

“Indeed. How are those crepes?”

“Passable.” It’s such a lie, as his plate is entirely gone, but now that he knows it is you who made them, he can’t give you a compliment. “Lord Geto will be here tonight, he for some reason enjoys your presence.”

“Ah, I can’t imagine why. I’m so intolerable.”

“You’ve a smart mouth.”

“I’ll shut up then, your grace. I shall not displease my husband.” You sip your coffee again, and he’s sputtering.

“What’s wrong with you!?”

“A lot, apparently, according to you.”

“You act so bloody calm! Are you inept? I’m fucking her in the room right next to you, do you not hear?”

“I do indeed, it’s quite bothersome but as long as you’re pleased, husband.” That word spills like venom out of your mouth, for he should have never been so. “You’d have me be rude to sweet Miss Catherine?”

“I… you…” He stands then, knuckles gripping the table so hard they’ve gone white now. “Prepare a fine dinner, and I’ll be inviting Miss Catherine, so I’m not bored with you all night.”

“Oh, of course, shall I prepare her a dress too, your grace? I’m not sure she has anything elegant.” He throws his silverware to his plate, clattering, and you smile, sugary sweet up at him. “Am I overstepping? Of course you should buy her a wardrobe, worry not for me, I have my old things.”

“I’ll buy you a bloody wardrobe, you cannot go to the season in old gowns.”

“No need.”

“I will!” He steps up to you, and you feign confusion as he bends down, eyes drinking you in carefully, vermillion lips opening and closing. You see his pretty face far too close. How can someone be made so beautiful and be so cruel? “I’ll have you at the modiste tomorrow.”

“Should I bring Miss Catherine-” Satoru Gojo slams his hand on the table now, his other hand grabbing your chin.

“You feel nothing when I flaunt her? When I fuck her loudly? When I invite her to everything? When I touch her…” His caress sends shivers down your spine, as he holds your face like it's something delicate, when he so clearly hates you.

“Nothing, dear husband, why should I? You're not truly mine, just in circumstance.” You smack his hand down, smiling fake right up at him, watching his left eye twitch with anger.

“Do you feel anything or are you just this… shell of a woman.” You are making me this way to survive.

“Who am I but an obedient wife. I shall make sure Miss Catherine is so welcome, and Lord Geto.”

Satoru stomps away then, and you allow yourself to drop this fucking facade for just one moment, breathing in quick, shallow pants. You throw the warm coffee down your throat, coughing and rubbing your collarbone now, shaking as the emotions hit you so goddamn hard your throat is constricted.

“Your Grace…” Your Nanny has come now, you’ve loved her your entire life, she comes to caress your back so carefully. You inhale her familiar scent, sighing. 

Watching you like this has been killing her, you know.

“Prepare a meal for Lord Geto and Miss… Catherine.” The name tastes like bile on your tongue, and you watch your Nanny’s own anger. “I’m fine, Nan.”

“It’s unacceptable, even for a Duke. I’m so worried…”

“Do not worry.” Though you barely want to wake in the morning. “I will be just fine, Nan.”

“Lord Geto adored you.”

You blink back emotion, feeling that tightness again. “I know.”

“Should you allow this and do nothing?”

“I… can’t stop him.”

“You could have happiness.” She whispers, holding your hands tightly. You look down at that, nervously, lashes casting shadows under your tired eyes. “I’ve overstepped.”

“No, no… I will think of that later. Let us prepare the staff.”

“Indeed.” She kisses your cheek, and you damn near cry from that, and then you go about your duties, as the Duchess.

The dinner  that night was a grand affair, with the long, candlelit table dressed in pristine white linens, a bouquet of red and white roses in the center. The silverware sparkled, and the crystal glasses sang with the promise of fine wine. You had taken special care to ensure that every detail was perfect, from the delicate china to the scented candles that cast a warm glow over the room.

You had overseen every bit of the meal as well, and as Satoru comes down with Miss Catherine on his arm, even he pauses a bit. Catherine’s eyes light up. “This is so beautiful, your Grace!”

You give her a little nod of your head. “Thank you, I worked a lot on this, I hope it’s adequate, husband?”

He blinks a bit, for his manor had never been so spotless, nor had anything been set up so extravagant, but all he does is shrug one broad shoulder, wrapping an arm around Catherine’s waist. She did not wear a corset, she wore some looser dress that showed an insane amount of her bosoms, to the point it was obscene, but Gojo probably enjoyed it.

“It’s passable.” Catherine blinks up at him a bit.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Did I ask you?” He says tersely, removing his hand, and she just pouts a bit, wringing her hands in front of herself.

“Sorry your Grace.” He rolls his eyes, then takes in your outfit slowly, as if he was analyzing every bit of you. You were wearing a very beautiful crimson gown with beading on the square shaped bodice. You also had lace along the puffed sleeves, and it’s cinced in the middle tightly, making your waist look impossibly tiny. His look lingers on your bodice, at the hint of breasts pushed up in the neckline.

It was lower cut but nothing too revealing, and you had looked in the mirror and saw how beautiful you looked, though you knew you pale in comparison to anyone for your husband. So you did not dress for him, no, you dressed for your role, as the perfect Duchess.

“You look a vision if I may say, your Grace.” Catherine whispers, and you smile a bit at that.

“Thank you Miss Catherine. This was one of my favorite gowns. I hope it’s passable for the dinner?” You ask Satoru then, and his eyes are dilated now, as he slowly licks a glossy lower lip.

“Passable.” He manages, shrugging again, then pulling Catherine back against him, kissing down her neck.

That knife in your chest twists, as you realize you could look the most beautiful, hair perfectly coifed in ringlets, glittering rubies on your neck, rouge on your cheeks… it did not matter that you glitter under these chandeliers. You’re disgusting to him, he makes it so clear as he fondles Catherine.

The doorbell rings and you realize Lord Geto is here, and his arrival was like a breath of fresh air for you, his tall, commanding presence filling the room. His dark brown eyes light up when he sees you, coming over with a bottle of wine in his hands, he bends down and takes your bare hand, kissing the back of it. You feel Satoru’s angry gaze on you both.

“Thank you so very much, Lord Geto.” You whisper, feeling your cheeks heat when his eyes drink you in, his lips parting. His straight nose has nostrils flaring when he steps back and looks fully at you.

“Forgive me, you’re the most beautiful vision I’ve seen. I was left rather… well, stupid.” You giggle behind your hand at that, shaking your head.

“You go on too much.” You shove him playfully with a couple fingers, taking in his dark blue suit.

“You do go on too much.” Satoru says, and now Suguru takes in his friend and Miss Catherine, and his eyes go wide, darting between you and them.

“The fuck is this, Satoru?” Suguru says then, and Satoru pulls Miss Catherine up more to introduce her.

“My mistress. Say hello, Catherine.”

He scowls now, then looks back at you again. “Your mistress comes to dinner parties with nobility?”

Satoru scowls himself now. “It’s just you, Suguru, of course she can’t come to typical ones.”

“Just me… and that’s acceptable?” He gestures to her, and Satoru scoffs, as Catherine looks down nervously. “In front of your wife!?”

“She cares not. Do you, Duchess?” You sigh, putting on that mask you’ve used all week now.

“Miss Catherine is here every day. So… why not have her for dinner? Whatever pleases my husband.”

“What the actual fuck is happening here? Can’t even be discreet? What would your family think.”

“I care not what they think. Now, let’s eat, are you hungry love?” He cooes to her, and she nods, blushing on her pale cheeks. He leads her to the table and scooches her chair close, looking right at you as if hoping for a response, but you just clutch the wine bottle in your hand, smiling up at an appalled Suguru.

“Let’s sit, yes?” You say softly, and he sighs, nodding and coming to sit next to you, across from Satoru and his lover.

You played the gracious hostess, greeting them with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that further infuriates Gojo. He seems to hate how little you pretend to care, so you continue that way.

Suguru saw right through you though, his gaze was sharp as the first course was served, you felt his hand cover yours under the table. You tense a bit, at just how good it feels, to be touched, and how his big hand takes yours over. He squeezes just a bit, under that tablecloth, sipping wine with his other hand.

“You’re not okay with this. You can’t be.” He says softly, and you just shrug slightly, turning your hand and entwining it with his, and he sucks in a breath a bit, as his dark lashes lower over his eyes.

“I have no choice but to be.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“He said I’m disgusting. So.” Suguru glares now, his grip so tight you wince a bit, as he looks at his friend, who’s being fed by Catherine, she dabs his mouth with a handkerchief softly, giggling.

“You know that’s not true. So beautiful I couldn’t form a word.” You look down now, staring at an elegantly tied cravat.

“You were always too kind.”

“What are you two talking about over there?” Satoru asks, popping a bite of food into his mouth and chewing. You pull your hand away, even if he cannot see, earning a frown from Suguru.

“How beautiful the Duchess is. Don’t you agree, Satoru?” He asks, and raises a brow as Satoru glares at him, then at you.

“Passable.” He says for the third time that day. Or was it the fourth. “She’s of no interest to me, not my type. What’s it matter to you?”

“Perhaps you require spectacles if you think she’s not. Especially, and I mean no offense Miss Catherine, sitting next to her and finding her better company.”

“She’s beautiful, Lord Geto.” You say, earning his scowl, and Gojo’s, for what you didn’t know. And Miss Catherine is pouting.

“The Duchess is the most stunning lady, all of the Ton says so, they say it in every paper.” She says, and now Gojo is more annoyed clearly, slamming back the wine and having another poured by one of the servants.

“Thank you Miss Catherine.” You say, and Geto’s anger radiates through his body as he watches them, gulping down his own wine. “Lord Geto… tell me how you have been.”

He clearly didn’t wanna let this go, but he pushes it back, and now the conversation around the table flowed as smoothly as the wine, but you could feel the undercurrents of this tension. Miss Catherine giggled too loudly, and Gojo’s arm is around her shoulders, but his eyes are never leaving yours, as he caresses her bare skin and it makes you sick.

The meal progressed, with dish after dish parading out from the kitchen. The aromas wafted around the room, tantalizing everyone’s senses. Yet, you felt nauseous, unable to take a bite without feeling like you’d choke, throat feeling tight. Geto noticed, his gaze flickering to your plate with concern.

“You’ve eaten nothing, Duchess.” He says softly, and you try to take a little scoop of the soup apologetically.

“She ate like a pig this morning. So perhaps she tightened that corset a few laces tighter.” You put your spoon down, as you choke back emotion, hatred, but the tears begin to form, and Gojo looks down now, clearing his throat.

“You’re a fucking dick, Satoru. Please eat something.”

“No, he’s correct, I ate a lot this morning.” You take a sip of water now, as you blink back tears, and you fail at it, because everyone in the room watch them glisen under the soft lighting.

 “You should eat, it’s very delicious.” Gojo says then, you are so confused you just stare at him. “The soup is very good.”

“The soup.” The man had basically told you to not eat, and now seems to feel bad perhaps? But it means nothing, his sad attempts at feeling sorrow for his miserable actions.

“I’ll refrain from making those crepes. So I should not lace so tightly.” You say instead, and Satoru won’t even look at you now. Catherine is a good bit heavier than you, so you can’t fathom what he means, as you’re not considered anything other than an ideal size to society. Even if you were heavier, you did not deserve such treatment, but he says nothing as Catherine wolfs down food..

It’s just you. He just hates you.

“The crepes were very good though.” His blue gaze hits you over his glass now, something in them you can’t describe, as you trail your slender fingers over the stem of your own glass. “Do not let me stop you from eating if you wish to.”

“I’ll do whatever pleases you, husband.” He reddens in the face, as you sip your wine, wishing you could throw it back, but you cannot, you’re a lady, aren’t you?

 You tried to ignore the way Gojo’s fingers danced along Miss Catherine’s skin, but it was like a knife to your soul with every touch, as she’s so free and happy with him, and all you can do is sit stiffly, with your back straight, cutting your food just so. You have to be perfect. Don’t you?

Perfect.

Composed. You cannot lose that.

Stay calm.

As the evening grew late, and the wine flowed more freely, the conversation grew more heated. Gojo’s laughter grew louder, his jokes more crude, and Miss Catherine’s giggles more frequent. Geto’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. He leaned in closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “This isn’t right. You deserve better than this.”

“What I deserve is irrelevant. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I will play it as best I can.” You replied, your voice steadier than you felt. His legs spread a bit, and you flush as your thigh feels his well muscled one under the silk of your dress. He leans back, studying you with concern.

The dessert was served, a decadent chocolate torte with raspberry sauce that you had made from scratch. As you watched Gojo feed a piece to Miss Catherine with his own fork, you felt a strange sense of detachment. You were no longer the shy, hopeful girl who’d entered this manor, were you?

Perfect.

Composed.

Stay calm.

You were the Duchess now.

“This is so decadent, your Grace! What is this recipe?” Miss Catherine asks now, clearly drunk. You tense a bit.

“I made it.” The room is silent, and Satoru puts his fork back in a piece, looking at you for a moment, before feeding her another bite of it.

Something within you snapped. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me, I believe I need some fresh air,” you announced, your voice cool and collected. The room fell silent as you made your way to the doors, the fabric of your gown sweeping the floor behind you, softly swishing, as your slippered feet tapped on those marble floors.

Perfect!?

Composed!?

Your throat tightens as the night air meets you, and you inhale it greedily, crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of the dinner party. You stepped out into the garden, the very garden you’d first learned that your life was going to be miserable. If Satoru was anything, he was honest, as he had made sure to fuck whoever he wanted.

You just didn’t realize how much it was breaking you down. You shut your eyes, trying to focus on the calming scent of the blooming flowers and the soothing sound of the fountain. It’s running, splashing, and you focus on that sound, trying to let your mind go, to compose yourself.

Perfect…

Composed…

You want to punch him in the face, your nails are digging into your palms as you picture just that. Then you’d like to smack that smirk off his face, then turn and smack Miss Catherine too. Then, you’d like to-

“Duchess…” You gasp when you open your eyes, and Lord Geto is there, hands in his pockets, concern written all over his handsome face. His dark brown hair is long and silky, half put up, blowing gently in the breeze.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it. I’m trying.” You speak through gritted teeth, stepping further into the gardens, into the night, with the moonlight shimmering down.

“How can you take it at all? It’s disgusting. I’m so sorry I don’t know what he’s even thinking…” He follows you until you reach a bench, and you gesture for him to sit with you.

“He told me on the wedding day he wants anyone but me. So, we have done… absolutely nothing. And… never will.”

Suguru sputters at that, before running a hand over his face. “Let me talk some sense into him, I-”

“No, no. I feel it in how he looks at me. I’m intolerable.”

“Intolerable!? You know better. You know how every lady wants to be you, how every gentleman wishes you were theirs.” He’s gripping your shoulders, bare where he touches, and you soak up the warmth, as you soak in his sweet looks, and you whimper before you can stop it.

“I’m so sorry!” You pull back, turning away then, burying your face in your hands, but he’s got a big hand on your waist now, and it feels far too good.

“Look at me, Duchess.” You tentatively look back, and find yourself face to face with Lord Geto, your husband’s best friend, but that was far from your mind, when he cups your face. It’s not like the cold grab of Gojo, it’s delicate, it’s sweet, and your eyes lock then. “You deserve so much better than this.”

“I do?” You ask softly, and he scoffs a bit, thumb brushing an errant tear that escaped away.

“No one deserves this, but especially not you. He hasn’t even…”

“Nothing. He said he would never.”

“So get an annulment then, if that is how he will be.”

“I can’t just do that! My family planned this all. I am stuck forever, alone and unwanted and…”

“You’re not unwanted.” His voice is husky, drawing your attention to him, as your own hand slides up his chest, up his stark dress shirt. “I’d make you feel so beautiful.”

“Lord Geto…” Your tears are falling pathetically now, you can’t stop them, and he’s got both his hands on your face, swiping them away.

“I can’t do what I want, but I assure you I want… a lot.” Vivid images fly through your mind, as your heart starts racing, pulse hammering in your throat. “But I will beg forgiveness for this, because I can’t have you thinking this way, I can’t see you suffering and not…”

“Not what, Lord Geto?” He leans even closer, your lips just barely not touching, and you can’t breathe for a moment, as you realize what is happening.

“Kiss you, show you how worthy you are. Will you forgive this transgression?” He asks, and you scoot even closer, nodding.

“Kiss me, please. Please.” He moans, his eyes fluttering shut, then his lips descend on yours, and it’s nothing like the cold peck Gojo gave you, it’s hot, demanding, eager. You whimper into the kiss, opening your mouth, and his tongue darts in, as his hands slide down your body, the sides of your breasts, awakening them.

“Is it too much?” He whispers, pulling back, and you shake your head, now you are pulling him by the lapels of his suit.

“No, no. I don’t know what to do. Your tongue…”

“I wish it could taste every bit of you.” Now you’re blushing in the night, as his big hands take over your waist. “I won’t get to, but let me show you how much I’d die to have a moment with you. Just move your tongue back?”

“Yes, yes.” He’s back kissing you, and your tummy clenches, this heat in your core you’d barely felt before, as you move yours back tentatively, and you feel his grip tighten, his exhale, as Suguru holds you with his big hands, as he kisses you so passionately.

You feel so desired, as he’s gasping, as he’s pulling you damn near in his lap, gazing at you then with dilated pupils when he pulls back. “Fuck you’re perfect… you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Lord Geto. Thank you.” You tentatively peck a kiss on his neck then, making him moan, the sound you’d heard from Gojo’s chambers. His arms gently push you back a bit though.

“I cannot stand how badly I want you. Now it’s worse.” He looks up at the sky for a moment, breathing then looking back at you, smiling softly. “There is life in those gorgeous eyes now.”

“Is there?” You ask nervously, Suguru kisses your forehead sweetly, trying to compose himself.

“Don’t let him ruin it. I’ll see if I can get him to stop this. I promise I’ll try.” Suguru is running his fingers across your jawline now, exhaling, his breath warm against your collarbone as he pecks a kiss there, shocking you. “Forgive me for this.”

“Nothing to forgive. I will not speak of it. It’s not as if… he is not all over another woman.”

“If I weren’t his best friend I’d be licking under your skirts.” You gasp, and he chuckles a bit. “Forgive that.”

“You aren’t such a gentleman, are you Lord Geto?” You ask, giggling a bit, fuck he makes you feel happy? Doesn’t he?

He helps you to stand now, holding your hands. “I’m trying to be. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t cheer you up. I know, I’ll come back soon with a gift.”

“You should do no such thing!”

“I will. And to check on you. Come, let’s go inside.”

Your mind lingers to that kiss later that night, when you walk by Gojo’s chambers, and he’s left them cracked open. You peer in for a moment, seeing Catherine on top of him, riding him and crying out, as his big hands grip her backside. He’s softly moaning, and then catches sight of you. You back away, but he says nothing, he just watches you as he fucks into her.

Right at you.

His blue eyes are vivid as they do, as he moans and pumps up into her, and you feel a horrible mix of feelings when you walk away, down the hall. Your lips still tingle with Suguru’s kisses, your body has reacted to him eagerly, but that cannot be. You can never be with him, you’re stuck here, alone.

But it has given you hope.

Suguru had talked to him and ended up in a huge argument in Satoru’s study, until Suguru had stormed off angrily, and Satoru had simply slammed the door after. You hadn’t heard much, but it was a lot of Geto telling him to treat you better, and Gojo not listening. You appreciate Geto’s effort, but there is no helping it.

Your Nan is brushing your hair, as you now have on a thin white night shift, and she bends down a bit, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You quite enjoyed Lord Geto, didn’t you?”

“Nan… yes. I did very much. But… he’s Gojo’s best friend. So nothing can come from it.”

“Did you all…”

“Kiss.” You squeal a bit, and Nan is smiling softly, hugging you gently around your shoulders. “It’s scandalous.”

“What’s scandalous is your husband having her at dinner. I am worried that if you find no comfort, you will hurt yourself.” She grabs your wrist, where there was a line, and she had found you that way, many years ago. You rub it softly, sighing.

“I will not, I promise Nan.”

Perfect.

Composed.

You must be this way.

“Do not feel bad for it, you do not deserve this treatment, what have you done to earn any anger, any cruelty? You’ve done nothing but be perfect.”

Perfect.

Composed.

“Perhaps you should go to the modiste tomorrow, get away from this…”

“Hell hole?”

She smirks at that, nodding. “That word, my Lady.”

“Indeed, getting out would not hurt. I will do so.” The door opens then, and Gojo stands there shirtless, earning a glare from Nan, who he grins at.

“I need to speak with my wife.” She curtseys, looking at you worriedly, but you nod at her, standing in the large, elegant room, and Satoru is walking to you as the door clicks shut.

“I’m sorry that I looked. I meant no disrespect.” You say then, and he crosses his arms, tilting his head as he looks at you.

“You’re apologizing for watching me cheat on you?” He demands, and you just nod, looking down.

“I know better than to.”

“Did you get curious?” His hand brushes back your hair, and you tremble, why don’t you hate his touch!?

“I suppose so. Not very ladylike of me.” His hands glide down your shoulders, and he’s even closer, his eyes swirling like storms in the night as his lids lower. He’s gleaming with sweat, with her all over him.

“I could be so convinced to show you things. If you begged me.” You slap his hand off then, glaring.

“I’ll never beg anyone. I don’t need to.”

“Oh no?”

“No, do you know how easily I could do what you do?” His eyes narrow, and he grips you tightly now, but you tilt your chin up, as your mind whirls with what Suguru had said. It’s as if it’s lit a fire, dim but there.

“Oh could you? You’re so conceited.”

“Me!? Me!? You!”

“You are!”

“You!” You shove him again, making him practically growl. “I let you fuck her anytime, I let her come to dinner, I’m doing everything perfect. Why do you insist on not leaving me alone?”

“You looked at me as if…” He trails off then, pulling your body against him, cool breath on your cheeks when he bends down. “You want me.”

“Fear not, I absolutely do not want you.”

He blinks as if you’ve hit him. Good.

“I was curious about the act, that's all. Perhaps I’ll find out on my own.” Now he’s squeezing you bruisingly, his chest rising and falling.

“Do you feel nothing at all!? Ever!? Are you made of ice?”

“You’re the cold one here, Satoru Gojo. Duke. What did I do to deserve any of this at all!”

“You didn’t…” He trails off, that same unreadable look on his handsome face, as he pulls back, releasing you. “I wouldn’t have done it, even if you begged.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Then we’re on the same page. I won’t watch again, perhaps shut the door?”

“Shut the door. That’s all you have to say.”

“Mmhmm, oh tell Catherine good night for me.”

Duke Gojo laughs now, but it’s without humor, running a hand through his snowy white hair, messing it up. “Tell her good night!”

“Indeed. If that’s all?” You tap your bare foot on the cold floor, crossing your arms under your breasts, and you struggle to stay calm as his eyes roll down your body. “What, need to tell me I got fat from a crepe?”

“You’re nowhere near fat, stupid girl.” Your head falls back a bit in surprise, and he looks surprised as well, sighing then.

“Are you apologizing?”

“No, just stating… that it was incorrect to suggest otherwise.”

“Oh.” You look at him in shock now, as he’s on edge, so tense you can feel it in the air of the room. “Thanks?”

“Thanks for what? I’ve done nothing to earn a thanks.” Satoru’s stance is defeated, as he turns away now, his fists clenched on his sides. “How do you remain so composed? So perfect.”

Perfect.

Composed.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, but it’s my duty as a wife.” You say softly, and his head turns, as you study the strong muscles of his back, wishing you did not find that attractive at all.

“You’ll go to the modiste tomorrow, yes?”

“I will if you wish me to, husband.”

“You do anything I wish.”

“That’s my role, your Grace.” He leaves then, pausing at the door to look back at you, opening and closing his mouth as if to say something, but then he just… leaves.

You take a shaky breath as you lay down on your bed, far too big for just one person, but that’s how it would stay. A momentary apology… well not an apology but a lack of cruelty… could not fix this. Suguru gave you no hope for Gojo, no it gave you hope that perhaps you could find happiness, even in this horrible situation, so that you don’t hurt yourself.

You rub that scar again, your past was not as perfect as many thought, but you are strong. You’ll do this.

As you slumber that night, it’s a mix of dreams, of Suguru kissing you everywhere, and you finding that same pleasure you watched Lady Catherine get. But, instead of looking down at Suguru’s handsome face as you ride him, he shifts, and now it’s Satoru’s pretty face under you. Hungry blue eyes, white hair falling over his brow, as he grabs your hips.

No, no, no.

You awaken in the middle of the night, and force yourself back to sleep, to dream of anything other than the cruel man in the next room. Must he not even allow you to have a bloody dream? Now in your slumber it’s another man, blond and tall… you can’t see his face, because he’s kissing down your neck.

Who is he?

Part three

[buckyalpine]

Bucky likes what he sees

Imagine Bucky goes out with the team for drinks, staying at the bar nursing on a drink while his eyes linger on the pretty girl in a red dress. It’s like she wanted his attention, the material hugging her body perfectly while her hips sway, her head tilted back when she laughs at something her friend says. They lock eyes for a second, and God does he love that smile- 

“Why don’t you go over and talk to her” Sam nudged Bucky’s shoulder when he notices the pretty thing Bucky’s been eyeing, the girl equally flirty, giving him shy smiles every so often, “C’mon, she’s into you” 

“Knock it off” Bucky huffed, shaking his head and going back to his drink while Steve takes his turn to encourage his bestfriend. 

“Maybe buy her a drink, see how it goes” he offers but the deadpan look he gets back is enough for him to snort and raise his hands in defeat. Bucky is perfectly happy just watching, noting every dip and wine of her waist, her dress riding up ever so slightly with the movement of her body. His eye’s narrow when he sees someone try to sneak their hands on her from behind, only to be turned down when she moved away. 

However the guy doesn’t seem to get it.

He’s back again, this time trying to grab her with more force, pushing his hips against her ass. 

Bucky doesn’t like it. 

Steve and Sam exchange knowing glances with each other when they see his jaw clench, the rest of the team also now quietly watching what the super solider would do. Nat and Tony noticed the sparkle of a diamond ring, huffing when she sees it’s on her ring finger. 

“Isn’t that a wedding ring? Whole ass rock on her finger” 

“Never mind, I think she’s marr-

Before they could say anything else, Bucky is on his feet, striding over to the dance floor, eyes locked on the man pawing at the doll that had his attention all night.  

“Don’t touch my wife” Bucky growled, shoving the man off, letting him stumble onto the floor, his voice dying down immediately when he noticed who was towering over him. He scrambled away without looking back while the rest of the team stayed frozen in place, jaws all on the floor, watching Bucky pull you into him with ease. He smoothed down the red material of your dress, walking you over to the bar where there was a bit more light, hardly noticing everyone staring at you both. 

“You okay, babydoll?” Bucky held your waist, looking you over, his fingers tracing over your face, his arm tightly hugging you. 

“I’m okay” You nodded, standing on your toes to peck his lips, your hand’s resting on your husbands chest, nuzzling into him. “Wondered how long you’d last just sitting there” You giggled while he smirked, kissing the top of your head. 

“Well, I didn’t do anything until someone touched you” Bucky pouted in defense, making you melt over how protective he was. 

“Thank you for saving me Mr. Barnes” you whispered while he looked down at you with heart eyes, taking your hand in his, placing a kiss on the ring that sat on your finger, the one that he spent months picking and designing just for you. 

“Wife?” Sam broke the silence while everyone else continued to look at you both in disbelief. 

“Oh” Bucky blushed, blinking with owlish eyes, his baby blues pleading with you to take over because he doesn’t know what to say. “This-this is my wife, y/n” He tried to bite back a shy smile but it was no use, his cheeks dusted pink, feeling giddy and fuzzy with you beside him. 

“Come again. Wife?” 

“Uh-yeah” He tried to hide behind you through it was no use, his much larger and taller form still clearly visible. 

“What’s terminator doing”

“This...this is the winter soldier everyone is so scared of..for fucks sake, are you trying to hide behind her?!”

“How long has this little secret been going on for” 

“thryrs” Bucky mumbled but no one else hears it except for Steve, given his enhanced hearing.

“THREE YEARS?!” 

“Steve, I can explain-

“JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES”

“Tony- 

“YOU BITCH”

Bucky groaned, tucking his face into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, completely tongue tied. He was going to introduce you to the team at some point, he just didn’t imagine it would be like this, he also didn’t anticipate feeling this shy. 

“You know you can blink twice if he’s been holding you hostage” Sam cackled at the way your 6ft soldier clung onto you, refusing to look at his friends, your hand gently patting his head, rolling your eyes at his antics.

“If it helps, he talks about you all of the time” You smiled, only to have Bucky frown on the inside for you exposing him. 

“No, I don’t” His muffled voice vibrated against your neck, reluctantly pulling away, “Maybe only about Steve” 

“Uh huh, sure” 

“Well, as you can see, I didn’t need to talk to her, she’s already mine” Bucky grinned, kissing your cheek, his mind now fully focused on bending you over on the dance floor but- 

“You’re not getting away that easily Barnes, sit down, we’ll ask the questions” Tony stated, while everyone moved to one side, leaving the other side empty for you and Bucky. 

“Question 1. What’s your full legal name”

“James-

“LIAR”

“Steve-

“Bitch” 

It was going to be a long night. 

[beansprean]

AND THAT'S A WRAP ON WWDITS FILMING...[wails loudly]

I hope these actors know how much they have done for me, specifically. And how many times I have drawn their dumb faces dkjfhk.

Please consider donating to Medical Aid for Palestine! It's what Kayvan would want. :) 🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of Guillermo and Harvey Guillén on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Harvey!' Harvey's skin is slightly tanner than Guillermo's, his hair is sun-bleached and curling freely over his forehead, and he is wearing a blue knit crop top and denim overalls. He is hugging Guillermo from behind with his chin on his shoulder, grinning up at the viewer. Guillermo, wearing a white shirt and brown patterned cardigan, is cupping Harvey's hands with his own over his chest and looking at him with a fond smile, cheeks pressed together.

2. Waist up of Nandor and Kayvan Novak on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kayvan!' Kayvan's skin is a rich brown against Nandor's vampire pallor and his half-up hair and slightly longer beard are graying; he is wearing a dangly gold earring in his left ear and is wearing a lime green button up tee with a red watermelon pattern. He has picked Nandor up in a hug with his arms wrapped around his waist. Nandor, wearing a long brown kaftan under a orange diamond-patterned coat with short furred sleeves, has his right hand braced on Kayvan's shoulder and the other wrapped around his back. They are both grinning widely and looking at the viewer.

3. Waist up of Nadja, Nadja doll, and Natasia Demetriou on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Natasia!' Natasia is lightly tanned and has chest wavy length hair with bangs, dark brown at the roots with honey brown and blonde highlights throughout. She is wearing a periwinkle skirt and bandeau top with an outer layer of translucent chiffon in the same color, along with poofy off-shoulder chiffon sleeves, several rings, and a thin chain necklace with her name on it. Nadja and Dolly are matching in dark blue v neck gowns with a gold pattern and front buttons, their hair half up in twin horns. Nadja is grinning at the viewer, fangs out, and leaning heavily into Natasia's side, pressing their shoulders together. Dolly sits on their shared shoulder space, perched directly between their heads with her arms around them, smiling up at the viewer. Nadja's right arm is up under Dolly to support her legs. Natasia's right arm is bent upward like one might do to support a perching bird and her left is palming Dolly's knees to keep her in place. She is smiling over at the Nadjas, half bent over from their weight leaning on her.

4. Waist up of Laszlo and Matt Berry on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Matt!' Matt is pale (but clearly more alive than Laszlo), with wavy shoulder length hair streaked with gray and a graying beard that has been allowed to grow a bit further past his chin. He is wearing a plain white tee shirt, denim jacket, and silver chain necklace. Laszlo is wearing a red button up dashingly open at the collar under a dark blue waistcoat and lighter blue jacket with a darker damask pattern. They are standing mirrored, back-to-back with their arms crossed and shoulders pressed together, looking back over their shoulders at each other. Matt smiles at his character lazily while Laszlo offers him a mildly salacious smirk.

5. Waist up of Colin Robinson and Mark Proksch on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Mark!' Mark is standing facing the viewer with squared shoulders, wearing a blue and white plaid shirt with a chest pocket, only the top button undone. Were it not for the color and a slight shape change to his glasses, you wouldn't be able to tell him from his character. Colin is standing directly behind and to the right of him, wearing a brown v neck sweater over a beige collar and dull red tie. His head is tipped back and his mouth is open in a wide grin, eyes glowing bright blue behind his glasses. Mark glances at him from the corner of his eye with a slightly amused smirk.

6. Waist up of the Guide and Kristen Schaal on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kristen!' Kristen is pale in a human way with chin length curly brown hair and is wearing a loose empire waist black tank top under a translucent yellow chiffon top with a frilled neckline and elbow length balloon sleeves. The Guide is smiling open-mouthed at Kristen and wearing her usual black square cap, jacket, skirt, and gloves. They are back to back, elbows linked together to keep each other close, with Kristen leaning backward into the Guide so she stoops forward slightly. Kristen's far hand flashes a peace sign as she grins over at the Guide, tongue between her teeth. /end ID

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Touch Me, Belle

Biker!Bucky Barnes x afab!reader SMUT

Warnings: MNDI 18+, alcohol, dom!bucky, daddy kink, choking, bondage (handcuffs), oral (m and f receiving), mentions of thigh riding

More Biker!Bucky content here

Notes: Potentially the filthiest thing i've written for public consumption. I am on a writing rampage right now. Biker!Bucky is fueling something in me.

You stared down at the shining ring on your finger. You had done it about a hundred times in the last two hours. All of your friends were at the bar, along with the entire staff of the bar and garage, and all your favorite regulars. Sam made a drink called the "Engagement Gimlet" and you were nearing too drunk too stand. Maybe it was just the mass of muscles that had barely left your side all night and you hadn't had to use your own strength since he asked you to marry him. Maybe you never had since you met him.

"You like it?" Bucky's arm was wrapped around your middle, his tattooed arm in contrast to your white button down. You looked over your shoulder at him. His pink lips were wet with beer from his last sip and you kissed him. You couldn't help it, he looked good enough to eat.

"I love it. I love you," you whispered as you pulled away. His eyes were slow to open as he took a deep breath, the feeling of his chest inhaling and exhaling pressed to your back. The lights in the Howling Commando were adding a delightful neon tinge to the already firework-inducing night.

"I love you too, belle." When his eyes opened all the way they were dark with want, and you bit your bottom lip to stop the string of words you almost used to beg him to leave right now. It was your own engagement party. You couldn't bail early.

"You ready to go soon?" he asked, already finishing his drink, the pint glass small in his big hands. You were fixated on his arms and you had to blink and take a deep breath before nodding.

"Words, honey." His intent eyes on you and the rumble in his voice sent heat right down to your core.

"Yeah, ready to go."

"Finish your drink." You did without question. He had put on the tone he always did at the end of the night. The kind that said, do as I say and you'll get exactly what you want. You already had everything you wanted, and you still wanted more, but Bucky was intoxicating. His bright blue eyes steered you through the bar as you finished, saying goodbye and letting you throw yourself into hugs without taking too long.

The cool air of the late night felt amazing on your skin after being in the bar all evening. It also accentuated the incredible heat between your legs.

"-and congrats again and many times over!" Steve called as the door shut behind Bucky. Your car was parked right next to his bike, but they could stay there overnight. You stood staring up at the full moon and Bucky's hands came over your shoulders, thumbs rubbing at your neck. The little groan of relief you let out sent him into motion, his arm coming around your shoulders, steering you to the right down the sidewalk towards home. The walk was silent, tension building in the quiet air, occasionally intercepted by a plane overhead.

Bucky unlocked the front door, and quickly turned, making a wait motion as he went into the house. You sat down on the cushioned bench you had placed under a trellis across from the front door so you could read outside on the weekends. Read and watch Bucky workout shirtless in the makeshift gym he had built in the second spot in the garage. Your tiny car and his motorcycle took up the other half normally.

You looked down at the diamond sparkling in the moonlight and suddenly felt overwhelmed by emotion. You had spent years in an abusive relationship thinking that all you ever wanted was that man, his attention. You spent those years thinking being in love was supposed to be hard, supposed to be sacrifice on the way your house looked, what you did every night, the restaurants you went to, and the friends you kept.

Now you were sitting in the flower filled garden of a cottage you had decorated, sitting on a bench waiting for what you imagined would be an exceptionally sweet surprise from a man who would crawl on his knees after you if he had to. And you didn't even have to feel guilty that he had done all of this and you hadn't done anything in return.

"You okay honey?" Bucky's quiet panic brought your teary eyes to him.

"Yeah." Your nose twitched and you looked down, taking a deep breath before standing up from the bench and looking back at him, more tears rolling down your cheeks.

"I love you so much." Bucky laughed, wrapping one arm around you and the other coming up to wipe away your tears.

"I love you too. I can't wait to spend my whole life with you." His voice was quiet and conspiratorial, but you knew his love for you was anything but a secret.

"This might be the best day of my life, James Barnes." He beamed, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He still tasted like beer.

"I think I might be able to make it just a little better." The sweet voice was gone, the conspiratorial whisper had turned to a rumbling dark promise. You didn't respond, just took his hand and let him lead you into the house. Battery powered candles were turned on down the hallway, leading you toward the bedroom. More candles were set up there, bathing you both in warm yellow light. In a contrast that only Bucky living in this floral and pink home could be a party to, on the bed were white and purple flower petals and amongst them black handcuffs.

"Making it better?" Bucky asked from behind you, his hands traversing your torso, grazing across your breasts and up to your throat. One hand wrapped lightly around your neck, directing your chin to one side as he pressed hot open mouth kisses to your skin. The other was already at unbuttoning your work slacks.

"Absolutely," you breathed, eyes closing as your head fell back against his shoulder.

"You know, honey," he muttered, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. You hummed for him to continue, pressing your hips back into his as you slipped the slacks over your thighs and kicked them off.

"I knew the first moment I fucked you that I would have to do it for the rest of my life." Your skin flared ever hotter. The first night you fucked had been loud and messy and drunker than tonight. You had given into every urge you had ignored for years, and Bucky's hand pressed to your throat, the way his tattooed skin looked next to yours when he forced you to watch him fuck you in the mirror, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to you to that day. And then you got it whenever you wanted it.

"And now I can." Bucky rid you of your bra, his mouth running wet kisses across your shoulders and neck before settling you on your knees amongst the flower petals. He was fully dressed still, but he smirked at you before cuffing your hands in front of you.

"You don't get to lift a single finger tonight." You opened your mouth to rebuttal that you never had to, but his sharp look stilled your tongue.

"If you start running your mouth, belle, I will absolutely blindfold you before I take my clothes off. And I know how much you love to watch me." Bucky had been anything but comfortable in his skin before he met you. Tattoos were to cover extensive scarring on his left arm and the rest had been to make it less obvious. The first time he had noticed you drooling over him, he had felt self conscious. You had fucked that right out of him the same way he did to you.

You nodded in understanding.

"Words, honey."

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl." You watched hungrily as Bucky shucked the leather jacket off, exposing his tattooed arms under a brown shirt which was also quickly removed. You couldn't help but press your thighs together as you watched his muscles move, taking off his black jeans down to just dark boxers that hugged his massive thighs. The one time you mentioned how hot you found his legs, Bucky made you straddle one thigh, over a tattoo you particularly loved, and watched you ride it till you came, one hand lazily on your hip. Now you couldn't look at the tattoo without thinking of that moment. And Bucky knew it.

"Still thinking of that moment, huh baby?" Your eyes snapped up to meet his.

"Maybe I'll make you do it again today." You licked your lips, pressing your thighs together harder. He stepped closer to you, till he was looking down at you, hair falling over his forehead into his eyes. He looked dangerous, the hunger in his eyes would have been terrifying if he wasn't all yours. Two fingers under your chin to force your eyes to meet his. You didn't even notice your mouth had fallen open till his tongue slipped against the tip of your tongue.

"You're the hottest thing I've ever seen." His finger pressed to your lips were quickly replaced by his own mouth, tongue invading your mouth as he forced you backward on the bed, nearly tipping you over, but his hand snaked around your waist to keep you upright.

Bucky's knee slipped between your legs and as soon as your covered cunt came into contact with his leg, you moaned into his mouth, unable to stop your hips from rocking against him. One strong arm stopped your movements.

"Uh uh, honey, I intend to devour you entirely before you have to do any work at all." Your cuffed hands were resting on his chest, and he gently slipped his head between them so you could lean up and kiss him as he laid you back on the bed. His weight was all encompassing and put you in a trance as his hands roamed your body and his tongue mapped every inch of your mouth.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against your still clothed core, and you whined, holding yourself from moving your hips again.

"Learning already, belle. So smart." You shivered at the praise, head falling back against the sheets as Bucky's kisses moved down your neck and sternum, leaving marks across your skin till he got to the lacy thong that stood between him and what he really wanted. He made quick work, so quick that they were still wrapped around your left ankle when he got his mouth to your clit.

"Fuck, Bucky I-" His first finger was entirely a surprise, and it was quickly followed by a second. Your first orgasm rolled up just as surprisingly, the slight crook of his fingers and the expertise of his tongue sending you over the edge. You screamed out his name, bucking into his face as he finger fucked you through the end.

"That quick, honey? You must have been aching for me at the bar huh?" You looked down at Bucky, his hair a mess from your hands running through where they could reach and the bottom of his face soaked in you. His wet fingers rested against your thigh and the other hand pushed your cuffed wrists away.

"Always, daddy. Always." Bucky pressed little kisses to your thighs before pushing up to his knees so he could grab your wrists, pulling you up toward the headboard by them and leaving you to push with your legs. Flower petals stuck to your skin as he working the cuffs. You were entirely vulnerable to any onslaught he came at you with. But not entirely unable to retaliate.

As he unclipped the cuffs, you leaned forward and nuzzled against his covered cock where it strained inside his boxers. His abs rolled above your head as he pushed his hips back and you redirected your tongue through the tattoos there, lapping up the light sweat he had already began.

"You're a fucking menace," he huffed, finally getting the clips together behind the headboard and moving back away from you where you could no longer move to him.

"Only for you."

"Oh you will learn to be less of a menace." He sat back, and you looked at the artwork across his chest and mingling with the hair on its way down into his boxers. You were going to be marrying a work of art as much as the hottest man you'd ever seen.

"You only have the rest of our lives to teach me." Bucky was back between your legs right away, fingers and tongue alternating to bring you through another orgasm and close to a third. You whined when he pulled away, grinding against nothing.

"Have you learned your lesson, menace? Or should I keep going till you can't anymore and come all of your tits?" He shot back, slipping his boxers off. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, the scrawled artwork and hair that accentuated the way down. Your moan sounded more like a plea.

"I learned my lesson, daddy, please fuck me." He pretended to think about it as he leaned over to where he had left the condoms. He had flower petals stuck to his chest and thighs.

"Daddy, please I want your cock in my mouth." He stopped mid-action, staring at you already near fucked out, hands above your head. The ring he had placed on your finger a few hours before sparkled in the candlelight. You had never begged for that.

"You sure, belle? You were just begging to be fucked." Your red-lipped pout turned into a shy smile.

"I wanna see it shining when I touch you," you said quickly, feeling the betraying blush across your cheeks. Bucky's sharp blue eyes turned soft and sincere, and he left the condom forgotten on the side of the bed as he quickly undid the cuffs around your wrists.

"Touch me, belle." You pushed him over at the shoulder and he went easily, both of your gazes locked on your left hand wrapping around his cock. To hear what you said was entirely different than the experience, and when you moved your wrist, the light caught it and Bucky moaned.

"I love you, I can't wait to fucking marry you." Your lips slipped over the tip and his head fell back. You put your other hand to work on his balls and your saliva coated everything, your ring still shining in the darkness.

"Belle, you gotta stop, I wanna-mmm fuck, honey." You were slow to stop, but you did, and quickly found yourself on your back, Bucky looming over you again. He was quick with the condom this time, and your eyes rolled closed when he pressed into you. Bucky pulled your leg over his hip, using the leverage to slam into you, his own words getting incomprehensible as he fucked you and you screamed his name.

"Touch yourself, baby, I want to c-" You were already almost there, and as soon as you clenched around him, Bucky came, hard, hips stuttering as you hit your third orgasm of the night. He chanted your name like a prayer as your heat held him in till you were both boneless and panting. It took a few minutes of getting cold and sticky, but Bucky finally found his senses and pulled out, pressing light kisses to your cheeks and nose.

"I love you, James Barnes."

"I love you more, belle. Would you care to join me in a nice hot shower before we talk about how that was the hottest fucking thing over." You giggled, letting him manhandle you to your feet. You pressed yourself to his hot chest, and you stood there for another few minutes, your head to his collarbone and his pressed to your hair.

"I can't wait to marry you. I meant it then and I mean it now."

"I don't think I can wait particularly long," you responded, taking a step back. He was smiling at you like you hung the moon. You certainly looked the same and you followed him into the bathroom.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet masterlist

18+ Squirting

Bucky had been at it for hours. Taunting you. Teasing you. Tantalizing. Tormenting. His fingers, be it flesh or vibranium, tickled your skin with the tiniest of pressures. Enough to get your blood pumping. The pulps of his calloused digits pushed into your skin, kneading, fondling, massaging every inch of your body. He knew exactly how to read you, how to arouse you. From the feather light brushes against your abdomen to the deep pressure on your thighs.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

He hushed your pleading whines and kissed away your petulant pouts. He reassured you that he simply wanted to take his time. But his eyes told a different story. The determined glint in those beautiful blues told you that he had a plan. 

“Let me take care of you.”

The way he moved was exquisite, smooth, like fluid. Bucky’s ministrations were so distracting that you only realized he was undressing you when your tank top caught the tip of your nose. He apologized, nuzzling you, peppering kisses over the offended organ. He never failed to make you feel loved, even when he was planning on doing the dirtiest things to you.

“I love you like this.”

Exposed. Fully. Stripped bare of every thread that covered your form. That’s how he liked it. Bucky loved having access to each and every part of you. He worked on all your sensitive areas, intimately familiar with how your nipples responded to his touch. Under his attention, they had the ability to grow as tall as mountains and as hard as diamonds. He chuckled darkly as you writhed with pleasure beneath him.

"Just like that, Doll?"

You nodded, your mind lost in the moment. His lips left marks as worked on your skin. He was the artist and you were his canvas, ready to be molded to his pleasing. There were no limits to his abilities to draw out your beauty. 

“I will coax every gasp, every moan, every noise I can get out of you.”

He didn't waste time in making good on his assurances.  Bucky put his talented tongue to use, licking thick stripes over your folds. It left you crying out for more, only for him to oblige. His lips formed a circle around your clit, which he gave a warning lick before applying the perfect amount of pressure to make you scream. Bucky watched out of the top corners of his eyes as you arched your back and clutched at the bedsheets.

“I'm here. I'm right here. Hold onto me.”

Next he introduced you to his fingers, smooth and cold but once they were coated in your slick arousal, they slid in and out of your sheath with ease. Bucky felt you stretch as he pushed in and out, caressing your walls with his dark and golden digits. He was an expert in finding that special place where you were most sensitive and made the most of his talents. Brushing against you with the most erotic pace. His lips pressed against the top of your head.

“Wish I could fuck you right now. I want you to sit on my cock, be so deep inside you until you’re screaming for everyone to hear… ‘til you forget who you are and all you can think about is how good I make you feel. But that’s not the plan. I want to make you squirt all over my pants and ruin them.”

You gasped at his words. He let the pressure build within you at an agonizingly slow pace. Every movement elicited its own special sound from you, he played your body like an instrument to the tune of a symphony of his desires. Everyone of these notes rang with the melody of your pleasure.

“Are you going to give me what I want, Doll? Are you going to come for me?”

Bucky murmured as he continued to bring you closer to your climax. An old familiar feeling coiled inside of you, ready to be released at any moment. He pulled your hips into his lap, looking hungrily at your sex, like he could devour you right there. But he had a plan and he was going to follow through. He licked his flesh fingers and pressed them against your swollen nub. Rubbing perfect circles to drive you over the edge. You squeezed your eyes shut as your walls clenched around him. Waves of ecstasy rolling through your body. Back arched. Toes curled. Heart pounded. Bucky's plan came to fruition as your sweet juices poured out around his fingers.

“That's my girl. You did such a good job for me. Just look at this mess you've made. All for me.”

He smiled down at you, looking proud of his pretty princess. 

[fatecantstopme]

This Isn't Real

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: When you get kidnapped by a Djinn, Dean and Sam risk everything to save you.

Warnings: canon violence, talk of death, cursing. Shit ton of angst. Some fluff. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V).

You woke up in an unfamiliar room as the sun began to peek through the curtains. Your eyes took a moment to adjust as you glanced around the room, desperately trying to remember where you were and how you got there.

Your mind flashed to a dark warehouse and vague memories of searching for something there, but the harder you tried to remember, the farther away those memories became.

You sat up with a groan and began to rub your temples. Where the hell am I?

You felt someone stir in the bed beside you and realized you weren't alone. You turned to look at the person, but you heard his voice before your brain could process what you were seeing.

"Hey baby, you okay?" he asked groggily.

"What?" you managed to croak out--shock settling into your bones as you stared at the man beside you.

He sat up, revealing his bare, toned, muscular chest. You looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. Why the fuck am I in bed with Dean Winchester?

He touched your cheek and turned your head towards him. "You okay? I heard you groan."

"I--um...I'm fine," you stuttered. "What, uh--what happened last night?"

He raised his eyebrows as he regarded you. "We came home from the party early because you were feeling a little...frisky."

"Party?" you asked in confusion.

"Damn, baby, how much did you have to drink?" he asked with a chuckle.

Your face must have show how deeply confused you were, because he seemed to take pity on you.

"It was Sam's birthday party, babe. Remember? We came home, had some damn incredible sex, and fell asleep. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Sam's birthday?" you muttered, then belatedly yelled, "WE HAD SEX?"

Dean laughed. "Girl, you gotta lay off the whiskey sours. They're messing with your memory." He kissed you on your forehead before dragging himself out of bed.

You were now faced with a very naked Dean Winchester and you averted your gaze out of habit.

"I'm gonna take a shower. Wanna join me?" he asked with a smirk.

"I...uh--I...not right now."

He looked a little crestfallen, but he simply shrugged. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he'd entered the bathroom, you jumped out of bed and looked around the room. Something had to be going on. Something insane. This wasn't real life--it couldn't be.

You glanced down at yourself and realized you were completely naked. You quickly threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before continuing your search around the room.

You saw a couple framed pictures sitting on the bureau near the bathroom door. You picked one up and felt your jaw drop. It was you and Dean on a beach. You grabbed the second one and found it was also of you and Dean, only this time you were apparently in Paris. The third and final picture was, of course, of you and Dean. It looked like some kind of park and he was on his knee in front of you, holding a small blue box in his hand.

You glanced at your left hand in disbelief, but there it was--a very large, very beautiful diamond ring. "We're engaged?" you mumbled in shock.

You set the picture down and collapsed onto the bed. Your mind was reeling and you had absolutely no memory of any of this.

You knew Dean--you'd known him for years--but you were just friends. You hunted together. That was all. Sure, you'd always liked him more than you should have, but he didn't reciprocate it. You certainly didn't wake up in the same bed, and you definitely weren't engaged to him.

When you woke up yesterday, you'd been in a motel room with Sam and Dean...you were hunting something. You closed your eyes and desperately tried to remember what it was. It was almost as if something was blocking that specific memory--no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't grasp it.

Dean appeared from the bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel around his waist. He saw you sitting on the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. Concern knotted his eyebrows together and he immediately crossed the short distance between you.

"(Y/N/N)?" he asked softly when he reached your side.

You looked up at him and felt your heart skip a beat. He was beautiful and perfect...and it was downright offensive. How anyone could look that good was a mystery. An even bigger mystery was why in the hell he was engaged to you.

He knelt down in front of you and took your hands into his. You stared at them, feeling the warmth spread throughout your body.

"What's going on with you?" he asked gently.

Tears filled your eyes as you looked into his beautiful green ones. "I don't know where I am," you whispered. "I don't...I don't remember any of this. I--I don't think it's real."

Dean's face lit up in surprise. "What do you mean? Of course it's real." He squeezed your hands comfortingly. "Do you feel that, baby? I'm real and so are you."

"Then why can't I remember?"

He looked sad. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe you just need to give it a little time and then your memories will come back."

You shook your head. "I was in a motel yesterday. A motel with you and Sam. We were going hunting."

Dean looked confused. "Hunting? I've never been hunting and I'm pretty sure you haven't either. Are you sure that wasn't a dream?"

"It felt--real. It was real," you insisted.

"Okay," he said soothingly. "What makes you think that was real and this isn't?"

"I remember it," you whispered.

"And you don't remember our lives together," he finished softly.

You nodded.

He reached up and tucked a hair behind your ear. "I don't know why you can't remember, but I'll be damned if I don't help you figure it out."

He stood up. "Why don't we go see Sam? Maybe going to his house will jog your memory of last night?"

"Okay."

He grabbed your hand and helped you to your feet. "Let's get dressed, pretty girl. Everything's gonna be okay."

You nodded, feeling a little more confident that everything might really be okay.

**********

When Dean pulled up in front of Sam's house, you looked out the window, but didn't have any rush of memories. Nothing about it looked familiar.

Dean came around and opened the car door for you and took your hand as you stepped out. He watched your face for any sign of recognition, but he saw none.

"Come on, beautiful," he said gently, leading you to the front door.

A few moments after Dean rang the doorbell, Sam appeared at the door with a warm smile. "Hey guys! Come on in."

Dean led the way and you followed gratefully.

"So, uh...Dean mentioned you're having some memory problems?" Sam asked gently.

You nodded. "I--uh--I don't really remember much of anything really."

"Hmm," Sam hummed. "Sit. Let's talk."

You and Dean sat on the couch and Sam sat across from you on a chair. Dean explained the morning's events to his brother, while you sat quietly. There wasn't much more to say.

"So what do you remember?" Sam asked you.

"Hunting," you answered honestly. "I remember hunting with you and Dean. We've been doing it for years together."

"Hunting?" Sam asked in surprise. "We've never been hunting in our lives--and certainly not all together."

"Do you believe in ghosts?" you blurted.

Both men looked shocked. "I'm sorry, what?" Sam asked.

"Ghosts, goblins, ghouls, vampires, werewolves...all the things that go bump in the night. Do you believe in them?"

Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks. "No, (Y/N)...those are just stories," Dean said gently.

You sighed sadly. "That's what we hunt," you whispered so softly they almost didn't hear you.

"We hunt monsters?" Sam asked incredulously.

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

"Baby, that really does sound like a dream. An intense dream, perhaps, but a dream nonetheless," Dean said calmly.

"Then why does it feel so real?" you asked softly.

He looked sad. "I don't know, sweetheart. I really don't."

"What about right now?" Sam asked. "Does this feel real?"

You nodded.

"As real as hunting monsters?" he prodded.

You nodded again.

"Then why would you think this isn't real?"

"I guess I don't have a good answer for that," you admitted. "Hunting monsters does sound kinda crazy, doesn't it?"

Dean offered you a soft smile. "A little bit, baby. Especially for a lawyer, a mechanic, and a veterinarian."

Hearing the careers the three of you apparently had sparked another question in your mind. "Dean, how did we meet?"

"What?" he asked in surprise.

"How did we meet?"

"We met when Sam found that stray dog with the broken leg. He asked me to drive him to the nearest vet office...you happened to be the vet on duty that day."

You closed your eyes and tried desperately to remember meeting him, to no avail. You also couldn't remember veterinary school or even having a job at all.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean said sweetly, upon noticing your distress. "You don't have to remember right now."

Tears filled your eyes again, upset and ashamed at your inability to remember your life.

Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. He kissed the top of your head and whispered, "Everything's okay, baby. I love you. You're safe."

You knew without a shadow of a doubt he was right about one thing--you were safe. You had never felt safer with anyone in your life than Dean Winchester and it didn't matter that you couldn't remember this reality...you still knew he would protect you with his life.

**********

Dean's POV:

It had been three hours since (Y/N) went missing and I was losing my mind. Sam and I had looked everywhere...we should have never let her wander off on her own.

My brother was clearly having similar thoughts as he said, "You shouldn't have let her go out there alone."

"Let her?" I asked in annoyance. "I didn't let her do anything. She got mad at me and stormed off. That's not my fault."

Sam glared at me. "You're the one who pissed her off and you didn't go after her."

I kicked a rock that was at my feet as hard as I could. I hated that he was right and I hated myself for upsetting her. I was terrified of what would happen if we didn't find her in time. "I know," I admitted softly.

Sam's expression softened. "We're gonna find her, Dean."

I looked up at him and sighed. "We've looked everywhere. It's like she just disappeared."

"She didn't just disappear. Something or someone took her."

"We've been in this town for 6 hours. It's not like we've pissed anyone off yet," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Besides, (Y/N) could fight off most humans she came across..."

"She went looking for the Djinn, Sam. I just know it."

"Why would she do that on her own? She's not stupid."

I groaned loudly. "Because she had something to prove!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I was mad at her, okay? I was mad she was so reckless during our last hunt and I lashed out at her. I told her there was no way she could do this job without us, but we were perfectly capable of handling it on our own. I wanted her to stay at the motel while we took care of the Djinn."

"Dean, she saved your life!"

"I know!" I yelled. "I didn't ask her to do that! She could have died."

"That's the life, Dean. We all could die at any time."

I glared at him. "If she died saving me, I would never forgive myself. Never."

Sam sighed. He knew what I was trying to say without me having to say it. I wouldn't admit the truth and he knew it. "You should've known telling her she couldn't do something would make her want to do it."

I closed my eyes. "I'll regret it for the rest of my life, Sam."

Sam shook his head and opened the passenger door of the Impala. "You won't have to because we're going to find her."

I watched my brother get in the car and I took a deep breath. "I hope you're right," I whispered before getting into the car myself.

**********

It had been a couple days since you'd woken up in a strange place. You weren't sure why your memories were gone, but you'd started to feel comfortable. You'd settled easily into a routine, and those memories you'd had of hunting had begun to fade.

Dean had suggested you take some time off of work until you felt more comfortable...and perhaps your memories would return during that time. You'd taken his advice since you had zero memory of college and you didn't feel comfortable having animals' lives in your hands.

Dean had been the perfect boyfriend--fiancé. He was incredibly patient and sweet and it warmed your heart to know just how much he cared. Any time you forgot something that had happened, he would gently remind you about it without making you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable.

It surprised you to realize how deeply you cared for him--how much you truly loved him. He loved you, that much was clear, but you had yet to share those feelings with him. At least, not in your recollection.

You'd spent the day relaxing on your back deck with a good book. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this happy. An hour before Dean would be home from work, you went inside and began preparing dinner. You wanted to make him something special as a thank you for being such a good partner.

You were standing in the kitchen finishing up dinner when Dean got home. He came into the room and inhaled deeply. "Smells amazing, babe. Whatcha making?"

You turned to him with a smile. "Lasagna."

He grinned. "I freaking love lasagna." He came over and kissed you softly. "And I love you."

You smiled warmly. "I love you too, Dean."

His beautiful green eyes lit up at your words. He stepped forward and pressed you up against the counter. His arms snaked around your waist and he kissed you deeply.

You squirmed a little when it became hard to breathe. Dean chuckled as he broke the kiss, allowing you to inhale rapidly.

"You're covered in grease and you're getting it on me," you teased. "Go shower and dinner will be ready by the time you're done."

He smiled and kissed you again. "Fine, fine. I'll shower." He stepped away from you and turned to go towards the bedroom.

"Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got a surprise for dessert. I think you're gonna like it."

He grinned ear to ear. "Is it you?" he teased.

"Dean Winchester!" you yelled with a laugh. You threw a hand towel at him and he ran from the room to escape, laughing all the way to the bathroom.

You rolled your eyes and went back to finishing dinner. You also pulled a pie out of the fridge and set it on the counter to finish defrosting. You'd gone to the store earlier that day and picked up an apple pie--Dean's favorite.

15 minutes later, Dean came into the kitchen looking refreshed and clean. You were setting the table, so you told him to have a seat and you'd bring out the lasagna.

"Do you want a beer?" you called from the kitchen.

"Water's fine, babe," he called back.

You froze for a moment. In all the time you'd known Dean, he had never turned down a beer...certainly not in favor of water. A voice in your head was screaming that something wasn't right, but you ignored it. You shook your head to clear your mind and quickly poured him a glass of water instead.

The two of you ate dinner, enjoying each other's company. You listened to Dean talk about his day and he asked about yours. It all felt very mundane...very domesticated.

You kept a smile on your face throughout dinner, even though something was bothering you. You couldn't help but feel like you were meant for something more--like your life had a different purpose. Maybe you were just in your head too much since you weren't working at the moment. That had to be it...

"Sweetheart?" Dean asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Hmm?" you hummed in response.

"You okay?"

You smiled. "I'm fine, Dean. I was just lost in thought."

His eyes scanned your face for a few moments, but he eventually smiled. You were doing a good job of hiding your thoughts from him, but you weren't sure if that was a good thing.

Once dinner was done, you began to clean up. Dean insisted on helping, which you appreciated. You kept him busy with packing the lasagna away in leftover containers so he wouldn't notice the pie on the other counter.

"Ready for dessert?" you asked sweetly.

He smiled. "Sure, baby. What'd you make?"

"I bought it, but I think you'll still like it. Go sit back down and I'll bring it out."

He nodded and went back to the dining room.

You cut a generous slice of the pie for him and a much smaller piece for yourself. Pie had never been your favorite dessert, but Dean loved pie more than he loved anything in this world. You didn't mind having something that wasn't your first choice because you knew it would make him happy.

You came into the dining room and placed the large slice in front of him before sitting down with your own.

He was quiet for a moment and you felt that same voice creeping into your head again. "Dean? It's apple pie..."

"Yeah, thanks (Y/N/N). Kind of a big piece though, don't you think?"

The voice in your head got a little louder. "Sure, but you never turn down a big piece of pie. I've seen you eat an entire pie before." You chuckled at the memory...except Dean looked different in your mind. Rougher, but somehow happier.

"I suppose you're right. I can make some room in my stomach for it. I guess I'm just not the biggest fan of apple pie."

You froze and the voice began screaming at you. SOMETHING IS WRONG! "Apple pie is your favorite," you said quietly.

His face changed as he looked at you. He smiled warmly and said, "You're right. It is my favorite. Thank you for thinking of me."

Your heart was beating so quickly you thought it might actually explode. The man in front of you had gone from 'not the biggest fan of apple pie' to 'apple pie is my favorite' in the span of 30 seconds.

In that moment everything changed. It was no longer just a voice inside your head screaming at you to leave...you realized it was your voice.

"This isn't real," you whispered.

"What'd you say, sweetheart?"

You looked up at Dean--the man wearing Dean's face. "None of this is real." You stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

He sat there in shock as you rushed towards the door. You weren't exactly sure where you needed to go, but you had a feeling you would find it. You were out the door and running down the street before he even realized what had happened.

**********

Dean's POV:

"This is the last vacant warehouse in this godforsaken city and I swear to God if she's not here, I'm going to kill someone."

"Since I'm the only person here, maybe you don't kill anyone," Sam said calmly.

I glared at him, but didn't say anything. We'd been searching for hours and we hadn't found a damn thing. Not even a clue. This was a last ditch effort to find (Y/N) and I didn't know how I would handle it if she wasn't there. I wasn't sure I could handle it.

I parked the Impala a little ways away from the entrance to the warehouse, just in case the Djinn was there. I didn't want to tip it off. We grabbed our weapons from the trunk and headed inside.

We'd only been inside the building for a few minutes when I heard a sound that sent chills down my spine. It sounded like blood dripping and my only thought was of her before I took off running.

Had I been thinking rationally, I would have realized it was just the sound of water dripping onto the floor, but I was far past rational. There aren't many people in this world that I would die for, but (Y/N) was second on that list right after my brother. She didn't know it, but she meant the world to me. I had to find her--alive.

Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. He gave me a look like I was being reckless, which I suppose I was. He pointed to a room up ahead that appeared to be dimly lit. He started walking towards it and gestured for me to follow.

The moment we turned that corner, my worst fears came to life. The only thing I saw was the woman I loved strung up from the ceiling by her wrists, feet barely touching the floor. She was extremely pale and I could see blood slowly draining from her body into an IV bag.

I moved towards her with a speed I didn't know I had. Terror filled my lungs as I reached for her, worried that I was too late. There was a lot of blood in that bag and I had no way of knowing how many had been filled already.

I touched her cheek with shaking hands and I whispered her name. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears as I begged her to wake up. I tried to feel for a pulse, but my hands were shaking too much to tell.

Sam came up beside me and pressed his fingers to her neck. I watched him in terrified silence, waiting for him to shatter my heart into a million pieces.

"She's alive," he whispered in relief.

My eyes widened in surprise and my heart practically flew out of my chest with joy. "We need to get her out of here," I whispered back as I unhooked the IV to stop the blood flow.

Suddenly, Sam went flying across the room and I turned around in surprise. I came face to face with the Djinn, who was reaching for me with blue electricity crackling from his fingertips. I ducked to avoid his hand and the fight began.

**********

You had no idea where you were going, but your feet were on a mission. You felt like you'd been walking for days, but in reality it had only been an hour or so. You belatedly realized you could have just stolen a car, but on the off chance you were wrong about all of this, you didn't want to commit a crime.

After almost two hours of walking, you found yourself standing in front of an old abandoned warehouse. Something about the imposing building felt strangely familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on why.

You entered the building cautiously, silently cursing yourself for not bringing anything that could be used as a weapon. You'd been so focused on getting away, that you hadn't done much--any--planning.

The building was dark and you didn't have a flashlight, but thankfully you'd had your phone in your pocket when you left the house, so you pulled it out to use the built in flashlight.

When you looked at the screen, you saw you had several missed calls and texts, mostly from Dean, but several from Sam as well. You ignored them both and turned on the flashlight.

You began to wander through the giant space, looking for something--anything--that felt out of place. It was a lot harder to find something when you had no idea what you were looking for.

After several minutes of wandering aimlessly, you noticed a room up ahead that appeared to be dimly lit. Well that's weird. You slowly made your way closer, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As you rounded the corner, everything changed. You nearly dropped your phone at the sight before you. You were hanging from the ceiling by your wrists, feet barely touching the ground, blood slowly filling an IV bag to your left.

In an instant, everything fell into place. Your memories--your real memories--flooded your mind. You remembered your argument with Dean and your foolish arrogance as you sought out the Djinn on your own. Clearly you'd been unsuccessful in your attempt to kill it--so here you were, trapped in a dream in your own mind while your body slowly died in the real world.

"(Y/N), stay," you heard Dean's voice say from behind you.

You turned to face him, knowing he wasn't real--he wasn't your Dean. "I can't...this isn't real."

"You're right. It's not. But it will feel real. You'll live out your whole life with me. We'll be happy and normal. Isn't that what you want?"

You thought about it for a moment. "No," you answered honestly. "I wasn't meant to be normal, to live a normal life. I'm a hunter...I save people. If that means I'll never be truly happy, if it means I'll die alone, then so be it. I can't stay here no matter how badly I want to...my real life is out there. The real you is out there."

"The real Dean doesn't love you the way I do."

Tears filled your eyes and you nodded. "I know...but at least he's real."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, desperately trying to wake up.

In the distance, you heard a voice yell your name. You focused on the voice, but you couldn't figure out whose it was. The voice begged you to wake up, to fight..."come back to me," it pleaded.

You began to sink into darkness, unsure of whether you were about to wake up or die. In the moments before the darkness overtook you, you realized who the voice belonged to. "Dean..." you whispered.

Then, blackness.

**********

Dean's POV:

"Sam!" I yelled as my brother was once again tossed across the room. This Djinn was seriously starting to piss me off.

I knew I needed to get (Y/N) out of here, but I was a little preoccupied trying not to end up strung up beside her. I'd managed to disconnect the IV, so at least she wasn't losing blood anymore.

"Shit!" I yelled as I once again dodged the Djinn's hands.

Son of a bitch! I saw Sam's silver knife lying on the floor, a short distance away from me. I moved towards it quickly, grabbing it before the Djinn noticed.

The creature approached Sam, clearly about to zap his ass into dreamland. I rushed up behind it and stabbed it in the back, bringing it to its knees.

The Djinn seemed surprised and I smiled ruefully. "Lamb's blood and silver--lethal combination, you son of a bitch."

Sam started to pull himself off the floor, retrieving his knife from the dead Djinn's back. One glance at my brother told me he was fine, so my focus turned back to (Y/N).

I rushed over to her and held her up while Sam started to work on the chains tying her to the ceiling. "(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond, not that I expected her to, but that didn't deter me. "Come on, (Y/N). I need you to wake up."

Sam finally got the chains removed from her wrists and she slumped into my arms. I sunk to the ground, holding her close, and continued to beg her to wake up. I knew I sounded pathetic, but I didn't give a damn.

"(Y/N), please. I know you're mad at me, but I need you to wake up. I need you to fight. Please." I laid my head against her forehead and I whispered so softly only she could hear, "Come back to me."

To my surprise, I heard her whisper, "Dean..."

My head shot up and Sam's eyes widened. (Y/N) didn't say another word, but I knew she was alive. I picked her up and carried her to the car, gently placing her in the backseat before speeding off like a bat out of hell.

I pulled into the nearest hospital in record time, throwing the car into park without a thought. I carefully pulled (Y/N) from the backseat and carried her into the ER.

Sam had gone ahead and gotten a nurse to get a gurney, which I placed her on gently. I watched as the nurses took her back to an exam room and I sent up a silent prayer that she would be okay.

**********

You awoke to the sound of beeping and it didn't take you long to realize you were in a hospital. With that realization came a flood of memories. You had no way of knowing how long had passed here in the real world, but for you it had been days.

You began to stir and you let out a groan as your eyes started to adjust to the brightness in the room.

"(Y/N)?"

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, but you couldn't quite make out the person's face.

"Hey," the voice said again. "You're okay. It's me."

Your eyes were still struggling to focus, but you recognized the voice. "Dean," you mumbled.

You didn't see it, but he smiled warmly. "I'm right here, sweetheart. You're okay."

Your body tensed slightly, unsure of how to feel. He didn't normally call you by any pet names and you suddenly feared you were back in the dream. "What happened?"

"You were captured by the Djinn. Sammy and I found you."

Your whole body relaxed and you let out a relieved sigh. Dean didn't understand why that would calm you, but he didn't question it.

"Thanks for saving me," you whispered. Your eyes finally focused on his face and you knew in your heart this was your Dean. He just looked different and your heart tightened at the sight of him.

"You don't have to thank me. It was my fault you ran off in the first place."

You shook your head. "I was an idiot."

"No you weren't. You could have taken him if you weren't distracted by my asshole comments."

Surprise lit up your face. "So you're admitting you were an asshole?"

He chuckled grimly. "It's a one-time deal, so don't get used to it."

You smiled. "I expect nothing less."

Dean shifted slightly, clearly wanting to say something, but he remained silent.

"What?"

He seemed to debate for a moment, but finally asked, "What did you dream about?"

You sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," he insisted. "The Djinn lets you live out your dream life...so what's your dream life, (Y/N)?"

"Technically, the Djinn grants you a wish and the life you see is based around that wish."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're avoiding the question."

"It was my dream, Dean. You don't need to know about it." You spoke a little more harshly than you'd intended and you hated yourself a little for it. Especially when you saw Dean wince.

He quickly recovered and threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I won't press, I promise."

"Thanks."

"Let me go talk to the doctor and see when we can get you outta here, okay?"

It was like he knew exactly what you needed. It warmed your heart and broke it all at once. "Thanks, Dean."

"Sure, (Y/N/N)."

**********

"Will I ever not be tired?" you complained grumpily two days later.

Sam laughed from the small table across the room from the bed you were currently curled up in. "It'll just take a little time. You lost a lot of blood, so your iron levels are low. Be patient."

"I hate being patient," you grumbled.

Sam chuckled again. "You sound like Dean."

As if he'd been summoned, Dean himself walked through the motel room door. "Dinner is served!" he announced happily.

You sat up and started to get out of the bed, but Dean ran over to you. "You can eat in bed, (Y/N). You need your rest."

"I appreciate that, Dean, but you're smothering me. I'm tired of laying in this bed."

Sam laughed and Dean just shook his head. "Alright fine."

He helped you to the table and you sat down across from Sam. You were grateful for his help, even if you didn't want to admit it.

"I got you a burger," Dean began. "I wasn't sure if you'd be feeling up to eating one, but you could really use the energy."

You smiled warmly. "A burger sounds amazing, Dean."

He handed you your food and gave Sam his. He pulled out his own, then reached into the bag and pulled out a small item, which he handed to you. "They, uh...they had freshly baked brownies, so I got you one."

Your eyes lit up as you took the neatly wrapped brownie from him. "Thanks," you said softly.

"They're your favorite, right?" he asked.

He remembered. "Yeah. Especially with the--"

"--little chocolate chips," he finished for you.

You stared at him for a moment, a soft smile gracing your features. Your eyes began to water, so you looked down at your food to keep from embarrassing yourself. "This looks delicious."

The three of you ate your dinners in companionable silence. When you were finished, you got out of your chair and started to make your way back to the bed. You were still tired, but you felt stronger than you had in a few days.

Dean immediately jumped out of his seat to help you, but you gently told him you were okay. "I'm alright, Dean."

His hands seemed to twitch as he watched you walk away, clearly wanting to make sure you were okay. He didn't relax until you sat down on the bed and started to unwrap your brownie.

"She's strong," Sam said lowly.

Dean turned his attention to his brother. "I know. I just worry about her."

"You know I can hear you both, right?" you said from your bed.

Both men chuckled lightly.

"The room's small and voices carry," you teased.

"You're not wrong," Sam said as he got up with a stretch. "I actually think I'm gonna hit the bar. I could use a drink after the week we've had."

Sam looked pointedly at his brother, which didn't go unnoticed by you. You watched as some sort of nonverbal exchange happened between the two men.

"I'll be back later," Sam said, getting what appeared to be the final word in whatever discussion they had been having. He walked out the door with his jacket and Dean locked it behind him.

"Since when does Sam go to bars by himself?" you asked.

Dean shrugged, but didn't meet your gaze. "Guess he really needed that drink."

"Or he wants to get laid," you mumbled.

Dean groaned. "Gross."

You laughed. "He's not a monk, Dean."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to think about him getting jiggy with it."

"Did you just say 'getting jiggy with it'?"

"I was trying it out."

"Maybe don't," you said with a laugh.

He grinned and flopped down on the other bed. "I'll make a note of it."

The two of you fell into silence, but unlike during dinner, this one felt uncomfortable. The tension hung in the air and there was so much you wanted to say to him...and so much he wanted to say to you.

"Do you wanna watch TV?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Not really."

"Okay."

The silence continued to drag on until Dean finally couldn't take it anymore. He sat up and looked at you, gaze seeming to bore into your soul. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"When you saved my life, I was pissed. Beyond pissed. I haven't been that angry in a long time. But it wasn't because I wanted to die or anything like that...I just didn't want you to. When that vampire sent you flying and I heard you hit the wall, I was terrified. More terrified than I've ever been before."

He took a slow breath before continuing. "Once the vampires were all dead and you started to get up, I felt relieved--you were okay. But then all I felt was rage. I was so angry with you for putting yourself in harm's way like that...for risking yourself to save me. I'm not entirely sure I deserve saving, but I do know if you had died to save me, I would have never forgiven myself."

You stared at him in silence, lips parted, eyes full of emotion. "Dean..."

He held his hand up to stop you. "That's why I yelled at you...that's why I said everything I said. I didn't--I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling, so I lashed out at you. You didn't deserve it and I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry, (Y/N)."

"I appreciate your apology," you said softly. "But I won't apologize for saving your life. If I'd let you die? I wouldn't have forgiven myself."

He looked a little surprised. "I didn't think about that."

"You never think you deserve saving. You don't think you deserve happiness or peace, a normal life--god forbid love... You think you're some kind of monster, but you're not, Dean. You're the best person I know. You're loyal to a fault, strong and brave, but also kind and gentle. No one hates you the way you hate yourself, Dean Winchester, and I'm tired of you projecting those feelings onto other people."

This was absolutely not the direction he'd imagined this conversation going...but here they were. "I don't know why you think that...you've seen me at my worst."

Your expression softened. "You're right. I have. But I've also seen you at your best--and that is a sight to behold. You're incredible, Dean...in all the ways that matter."

His eyes roamed your face searching for any sign of deception. When he saw none, he decided to seize the opportunity to ask you the only question he was dying to know the answer to..."What did you dream about?"

"What?"

"What did you dream about?" he asked again.

You inhaled sharply. It wasn't that you didn't want to tell him about the dream...about the life the two of you had shared...it was just that you were afraid. Afraid of how he would react, what he would think, what he would say...you weren't sure if you wanted to risk it.

You looked into his eyes for what felt like eternity. They seemed to swirl with emotion while silently begging you to tell him the truth.

You sighed. "I dreamed of a normal life...nice house, good job, friends, a fiancé...the whole nine yards."

His lips parted in surprise. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask, but he needed to know. "Fiancé?"

You nodded. "Yeah...I, uh--I was as surprised as you are."

"Is that what you want? A normal life with some random guy who doesn't really know you?"

"He wasn't some random guy," you admitted quietly.

"What?"

"In my dream...my fiancé was someone I know."

"Like in the real world?"

You nodded.

"Who?" Please don't be Sam. Please don't be Sam. Please don't be Sam.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to you or you wouldn't have dreamed it...the Djinn wouldn't have chosen him."

You hated that he was right and you didn't want to tell him. You were afraid it would ruin your relationship...you loved hunting with Sam and Dean. You loved traveling the country with them, hunting monsters, saving people, living in shitty motels...you loved it all, but most of all you loved Dean...and that was something you had never shared with anyone.

"It wasn't real," you whispered. "It was just a fantasy."

Dean decided to take a risk and he prayed he wouldn't regret it. "It doesn't have to be a fantasy."

"What?" you asked in surprise.

"If you tell him...maybe it can be real."

There was something in his eyes that gave you pause. After a few seconds, you realized it was fear. He was afraid of what you were going to say...and it gave you hope. Why would he be afraid of what you were going to say if he wasn't hoping it was him?

"It was you," you admitted quietly.

His lips parted and he inhaled deeply. "Me?"

You nodded slowly, suddenly unable to speak.

He stood up and crossed the short distance between you. He very gently pushed you back against the pillows and crawled on top of you, hovering mere inches from your face. "Do you love me?"

Your eyes widened in surprise. This was not at all how you imagined telling Dean how you feel, but you found yourself incapable of lying to him. "Yes," you breathed out.

"Say it," he whispered.

"I love you, Dean," you said softly.

He closed his eyes and laid his forehead against yours, his breathing labored and his hands shaking slightly. "(Y/N)..."

He stopped thinking then and let his body guide him. He'd loved you for so long--wanted you for even longer--and now he was finally going to have you. He pressed his lips against yours and kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips.

The kisses you'd shared with the fake Dean in your dreams were nothing compared to the real thing. Actual sparks flew, igniting a need for him deep within you. Your hands clung to his flannel shirt, pulling him even closer to you.

He moaned softly against your lips and you parted them to allow him entry. His tongue dominated yours in a passionate fight for power. His hands began to roam the soft curves of your body, eliciting low moans of desire from you.

"I don't remember a time when I didn't love you," he admitted against your lips. "I don't want to remember before."

Your heart seemed to sing at his words. Dean had always been a deeply emotional man--he felt things more strongly than anyone you'd ever known, but he bottled up his emotions and hid them from the rest of the world. Hearing him finally confess his deepest secret made you feel incredibly special.

"I love you so much, Dean Winchester. So, so much."

He smiled. "I love you more, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

He kissed you again and you melted into him. His hands continued to roam your body, and yours did the same to his. A passionate need for one another had been ignited within each of you and neither of you could deny it.

You began to peel off his clothing and he did the same to you. The idea of being completely naked with Dean would have normally terrified you, but you could feel the waves of love oozing from the man above you. You knew you weren't the kind of girl Dean normally brought home, but none of that mattered--not when you could feel the love he had for you.

By the time you were both naked, you were overwhelmed with the desire to feel him inside you. He, however, had other plans. He began to slowly work his way down your body, stopping to show your breasts some attention.

"You know, I always loved these," he mumbled as he nipped and sucked at your breasts, earning sweet moans from you.

He continued his journey down your stomach, placing kisses to the scars and stretch marks littering your skin. You felt worshipped in a way you'd never experienced before.

Finally, Dean landed right where you wanted him, but he didn't give into you easily. His lips kissed along your inner thighs, appreciating the soft skin, biting gently to see your reaction.

Your breathing was ragged and you began to beg him to do something, anything. "Dean please," you murmured. "Stop teasing."

He chuckled lightly, but he didn't deny your request. His lips pressed against your core and he pushed your legs as far apart as he could without hurting you. His tongue darted out and licked a stripe up your pussy.

He let out a deep growling sound and dove into you like a man starved. He dug his fingers into your hips as he tugged you closer to him, feasting on you like you were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Your moans spurred him on, the sweet sounds like music to his ears. He could have happily stayed here between your legs until the end of time, but he had a feeling you would make him stop eventually.

Your fingers were interlaced in his hair and you were begging him not to stop. Not that he would have, but you didn't know that. "Dean...I'm so close."

He moaned in response, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine. His tongue focused its assault directly on your clit and you cried out. Your legs began to shake and he could feel you nearing the edge.

He sped up his ministrations, earning another cry from your lips. Your hips bucked slightly and he shifted his arm to hold you in place. "Oh god!" you yelled.

You tightened your grip on his hair as you felt the impact slam into you, orgasming with a cry of his name. He worked you through your high, only stopping when you squirmed out of his grasp.

"Dean," you murmured as he crawled back up towards your face.

He kissed you softly. "I wanna be inside you so badly, baby," he whispered into your ear.

"Please..."

"I don't have a condom," he said softly.

"I don't care. I want you, Dean. Please."

He could never deny you, especially when you begged him so prettily. He lined himself up with your entrance and sheathed himself inside you with one quick thrust.

You gasped his name and dug your fingers into his shoulder blades. The feeling of him filling you up was enough to push you closer to a second orgasm.

Your pussy gripped him like an iron vice and he had to take a deep breath to control himself. He hadn't felt like this since he was a teenager. He needed to get a grip or he was going to cum embarrassingly early.

Your hips shifted beneath him and he hissed softly. "Dean," you begged. "Move."

He started to move and the sounds of wet skin against skin began to fill the room. Those were soon overpowered by your moans and his low groans.

"Fuck, baby...feels so good," he whispered. "Such a sweet, tight, little pussy."

You moaned and your pussy clenched even tighter around him.

He groaned and his hips stuttered to a stop. "You gotta stop doing that baby, or I'm gonna cum."

You grinned wickedly. "Isn't that the point?"

He nipped at your neck playfully. "Not until I get another one from you."

He started to move again, which wiped the smirk from your face in an instant. You wrapped your legs tightly around him, effectively locking him into place inside you.

"Normally I'd have you in a hundred different positions," he muttered, "but I wanna see your face when you cum. I wanna watch my pretty girl fall apart because of me."

Your pussy clenched and you moaned softly in response.

"Yeah? You like that? You like that I wanna watch you?"

You nodded.

"Words, baby."

"Yes, Dean," you gasped.

"That's my good girl."

You practically preened at the praise and Dean made a mental note of it for later. For now, he was focusing on drawing another orgasm from you and staving off his own.

"You're so tight, sweet girl. Feels so good."

Your moans spurred him on, forcing him to keep up his pace. He pulled himself up slightly, tugging your hips with him, allowing him to reach your g-spot with each thrust.

You let out a cry a pleasure that he knew he would die to hear again. He closed his eyes for a moment as he sped up, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming before you did.

"That's it baby, I know you're close," he murmured.

"So close," you cried out.

"I know," he whispered. "I want you to cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet juices."

Your legs tightened around his hips and your nails dug deeper into his back. He watched your face as you began to shake--orgasm mere seconds away.

"Eyes on me, baby," he demanded.

Your eyes flew open and met his gaze. You gasped--the intensity of it all pushing you over the edge. You yelled his name as you came, explosions of light flashing behind your eyelids as they fluttered closed.

He watched your beautiful face as you rode out your high with him. He shifted focus to his own quickly impending orgasm. His breathing became more ragged and you opened your eyes to find his again.

"Feels so good, baby," you murmured.

His eyes locked onto yours and he panted heavily.

"I know you're close, handsome. I want you to fill me up."

His green eyes widened. "You sure?"

You nodded. "I need it, Dean. Please." You clenched down on his cock to emphasize your words.

That was all he needed in order to reach his peak. He moaned your name as he started to cum, whispering it into your skin like a chant as he emptied inside of you.

You held onto him tightly as he came down, his body shaking slightly from the intensity of his orgasm. He finally collapsed on top of you, unable to hold up his own weight.

You placed a soft kiss to his head and listened to his breathing begin to regulate.

Eventually, he rolled off of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty. He managed to drag himself off the bed with a murmured "I'll be right back."

You watched him walk to the bathroom, and for a moment you worried he'd regret it, but your fears were assuaged by his reappearance with a wet washcloth.

Your face must have betrayed your thoughts because he knelt before you and said, "I love you, (Y/N), with everything I have."

You smiled. "I love you too, Dean."

He returned your smile and began to carefully and gently clean you up with the washcloth. It was warm and it felt nice to be cared for like that.

Once he was finished, he threw the washcloth into the bathroom and crawled back onto the bed. He tugged you close to him and pulled the covers up over you when you started to shiver.

"Anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you cum?" he asked softly.

You laughed lightly. "You would be the first."

He kissed your hair and tightened his grip on you. "I intend on being the last."

You turned your head to look at him and felt your heart melt a little. You didn't have a good response for that, so you simply kissed him, hoping your emotions were conveyed in the action.

He leaned into the kiss and whimpered slightly when your lips left his. You kissed him one more time and he let you pull away after several seconds.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll keep you safe."

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would die to keep his word. You settled back against him, a silent response of trust and gratitude. He gave you a soft squeeze as you began to drift off to sleep.

This life might be hard...it might be full of pain and loss, but it was real. The man holding you in his arms was real. The love you felt for each other was real...and you wouldn't change any of it.

[harryslittlefreakk]

the pact part 2

summary: a look into your’s and harry’s life since the night of gemma’s wedding. the proposal, your wedding and all that yummy stuff 🤭

warnings: fluffy fluffy fluff, smut, breeding kink, slight soft dom!rry if you squint

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: thank you SO much for all the love on the previous part. i honestly love this story and these two 😭 i don’t know how much I like this part, it feels too rushed but my brain is fried from writing. so it might be pure rubbish lol

part one

my masterlist can be found here . happy reading!

“Harry, get off!” you shrieked. “Can’t, m’afraid. Just want to love on you forever.”

“You can love on me forever, but right now we need to go.”

Harry had been totally insatiable since the night of Gemma’s wedding. He needed to have his hands on you at every possible second, staying close to your side wherever you went. Your parents joked that you were more like newlyweds than Gemma and Michal, basking in the glow of your newfound love. “D’you remember when I proposed to you?” Harry asked you, smiling at the memory. “Yes Harry, of course I do.”

It was the morning after his 30th birthday, and you were still slumped in his bed nursing a hangover. You’d learned quickly that Harry never does parties by halves, clearly inheriting the fun-loving spirit of his mother. Every surface of his house had been littered in booze and nibbles, every corner teeming with more famous people than you’d ever seen. Harry had introduced you to everyone he spoke to, his affection and love for you radiating off of his body. Anyone would have thought that you’d been together for years, not a measly 8 months. But you’d barely spent a second away from each other in all that time, never wanting to take your eyes off each other in case you lost one another again.

Harry had woken up before you that morning, insisting he needed to go for a run to knock the hangover out of his system. You usually went with him, not to run, but to sit on a bench close by with a coffee and book in hand, ready to blow kisses to him every time he jogged past you. You’d learn later that his run that morning had less to do with his hangover and more to do with the ring he had hidden in his nightstand.

He’d handed you a coffee when he came home, a vanilla latte in your favourite navy blue teacup. It was little things like this that made you fall in love with him. Every morning he’d make your favourite coffee, bringing it to you in bed before climbing back in with you. Even on the nights you were both too tired to wash up, he always made sure your mug was clean before going to sleep that night.

You’d sat up to take the coffee, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s mouth, when something oddly familiar caught your eye. A pristine paper napkin, blue felt tip in a child’s handwriting scribbled across it. Your fingertip traced across the writing delicately, eyes resting on the tiny initials dotted underneath. “Harry,” you whispered. His head was in line with yours now, eyes glistening with adoration as he looked over you. “I don’t want to spend another day without you,” he told you, voice strangled by the heart hammering in his throat. He was on one knee, a black ring box cradled in his hands. You set the coffee down with a shaky hand, brown eyes brimming with tears as you took in the sight before you. “My darling Boo, will you marry me?”

“Yes, H. Yes,” you nodded through tears, pulling his face towards you without even glancing at the ring. The kiss was deep and sloppy, so many emotions coursing through your veins. “Love you s’much,” he spoke into your mouth, taking your hand from his face as he pulled away from you. Harry held your finger delicately, his strong hands shaking slightly as he slipped the ring on. It was beautiful. A dainty white-gold band, delicately inscribed with H.E.S in the same child-like handwriting from the napkin. A glistening diamond sat in the centre, clusters of smaller diamonds hugging each side. It was exactly like the dream engagement ring you’d described to him months ago, only now it was sitting on your ring finger, a delicate symbol of the love you shared.

“Knew I was going to marry you from the second I kissed you,” Harry rasped, pulling you out of your daydream. “Felt so natural to me, felt like I’d known your body before.”

“Imagine where we’d be if you hadn’t ditched me for a decade,” you laughed. “A house, babies, a little dog. Could’ve had all that by now,” you told him, wriggling out of his grip and running for the door. “Can have all of that now, little Boo,” he replied, rolling over to watch you as you leaned in the doorway. “Not if I murder you for making us late.”

—

Your parents and Anne had decided to spend the day with you, your last day all together before and Harry spent the remainder of the summer in Italy. Your dad was already on the grill, ranting and raving about how his one at home was much better and he wouldn’t be blamed for any of the food being overcooked.

You’d chosen the same church as Gemma for your wedding, though it looked so different now with colourful ribbons and flowers covering every corner. There was a huge wildflower archway over the old doors, pinks, purples and bright blues dotted through. Bouquets were attached to the end of every pew, stray petals guiding you to where you’d wed Harry tomorrow. Though it was miles from home, you’d told Harry you wanted all your hypothetical children to be christened here, wanted to bring them here on holidays and for special occasions. The ancient bricks held the beginnings of your love, the crumbling walls housed your fondest memories. Your little cul-de-sac in Holmes Chapel was really the beginning of your life with Harry, but your love and friendship had been reborn here. Squinting up at the church now from your rented cottage on the seafront, you couldn’t imagine getting married anywhere more perfect.

Anne came up behind you as you watched the breeze roll over the church, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Not getting cold feet are you?” she asked. “The opposite,” you told her, giddy with excitement. You rested your head against her shoulder, sighing happily. “Thank you, Anne,” you said. “For what, darling?”

“For Harry, for everything. He has so much of you, all your best bits. You turned him into something really perfect,” you told her. She laughed away the tears brimming in her eyes, jabbing at your side playfully. “Save it for tomorrow, I vowed not to cry until my boy is a husband.”

Your perfect day rolled into a perfect evening, huddled up under blankets with your family after a day of chasing Harry through the waves and building sandcastles. “I can’t believe this time tomorrow we’ll be real family,” your mum gushed. “You’ve been like a sister to me all these years Anne, your children an extension of mine.” Your dad laughed, rolling his eyes as the two women gripped onto each other’s touch. He lifted his beer in the air, cheeks stained pink after a day in front of the grill. “To family,” he said, eyes wandering around the group in front of him. “To family,” you all chorused in response, glasses and beer bottles clinking together.

It wasn’t long before everyone retired to bed, needing to get a full night’s sleep before the long day ahead. You and Harry lingered behind, not ready to split off into your separate rooms. “Come with me,” he whispered, tugging on your wrists as he turned on his heel. You giggled, following him blindly. He led you back onto the beach, fingers tangled up in yours as you trudged through the sand, his hands guiding you around a corner of the cliff face. He pressed you up against the smooth rock when you were out of the cottage’s view, hands spread either side of your head. His mouth kissed down your jawline, nose nudging upwards to get better access to your neck. “What are you doing?” you laughed, back arching as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your throat. “Missed you so much today,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your skin.

“Yeah, baby? Even though you’ve been with me all day?” you smirked, hand slipping up the back of his t shirt to feel the warm skin underneath. “Missed kissing on you, touching this perfect body.” Just the rasp of Harry’s voice was enough to turn you to putty in his hands, never mind what his mouth was doing to you.

“Harry,” you whimpered. “Can’t do this here.” You tried to push him away with a limp hand, not truly wanting or needing him to stop. “Can’t do this?” he challenged, untying the straps of your bikini top. “Or this?” he continued, pulling it off your body and slipping it into the pocket of his shorts. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a whine from deep within you. He pulled your shorts and bikini bottoms down to your ankles, his cock springing free from his shorts as he tugged them just low enough to free himself.

He was so hard already, a result of watching you prance around in a tiny bikini all day, you were sure of it. The tiniest sight of your bare skin riled him up to no end, always trying to pull your top up or trousers down to get his fix. His fingers always found their way under your shirt as you slept, ankles always rubbing against your bare calves. He was always so needy for you, his touch and lingering eyes making you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. “Y’ready for me?” Harry asked you, reaching down to tap two fingers against your entrance. It was far from romantic, a lust-driven quickie on the beach the night before your wedding, but it was so you and Harry.

He ran his tip through your folds, collecting your juices before wrapping a hand around the back of your knee to open you up more for him. “So wet,” he groaned as you wrapped your calf around his hip. “For you, baby, all for you,” you whined as he pushed into you, the familiar burn tearing through your core. Every time he entered you felt like the first time all over again, your walls never fully expecting the size of his cock. Harry tangled his hand in your hair as he fucked into you, hips snapping hard against yours from the second he was inside you. His eyes were darkened over, scanning over your face as you moaned. “Let me see your eyes,” he panted, free hand gently grabbing at your cheeks and pulling your your head to face him. You gulped, his soft command leaving a knot in your core.

“Good girl, so good for me,” he drawled. “Want you to watch me while I fuck your sweet cunt.” His words were dirty, echoing through your mind over the sloppy sounds of your juices mixing. His hand slithered down your front, pausing to grab at your breasts before slipping between his mound and your belly, thumb rubbing at your clit in persistent circles. He was always so desperate for your high, wanting to hear you cry out his name from the very first thrust into you. Harry’s mouth found your throat as he bucked up into you, tongue swirling warmth across your delicate skin. He always found a way to give you exactly what you needed, exactly where you needed him, without you even having to open your mouth. From day one he’d explored your body like he’d been doing it all his life, hearts somehow connected even as he fucked you rough and dirty.

Moans were tumbling out of you now, unable to contain your pleasure as his thick cock, thumb and tongue worked in unison to bring you to your climax. Your hand shot down to grip at his wrist as your walls clamped down on him, entire body trembling as your orgasm hit you hard. “Fuck,” you cried out, head knocking back against the hard rock as you came. He kissed into your mouth, silencing your loud cry as his hand pulled back from your pussy, his thrusts harder and yet sloppier. The feeling of you coming around him was enough to push him over the edge, your already tight walls pulsating around his shaft sending a guttural moan tumbling from his lips. His come splashed against the inside of your walls violently, his mouth unable to form any of his usual obscene remarks as he thrust into you a final time. Harry stilled inside of you, forehead pressed against yours as he panted. “Better?” you asked him, chest heaving. “Much,” he confirmed, pulling out of you before stuffing his come further inside of you with two fingers. You’d decided to skip birth control for a while now, knowing you were each other’s one and only and accepting whatever may come. You pressed a kiss to the end of his nose, slipping away from him with a grin plastered on your face as you laughed, “see you at the alter, husband.”

—

You watched in the mirror as your mum pinned the veil to your head, tiny embroidered flowers cascading down your shoulders and back completing your perfect look. Sunlight streamed through the window behind you, the warmth highlighting every inch of the flowing lace. It trailed behind you, so thin and delicate it cast an angelic glow around every dip and curve of your body. Your dress was the perfect ivory satin, its square neckline and thin straps showing off your bare collarbones, ready for Harry to nuzzle into later. He’d always loved being cuddled up into the curve of your neck, his nose nudging deeper into your scent, mouth pressing delicate kisses onto your soft skin.

The shape of the material was simple, you’d wanted to keep it from obscuring the true form of your body. You knew how much Harry loved your body, and the way he adored every inch of you had made you view yourself in a new light. Your body, your face, your brain, it was all perfect for him, loved so hard by him that it made it perfect for you too. You were totally under his spell, his thoughts and feelings becoming your own. You wanted your dress to be perfect, for him and for you. It would mark the single greatest day of your life, and looking up and down yourself now, it was perfect. You’d known from the second you tried it on that this was your dress, the fit perfect even without any alterations. The satin was almost an exact match to Harry’s suit, the length sweeping the floor at the end of your long legs. You’d worried for so long that something would go wrong, something would break or you simply wouldn’t feel pretty. And yet everything was so perfect, so right that it was almost magical. You pinched the inside of your wrist lightly, needing to check you weren’t dreaming. It was all real, and all right.

You heard a choked sob from behind you, and turned to see Anne and your mum with tissues pressed to their noses, arms right around one another as they looked between each other and you. Smiling, you pulled them both into a hug. “You look incredible darling,” Anne told you. All your mum could do was nod, nod so hard her head was sure to come loose. “Come on,” you laughed. “No tears yet.”

“No tears yet,” your mum and Anne echoed, dabbing at their eyes to protect the makeup underneath. You called in your dad from outside the door, needing one last picture of you and your two mums before you headed next door into the church. “Smile ladies,” he told you, holding the little Polaroid camera up in front of his face. He looked over the little picture with sparkling eyes, one finger tracing over the sharp edge before he set it to the side. He replaced it with his phone, finger tapping harshly on the screen in a typical old man way. “One more,” he told you, shaking finger jutting into the camera button. He turned the phone around to show the three of you, you all immediately cooing over the picture. “Now get lost and let me walk my little girl up the aisle,” he told the two women as he pulled you into an embrace.

You stopped for a moment at the end of the aisle, fingernails pressing half-moons into the fabric of your dads suit. Sucking in a deep breath, you shook off the nerves and turned to face your dad. He was looking down at you proudly, blinking back the start of tears. “I love you,” you mouthed, unable to let any real words out. “Love you. You’ll always be my little Boo,” he choked out. “Now let me take you to your husband.”

The walk down the aisle felt incredibly long, like you were moving in slow motion. All you could focus on was the back of Harry’s head, one foot in front of the other until you reached him. The sun was streaming through the stained glass window, casting colourful shadows right across the middle of the tiled floor. As soon as you stepped into the light, Harry turned to see you. You’d desperately wanted to do a private first look, but Harry wanted to do it ‘properly’, see you for the first time when everyone else did. And watching him fall apart in front of you now, it was worth it. His bottom lip quivered the second he saw you, tears spilling out as his eyes trailed across your body.

He looked incredible, like pure sex as his watery eyes grazed over your body. It was like every time you saw him he managed to become more attractive. You’d been with him at each suit fitting, watched as his tailor placed each individual pin to fit the fabric perfectly to Harry’s body. But seeing him now, just a few yards away from becoming your husband, all yours forever, he was radiant. The ivory satin of his suit against the warm tan on his skin, his favourite Gucci loafers poking out of the wide leg slacks. His hands were shaking as he pulled them to his mouth, knees bent as he tried to hold himself steady at the sight of you. The way he loved you was written all over him, you could almost see his heart glowing as he watched you step closer to him.

“Hi,” you giggled as you took your final step, taking one of his hands in yours. His rings were cold against the warmth of his skin, the tiny chill sending you back down to Earth. It was like you’d floated through the whole day, heart so full you could barely focus on anything except the excitement leading up to standing there, face to face with Harry as you prepared to say your vows. The entire ceremony passed in a blur of shy smiles and giggles, commitments and vows tumbling out of your mouth as if you were on autopilot. Seemingly within one blink you were crashing your lips onto Harry’s before walking back down the aisle, hand in hand, buzzing deep in your core. You were a wife, Harry’s wife.

—

“Nearly 20 years ago, almost to this day, we made a promise to each another to wed when we were old and lonely. I lost you for so many years, my sweet girl, and my heart felt old and lonely without you. You are my happiness, my light, my home and my everything.

Those of you who know me well will know my all-time favourite movie is the Notebook. And if you thought I’d get through this speech without referencing it once, you’re mistaken.” Harry’s finger pointed through the crowd of your guests, chuckling at himself as he smirked. “‘The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds, and that's what you've given me. That's what I hope to give to you forever.’ I always imagined saying that to my future bride, though every time I imagined her I’d see someone that looks just a little like you. And as soon as I saw you again, as soon as I kissed you for the first time, every time I imagined her I’d see someone that looked exactly like you. I love you now and forever, and I will thank that pact every day for the rest of my life, for letting me come back to you.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as Harry finished his speech, a proud toothy grin nestled between his dimples as he sat back down beside you, pulling your hands into his lap. He peppered kisses all over your face, mouth not even able to pout fully through the strength of his smile.

As you started to settle into his side, a soft piano sung out from across the dance floor. “Dance with me?” Harry asked, with the same boyish grin he’d had when he asked you the same question at his sister’s wedding. He led you around the table, thumb grazing delicately across your hand as he pulled you into the middle of the room. It was the same song you’d danced to then, Fleetwood Mac’s ‘songbird’. He held you close to him as you danced, stepping together slowly and carefully as if no one was watching. Your head was settled in the crook of his neck, your breath tickling against his skin. “Love you s’much,” he whispered, just loud enough for the sound to reach your ear. You felt so full you could burst, biting down on your tongue to keep the feeling from tumbling out of you. You wanted to stay like this, close against Harry, mind running through your love story, forever.

—

“Like what you see?” you asked Harry, twirling around in your tiny silver bikini. His jaw was slack, eyes trailing across every inch of tanned skin on offer. He’d been taking photos of the view from your balcony, the sun setting low against orange clouds over the Italian sea. “Come here,” he demanded, out-stretched finger beckoning you towards him. You untied the strings of your bikini as you walked, letting the tiny triangles fall under your bare breasts. The minute you were in front of him his phone was thrown against the tiled floor, crashing around somewhere near the glass sliding door. He untied the second string on your bikini, hands smoothing over your body as the material fell to your feet. He turned you around quickly, pressing you into the metal railing as he nudged your legs apart. He dropped to his knees behind you, tugging your thong bikini bottoms down your legs and groaning at the sight of you, folds slick with wet only inches from his face. “Anyone could see, Harry,” you reminded him, suddenly nervous. “Let them,” he rasped. “Let them see what I can do to you.”

His tongue was on you as soon as he spoke, diving into your folds without any warning. He lapped at you, collecting your warm juices on his tongue. “Perfect fucking pussy,” he rasped, words vibrating against your core. He paused to lick and nip at your inner thighs as your hips knocked back towards his mouth, already needing it back on you. “So needy for me,” he chuckled, snaking a hand up around your hip and smacking at your clit as he started to lick into you again. His tongue was faster now, stronger, spurred on by your desire for more. He got such a high from your pleasure, a giver through and through. His mouth suckled against your opening, tongue darting around you to collect the juices that were spilling out, before he pulled away suddenly.

You turned slightly, watching him as he pushed his shorts down his thighs. “Want you too much, want to fuck you too badly.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The same man who’d written songs about eating pussy, the man who’d rarely thrust into you without making you come at least twice first, stopped short of your orgasm to fuck you. He must have been close already to cut his favourite activity short.

Harry lined himself up with your entrance, one firm hand wrapping around your throat to pull you closer to him as his tip pushed into you. “Want to fuck my babies into my pretty girl, fill you up so good,” he groaned against your earlobe. He’d been feral since you’d decided to go without birth control, the idea your swollen belly, everyone knowing who’d fucked you so good, driving him insane. It sent shivers down your spine, core heating up at the thought of carrying his babies and making him a dad.

He slid into you in one fluid motion, his hard cock already red and angry with desire. His hand moved from your throat to wrap your hair around his fist, tugging at the nape of your neck so hard you worried your scalp might come loose. But the pain only added a different dimension to your pleasure, the ache in your core mixing with the pain and spreading throughout your body, fingers slack on the railing as he thrust into you without remorse. His balls slapped against your ass as his hips knocked against yours, his cock so deep inside of you that you were sure it could be seen through the skin of your belly. The sweet smell of sex and airplane sweat lingered around you both, intoxicatingly dirty. “Louder,” he urged as you bit back your moans, “want the whole country to hear how much your cunt loves me.”

You couldn’t help but give in to his every command, so drunk on his cock that you couldn’t even care who heard or saw you both. You cried out when he tugged harder on your hair, voice deep with lust as he asked you, “who’s fucking you? Who’s cock is buried in your perfect cunt?” Harry, Harry, Harry, you screamed over and over again, the ball in your core bursting at his words. Your orgasm was heavy, your juices squirting down the sides of his shaft as you fell into the railing. His thrusts never relented, your limp body beneath him not stopping him as he fucked into you harder and harder. He used his free hand to pull one cheek to the side, watching with an open mouth as he fucked deep into your pussy, your thick cream pushing up and down his shaft.

“Want you t’fill me up,” you whimpered, voice strangled by the angle of your throat. “Yeah? Want daddy’s come inside you, want my babies?” he asked you, his deep voice hoarse as he held himself back from his high. “Please,” you begged, reaching a shaky arm around to cup the back of his neck, back arching as he slipped deeper into you. He pushed you forward, hands gripping onto your waist as he thrust harder and harder. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, cock twitching inside of you as you yelled under his touch.

Harry cried out as he came inside of you, his locked jaw pressing sloppy kisses onto the back of your shoulder. He continued to thrust every last bit of his come into your walls, hips jutting towards your core. He stilled finally, cock lodged between your swollen folds as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, head resting against your lifeless body. “You ok?” he asked you, voice soft, a sudden change from the dirty rasp he had before. You nodded, still seeing stars, too fucked out to say anything. He picked you up in one swoop, carrying you into the little apartment and dropping you onto the bed with your head at the foot. He carefully picked up both your legs, balancing your tingling feet against the headboard before laying down beside you. “Got to keep them up if you want my babies,” he smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You were in total bliss, fucked out under the Italian sun, wedding band glistening in the tiny crack of light let in from the curtains. If this was how you started your honeymoon, you’d be a trembling mess by the end of it. And you’d never have it any other way.

more here! 💖

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @angstygyal @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket

[reallyromealone]

Title: fated

Chapter: two

Fandom: JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, unimportant ocs

Fic type: series

Pairings: Gojo x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, Omega male reader, angst

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Gojo had been staying with (name) for a week at this point, (name) going about his day of without any care and honestly ignoring him half the time.

Gojo was still his... Gojo self.

(Name) Was watching his dramas on the couch as he made little plush toys for the neighborhood children, Gojo had gone out to do whatever... Frankly (name) didn't care and if Gojo didn't have the power to blast off the hinges of his door, he would have changed the locks.

Gojo had Geto send him a copy of (name)s information, everything about the Omega, hobbies and interests though Gojo ignored those as they seemed to be generic Omega things to make the thorn bush that was (name) seem more delicate.

(Name) Was interesting though from the other things Geto gathered for him, and something deeply interesting.

He wasnt blood related to the (lastname) clan...

He was a descendant of a notable figure.

Sakuna.

That would explain his defiant nature.

And then came his abilities...

Jesus fuck.

At that moment, Gojo knew why they were destined to be together.

If given proper training, (name) would be an unstoppable force and it made sense on why he was the diamond of his clan as Gojo was the gift of the heavens of his clan.

Their offspring would be a monster of power.

(Name) Was asleep when Gojo came back, the tv playing a drama as the Omega slept on the couch, curled up and cozy as a few crochet plushies scattered around him. Gojo felt the urge to protect but... He didn't feel love, he was always told that when you met your soulmate you would feel endless love but he just felt... Calm.

Like he did with Geto.

Carefully he lifted (name) and brought him to his bed, tucking him in.

He would learn to love (name) as his omega and (name) as his alpha...

"Work?" Gojo asked confused and (name) nodded with a yawn "of course, what do you think I sit on my ass all day?" Yup he could definitely see how he was descendants to Sakuna now, the white haired man chuckling at his omegas attitude, he definitely wasn't some weak Omega.

Gojo knew he would have to leave soon, he had work to do after all.

But he would be back, he had to come back for his mate after all.

They both had roles to play.

Gojo noticed that (name) always read slower, more intensely "oh.... They didn't see a purpose of having me learn too much, better a pretty Omega than one who could make their alpha look inferior" Gojo with his new knowledge of (name) knew that wasn't the full truth, they kept (name) dumb so that he couldn't be a threat like Gojo was.

"I have to go back to Tokyo tomorrow..." Gojo started and (name) looked up from his dinner "hm? Finally gave up?" He asked calmly and Gojo snorted "I don't give up, I just have to take care of stuff" he said simply and (name) rolled his eyes "it would be easier if you came with"

"Absolutely not" (name) didn't even hesitate to shoot that down, as he glared at Gojo "don't feel like you need to rush back" (name) said with a bland tone as he sipped his drink "ill be sure to come back as soon as possible " Gojo fired back as blue locked with (color) and the two glared at one another.

It took a month and a half till Gojo returned "what is this? You moving into the village or something?" (Name) Asked at all the bags and boxes that sat on his engawa "nah, Geto told me courting gifts are important" Gojo said and (name) looked a mix of annoyed and disgusted "you don't need to do that"

"But I want to"

(Name) Wanted to slap him, the audacity of this man.

Alphas were really shameless.

(Name) Barely glanced at the pile of gifts in his livingroom as Gojo made himself comfortable "so ya miss me while I was gone?"

"No" (name) said simply as he sipped his drink, already feeling a headache form in the front of his skull at the other "the house smells sweeter, you get a new air freshener or something " Gojo tried making small talk and (name) wasn't too interested "no that's just post heat smell, sticks on the walls for a while" this made Gojo freeze "your heat?" When was this?!

"Yeah, it ended the other day" (name) said like it was just talk about the weather, deciding to work on his crossword puzzle that was sitting on the corner of the table "why didn't you call me?" Gojo asked incredulously and (name) glanced up and glared "why would I call you?"

"Because I'm your alpha!"

"But you aren't" (name) argued and Gojo seethed, his Infinity getting a bit stronger and (name) was pushed back a bit, a slight look of fear on his face was enough to snap him out of it and a guilty look on his face "shit, I'm sorry" he was already fucking up even more and it hadn't even been an hour! (Name) Letting distressed pharamones slip out as he whispered "you make no attempts to be my alpha, ignore me for years and then you come into my life and make demands and claims... Then you use your strength the intimidate me... You are no different than the ones I grew up around" (name)a words were like a hot knife as he curled into himself.

(Name) Went about his day as if Gojo didn't exist, the Alpha having the decency of getting a room at the local inn though it was obvious Gojo didn't exactly want to do so but after the stunt he just pulled it was the smartest choice.

Though that didn't stop him from being excessive and clingy.

"Maybe we could go on a date tonight, what is there in this town anyways?" Gojo followed (name) around at work and the Omega was deeply embarrassed as people stared and whispered "can you not bother me while I'm at work?"

"I just wanna see what my omega is up to"

"Not your omega"

"Not yet"

"(Name)?" A voice called as Gojo was a bit annoyed that (name)s attention left him to some beta man who was the embodiment of the annoying boy next door trope "oh kei, is school out already?" (Name) Checked his watch and it was already 5pm, the store would be closed soon "yeah, gave the kids some fun in the sun before school let out... It's a nice day and all" he joked as Gojo dead stared him from behind (name) who paid no mind "that's great! It's too good of day to waste truly"

"Whose this?" Kei asked and looked at Gojo with a stupid smile that made the white haired man feel the urge to turn him into a fine mist.

There was barely any cursed energy in him, both Gojo and (name) combined had enough cursed energy to keep japan lit for a generation! He was weak, the lowest level scum cursed spirit could take him down!

"He's a creep who won't leave me alone" (name) said blandly and Gojo scoffed "Gojo Satoru, his fiance"

"Not my fiance"

"Not with that attitude" Gojo fired back and the school teacher looked between them confused before smiling "well it's nice to meet you Gojo! I'm Sato Kei!" He was inconsequential to Gojo, offering his hand to him but if he was to get closer to (name) he would need to get close to his friends.

"Pleasure to meet you" (name) huffed as they interacted but decided to take the time to return to his shift and shake the tick that was Gojo off him.

Gojo should had known it wouldn't be complete smooth sailing while he was here...

"It's always schools.." he whispered as he adjusted his eye cover and walked to the building where a cursed spirit resided, he just hoped he could finish the job fast.

Gojo didn't have a lot of empathy to those weaker to him, he didn't care about them.

But he did care about his omega, even if he didn't get why he did.

And telling (name) that his beta friend was dead... He never wanted to see (name) cry like that again.

[angel5ofp0rn]

Young!Price x f!younger!reader

when you and ExHusband!Price start dating 😋

*pretty short

“Right there?” You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck… right there, sweetheart...” John groans.

You giggle from your seat on John’s backside, knees on either side of his hips as you massage his lower back. He had been complaining about how bad it has been aching and swore only your hands could fix him.

You lean down and press a few kisses to his shoulder before going back to working out the tension in his muscles.

John sighs in content.

“Y’know, I had the worst dream last night.” You mention casually, placing your hands palm down on his waist and rubbing circles with your thumbs.

“Did you?” John’s voice was a bit muffled by the pillow his face was resting against. “What was it about?”

"I met this really, really beautiful man at the bar, got him to take me home, really got to like him… and then he went back to London I never saw him again." You sigh dramatically.

It takes John a moment to realize that you're joking, catching on at the exaggerated sigh. He tries not to laugh but he's only human.

John shifts to lay on his back now, but pulls you back to him so you can still sit on top, straddling his lap.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” John grins, his hands slowly rubbing up and down your bare thighs. “Suppose we can't repeat that mistake then?"

You shake your head, a smile on your lips as you look down at him. John shakes his head back at you, that signature smirk still on his face.

"Is it crazy that I think I actually really like you?" Your brow furrows a bit. “We’ve only known each other for a few days…”

He lets out a little laugh; you can see him blush a little bit in his cheeks.

"'s not crazy," He says softly, his hands now moving from your thighs to your waist, slipping under his shirt that you were wearing. “I like you.”

"Hmm… But you're a military guy.” Your head tilts to the side in thought. “Aren't military guys, like, known for proposing after the first date?"

This actually makes him laugh out loud again, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He can't help himself; this stereotype has always been such a common one.

"Right, but I'm not that kind of military guy.... l'd at least wait until the second date."

"Well," you move off of John to lay on your back next to him on your bed. "When the time comes, I don't want one of those big, ugly silver and diamond rings. Maybe a pearl or a garnet or something." You lift your left hand up in the air above you both, as if imagining the ring on it.

John continues to smile as you talk about the potential future. The idea that you're thinking about that kind of stuff when you've only just met seems funny to him, but almost… romantic, in a way.

When you lift your hand, he can't help but imagine how that ring would look on it. He can see the ring so clearly in his mind's eye; simple 14 karat gold band, emerald cut garnet in the middle.

You lower your arm back to your side and turn to look at him. "I really do think I like you." You sigh like it’s disappointing. "This isn't normally how my random bar hookups go."

“Y’ haven’t been hookin’ up with the right guys.” John counters.

You study his face, taking in all the little details; those blue eyes you love, the little freckle on his nose, the two tiny marks above and below his eyebrow that made you wonder if teenage John was a little punk with an eyebrow piercing.

You sit up suddenly and get off of your bed. You strip John’s shirt off of yourself and toss it to him. “You should go.”

John is understandably confused. He sits up, shirt in hand, waiting for an explanation. “Did I do something wrong..?”

“No,” You shake your head, looking through your closet. “You’re going to go get dressed, buy me some flowers, and take me on our first date.”

John doesn’t speak. He’s stunned.

You look over your shoulder at him. “What? If I want that second-date proposal, we need the first date out of the way.”

John’s eyebrows raise. You’re fucking crazy…

You’re fucking made for him.

“Oh, and don’t get tulips.” You add casually, pulling a little sundress out of the closet and looking it over. “I hate tulips.”

“Yes ma’am.” John nods, pulling his shirt on over his head.

You grin. “So obedient. Must be the military training.”

<< prev next >>

[honeydazai]

ok ok but hubby Fyodor gave me an idea, he’s figured out i get worried when his anemia gets bad so i fuss over him

imagine like,,, him using that against u. like if he’s losing an argument, or he just wants attention, he fakes sickness to get u to drop everything ur doing and come to his aid, u immediately feel bad so he uses that to manipulate u

feat.: Fyodor / reader

content: husband Fyodor, some manipulation but it's cute, Fyodor pretending to be a pathetic meow meow, fluff, sick fic

Fyodor is fragile, that much you're aware of.

Despite his quick mind, so sharp you reckon it could cut diamond, and his powerful ability, his physical body is still frail. His skin is pale, most likely since he spends too much time inside, hunched over in front of his many PC screens, providing him with no light other than the gloom of LED monitors, thin fingers tip-tapping away on the keyboard. His undereye circles are dark enough for you to seriously worry about his health, and the many blue veins visible on thin eyelids only make him appear more sickly.

The anemia doesn't help, either; thin lips occasionally turn whiteish the longer he insists he's going to take his iron supplements once he's done with work — when is he, ever? — and his nails, kept short not only for the sake of being able to play the cello, but also since he continued biting at them, are coloured blue so often you have almost forgotten what they usually look like.

Fyodor, despite being an internationally wanted terrorist, is fragile, and that's exactly why you're unable to stop the way your chest suddenly aches with concern when he goes quiet mid-argument, gaze unfocused, glassy, as he sits down on the bed.

This really isn't the time to worry about him, especially since, just a few moments ago, you were snarling at him, obviously angered for a reason that seems entirely unimportant right now — and yet you can't help it either, your concern an emotion that blooms in your chest so very naturally, given just how much he means to you.

“Are you alright?” The words leave your mouth before you know it; your brows furrowing as you kneel down next to him, one hand on his thin upper arm. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his skin is cold. “Do you need anything?”

“I'm quite alright, dear. I would hate to bother you, especially when you still seem to harbour disdain for me.”

Even his voice sounds frail. Guilt gnaws at your every bone.

“That's not—”, you protest, a feeble attempt, though you're quick to swallow the urge to start another argument down the moment he rests his head against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, ebony lashes against snow pale skin. “I don't 'harbour disdain' . I didn't even want to fight with you, it just — happened, but that's not important now. Let me help. Did you take your meds today?”

“Not yet, I'm afraid”, Fyodor says softly, and you're up on your feet almost immediately, making your way towards the kitchen to snag the offending pills, as well as a glass of water.

“You know you're supposed to take them daily with lunch.”

“That is merely to avoid forgetting them, to build a habit. The presence or absence of sustenance has no actual effect on them.”

Your eyes narrow. Fyodor allows a tired chuckle to leave his lips.

“Alright. I will try to take them regularly — for you, dear.”

Where, just a few minutes ago, you felt the urge to slap him with wrath — not that you ever would, not that you'd dare to, but the desire certainly is there whenever he acts all high and mighty, all-knowing, even around you —, your chest now tingles with warmth, with fondness. With love.

“Thank you. Are you feeling better already?” That's to be doubted, especially since he only took the pills a moment ago. Still— “Do you need anything? Maybe something to eat — yes, I bet you haven't eaten anything in a while now, too focused on work. You're impossible. Just lie down and give me a moment, I'll be right back.”

With those words, you vanish into the kitchen, already grabbing some vegetables. A quick soup is going to have to do.

Little do you know that, while you're busy worrying and fussing over him, there's a smile playing over Fyodor's lips ever so often, vanishing the moment you enter the room once more.

You really are too easy — though that's exactly what makes you quite this lovable.

OH. Oh, he would.. he so would... this is the most in character take ever...

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.