#alright time to tag the entire cast......

[kisskuni]

nightmares

↳ how they comfort you after a nightmare [demon brothers x gn!reader]

tags: hurt/comfort, nightmares, mentions of anxiety, reader gets called pretty in mammon’s, descriptions of a nightmare in belphie’s (kinda gory idk), mild swearing

notes: requested by ⭐️ anon! i think i changed the prompt slightly but i didn’t realize until i was halfway through im so sorry ;-; also i knowww asmo can’t charm mc but we’re pretending

lucifer ━━━

lucifer sleeps light. he always has — it was probably a survival skill he picked up in his earlier days against his brothers or something along those lines. this time, however, he didn’t wake up to mammon and satan going at each other’s throats in the hallway.

no, this time he woke up to you trembling and mumbling beside him.

he couldn’t entirely make out what you were saying, but he knew your dream wasn’t a happy one. the way your brows were pinned, the way your hand gripped the pillow for purchase, the slight frown on your lips… it was clear to him you were having a nightmare.

his touch was soft as he shook your shoulder lightly, his thumb rubbing little circles against your skin.

“y/n… wake up.” he spoke, voice rough with sleep but still laced with something soft and gentle.

your eyes snapped open with a wild fear, your grip on the pillow case growing tighter. when your gaze finally fell to him, your eyes soften and the muscles of your body relaxed. it didn’t change the way you panted though, lungs burning with the need to get air in, as if you had just ran miles without actually leaving the bed.

lucifer’s brows pinned, his hand coming up to gently hold your arm. “you’re alright, just breathe for me, darling.”

your eyes slip closed as you move toward him, this time your hand gripping the front of your shirt and you press your forehead against his collarbone. his hand comes up to rub up and down you back, trying to soothe you. he plants a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, cradling you against his chest.

“you’re alright, it’s just a nightmare.” he says. his voice is less gravelly this time, but still holds a firm yet calm tone.

you nod, though your body is still clinging to his and your face is still buried in his chest as though he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

if you want to talk about it, he’ll listen. either way, it’ll be a while before he can sleep. he’ll keep casting glances at you, long after you’ve fallen back asleep, making sure nothing else is wrong before he can finally settle again.

he’ll never let you know that, no matter how many sleepless nights he gets.

mammon ━━━

shaking mammon awake because you crying of a nightmare wasn’t something you were about to brag about, but you were doing it anyway.

tears streamed down your face and your hands shook beyond concealment, his name falling off your lips in a soft, broken voice. it takes him a moment to wake up. his face scrunches and a groan leaves him as he tries to get a hold on being awake. however, when his eyes find yours, he sits up quickly.

his hands move to cup your face. the pads of his thumb run across your cheeks, trying (and failing) to wipe away your tears.

his voice was soft and quiet and caring when he spoke. “no, no, no… hey, what’s wrong? you’re too pretty to cry, come on, what happened?”

you try to speak but all that comes out is a broken, unintelligible noise.

he moves to pull you against his chest. his hold around you is tight and sure; not enough to restrict you, but enough to ground you. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, whispering soft assurances under his breath.

when you finally pull back, worry is still written across his face. “what happened?”

“nightmare.” you say simply.

his eyes soften just slightly, though the worry is still evident. he nods and brings his hand back up to cup your face. his fingers spear through your hair and his thumb rubs softly against the skin of your cheek.

“i’m sorry, are you okay?”

you nod, once again not trusting your voice.

“you’re a terrible liar.” he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. he’s trying to lighten the mood for your sake, and maybe a little of his own.

despite the circumstances, you give him a shaky, breathless laugh.

he presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before moving to lay back down and patting the bed beside himself. “come on, lay down. we can talk about it, would that make you feel better?”

you take a deep breath and move to lay back down. under mammon’s sheets, with his eyes watching you with such concern and worry and genuine adoration, it’s hard to feel so quick panicked.

leviathan ━━━

you screamed. leviathan screamed. he also almost pushed you out of his bathtub, but that part is irrelevant.

you both lay there for a moment watching each other with wild eyes, chests rising and falling heavily. finally, levi speaks.

“are you… okay?”

he’s not entirely sure what happened, why you screamed, but he figures it wasn’t good. you still seemed so tense and your hands white knuckled the blanket. a thin layer of sweat coated your skin and if he didn’t know better, he’d say you were crying.

you swallow thickly and suck in another sharp breath, still panting. “i had- i had a nightmare.”

his eyes soften. so that’s what happened.

he settles back against his pillow. eyes now filled with worry instead of confusion (and maybe a little fear), he speaks again. “are you… are you gonna be okay?”

you nod, and settle back against your own pillow. a part of him wants to pull you into his chest and whisper assurances into your ear, hold you close and never let you go. but he’s not sure if you want that, if you’d be okay with that, not sure if you’d be offended by him even asking. so instead, he does none of that.

“do you wanna… talk about it?” he asks tentatively.

you take a moment to respond, trying to decide if you should or not. “it was- it was stupid.” you finally say.

he pins his brows and shakes his head. “it wasn’t. you were scared, you’re still shaken up.”

he’s right. you know he’s right.

“okay… yeah, but just… give me a second.” you say, still trying to calm your own racing heart before you tell him about the nightmare you had. you wonder for a moment if maybe the nightmare was stupid — looking back, it was a little odd to feel so scared about, but at the time you weren’t fully aware you were dreaming, so-

his hand comes down to yours, the simple touch pulling you out of your thoughts. his fingers trace simple patterns against your skin, or thrum little imaginary beats, but the simple act is enough to keep your head from spinning.

satan ━━━

you’re convinced satan has some sort of intuition when it comes to you.

he had a habit of knowing when you were stressed, or anxious, or something had rubbed you the wrong way. at first you figured he was just perceptive, but it started happening whenever you weren’t near him, and you just came to the conclusion that it was some silly pact thing.

maybe that’s what woke him up. maybe that’s what made him wake you up. otherwise, he couldn’t really tell you why he woke you up. he just knew something was wrong.

his hand gently rubbed up and down your arm, his brows pinned with worry as he softly called your name. it took a moment for you to wake up, but when you did, your eyes flicked to him with a fear and desperation he wasn’t quite expecting.

his hand moved up to your face, running gentle fingers through your hair. “hey, hey… you’re alright.”

you take a breath and fall back against the pillow, blinking hard as you found your bearings. the familiar feeling of satan’s bed surrounded you, and your heart rate began to slow back down.

“thank you,” you say, though still a little breathless.

“yeah, of course.” satan responds. he pauses for a moment to let you collect yourself before speaking again. “was it a nightmare?”

“yeah.” you nod.

satan hums and falls back against the bed beside you. he snakes his arm around you, halfway pulling you against his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“i used to have them a lot. i don’t have them much anymore.” he says simply.

“yeah?” you ask, a little confused as to how he suddenly stopped having nightmares as much. “what happened?”

“you.”

asmodeus ━━━

you had kicked him, that’s what woke him up. at first he was a little upset; you had kicked him, after all. but when he saw the way you clung to the blanket wrapped around you and the fearful expression on your face, anything but worry and concern left him.

he tuts at you, hand gently combing through your hair.

asmo had the power of persuasion at his finger tips, at his voice. his charm never worked particularly well on you, not in the magical and hypnotic sense anyway, but he was hoping it would work well enough to pull you out of a nightmare or change it to something else.

he would wake you if he had to, but he knew you’d only be more conscious of the nightmare should you have to wake up directly from it. so he didn’t.

his voice was soft when he spoke, soft hand resting gently against your cheek. “shh… it’s okay, my dear. you’re alright.”

he watched your worried expression. it relaxed just slightly, but not enough.

“you’re alright. you’re okay, everything is perfect.” he spoke. several more assurances and praises fell from his mouth, and though you were asleep, they seemed to have an affect on you.

maybe, just maybe, his charm was working enough.

it took another few moments, but your expression of worry and fear and everything else had changed into one of happiness. a small smile crossed your sleepy face, and you nuzzle yourself against his pillow.

beelzebub ━━━

sleeping next to beel felt a lot more like sleeping on top of him. he was a big guy, and it was usually just a lot more comfortable to lay on him that snuggle up beside him.

(there were two occasions he had kicked you off the bed and you finally decided that you couldn’t crush the absolute beast of a demon under you, no matter your weight.)

but with his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, it was also hard not to wake him when you moved a bit too much.

a few too many flinches and small yelps into the night and beel was awake. his hand traced small patterns up and down your arm as he softly called your name.

when you didn’t wake, he rubbed against your side, this time a little rougher in hopes to wake you up.

it worked this time, and you sat up with a jolt. wild eyes found his face smiling softly at you, his hands still gently holding your sides.

“hi,” he said softly.

you hang your head and take a deep breath, calming your jumpy nerves before you speak breathlessly. “hey.”

he smiled. he gave your side a reassuring squeeze before he spoke again, “are you alright? have a nightmare?”

you nod again, staring down at him. you still wore the same worried expression you had in your sleep. one of his hands moved down to where one of yours was planted firmly on his chest, holding yourself up. he placed his hand over yours, his thumb lightly running across your fingers.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

you seem to hesitate for a moment. he gives you another soft, encouraging smile before he places a hand against your upper back. he pulls you down against his chest and places his arms around you again.

“that’s okay,” he says. “calm down. and we can talk about it later if you want to.”

belphegor ━━━

your nightmare didn’t make sense.

it started off normal, fooling you into thinking you were having a regular day. it was the large creature made of bone and rotting flesh that threw you off.

it was bigger than any demon you’d met, with thick horns growing out of its head and its flesh falling off of its body is chunks. its skin was torn and — shit it decided you were it’s next target.

you tried to run, but there was a wall where the door would be. the windows slammed shut and locked. that wasn’t good.

however, before anything bad could happen, the creature stopped. it turned to stone from the bottom up, and then crumbled all at once. belphie stood behind it.

for a moment you wondered why the hell belphie had appeared in your dream.

“hey, you alright?” he asked, his voice soft and familiar but… strange. his voice boomed around you, but still sounded like it was under water.

oh. you hadn’t imagined belphie in your dream; he was dream walking and fell into yours.

“i’m okay.” you said. your voice felt strange.

“do you want me to wake you up?” he asked. you thought for a moment and then shook your head; you were sleeping fine everything else considered.

he nodded, planted a kiss to your forehead, and dissipated before you.

what the hell was that.

you thought it strange for the next couple of weeks when you hadn’t seemed to have even the slightest bad dream. that was, until you caught a glimpse of belphie in one of them. and then a few more.

it felt strange to be protected in a dream, but maybe that was a perk of being close to the very demon of sleep.

[crushpunky]

rafe can’t stop thinking about kook!reader

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

It was a beautiful evening. The sun had just sat, casting a soft orange glow over the patio. Rafe stretched out on one of the loungers, drink in hand as he looked out towards the lapping waves of the ocean. Next to him, Sofia scrolled on her phone quietly, the two of them sitting in complete silence.

Despite the calming scenery, Rafe’s mind was anything but calm. Constant thoughts, questions, and worries filled his brain, but most of all, his mind filled with thoughts of y/n. He couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many girls he hooked up with or drugs he consumed, no matter how many times he saw her or talked to her every single day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She consumed him entirely.

“You alright?” Sofia asked gently, looking up from her phone. She adjusted the strap of her bathing suit, a soft purple ensemble that reminded Rafe of the one y/n had worn on his sixteenth birthday. The day they spent getting drunk in his backyard, floating in the pool until the air grew too cold.

“Yeah,” Rafe grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. “Just tired.”

Sofia looked him over before turning back to her phone. Rafe didn’t feel particularly good about how he was using Sofia. She was a nice girl, and she was undoubtedly beautiful of course, but he just couldn’t feel anything. No matter how hard he tried to rid his head and heart of his best friend, move on with some other girl, he just couldn’t… and he hated himself for it.

With a sigh, Rafe reached into the pocket of his shorts and brought out a joint. Placing it between his lips, he lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke filled his lungs, giving his brain a brief moment of silence as he closed his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Rafe opened his eyes at Sofia’s voice.

“I’m fucking— I’m fine, Sofia.” Rafe sighed, running his hands along his head as he took another hit of his joint.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Sofia changed the subject. Rafe was doing his best to bite his tongue, but he really just needed a moment of silence.

“Getting coffee with y/n.” Rafe responded bluntly. It was a dumb question, really. He met with y/n every Thursday for coffee at their favorite cafe before taking a walk downtown. It had been a ritual they started in high school when they needed an escape from the chaos of homework and home lives and Rafe couldn’t have been more grateful for it. Sure, they saw each other almost every day, but that was with Topper and Kelce or whomever else would undoubtedly tag along, but this was different. Just the two of them, no outside pressures or expectations. Just two best friends and the connection that existed between them.

“Hmm.” Sofia chuckled lightly before turning back to her phone.

“What?” Rafe snapped, dabbing his joint out on the concrete.

“It’s just… you spend a lot of time with y/n. A lot more time than anyone else.” Sofia hummed.

“Yeah well she’s my best friend so…” Rafe scowled, straightening up in his seat. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was trying to say, and he certainly wasn’t fond of this sudden, what, jealousy? Sofia didn’t have the right to feel that way, it wasn’t like she was his girlfriend.

“I know that, Rafe. It just…” Sofia trailed off, shaking her head lightly.

“What? Spit it out.” Rafe said sharply.

“I don’t know. It just seems like you guys are really close.” Sofia said mindlessly, turning to look at Rafe apprehensively.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, huh?” Rafe snapped.

“You’re in love with her, Rafe.” Sofia said, her voice barely a whisper. Rafe felt his chest tighten, a swell of… something erupting in his stomach and threatening to bubble out. Was that what this obsession was? This constant need to be near her? This inability to stop thinking about her, the way she talked, smiled, laughed?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rafe swallowed harshly, avoiding Sofia’s gaze. The idea continued to swirl around his mind, this feeling of a complete loss of control over his own mind and body wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before… was this love? It certainly wasn’t like anything he had felt before, he thought.

“You can tell me, Rafe. I- I won’t be mad.” Sofia said, resting her hand on Rafe’s shoulder gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, mulling over the idea. The idea of saying what he was feeling out loud, making it real and not just something he could hide from the world, weighing on his mind…

“I…” Rafe felt his mouth dry up, his lips unable to speak and form the words he had thought so many times. He felt a sting, his vision beginning to blur as his eyes began to fill with tears. It was pathetic; he felt pathetic. Big, bad Rafe Cameron at a loss of words, tears in his eyes as he was forced to finally face the way he had been feeling for so long.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Rafe croaked out, blinking harshly as the tears began to streak down his cheeks, the weight of the words finally lifted. He was in love with his best friend. He was in love with y/n… and it terrified him.

[syoddeye]

consequence / ink

price x f!reader | 1.6k words series directory tags: alcohol, miscommunication (resolved) a/n: john is a down bad, as the youths would say. thank you to my beloved @/pfhwrittes for britpicking. ☕

her cast is gone. a sleeve hides the arm, but it’s clearly off.

john holds the door for a customer, unsure if he ought to take another step or retreat while he can. he tried to compose a text on the flight, on the drive, in the shower. a heads-up, a ‘hello, i’ve returned, i’m sorry, don't worry about my face when you see it’—but he couldn’t. somehow, he thought simply turning up would be better.

when she spots him, the look on her face says a text would’ve been the right call.

ah, well.

she glares over the other man’s shoulder as he pays. he’s truly awful because it only makes him happier to see her. if she didn’t care, her face would be a blank slate.

the man takes a short eternity to move to the end of the bar. john checks to ensure he isn’t holding up a queue he knows isn’t there, if only to buy another second—

“yurbeck.” she blurts out.

“sorry?”

slower, she repeats herself, “you’re back.”

“i am. you’re healed up.” 

“you’re not.”

the black eye he sports is ugly but faded. yellowish, with ugly splotches of blood still pooled beneath the skin. he’d like to say, you should see the other guy, but the bastard’s probably jaguar shit by now. instead, he shrugs. “looks worse than it feels. can we grab a drink when you’re off?”

she glances and frowns at her coworker, who’s clearly listening in over the noise of the espresso machine and sighs. her uncertainty is as plain as day.

“no.”

alright. damage control. he can fix this, he thinks, heart crashing into his gut. he didn’t leave her on bad terms. “listen, i know—”

she interrupts a second time. “we’ll go to mine.”

his mouth shuts, teeth clacking. he won’t argue with that.

~~

before you leave the café, you check your last exchange.

>> thanks for dinner the other night. i had a wonderful time. unfortunately, i won’t be by for a bit.

> ominous > prison?

>> not quite. work. i won’t be able to text.

> well don’t be gone too long > i might forget your order

it’s ridiculous, in hindsight, all your worrying over a man you assumed ghosted you. a regular you took a stupid leap of faith for. the shopping trip was a way to test the waters, and despite an awkward intensity he seemed desperate to hide and his bad jokes, john charmed you. even when you extended the exam to your place, he passed. no snide comments about cece or the decor. he helped with cooking without being asked. washed the dishes. it was a wonderful time. he said it. you believed it.

but two months isn’t ‘a bit’. it’s a disappearing act.

you say as much, as annoyed with yourself as you are with him. he quietly concedes he could have explained better. you tell him friends don’t go MIA for weeks. he laughs.

~~

“funny you should say that.”

“what?”

john stares hard at her profile as they walk. this part is always hard. pivotal. he puts it simply: “i’m in the military—special forces. that’s why i was ‘MIA’, as you put it.”

her brows raise, but she doesn’t falter. “oh.”

his lip curls. he’s been cussed out, fawned over, and ditched entirely for sharing his profession. no one usually reacts so little. it’s a divisive topic. everyone’s got an opinion. 

“that’s it? oh?” john echoes, trying to tease something out. he once listened to her harsh critique of the illegibility of packaging at the café—he cannot imagine her indifference as genuine. “you can ask questions, y’know.”

“okay. where were you? what were you doing?”

crawling on my belly through mud and fending off giant cockroaches. shooting. getting shot at.

“seeing the sights, meeting people.”

that withering glare returns, but it’s shorter-lived this time. she huffs. “see, i assumed ‘special forces’ means it’s the type of military business you don’t get answers about.”

“yes and no. i can’t compromise my clearance.”

“what can you tell me?”

he smiles when she sneaks a look, irritation giving way to curiosity. “i sunburn very easily.”

she snorts. “no way, not with that complexion.”

“and, i have thirty, forty mosquito bites where the sun doesn’t shine.”

john’s bruised cheek hurts from grinning as she laughs. this is the first time he’s heard it uninhibited, neither bitten back nor politely smothered by a hand. he needs to brush up on his humor. he needs to hear that sound more often.

“sorry. i’m a mess.”

john aligns their shoes and removes his jacket. it’s hardly messy. her flat appears mostly unchanged, except for the small mountain of citrus on her dining table. a single banana. she starts to sweep it into a plastic bin, but he catches a stray orange, and his thumb drags over an odd indentation. he turns it in hand, eyebrows pitching at the sight of a rose etched into the skin.

“is this…?” 

he watches her press a machine into a foam insert, then hurriedly zip a case shut. the look on her face clearly says he wasn’t supposed to see that. 

she takes the orange and shrugs. “something i’m having fun with. a new hobby.”

“solid work for a hobby.”

“don’t tease.”

“you’d know if i was.” 

she excuses herself to change after setting the bin aside, stepping over a wary cece. the cat stands guard at the mouth of the hall. unimpressed. he can practically hear the and where have you been?

john gives the cat a fond but tight smile. he’ll need to get in good with her again, too, it seems. he checks the water bowl before settling onto the couch. cece follows to investigate, her tiny black nose tapping his knuckles when he offers a hand. 

her aloofness swiftly melts after he coaxes her into his lap, though he suspects that the subsequent stabbing of her kneading paws is her brand of punishment. little thing seems to relish it.

“you can move her if she’s too much.”

his face lifts, and he wonders if the cat feels the palpitations in his chest.

given what he’s only just learned, he shouldn't be surprised, but the patchwork tattoos decorating her arms steal his breath anyway. the impulse to touch is instant. to trace every fine line and jealously ask where she had them done and by whom. 

he grips the arm of the couch hard, and cece pauses her biscuit-making, eyes half-lidded and judgmental. dismissing the cat, he nonchalantly places a throw pillow over his lap and scrubs a hand over his face.

the plot thickens.

“nice ink. didn’t realize you had any. makes sense.”

“yep. twenty-one. mm. no. twenty-two.”

far more than what the shirt shows. “any damage?” 

her head tilts as she cracks the refrigerator, pulling two bottles by their necks. “nope. don’t got anything there.”

john takes a beer as she plops down. she tucks her legs beneath, and he studies the artfully drawn black shapes on the one arm: a network of barbed thorns and flowers, a woman contorted into a skull, a mouse sleeping in a sardine tin, a stamp, and several stars.

“do you have any?” she asks, taking a swig.

nothing as lovely as hers. the first and last instance john had time to sit for a piece, he was clean-shaven and further from the thick of it. but she’s shown him hers; returning the favor is only polite. “one.” he sets the bottle aside to ruck up his left sleeve. she shifts, and the tips of his ears redden. fuck he wishes it wasn’t so—

“traditional. ha, had you pinned for the type. cute.”

cute. the ink has faded into muted tones, the lines softened. the mermaid’s once coy smile blurs into a vague shape, and now that he looks at it, the anchor’s shank is slightly crooked. the subtle, natural distortions of time make the mermaid perched in the curved arm of the anchor appear as aged as his face.

“can i?” 

she extends a hand. has she touched him before? intentionally?

“yes.”

her fingers follow the lines without an ounce of hesitation or hovering. the corner of her mouth quirks when john instinctively squeezes his bicep, the mermaid’s blue tail flexing under her thumb. he can’t tell what she’s thinking despite watching her pretty eyes. he simply laments he doesn’t have more to show her if only to keep her this close.

john’s focus narrows to the heat of her hand as it moves. he imagines five perfect ovals burning into his arm hair where she grabs and adjusts her view. that his skin might melt, and her palm would graft to his limb for all time, barring surgical intervention.

the first words out of her mouth in a minute are a bucket of cold water.

“six inches, right?”

“what?”

her gaze flicks up. “from the tip to the base?” a prolonged beat passes before she adds, “or, i guess, to the fins of her tail?”

she’s gonna be the death of me. 

“i think so.”

“it’s aged well.”

“ah. you’re taking the piss.”

“you’d know if i was.” she echoes. “i’m serious. i’m guessing it’s fifteen or twenty years old? it could look worse.” her nails scritch in a tight circle for a half-second, long enough that he might combust, but she pulls away and swirls her beer. “why’d you stop at one?”

“busy schedule. and i don’t want to be too identifiable.”

“yes. the chops are the subtler choice.” she smiles behind the bottle. “now i’m taking the piss.”

john thinks of precisely three responses to her cheek, none of which make it to his tongue. he sips slowly, catching on a slip of skin when she stretches, the hem of her shirt lifting just so. a tempting black line practically hooks his eye before it disappears.

“oh, you’re funny. got me curious, though. which one was your first?”

her legs straighten, and she pushes to her feet. “it’ll be easier if i show you.”

[berberriescorner]

“Under the Mask”

Characters: Simon Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Dinner with the boys and some ribbing.

Word Count: 600+.

A/N: I don't own these images. Found them on Pinterest and made a mood board🥰.

"You've really outdone yourself, love," Simon murmured to his wife, his hand gently resting on her lower back. Her presence was a calming balm to his often troubled mind.

"Only the best for you boys," she replied with a smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Dinner was in full swing when Soap, ever the joker, decided to stir things up. He had noticed the way Simon's eyes followed his wife, the way his fingers twitched slightly whenever you were near, protective and adoring all at once. It was an easy target, too tempting to resist.

"So, love," Soap began, his voice loud enough to capture the room's attention, "did Simon ever tell you about the time he saved my arse in Uzbekistan?"

She laughed, a sound that sent a ripple of warmth through Simon's chest. "I don't think I've heard that one."

"Oh, it's a good one," Soap continued, leaning in slightly, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "But what I want to know is, how did he manage to snag someone as beautiful as you?"

The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into laughter. Simon's eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in them. He knew Soap's game.

"Careful, Soap," Price warned, though he was chuckling himself. "You don't want to provoke the beast."

"Oh, I'm not worried," Soap said with a grin, turning back to Simon's wife. "If he hasn't killed me by now, I think I'm safe."

You played along, your smile widening. "Well, I have to say, he did have some competition. But there's something about a man in a skull mask that's hard to resist."

Simon groaned inwardly, his hand tightening slightly on his knife. "MacTavish, you're pushing it."

"Am I?" Soap asked innocently, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "I'm just saying, if you ever get tired of the mask, you know where to find me."

The room burst into laughter again, but Simon's eyes darkened. He knew it was all in good fun, but there were limits. He stood up, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table.

"Alright, that's enough," Simon said, his voice low and calm but carrying an undeniable edge.

Soap raised his hands in mock surrender. "Easy there, mate. Just having a bit of fun."

You stepped in, your hand gently touching Simon's arm. "It's okay, love. They’re just teasing."

He looked down at you, his hard expression softening instantly. "I know. But they should know better."

The crew roared with laughter, enjoying the rare sight of Simon Riley flustered and protective. It was a side of him they seldom saw, and it made the night even more memorable.

As the evening drew to a close, the teasing died down, replaced by genuine camaraderie and the kind of easy conversation that only came with years of trust and friendship. Simon pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

"Anytime," you replied, your eyes full of love. "But next time, you handle the teasing."

Simon chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through your entire being. "Deal."

And as the night wore on, filled with laughter, stories, and the warmth of those they loved, Simon Riley knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

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[franzkafkagf]

Bag of Bones

summary ♡ Aegon, consumed by hatred and grief, seeks out Helaena in a desperate attempt to find solace and connection amidst their shared tragedy.

pairing ♡ Aegon II Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen

tags ♡ 18+, MINORS DNI! grief sex, angst, codependency, mild dubcon

wordcount ♡ 2k

song rec ♡ Bag of Bones – Mitski

read it on ao3

He fucking hated the Red Keep. He hated everything about it.

He hated the stench of old stone that seemed to linger on everything. He hated the paintings and tapestries adorning the cold stone walls. He hated the memories he made inside these wretched walls.

The torches cast long shadows as he moved through the hallways, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Blood clung to his garments, smeared his hands, and marred his face. The metallic scent of it filled his nostrils, it was the smell of justice, for all he cared. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound of it travelling all the way up to his ears; he could barely hear his own thoughts over it.

He had a clear destination, a single place where he might find peace, or at least understanding. He stopped in front of a wooden door, his hand trembling pathetically as he raised it to knock. The wood felt rough under his knuckles.

No reaction from the other side. The silence was like a hot knife to his flesh, cutting deeper the longer he waited. For a moment, he wondered if she was even there, if she could sense his presence through the heavy wooden door.

He knocked again, harder this time. Still, there was no answer.

His throat tightened, and he felt a surge of panic build inside him. He couldn’t bear it if she wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t speak to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open. It creaked on its hinges, the sound loud and jarring in the oppressive and unnatural quiet of the chamber. The air inside was stale, heavy with the godawful stench of the Keep. The only source of light was a nearly burnt-out candle on the nightstand, its wax dripping slowly to the floor.

On the edge of the bed, he saw her—a woman, her form slumped and defeated. Helaena, his wife, his sister.

Her head was lowered, her silver hair hanging in loose, tangled strands that obscured her face partially. Did she want to hide from prying eyes, or just his? The sight of her like this made him bite the inside of his cheek raw until he tasted blood.

“Helaena.” His voice cracked with emotion as the words left the threshold of his lips. She didn’t stir, she didn’t even seem to hear him.

He took a tentative step forward, his boots dragging against the floor. “Helaena,” he repeated, more insistent this time. Still, there was no response.

Why couldn’t she offer him at least this? At least a reaction? These past two weeks had been the worst of his life. They hadn’t talked since. How hadn’t they talked since?

Aegon felt a tear slip down his cheek, mixing with the blood that stained his skin. He moved closer, desperate for anything. He wanted to touch her, he wanted her to hold him. He wanted to tell her what he had done, he wanted her to tell him that everything would be alright, even though he knew it was a lie.

“Helaena, please,” he whispered as he fell to his knees in front of her. “Look at me.”

She didn't move, didn't lift her head, didn't offer the slightest indication that she had heard him. The silence in the room felt suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of the entire Keep. He needed her to acknowledge him, to show some sign of life, but she remained as still and silent as a statue.

Desperation clawed at his insides. He reached out and grasped her hands, smearing her pale skin with blood. “Helaena, I killed one of them. One of the men who took our son. He suffered, Helaena. For a week, he suffered greatly. I didn’t let him go easy.”

Her fingers were cold and limp in his grasp. She didn’t react, didn’t seem to notice the blood now staining her hands. She was far beyond his reach.

Frustration surged within him, and he tightened his grip on her hands, his knuckles turning white. “Helaena, please,” he begged her, not befitting of a king. “Look at me. Say something.”

Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. There was no recognition in them, nothing from the woman he had known. Just an empty void that mirrored the hollowness in his own soul.

“We will fall, Aegon. You will fall, and I will fall. Jaehaera will fall, and Maelor...” Her voice broke on the name, and she screamed, burying her face in her hands, her nails digging into her flesh.

“No!” Aegon cried, reaching out to stop her. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. “Stop, Helaena. Please, stop.”

She looked at him with wild, tear-filled eyes. “I see it,” she said, her voice shaking and frenzied. “I see our end. There is no escape.”

He shook his head fiercely, refusing to accept her words. This was all he had left, it would break him. “I will avenge Jaehaerys.” It was his promise to make. “I killed one of them. I will find the other, I will have all the rat catchers in the city hanged if I must. Then I will burn Rhaenyra. She will burn for what she did, rest assured.”

Helaena’s eyes were distant and unfocused again, she swayed and let her back fall on the mattress. “The rats will come again,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “They always come again.”

Aegon felt a sob rise in his throat, he climbed on top of her on the bed, hands cupping her face. “Please come back to me. I need you. Our children need you.”

He felt the weight of his grief, heavier than anything he had ever experienced. All his thoughts over the past weeks had been consumed by revenge. Cutting off the butcher's fingers and breaking his bones had offered some semblance of solace, a brief respite from the constant agony. But now, seeing Helaena unresponsive like this, it all felt futile. He started to cry, his hot tears falling onto her skin.

“We’re already dead, Aegon. You and I. Jaehaera, Maelor. We are all dead.”

“No,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t say that. Don’t speak like that. We’re alive, Helaena. I can still fight. We can still—”

“We’re ghosts.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t.” Desperation clawed at his insides as he caressed her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away his own tears on her face, leaving smears of blood. “We are not dead yet. I will burn them Helaena I—”

“The flames will consume us all.” She didn’t seem to hear him anymore. “They will burn until there’s nothing left but ashes.”

It was all too much. The resignation in her voice, the stench of the fucking Keep in the chamber, the feeling of blood clinging to him like a second skin. Aegon leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, desperate to silence her. He couldn’t bear to hear any more of her prophecies, couldn’t endure it. He kissed her with everything he could muster up, trying to pour all his love and his pain into that single moment.

His soul was an ugly little thing, it had shriveled and shrunk from the years of neglect. His love was pathetic, he knew that, but it was all he had to offer her at this moment.

The kiss was a frantic attempt to drown out the crushing despair with something, with anything, that felt alive. He felt her hesitate, her lips cold and unresponsive at first. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, she began to kiss him back. It was tentative, a flicker of the warmth he remembered, and it ignited a desperate hope within him. His hands wandered down her body, tracing the familiar paths, seeking what they had once shared.

He thought of all the times he had fucked her. He needed this, needed to feel her, to remind her and himself that they were still here, still alive. He fumbled with the ties of her nightgown, freeing her from its confines. It was only now that he noticed how much weight she had lost. Where she was soft and inviting once, she was hard and angular.

“I will make you feel good,” he promised against her lips, his hands roaming over her bare skin. This was all he knew, the only thing he was truly good at. The only thing he could do to maybe make it better.

He stood up just long enough to remove his garments, discarding them hastily before returning to her. His fingers went between her legs, teasing her gently, trying to coax a response from her. His thumb drew slow circles around her sensitive flesh, and he felt a tremor run through her body. She needed this, he needed this. He needed to remind her of her warmth, her life.

For a moment, there was nothing, just the silence and her stillness. But then, slowly, she began to react. Her breathing hitched, her hips shifting slightly towards his hand. Encouraged, he slipped two fingers inside her, thrusting into her softly. Her walls tightened around his fingers— a small moan escaped her lips.

“That’s it.” His voice was low and reassuring, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure. “You’re doing good, Helaena. Just focus on me. Forget about everything else. Just focus on me.”

Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white. He continued while her moans grew louder and more desperate. He felt his own arousal building, his hardness pressing against her thigh as he leaned down to kiss her neck and collarbones.

He trailed kisses along her skin, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive spots he knew so well. Her body responded to him, her back arching slightly as she pressed herself closer to him. She was trembling now, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Just let go,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve got you.”

With a shuddering cry, she came, her body tightening around his fingers. Fueled by her pleasure she positioned himself at her wet entrance. With a single, thrust, he entered her, a groan escaping his lips as he did.

She gasped, her legs wrapping around his hips. He started moving inside her, his thrusts deep and steady. She was tight and warm around him, her body welcoming him so perfectly, as if nothing had ever happened.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’re here, Helaena. We’re alive.”

Her moans mixed with his, the room filled with the rhythmic beat of flesh banging against flesh. He moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more insistent. He needed this, needed to feel her, to lose himself in her.

“We were made for each other.” He leaned in closer, capturing her lips. “Stay with me.”

Her arms wrapped around him, her nails dug into his flesh; the pain of it a welcome escape from the wounds that didn’t bleed. For a moment he felt a flicker of hope, maybe she wasn’t truly gone. They were broken, the had been broken long before that night. But they nearly were a real person when they were together, weren’t they? That was at least something, wasn’t it?

He moved faster, his movements driven by his need for release, his need to lose himself in the pleasure of her touch. Her cries grew louder, her body responding so perfectly. He felt the tension building within him, the pressure mounting until he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a final thrust, he came, filling her. He collapsed against her, his body still trembling from his orgasm. His breath was still ragged and uneven as he spoke.

“We’ll get through this. I swear it.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t push him away either. They just lay there, tangled in each other. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her skin on his skin. It wasn’t a solution, it wasn’t an idea either. Fuck, it was barely a distraction.

But it was something.

[leighsartworks216]

Acid

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

This is my first time writing Shadowheart, so she's probably ooc

Warnings: descriptions of chemical/acid burns, descriptions of acid burning flesh, swearing, panicking, pain, blindness

Word Count: 1,804

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You scream as the acid bottle breaks against your face. Glass tearing into soft flesh and white-hot burning all over. In your eyes, across your cheeks, on your lips. It sizzles and eats into your skin. You can't think past the pain. You should be terrified - your enemy has just blinded you, and now you can't defend yourself. All you can think about is how you want to wipe it off, get it off your skin so it stops burning, but doing so would only cause more damage.

Hands grab you and you scream and struggle. You have no idea who's touching you. You can't even look. You're going to be sick.

"It’s me! I’ve got you,” Astarion shouts by your ear. You stop fighting him, your screams reduced to mere whimpers. "You're going to be okay."

You gasp, "Can't see."

"I know. Don't open your eyes. You're safe."

He guides you away from the battle. War cries, the clinking of weapons, and incantations no longer surround you. He carefully helps you to sit down. It's grass beneath you. You clutch handfuls in your fists, tearing it up. Anything to keep you from touching your face.

"Burns," you whimper. You can no longer tell if it's acid or tears that sting your eyes.

He shushes you again. You listen, trying to figure out what he's doing. You hear a canteen opening and water being poured out. You jolt when something cold touches your face.

"It's alright. It's just water." He doesn't wait for you to adjust before he's trying to wipe away the acid. The sooner it came off, the less damage Shadowheart would have to heal... If she can heal this at all.

Your skin is red and mottled. The more he removes, the more he fears for your eyes. Little pieces of glass stick to the cloth he used. He has to pause often to brush them off, else-wise they'd cut your face up more. Your eyelids are bright red and sensitive; the acid burnt away so much he could almost see through the thin skin. You wince and pull away repeatedly, but he can't stop.

It must have been a very potent acid, he thinks. The patterns formed in your skin remind him of Karlach's scars; the ones that cover her right shoulder and side. It's not a pretty sight.

"How's that?" he asks when he's wiped down your entire face. The rag is almost in tatters, burned away by the acid.

You hiss through your teeth, eyes squeezed tight as you tilt your head back. "Eyes," you whine. "Burn."

He grabs your head and tilts it back down, worried you'd try to open them. "Shadowheart will be here soon." He can't promise that. The fight was pretty hairy when he left - it could still be a bit before it's over.

He peeks out from your hiding spot. He should go help, but then you'd be completely and utterly defenseless. He curses. "I'll be right back, darling," he assures. "Keep your eyes shut, no matter what happens."

Before you can protest, he's gone.

You’re left alone in the dark. You can hear the fight in the distance. The faint thwip of Astarion’s bow as he takes down foes from a distance, Karlach’s battle cries as she keeps the hoard at bay, the spells Shadowheart casts to heal and harm. It’s horrifying.

Your friends are out there, risking their lives against overwhelming foes. And you’re stuck here - useless.

You focus on anything else to ignore the pain. The ends of the grass pricking your skin. The dirt sliding beneath their boots. Birds chirping, a cool breeze, your armor - anything. You’re vaguely aware of tears running down your cheeks. They burn as they carry the acid from your eyes. Their trails are prominent amongst the mottling.

You want to claw your eyes out. It's unbearable. You want to writhe on the ground and scream. But you can't. Your hands rip more and more grass up from its roots. Deeper and deeper, until you’re clawing up dirt and worms and ants and mycelia. It’s not cathartic enough.

It takes too much effort to focus on your surroundings, but you strain your ears anyway, listening for any hint of combat. It’s quiet, and you can’t tell if your hearing is gone, too, or if the battle is over. You twist your body, trying to recall which way it was. Where did Astarion take you? How far away? Did they win? Were they okay?

“Astarion?” you call. It’s strained. There’s no response. You nearly sob as you call out again.

Oh, gods. Please, gods no, please. They can’t be dead; you refuse to believe it. You can’t focus on the pain as fear constricts your heart. You cry out again, hoping someone answers. Anyone. You can’t even hope to find them in this state.

Someone stirs behind you. You whip around, trying to listen. Was it one of them? Why were they being so quiet? You can’t open your eyes. You can’t see. You have to know.

Your voice comes out small, trembling with worry. “Star?”

Something whizzes by your head. You yelp as you flinch away, covering your head in defense. Whatever was there let out a coarse shriek. Another something whizzes by your head again, the same direction as the last time, and with a rattling breath, it was quiet.

“Don’t open your eyes.” You jump when Astarion speaks right behind you.

You want to sob again. It’s evident in your voice, in the trembling of your lip. “What happened? Why weren’t you answering?” Your fear tinged your words with anger.

He huffed. “I didn’t exactly want to give away my position to the goblin hoping to make you its next meal.”

Ah, so the something you heard was a goblin trying to sneak up on you. His hand holds the back of your neck, cool against your hot skin. You sigh and try to focus on it. Footsteps rush toward you. Astarion can feel the way you bristle with fear.

The footsteps stop with a gasp. “Gods, what happened?!” Shadowheart.

“Acid,” you groan. You’re just glad they’re alive! “Fucking burns.”

“It got in their eyes. I got what I could off their face.”

“Shit.” Her hands are on you in a minute, displacing Astarion’s hand as she tilts your head back. “You need to lie back. Fuck, you should have rinsed it out their eyes! There’s no telling how much damage it’s caused.”

You follow her guidance, lowering yourself back onto the grass. Your armor feels suffocating.

The spawn scoffed. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing, not to mention the horde of goblins surrounding us!”

“Stop fighting! You can argue later!” Karlach shouts. You want to thank her. Usually, you can deal with their bickering, but your nerves are taught with fear as is. “How can I help?”

“I need water. And probably something to bite down on - a stick or leather or something.”

You hear someone going through their bag. “Will this work?”

“It should.” You hear another canteen being opened as Shadowheart touches your chin. Her fingers are gentle despite the situation. “Open your mouth and bite down on this.”

A thick stick, smooth and solid, is slotted between your teeth. Your heart skips as a shock of panic rushes through you.

“How dignified,” Astarion murmurs. You look like a dog playing fetch. It would be funny, if it wasn’t there to keep you from biting your tongue or breaking your teeth.

“On the count of three, I need you to open your eyes. I’m going to rinse them out as best I can. And I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt.”

Astarion grabs your hand. You squeeze it in a death grip. He can feel your pulse, rapid and pounding. You can feel Karlach sitting by your head, warm hands on your forehead and shoulder, ready to hold you down.

“One. Two. Three!”

You open your eyes.

There’s an impossible pain.

The wood cracks beneath your teeth.

Everything fades away.

-

When you wake, it’s to total darkness. You’re still laying back, a hand still holds yours, and you can’t see anything. You whimper and try to touch your eyes. Are they gone? What’s happened? Why can’t you see? Your attempt is stopped by another hand grabbing your wrist.

“It’s alright. We’re back at camp.”

“Can’t see.” It comes out pathetic. A frightened whimper, like a child scared of the dark.

He hushes you and begins rubbing circles into your hand and wrist. “It’s just a bandage over your eyes, darling, you’re alright,” he assures. “Shadowheart has a healing spell over you, but she didn’t want to risk it. Your vision isn’t lost.”

He watches as you process his words. Your heart calms down with your breathing. You let your hands go limp in his hold.

“What happened? I… I remember Shadow counting, but it’s all foggy after that.”

You can hear him shifting as he gets comfortable. He sets your hand back down, and holds the other with both of his. He continues rubbing your palm and knuckles. “You opened your eyes,” he began, but he paused as he remembered the brief glimpse he got of them. They were reduced to near nothing. He felt sick thinking he caused it, by not acting quickly enough to wash the acid out. “She poured the water in them, you… screamed and almost broke the stick in your mouth…” He swallowed. “What matters is you’re okay now.”

His hands shook slightly, movements becoming more mechanical as he worked through his own fear. You squeezed his hand.

“I don’t blame you.”

He chuckles, but it’s bitter. “Of course not. And the fiend that did do this has been thoroughly disposed of.”

“What Shadow said…” His hand stilled. “You did your best, Star. You didn’t know.”

He sighed softly and raised your hand to his lips. He murmured against your skin, “It’s behind us now.”

You loosed your hand from his hold to cup his cheek. It was strange being able to feel his face and not see it. But you recognized the curve of his cheekbone and the crease by his mouth, and of course the feeling of his curls tickling your fingertips. “But you’re still upset by it.”

He leaned into your hand, running his fingers from your elbow to your wrist before covering your hand with his, keeping you there. “I don’t think you’re fit enough to lecture me,” he teased. You could feel him smile. “In a few hours, once you can see again, then you can tell me just how much none of this was my fault.”

“And will you believe it then?”

He hummed, turning to kiss the inside of your wrist. “I could be persuaded to.”

---

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[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 6)

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader ☆ summary: you go to the barcade with your friends, feeling dejected that toji hasn't messaged you back. not only that, you're horny as hell and the girl satoru brought with him doesn't like you one bit. ☆ warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! sexting, slight dub-con (reader and gojo get to second base while drunk), grinding, kissing, slight exhibitionism, drinking, slight verbal harassment ☆ tags: modern au, academia au ☆ a/n: this one's a doozy (8k+ words sorry) 🤪 also the bob odenkirk uber thing actually happened to me in college ok i really thought it looked like him even tho there was no reason for it!! leave me alone!! 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"ngh~ m'gonna throw up," you complain, rubbing your temples, as you and your friends walk into the popping barcade.

"jesus, how much did you drink?" suguru asks concerned.

"not much but i saw satoru-" you fake a gagging noise. "i saw satoru shoving his tongue down that girl he's with right now."

"i heard that!" satoru yells, a couple yards behind you. you quickly turn around and see him walking beside her, his hand resting way lower on her back than it should be. you grimace at the sight.

your complaints are drowned out by the loud music the DJ was playing, the sound of coin machines, arcades, and people shouting over the music. it wasn't as crowded as usual (still crowded enough to have to wait in line for drinks and games). you're sure the thumping of the music will definitely have your ears ringing at the end of the night.

your eyes take a while adjust to the dim lighting, and you and your friends approach the bar, crowding around in a circle. the girl satoru is with is all over him, her hands never leaving his chest or his face. she’s always making it a point to kiss his cheek whenever she gets the chance. it makes you sick. there's no way fate is this cruel that even someone like satoru gets laid tonight and you don't?

god, what the hell is toji even doing that's making him too busy to answer your text?

"alright, me 'n satoru will grab drinks for everyone, you guys get coins for the arcade," suguru says and you’re grateful he’s taking control of the chaotic situation and bringing your thoughts back to the present.

“’toruuu~ can you get me a vodka tonic?” the girl asks in a grating high pitched voice that takes everything in you to not make another face at her. god, where’s all this animosity coming from anyway?

“yes, princess,” satoru replies, pulling her close and squeezing her tight. you don’t dare cast your eyes down in fear of catching him squeezing something else, too.

you shake it off, trying to ignore every single excruciating detail your brain is making you pay attention to at this place. and yes, you agree, maybe you should’ve taken it easy when you decided to down an entire can of white claw at the pregame, but it’s far too late to lament about that during this time of the night. things are practically getting started, so you snap out if it, and do your best to focus on grabbing coins and finding someone to play dance dance revolution with you for the rest of night.

you and riko decline to have any drinks, while shoko and utahime both decide to share a moscow mule (”i won’t be able to sleep if i have an entire drink!” utahime says, which prompts satoru to tease her about being old even though she's just three years older than all of you). reluctantly, you look at the girl satoru is with and ask if she wants to join you and the girls to grab coins for the arcade, and she looks at you like you just called her a slur.

“oh…ummm…no? i’ll be getting my drink with satoru?” she says, ending all of her responses with a question.

you’re not sure how to match her energy, so you just nod, and wave to the boys before catching up with your girls.

“jeez, what’s her problem?” riko turns back to you and gives you an apologetic look.

“satoru really knows how to fuckin’ pick ‘em,” shoko groans. unlike riko and utahime, you, shoko, and suguru have known satoru since high school and, as a result, unfortunately gotten used to the kind of girls satoru tends to sleep with: conventionally hot, a little bit not there, and kind of a bitch.

you all giggle as you exchange coins for the arcade games, ranting about miscellaneous parts of the barcade before heading back to the bar to meet up with the boys, who already have their drinks in hand, and are joined by nanami and haibara. suguru, nanami, and haibara are already halfway done with their bottles of sapporo, while satoru is whispering something in the girl’s ear as she giggles and sips her vodka tonic.

“okay!” satoru clasps his hands together. “who wants to watch me beat sugu’s ass in street fighter?!” he’s met with silence from the group and is about to say something before he’s interrupted by nanami.

“me and haibara are gonna go upstairs and get a pool table…” nanami says, sounding almost bored.

“it’ll be fun! i invited some girls from the line outside to join us!” haibara chirps.

“what? you just met random girls outside? and you invited them to play pool with you? and they said yes?!” satoru is bewildered by haibara’s game, unable to believe he could just simply ask girls to hang out with them and they’d say yes.

“it’s actually not that hard if you have a good personality, you know?” you say, handing haibara a couple of your coins for the pool table.

everyone erupts in laughter at this except for satoru and his girl of the night.

“toru~ i think you have a sexy personality.” she gives a quick kiss to satoru’s neck. for some reason, everything she says sounds like a long exaggerated moan, and you find yourself biting your lip, trying not to laugh.

“personalities can’t be sexy though, can they?” utahime ponders, her voice littered with a hint of sardonicism. you, riko, and utahime both lock eyes and suppress a giggle. okay, maybe you should stop. actually, you know you should stop because you don’t know this girl and for all you know, she probably is very nice and you both just got off on the wrong foot, but satoru? satoru is always fair (and easy) game.

“okay, c’mon what is this? the satoru hate club?” satoru pouts and sighs.

“i think i might join you guys for some pool. i used to love playing with kuroi when i was younger.” riko smiles and looks up at suguru, and he doesn’t even think twice before agreeing. satoru’s face drops at the betrayal of his best friend leaving their barcade tradition for a girl (even though satoru has done this to suguru multiple times before). suguru gives him a look that screams “shut up”, but satoru doesn’t care.

“wait, what nooo! sugu, you have to play like at least a couple rounds of street fighter and then mario kart and then -” satoru’s objections are interrupted by haibara.

“that’s fine. you guys all go and play, and i’ll shoot a text when a table is ready for us!” haibara offers, soothing satoru’s childlike temper tantrum.

“then it’s settled!” satoru leads the seven of you down to the arcade, which also happens to be closer to the dancefloor, so the music is getting progressively louder and louder, the lights are flashing more chaotically, and people are drunker and sloppier. your boots are sticking to the floor, which grosses you out and you make a mental note to wash the soles at some point this weekend. god knows what could be on the floor of this place.

satoru easily beats everyone (including you - especially you - because you are never good at fighting games and he beats you so embarrassingly easily) in the group in street fighter, earning him an obnoxious and sloppy kiss from his girl of night, which you realize now you actually don’t know the name of. as everyone shuffles to play mario kart, you tap satoru and ask for it in a low voice, hoping she can’t hear.

“uhh…i actually don’t know. maybe it’s…mia? let’s go with mia.” satoru makes a face, knowing this is low even for him, and that earns him a moderately painful jab in the rib cage from your elbow.

you also kind of suck at mario kart, but you enjoy playing it more than street fighter. lucky for everyone, suguru emerges as the winner of the grand prix, allowing everyone to have a break from satoru’s constant gloating. you all move from donkey kong to killer queen (your team wins but you think it’s because satoru carried for you) to pac-man to random capcom legacy games. you don’t care that you’re losing most of the games, you’re having too much fun shouting at satoru for cheating and getting assists from utahime and shoko. and just as you’re all about to head to the game you're looking forward to playing the most (the game you know you would smoke everyone at), haibara finally shoots a group text to all of you.

haibara: pool table’s ready in 5!!! and the girls actually made it wtf!!! :))

you think it’s cute how haibara never uses less than 3 exclamation marks in his texts.

“oh shoot, okay, let’s quickly play dance dance revolution and then go?” shoko says, walking faster to approach the game, only to be met with a significantly long line. her face drops as she turns to you, and your heart softens at how much she seems to care that you get play dance dance revolution. “shit, okay…”

“maybe we can play pool first and then come back?” utahime suggests. “the line might be shorter too…”

“guys, it’s fine.” you put your hands up jokingly as a sign of defeat and smile earnestly. you won’t lie to yourself: you do really want to play dance dance revolution, but it’s not a big deal - there’s always a long line for the really popular games. “i think i’m too drunk to properly beat your asses at it, anyway.” you lie. you could beat their asses at this game even if you were half asleep, but you don’t want your friends to worry you’re not having fun and you’ve always been a go with the flow type of girl, anyway.

as everyone descends up the stairs, you overhear mia whisper to satoru something out of pocket that really tests the threshold of your patience. “honestly, dance dance revolution is kinda stupid, anyway.”

you are willing to really overlook a lot of things that went awry tonight, but this bitch makes it really fucking hard to do that, and you suddenly do not want to play pool if she’s going to be there, even if makes you look difficult. thankfully for you, you’re not the only one who wants to skip out on pool.

“hey, uh, you guys go ahead. i think me and ‘hime are gonna check out the photo booth and we might order some bar snacks. someone has the munchies.” she teases, poking utahime’s cheek playfully and she blushes under the blacklight and swats her hand away.

“i might follow you guys, if that’s okay…” you shoot shoko and utahime an apologetic look for interrupting their alone time, but they don’t seem to care one bit.

mia turns to satoru. “i’ve got some girlfriends upstairs too waiting for me so i’ll come with.” her voice is sickeningly sweet, and you think to yourself that of course someone with a sickening sweet tooth like satoru gojo would gravitate towards her.

“alright, we’ll see you guys soon then!” riko waves, and you watch suguru, satoru, mia, and riko disappear up the staircase.

as soon as they disappear, you whip around almost immediately to the duo. “hey sorry, i just didn’t want to play pool and i needed an excuse to latch on to. you guys feel free to whatever you want!”

“we can wait in line while one of us orders some food or something?” utahime says, and you suppress a giggle, knowing full well all she wants right now are some mozzarella sticks (you can’t count the number of times the three of you made late night trips to the drive-thru for them).

you wave your hand, and give them an earnest look. “no, i’m being serious. the line is ridiculously long. i’ll probably go to the bar and grab a drink. you guys go, utahime already has some drool coming down her mouth.”

she immediately goes to touch her mouth, only to realize you were joking, and she scowls, causing both you and shoko to laugh. “ugh, you guys are sometimes worse than gojo!”

shoko feigns offense, before grasping her hand, bidding goodbye to you, and heading off to the bar food area and photo booth.

the music is still so loud and you feel the bass deep within your chest. you’re grateful the music that the DJ is playing tonight is not that bad. there’s quite a few people on the dance floor that’s kinda making you want to join in, but not before having a little bit of liquid courage. just a little bit, you tell yourself, not wanting to go overboard. you approach the bar and you somehow become very aware that you’re the only person at the here on your own, and you feel awfully lonely.

it’s probably because of a lot of things, but certainly the fact that you sent a vulnerable photo of yourself to toji and was met with zero response (you just checked so you know he still hasn’t seen your message) isn’t helping. you feel so small and a bit embarrassed at your past self, despite knowing that he might simply be busy on a friday night. you’re never one to feel forlorn like this, but you came into this night to find some company and now it seems like all your friends have company but you don’t. what’s more is that the insecurity of it all is manifesting in your damp hands, and you awkwardly don’t know what to do with them once you approach the table. the signature tells of anxiety settle in you, and your armpits are slowly getting more and more damp, until you can’t bare to have your shirt jacket on any longer and place it on your arm.

you haphazardly pat down your hair (you pray the humidity of this crowded place isn’t making it frizzy) as you look around, hoping to see someone you know, but all you’re met with is a sea of strangers. you want them to notice you, but at the same time, you’re absolutely terrified of making proper eye contact with any of them.

your thoughts are interrupted by the bartender, handing you a frosty pink…slushy?

“s’from that fella o’er there.”

you have to really listen to understand his thick irish accent, but you follow his hands to see the stranger a couple seats down from the bar nodding at you with a slight grin.

“oh, thanks, i guess. umm…what is this drink?” you ask, quizzically looking at the oddly colored drink and then back at the guy who bought it for you.

“drink o’ the day, ma’am. strawberry ‘n’ cream wid rum. quite grand.”

you thank him and take a small sip of the drink. you almost recoil and dry heave just by how strong it takes, and you wonder how it’s possible to have a drink this bad (or strong) on the menu. you quickly fake a pained smile and make eye contact with the stranger, as you quickly decide that maybe going upstairs and playing pool suddenly might not be such a bad idea after all. you’re trying to be swift and polite about taking your drink and leaving the bar, but you're not fast enough as you are met with the stranger blocking your way. oh god, does he have tattoos on his face? what a fucking boner kill.

you give him a polite smile. ugh, he’s not even that cute. “sorry, thanks for the drink but i have to go.”

“oh, shame. you’re really pretty, by the way. i’m sukuna.” he flashes a smile at you and if it weren’t for the dark lighting in the barcade, you could swear his teeth almost look like fangs.

“nice to meet ya. thanks for the drink.” you try side step around him, but he moves his body just in time to block you from leaving.

“whatcha doin’ here all alone? you’re way too pretty to be here all by your lonesome...” he coos, and it grates your skin.

maybe you’re being reckless, but you’re not that terrified of him; you’re frankly a bit annoyed and inconvenienced. you feel safe knowing your friends are nearby and it’s later in the night now so the barcade is way more crowded with plenty of people (read: witnesses) so you know this guy can’t do that many things out of pocket. the most he’ll probably do is say some stupid shit that makes you want to spill your drink on him.

“i’m not here all alone, i’m about to meet up with my boyfriend.” the lie comes so easily to you after living your entire 26 years of life as a woman.

“shame. your boobs are really nice, just FYI. i could just-” he doesn’t get to finish, as the ice cold slushy drink he bought for you collides with his face and the startling gasp he makes causes him to snort some of the (strong) alcoholic drink up his nose. you use his discomposure to finally escape him and beeline upstairs, but not before turning around, making eye contact with him and flipping him off.

okay, you know that was a bit rash of you, and perhaps a bit stupid and unsafe (you hear it all in suguru’s voice, too) but god, you are so fucking annoyed. what? a girl can’t even have her lana del rey, fleabag-esque moody melt down in peace without someone coming in to interrupt it? maybe you should stop drinking that god awful slushy, too. you defend yourself from inner monologue by deciding it’s already three quarters of the way gone, so it doesn’t even matter anymore.

you spot your friends and mia playing an intense game of pool down the dimly lit mezzanine and walk over to them. haibara and nanami greet you with smiles, and that’s how you infer it must be a close game. you stand next to riko and suguru, who update you that it’s them and haibara versus satoru, mia, and nanami. except mia wasn’t really playing more than she was just chatting with her friends next to suguru. currently, satoru’s team was losing.

“nanami said yes to being on a team with gojo?!” you loudly whisper incredulously. looking over at nanami, he looks like he wants to die, having been separated from his trusted partner, haibara.

“he didn’t really have a choice. satoru picked the teams and you know he loves nanami.” suguru explains, putting an ironic tone when he said the word “love”.

you notice it’s satoru’s turn, and his blue eyes are intensely focused, his body bent over with the cue sliding between his long slender fingers. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up. you swallow hard as you notice the veins on his on hands and arms, suddenly overcome with a desire to have those arms be wrapped around you. you try hard not to think of it, but you think of how his fingers would feel inside you.

you sigh irritably at your horny thoughts. you hate the lack of closeness you and satoru had throughout the night, and not just because your horniness was once again ignited with the disgusting slushy drink.

a split second before satoru hits the cue ball, he catches your eyes and you grin supportively and mouth a quick “good luck”. satoru gets 3 balls in pockets. he raises his arms in victory and looks at you and winks and is about to say something to you until mia cheers out an obnoxious scream of victory and jumps on satoru to kiss him deeply. he returns the favor, albeit rather hastily.

“no kissing! no kissing until your turn is over!” suguru points and them, looking peeved. “she’s been literally tonguing him after every turn and-”

“it’s so fucking annoying like wait until his turn is over at least?” riko completes suguru’s sentence with ease. oh god, they must’ve been going through it this entire time. also, cute.

“i really am not trying to be mean but i don’t think i can even be near her…” suguru says apologetically, wiping the sweat off his forehead. you give a sympathetic pout and place yourself between suguru and mia and mia’s friends. it’s the least you can do for your favorite up and coming couple.

bad idea. you forget how mean girls can get sometimes.

“oh my god, y/n, right? come sit down next to us!” mia approaches you and sits down in the booth next to the pool table. she pats the seat next to her. you say hello and reluctantly take the seat, expecting the worst.

“wow, your hair…is it always so…poofy like that? i love what you’re doing with it, babe.”

you’re miffed and don’t even know how to answer what mia just asked. you don’t even get to because she just continues.

“so how do you know satoru? i just wanted to clear the air with you about some stuff. i feel like i got some, like, really jealous energy from you at the pregame when me and him were, like, making out? remember? when you threw your drink at me?”

“uhh…i threw my drink at satoru-”

“i’m sure you did but like, it could’ve hit me too. and honestly, i’ve been talking to satoru this whole week and, like, i just don’t think he finds, like, desperation hot, you know?”

you’re at a loss for words. desperation? you’ve heard enough. first sukuna hitting on you, and now this? you smile at her with spite and quiet patience, as you get up from the seat.

“i’m gonna leave.” you choose your next words carefully. “you’re kind of a bitch, also.” you leave your empty drink behind and in your peripheral, you see a confused satoru watching you leave and taking your seat next to mia.

you put on your jacket and you’re not exactly sure where you’re going. the barcade is huge, and if the feelings of loneliness weren’t conspicuous before, they are unmistakable on you now. your palms are slippery and you figure you maybe just need some water, but not before you slip away from your friends and find an isolated row of tables in front of the mezzanine. you figure you can maybe get some peace and quiet here as you try to sober up. according to your phone, it’s only 10:37pm, so you have plenty of time before you have to go to bed. alone.

staring at the DJ screen, you chuckle to yourself at the absurd anime edits they are playing on the screen that’s supposed to relate to some reference that’s been going viral on tiktok. you idly stare at the DJ screen, letting your train of thoughts take you far away from this place.

you’re not sure how long you sit here by yourself but you’re brazenly brought back to the barcade by a familiar voice and an ice cold glass cup touching your cheek, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“where’d ya go?” you look up to see satoru hovering over you, holding a glass of ice water. “move over.” he takes a seat next to you without even asking and hands you the cold glass of water.

you take a sip and coldness of the liquid jolts your mind awake and now, you’re really back at the barcade, mentally and physically. and also, has water always tasted this good? you take a sip, and another, until you’re half way done chugging the glass and your throat is in pain from the cold.

“good girl.” satoru murmurs, putting his arms around you and gently rubbing your back in circles. normally, this would make your stomach do cart wheels, but you’re just too tired for all that. “how are we feelin’?”

you’re trying to answer his question but…oh god? why does your throat hurt? is it the cold water you just drank? no. no, it’s because you want to cry. oh god, nope. you cannot make it one of those nights where you get too drunk and cry. you refuse.

“m’feelin’…sad…if m’being honest…” your words are slurred as you look up at satoru and take another sip of your water.

“damn. that sucks. wanna go downstairs?”

the constricting feeling in your throat immediately dissipates, and is replaced by annoyance. wow, he responds with that? maybe it’s a good idea you won’t fuck him tonight.

he doesn’t wait for an answer as he gets up and helps you out of your seat and guides you downstairs. you interlock your arms with his for support so you don’t trip, and you’re perceptive enough to feel the viselike grip satoru has on your arms as you both descend the stairs.

“what are we even doing here?” your throat hurts even more as you have shout even louder on the ground floor due to the higher levels of music.

satoru continues to lead you down the floor into the arcade and looks back at you confused. “dontcha wanna play dance dance revolution?”

this makes you open your eyes wide in anticipation and excitement. no way. “what, really? the line is still so fuckin’ long though…”

“i’ll deal with it.” satoru tells you wait while he goes to the front of the line. you can’t exactly hear what the hell he’s saying to the people up front, but you do see him flash his signature pearly whites and flutter his bright blue eyes. he meets your eyes and motions excitedly for you to come to the front, and you hurry there, thinking if you wasted any time, you might never get to play dance dance revolution for the rest of the night.

“still got coins?” he asks, as you nod and hand him whatever was left in your purse.

“did you just flirt with the people in front to let us cut them?”

“maybe.”

that makes you uncharacteristically giggle. you want to pick a fight about how that’s so unethical to other people in line who have waited a long time to play, but you’re feeling a bit selfish tonight. satoru squeezes your hand tightly and you squeeze back as the game starts.

you’re not entirely sure how long you both play dance dance revolution, but you can’t remember a time where you’ve enjoyed playing this game more. satoru always says the funniest things in the middle of a game, and because you’re still a bit drunk, you laugh really hard at it and it just spurs him to continue making awful one-liners. by the end of however many rounds you’ve played, satoru is completely wiped. he’s sweaty, breathing heavy, and his lanky yet sturdy build is leaning against the railing.

“how the fuck are you this good at dance dance revolution?” he says in between deep breaths.

“it’s not made for people with long legs,” you tease.

“’kay, one more. this time i’ll really-”

“alright, you both need to leave this game station. immediately.” you both turn to find a club bouncer practically escorting the both of you off the platform.

“we weren’t even playing for long…” you start.

“you played long enough that several attendees complained about the both of you. please remove yourself from the station for the rest of the night. i’ll be watching so don’t try and go back.”

you and satoru stare at the bouncer in silence as he disappears in the back. soon as he’s out of satoru’s line of sight, the swears start rolling in.

“what the fuck? who the fuck was that? who does he think telling us what to do? honestly, y/n, give me the green light, i’m literally a foot taller than him. i’ll kick his-”

you don’t wait for him to finish his sentence and you don’t really care for him to either. you grab his hands and pull him to the dance floor, where coincidentally, a remix of “murder on the dance floor” starts to play. satoru doesn’t question it and matches your energy. he’s always good at matching your energy and being on the same wavelength as you. you clearly have more dancing energy left, and you want to dance with him. you let the music guide the both of you to the center of the floor.

the purple and blue dim lights illuminate both of your faces and both of you can’t really recall if there are other people around you. it’s just you and him.

you turn around and sway your hips and satoru takes a risk and puts his arms on them and pulls you closer to him. when you let him, he full sends it, and pulls your back (and coincidentally, your ass) flush against his front. you have some sense in you to not grind into one of your best friends, so you purposefully try to keep the movement to a minimum while still allowing your body to move freely to the beat.

satoru is trying hard to not get hard, and failing miserably. thankfully, you don’t notice anything, except in the back of your mind, you wish he would’ve kept his keys and wallet in his back pocket instead of his front. satoru can’t stand you on him anymore unless he wants to be stuck in a rock and (quite literally) a hard place, so he spins you back around so that you’re facing him.

you laugh and squeal at being spun. “do it again. spin me again.”

he spins you again and you laugh again. this time, he pulls the front of your body against him and sways his body with yours. you take note of his bashful smile and how his orbs have taken on a darker hue. the song melts into a slower, lo-fi city pop remix, and you feel like you can finally talk above the music now.

you try to open your mouth but you keep on giggling.

“what? what’s so funny?” satoru joins you, trying to hold back his giggles.

“i…i don’t know, i just love dancing, i think?”

“are you still sad?”

the question catches you off guard. “uh, no. i'm not. i’m glad we’re dancing and…i dunno why i said i was sad before.” you trail off, genuinely trying to remember. “i guess…maybe it was because of that pervy guy…”

immediately, satoru stops swaying and comes to a complete stop. his eyes try to make contact with yours, but your mind is still occupied with the euphoric feeling of grooving to rhythm so he has to steady your body and hold your jaw so that you’re looking directly into his now deeper blue eyes.

“what pervy guy?” you sense the genuine worry in his voice, and it snaps you out of the trance.

“wait, no sorry. it’s not a big deal, satoru. he just bought me a drink.” you hesitate to even continue, as satoru already looks upset. you swallow apprehensively, making sure to choose your next words carefully. “he just bought me a drink and, like, made weird comments about my boobs. it’s honestly kind of funny now because i dumped the drink he bought for me on him.”

satoru relaxes his grip on you upon hearing that you took care of the situation yourself, but only a little bit. his brows are still furrowed in irritation. “okay, i’m glad you’re okay…but promise me you’ll point him out if you see him, again?”

you nod, as you both let your body go back to comfortably swaying with the rhythm. “wait, where’s mia?”

satoru scoffs. “don’t bring her up, too fuckin’ clingy. also, she was being sooo bitchy to riko. and you know, suguru is finally getting some, so i can’t let a random hook up do something to fuck that up…”

you smile and shake your head. wow, so she was being a bitch to riko, too? red flag. “you know she was also being a bitch to me.”

satoru frowns. “yeah, i figured out kinda late. after you left from pool, i asked her what was up, and she was just-” satoru lifts his hands up in defeat. “she was a lot. sorry about her…”

“glad you also thought she was a bitch.”

he hums in response. the beat picks up a bit, and he spins again, and pulls your back against him for the second time that night. you both continue to sway to the beat, and you’re once again met with the uncomfortable, unshakeable, feeling down there.

it’s now or never, your body thinks before your brain has any time to process the ramifications of your actions. you’re significantly shorter than satoru, so you lift your head up and look at satoru’s face, and he smiles at you and leans closer to your face. your breath hitches at the back of your throat at the sheer lack of distance between both of your mouths. you almost chicken out. almost.

“m’horny,” you slur, pouting at satoru.

it’s satoru’s turn to choke on his words. he definitely did not hear that right. he definitely drank too much tonight, and he doesn’t know what he’s hearing or doing right now because there’s no way you said what he thinks you just said.

“w-what?”

you ignore satoru’s fumble. you whip around and put your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your level, while standing on your tippy toes. “i’m horny, satoru. i’ve been so stupidly horny this entire night because i took a stupid edible that shoko gave me and then i took that stupid shot and then-”

satoru pulls you away from the dance floor, and he’s practically running to the exit of the barcade. he doesn’t care that he’s leaving both of your friends behind because he needs to hear it again. he needs to hear you outside, where there’s no loud music, and there’s a cool breeze to wake you up from your senses. he turns to see you giggling, and he fights the urge to smile.

“okay, what’s the problem? daddy’s here to help.”

normally, this would make you annoyed, but it just makes you laugh instead.

“i said, m'horny and i dunno what to do 'bout it.” you pout, finally feeling free that you’ve let someone else know about this…issue you’ve been dealing with the whole night.

satoru grins widely. “y'came to the right person.” he cups you cheeks softly. he’s also slurring his words. “wanna go home? i’ll call an uber?”

you nod, and you pull out your phone to check your messages, and satoru does the same. you both have the same messages from the group chat:

suguru: satoru do NOT fucking come home me n riko are hangin in the living room

suguru: satoru are u reading this do NOT step a foot inside or i s2g i’ll end u w my bare hands

shoko: LMAO i’m crying also y/n - staying the nite @ hime’s :)

“i guess…uh…not sure where i’ll go but i’ll figure it out…” satoru fumbles again.

“are you stupid? you’re obviously coming back to my place? what was the other option? sleeping out on the street?” you berate satoru, sounding more like your normal self.

“wow, jeez, okay, chill woman. i missed it when you were complaining about how horny you are.” satoru says, as he puts in your address on the uber.

“i’m less horny now because you keep saying stupid shit.” you cross your arms, consequently causing your boobs to lift and almost spill out of your bralette - something satoru notices in his peripheral. he’s trying to look anywhere but your chest, but the cold breeze is nipping at your skin, causing goosebumps to rise and your nipples to get hard. satoru swallows and takes a deep breath before turning to you and taking your leather shirt jacket from you.

“put this on, you’re cold.”

“i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“how do you know i’m cold? hm?” satoru is getting really tired of you constantly challenging him when you’re both drunk, so he decides to be blunt about it, the same way you were blunt before about letting him know you were horny.

“because…” he gestures to your titties flippantly. “your headlights are on.” he also grabs your wrist and crosses the crosswalk, heading to the meeting point across the street from the barcade.

you arch an eyebrow. what on earth is he talking about? “what does that mean?” you say, trying to keep up with his strides. he looks back at you, and has to hold back a groan as he sees your titties bouncing up and down to match his pace and thinks the universe is playing the sickest joke on him.

“your nipples are so hard, i can see them through your bra.”

you stare at him as you both finally reach the meeting point. your mouth slowly furls into a frown your eyes widen. “it’s not a bra. it’s a bralette.”

“sorry, baby. your bralette is doing a shit job at covering your nips.”

you sigh. guess he has a point. you put on the leather jacket, but not without deciding to be extra cheeky towards him.

“my titties are so cold. you were right. i wish…” you pretend to take a dramatic sigh. “i wish someone could, like, i don’t know. i wish someone could warm them up with their hands.”

satoru wastes no time in picking up what you put down, and his palms immediately go straight to your titties. his large hands easily engulfs them, and he moves the fingers that are touching your bare skin back and forth creating a fiction that does nothing to warm you up, but it feels good at least.

“better?” satoru teases. he has a raging hard on now, so he shifts slightly in his stance to adjust himself. you hum and give a cheeky grin in response. something in your head tell you what this looks like, optics-wise, but you both don’t care. ever since the word “horny” came out of your mouth, both you and satoru have been running on the bare bones autopilot, just trying to get back to your place.

satoru keeps his hands on your chest until he spots the uber driver coming from a couple yards away, and pulls his hands away to flag them down. you frown at your chest feeling untouched, but keep your needy thoughts to yourself. you’ll have plenty of time to have satoru warm you up at home.

the uber ride feels like forever. and what’s worse is that satoru has become the chattiest passenger on earth, and it’s annoying you so much that you can’t even focus on being horny and wanting his hands on your chest or anywhere on your body. you’re not even sure what they’re talking about but you hear bits and pieces of their conversation as you stare out the window.

“i think rigatoni is a good pasta shape.”

“nahh, you gotta try cannelloni, my dude.”

“aren’t they the same?”

a loud gasp is heard and you know it’s from satoru. “don’t say that!”

“you kinda look like bob odenkirk. has anyone told you that? are you bob odenkirk? i loved you in better call saul.” this one makes you want to die from second hand embarrassment.

“i don’t know who that individual is.”

“ziti is also pretty good.”

you think you’re about to go insane with all the talk about fucking pasta shapes. you never want to see or eat pasta in your fucking life ever again after this uber ride. you’re about to burst and tell satoru to shut the fuck up (he gets so annoying and talkative when he’s drunk) when the familiar apartment complex comes into view, and you almost open the car door while it’s moving to get out of it.

“thanks for the ride, hector. i’m giving you a 5 stars, and i’m sending you a recipe for chicken and ricotta cannelloni.” satoru waves the uber driver goodbye, and turns to see you half way back to your apartment. he quickly sprints to catch up with you so he doesn’t get locked out.

“jeez, you’re so eager to get back home. what? you excited about something,” he teases, as he closes the gate behind you. you can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to either slap it or kiss it off of him, but you don’t dare look back at him.

“i need to pee, okay?”

satoru shuts up until you both get to your apartment and lock the door. he sighs and flops down on the couch, manspreading his long slender legs and arms across the couch and carpet.

“you can put something on the tv, don’t care. i’ll be back.” you quickly run to the bathroom and freshen up, and come back to see satoru watching a random episode of better call saul, and you scoff knowing exactly where this is headed.

“before you say anything…he didn’t look bob odenkirk.”

immediately satoru gets defensive. “you didn’t even see him properly. i was the one talking to him and interacting with him and it was definitely him.”

“you’re drunk.”

“so are you!”

okay, he has a point, but still. you sit on the couch next to him and pull his face to face you. “why would bob odenkirk, star of better call saul, be driving ubers on his friday nights, satoru?”

this shuts satoru up. he shifts in his seat and exits out of better call saul to the home screen, and plays some random reality tv show. meanwhile, you know it’s late, but you can’t help but check your phone one last time. you’re absolutely deflated that it’s almost midnight and you haven’t heard from toji at all. you sigh agitatedly and chuck your phone to the other side of the sofa while you stretch out your legs.

“toji still hasn’t texted you back?” satoru asks, shifting his body to face you. you mimic his actions, inching closer to him while frowning about your predicament.

“yeah, i just…i just feel stupid okay! i wish he would at least say something! i was kind of vulnerable sending that text…”

satoru sighs. he knows what he’s about to say next is so wrong, so pervy, so inappropriate, but he’s a bit drunk right now, and to be quite honest, he really wants to see this picture of you.

“can i see the text?” he asks quietly, holding his breath. he hopes he’s reading your signs correctly from the barcade. he doesn’t fumble this time.

you reach to grab your phone and unlock it. you turn the brightness up and hand the phone to satoru with the photo of your soapy titties on full display.

satoru’s breath gets stuck in his throat, and he’s choked up on words to describe, what he thinks, are the sexiest pair of titties he’s ever seen in his life. sure, he’s seen the outline of your titties through sheer t-shirts, and today he’s felt them and seen your nipples hard, but none of it beats the way they look bare and wet. god, he feels like such a perv seeing this pic of his best friend and getting wildly turned on by it.

he swallows, his breath unintentionally shallow. “toji’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“what?”

“he’s a fucking idiot.” satoru says louder. and he believes it from the bottom of his fucked up horny heart. he looks up at you and meets your eyes. “if i got this from you, i would respond in a heartbeat. don’t give a fuck where i am or what i’m doin’.”

your breath starts getting heavy, and you feel your heart beating faster. why can’t you hear him properly? better get closer.

“what would you say?” your voice is barely a whisper now, your eyes are drilled into his. his once bright blue eyes are as dark as the murky sea now.

he scoffs lightly, and you smell the beer in his breath. “i’d fuckin’ beat off to it, that’s what i’d do. i’d fuckin’ paint my sheets white.”

you suck in a deep breath loudly. god, he sounds so vulgar. you’ve never heard him talk like this, and it feels like you’ve unlocked a new side to satoru you’ve never seen before. the adrenaline of the alcohol combined with the wetness between your legs makes your head spin and heart race.

satoru edges closer to you, ready to make a proposition you can’t refuse. “i have an idea.” he inches even closer and places his hands on your chin and bring it inches away from his wet lips. “let’s…let’s kiss. to make toji jealous. teach him a lesson. show him what he could’ve gotten tonight if he had the balls to message back.” sober satoru would’ve laughed after saying something this nonsensical and absurd, but drunk satoru can only think of shoving his tongue down your throat (and other places).

your answer doesn’t involve words. you close the pathetically small gap between your lips and his and it feels like you’ve locked on to something you can’t ever let go of.

satoru grabs your jaw and pulls you even closer to him, if that’s even possible. he leads the kiss and opens your mouth for his tongue to enter and explore uncharted territory. you let him, and your tongues fight against each other for dominance, and you lose every time. and it drives you fucking crazy.

you moan into his mouth as satoru straddles you on top of his lap. you feel his hard on, and you subconsciously start to grind your hips on him, moaning even more repetitively. your short skirt rides up, leaving nothing to imagination as your ass is on full display, which satoru takes full advantage of by kneading it and pulling you even closer to his hips. your moans get more shaky as he touches your ass and lightly slaps it, earning a squeal from you that gets drowned in satoru’s mouth.

“so fuckin’ needy.” satoru places open mouthed kisses on your neck and as your throaty gasps overpower the reality garbage playing in the background. he’s right - you’re so needy. you’ve been wanting this the whole night.

you miss the lack of contact of his lips on yours so you grab a fistful of his ivory hair and reconnect your mouths together. he pushes your back onto the sofa and you whine at the loss of friction on your clothed core. you immediately palm his raging hard on and satoru groans, his eyes closed and face flushed, which spurs you even more.

he grabs your hand away from his hard member, and places it above your head. he grabs the wrist of your other hand and hold them both with ease above your head while he continues to kiss you deeply. so this is what the other girls are getting when they kiss satoru, you think to yourself in the middle of all the ecstacy.

satoru uses his free hands to roughly pull your bralette down, and you hear a tear as continues to expose your titties. you break free from his lips and moan as he uses his hands to palm your titties.

“h-hey! you ripped my bralette!” you say between breathy sighs.

“i’ll buy you another one.” he doesn’t even bother to look up or sound apologetic about it, as he uses his long fingers to pinch and play with your hard and sensitive nub, causing your to moan wantonly.

“f-fuck~” you need him on your mouth again. you can’t get enough of his tongue inside you, and you pathetically beg for it. “please~ please kiss me again, satoru~”

who’s satoru to deny such a simple request? his mouth meets yours again and you playfully bite his lower lip and giggle. it doesn’t last long when he squeezes and starts to roughly play with your bare titties again, encapsulating your moans in his mouth.

you’re not sure how long you’re kissing satoru. you’re kissing so much your mouths are numb and swollen and red. satoru doesn’t dare go any further than just kissing you and playing with your titties.

you want him to fuck you. and you know he wants to fuck you, too. but your eyelids are getting so heavy from kissing him, and satoru’s fervor is also mellowing. you both are resorting to small pecks and quick kisses between soft giggles and playful bites.

eventually, satoru moves from your lips to your jawline, and leaves soft wet kisses ever inch of your neck down to the center of your chest. he wants to kiss your hard perky nipples and titties, but he sides with his better judgement to not take it further than just kisses — he’s already been so selfish playing with your soft titties with his hands.

you’re both too tired and quite frankly, on the last legs of your intoxication to get up and go to your bed. you also don’t want to leave satoru’s embrace even though it’s crowded and every joint is touching him.

similarly, satoru has no intention of letting your leave his side, your warmth more soothing than any blanket he could’ve used. you both lull yourselves into a slumber, the rising of both your chests being the rhythm you drift off to.

in between your heated makeout session with satoru and falling asleep, you don’t notice the texts that toji sends you in response to your picture from earlier today that you were obsessing about so much. you don’t hear the vibration of your phone when he calls you, demanding an answer for the tent in his pants right before he’s trying to fall asleep.

and you most definitely don’t notice you accidentally accepting the call while satoru was straddling you in his lap.

[aventurineswife]

aventurine x reader!!: 🤍

req with hanahaki, but it’s a condition reader was born with {rather than the traditional unrequited love type of things, but aven doesn’t know that} basicallyyy: reader hides their condition from him, until one day aven finds out, and is worried it might be his fault

noticing how extra clingy he’s become, reader decides to ask him about it, he asks about their hanahaki, and we get cute fluffy ending <3

{basically chronically ill reader looking back on this, but hanahaki is very interesting :D}

hope you’re having a wonderful morning/evening/night <3 🤍🫧

“I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough”

Summary: You have been hiding a lifelong condition, Hanahaki Disease, from Aventurine. Though the disease isn't caused by unrequited love, it still manifests in the form of flowers growing your lungs. As Aventurine becomes more clingy and concerned about your health, you finally confess the truth. Aventurine, feeling a mixture of guilt and concern, vows to support you through your condition, offering comfort and care.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hanahaki Disease, Chronic Illness, Fluff, Comfort, Emotional Support, Angst (with a fluffy ending), Established Relationship, Relationship Growth, Vulnerability, Healing, Sweet Moments, Caretaking

Warnings: Mild illness (Hanahaki Disease), mention of chronic conditions, light angst, feelings of guilt and concern, unrequited love not being the cause of the condition.

A/N: THIS ACTUALLY SUCH A GOOD PROMPT?! AND ALSO ORIGINAL TOO!! LIKE MAN I WAS DONE CRYING OVER CHARACTER GETTING THE DISEASE BECAUSE OF UNREQUITED LOVE!! ☹️💔

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft, golden hues across your shared living space. Aventurine stands in the kitchen, flipping through a deck of cards absentmindedly, his gaze shifting occasionally in your direction. You’ve noticed how his attention seems to linger on you lately, how his glances feel like they carry a silent question he hasn’t yet voiced. And though he’s always been affectionate, his recent clinginess has you wondering if something’s on his mind.

Today, after all the little moments of unspoken worry and his fingers brushing your arm a little too often, you decide to bring it up.

"Aven, love,” you begin gently, meeting his gaze, “Is everything alright? You’ve been...extra close lately."

He hesitates, his ever-present smile faltering just slightly. "Ah, am I really that obvious?" He chuckles, but there's a hint of nervousness behind it. "It’s just...I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been coughing a bit more lately."

You freeze for a second, feeling your heart quicken. You’d tried so hard to hide your condition from him, carefully coughing petals into tissues, tucking them away when he wasn’t looking. Your condition was a lifelong burden, not caused by any recent heartache but simply part of who you are. But now it’s clear he’s been noticing more than you realized.

“Aven, it’s not... It’s not what you think,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I know what you’re thinking—that it might be because of you. But it’s not. It’s something I was born with.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Aventurine’s confident composure breaks entirely. He stares at you, brows furrowing, genuine worry and perhaps a bit of guilt swimming in his eyes. "You mean...this wasn’t something recent? You’ve...you’ve had it all along?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. "It’s always been there. The doctors don’t know why, but it’s just a part of me. I didn’t want to worry you, so I hid it."

He exhales, visibly relieved but still concerned. “You shouldn’t have hidden something so big,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through your hair, fingers gentle and affectionate. “I... I hate thinking of you going through that alone.”

His tone is soft, filled with a depth of emotion you rarely hear from him. "I just wanted things to feel normal," you whisper, resting your forehead against his. "But lately... it’s been harder to hide. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t trust you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his hand slipping down to cradle your face, his thumb tracing gentle patterns against your cheek. “I’ll help you through this. You’re not alone in this anymore, you hear me?” His voice is resolute, his determination clear.

A small, hesitant smile finds its way onto your lips as you nod, feeling the weight of your secret lighten. “You really don’t have to...”

“Oh, but I do,” he insists, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. “I’m already envisioning ways we can handle it together. I’ll bring you tea every morning, make sure you rest more, and maybe bring a few cards to distract you when things get rough.”

You laugh softly at his playfulness, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. The tenderness in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you—it’s as if he’s promising to take on part of this burden just to keep you smiling.

“I’m lucky to have you.” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him.

He smiles, holding you close, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "And I’m lucky to have you, petals and all."

With Aventurine by your side, you realize that even the things you once saw as burdens feel a little lighter. The two of you, together, find comfort in each other’s embrace, knowing that no secret or struggle can stand between the love you share.

[matchavellichor]

okay huge fan of your dark!seb but hear me out…… dark!ominis

A.N: I absolutely adore dark!ominis omfg—I have like five diff dark omi drabbles in my google docs that i've abandoned bc i feel like no matter how i write it, it seems too out of character for him, then i end up hating it LOL. This isn't as bad as my dark!seb but here's Ominis doing some.....uhhhh questionable things to MC under Imperius.

Just This Once

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.1k words - ao3

Tags: !!Non-Con!!, Pining, Obsession, Inappropriate Use of Imperius, Unconsensual Kissing/Touching, Masturbation, Omi Being a Lil Pervball

Summary: Ominis' infatuation leads him to break some of the principles he's held dear to him for the better part of his life.

Part 2, Part 3 (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The fireplace in the Slytherin common room has long gone out for the night, only a few crackling embers to fill the silence. Moonlight seeps in from the windows, through the murky waters of the Black Lake, casting the room in a palid, green hue. 

Despite the hour, he knows he’ll find her there. 

He wonders if it’s one of the rare nights where she’s asleep by the time he arrives, curled into herself on one of the armchairs with her book forgotten on her lap. 

One of the rare evenings where he can afford himself a bit less self-control. Indulge in the silkiness of her skin, trace his fingers over her features until the point she inevitably stirs, and he’s forced to retract himself as if he’d never touched her. 

It doesn’t matter if it is. Tonight, he’ll touch her the way he wants to, either way.

His skin prickles with warring emotions as he makes his way soundlessly down the steps of the dormitories. Shame, guilt, disgust—overwhelming anticipation.

The dizzying feeling of want overshadows them all.

An ugly, marred tug of obsession claws its way under his skin like a parasite. He can’t escape it, can’t make it stop—hasn't been able to for a while now.

He’s grown accustomed to it. Grown used to the way his nerves burn when he touches her, the way his lungs scream for oxygen when he catches her scent.

He always wants, yet he never gets, and he’s so, so tired of wanting.

Just this once. 

The reminder eases through him like a breeze, quelling the incessant pounding of his heart in his ears, the thin sheen of sweat settling itself over his skin.

His hand trembles when it dips into the pocket of his robes as he approaches the familiar set of lounges in front of the fireplace. He feels for his wand and tightens his hand around it, the wood biting into his skin, a sensation almost comforting in nature.

Just this once.

“Was wondering when you’d show,” her voice is warm and sleep-rough, a hazy melody that proves just as useful in easing his nerves. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” he murmurs. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighted with attrition for something he has yet to do.

She waits for him to sit down beside her, but instead he stays in place, hovering over the side of the couch.

He clears his throat, nerves stiffening his voice. “Do you think we could read in the Undercroft tonight?”

She looks at him perplexed, until her lips curl into a smile.

“Since when did you become such a rule breaker? Sebastian finally rubbing off on you?” She humors, stretching her sore limbs.

“I’d just prefer it. Change of…scenery.”

She snorts. “Change of scenery, huh?”

He nods sheepishly, cheeks burning. Change of scenery? Really, Ominis?

He can feel her staring at him, contemplating. He’s half-convinced she can hear the way his heart is nearly beating out of his chest.

“Please,” he adds for good measure.

His fingers find his wand again, tucked surreptitiously behind layers of fabric. He supposes he could cast it here, even if that isn’t part of the plan. The thought makes anxiety trickle up his skin. He doesn’t want to stray from the plan.

When she rises from her seat with an acquiescent sigh, his entire body sinks with relief.

“Alright, fine, let’s go…but we’ll have to be quiet.” 

The walk to the Undercroft is spent in the silence of disillusionment spells and muffling charms. Inside the darkened cellar, with only the soft sound of her humming as she settles onto one of the old chaises, a flurry of second-thoughts numb his brain in white static. 

Disgust settles itself like a boulder in his gut, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat as he takes a seat beside her, as he considers over and over again what he’s about to do. 

He can feel her thigh press against his when she shifts in her seat. It’s strangely grounding. He feels the taste rescind.

She’s so incredibly warm, so terribly close, that it buries any trepidations he holds deep into an untouchable part of himself, until he can think of nothing but the prospect of more of her skin on his, until desire overshadows any inkling of guilt he might possess.

The urge to touch, and taste, and caress, subjugates the contrite voice in his head that repeats a litany of you promised, you promised, you promised.

His nausea blends into something else as he quietly slips his wand from his pocket, and any vows he’s made to himself about never doing what he’s about to do, dissolves into inexistence as the spell passes through his lips in a whisper.

“Imperio.” 

The incantation takes effect with such fluidity, with such little effort, that in that moment, despite all his years of fervent resistance, he has never felt more like a Gaunt.

He resists the urge to double over and be sick on the flagstone floor. 

He can barely hear the sound of the book in her hands falling to the floor, nor his own wand slipping from his fingers with a dull clatter. The ringing in his ears is far too loud to allow it.

His core buzzes with the thrum of dark magic that washes over him, a mordant reminder of what exactly he’s done, one that he can feel impress itself on his very soul. He takes a fortifying breath.

Just this once.

“Turn to me.” 

The command works over her immediately, and though he can’t see her, he can hear her shift in her seat to face him. He’s never been more grateful for his blindness than in that moment, that he can’t see the glazed-over appearance of her eyes, her vacant stare. He’s certain it would break him.

He shifts forward himself, and when he touches her for the first time with trembling hands, the incessant ringing in his ears ceases. The drove of self-reprehension comes to a halt, replaced by something starved, replaced by the instinct to take.

He drags his fingers unsteadily over the ridge of her cheekbone, traces the contours of her brows, down the bridge of her nose, the same way he’s done before only briefly in her sleep, though this time with more unabashed exploration.

The thrill of not having to be careful awakens something in him. He wants to commit every millimeter to memory.

His thumb brushes over the gentle arch of her cupid’s bow, then over the plush pillow that is her bottom lip. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs burn for oxygen. His hand takes hold of her jaw and he dips forward, so that his first inhale is made up of nothing but her, his nose pressed to the soft hair at her temple. 

He tilts his head and lets his lips land on the smooth plane of her cheek. Her skin is warm and silky, just as he remembered from the brief bits of contact he’s allowed himself in the past. He lets out a contented sigh. 

Slowly, patiently, he works himself up to his destination, planting tender kisses along her face, reveling in every little sensation, until he reaches the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth.

He’s almost convinced he’s dreaming. 

He takes a shuddering breath and connects their lips the way he’s wanted to for an agonizingly long time.

If he’s ever known softness before, it’s incomparable to what he receives from her lips, from her face cupped in his hands.

He’s filled with the insatiable desire to know more, to drown in it, to suffocate on the feeling of her against him. 

His tongue brushes over her bottom lip, tentative and a bit too cautious. He’s not exactly sure how to kiss her, but he notes rather morbidly that she won’t mind either way. It’s not like she’ll remember.

He tries again, experimenting, prodding at her lips softly at first, but she doesn’t part for him the way he expects her to, doesn’t grant him entrance. It’s… not right.

His brain blares with alarms in deafening repetition that it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

She’s stiff against his lips, frigid and unmoving. It’s not how it should be. It’s not how he wants it to be. It’s askew and breaks him out of his fantasy and it makes him angry. 

Makes his fingers dig too harshly into her skin, makes him crowd her against the armrest of the lounge and press his mouth to her more forcefully, as if he can brutalize the compliance out of her. 

A whimper escapes her, a brief breach in her trance-like state, and he’s snapped out of his overwhelming frustration. He breaks the kiss and pants against her skin, the reminder of the power he has over her surging back. 

“Kiss me.”

Relief oozes into him like the trickle of a downpouring stream, cooling his blood and letting him melt into the feeling of her lips finally moving against his. His touch retreats back to tenderness. 

There’s a clumsy sort of uncertainty in the way his mouth moves against hers, an unpracticed mess of tongue and teeth. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t let himself dwell on the chagrin that is his first kiss.

It’s all he’s ever wanted with her. She tastes sweet on his tongue, the culmination of all his desires being fulfilled, and yet still, somehow, it’s not enough.

Even as he kisses her deeply, tenderly, until his lips feel raw and kiss-bruised, and there’s a delicious soreness in his jaw — he can’t shake that little, driving pain in his chest of want. 

No, not of want. Of need. 

There’s a part of him that he doesn’t quite understand, a part of him that aches for more without being conscious of just what more is. 

He’s aware of it, though. He feels it in the tension pulling just below his navel, the heat pooling in his blood. He recognizes it in the depraved instinct to slip his hands up her blouse, to hike up her skirt, and— and—

He contemplates straying from the plan for the second time that night.

All he wanted was to kiss her, just this once, just this once— but as he tips her back onto the cushions, as he hovers over her with his lips never leaving hers, he realizes that isn’t true.

He lets himself sink against her. Her body molds with his, presses against his own, plush and warm and indescribably perfect. He pins her down with his weight—even if he’s aware he doesn’t have to, he finds some sick sense of security in knowing she can’t escape.

He wants more.

He slots himself between her legs and tugs one of her thighs around his waist. It’s almost too much, his breathing scattered and uneven. 

He wants more.

Even if he isn’t sure what more entails, he possesses some idea as his hips begin to rut against hers of their own accord. The whimper he lets out makes him burn with shame.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck to hide his mortification. He inhales, until the dizzying scent of her perfume numbs his brain.

He’s subtly aware of the fact he’s grinding right against her knickers, her skirt bunched up haphazardly at her hips to accommodate him between her legs. He tries not to think about it.

His thoughts feel hazy as he contemplates the fact that only a thin piece of cotton separates her cunt from rubbing right against the front of his trousers. It would be so easy to—

He can’t.

He forces himself to keep his hands above her waist, far from temptation. He doesn’t force them not to wander, though.

Just this once, he repeats, as his fingers hover over the front placket of her blouse. He muffles his breathing with his lips pressed to her throat.

He trails his hand up to her collar and unclasps the first button with trembling fingers. He tries not to think about it, either.

He concentrates on how she tastes when he dips his tongue out to lick a stripe just under her jaw, and for a moment he doesn’t care how lewd it is, doesn’t care how utterly debased he’s acting.

Her breath hitches, just the subtlest change in pitch, but it’s enough for him to pretend that she wants this. That she wants him.

Little, brass buttons clatter to the stone floor of the Undercroft in quiet clinks, byproduct of his impatience, of his self-restraint slipping from his fingers in the hasty manner he undresses her. 

The same hasty manner he fumbles with his belt—before he can think too long about what he’s about to do—until he’s gripping his weeping cock and biting down on his lip to stop the shameful noises threatening to escape his throat.

He palms himself shakily, remorse adling his unsteady movements, while he tries to work the courage to actually touch her. It isn’t long before his hand is slick with his arousal, and the skin of her neck is damp with his heavy breathing.

His hand hovers over the bare skin of her midriff, fingers twitching with the desire to sink them into her soft flesh, to trace over her curves and memorize the contours he’s only felt in daydreams. 

His voice is raw when he commands her, riddled with shame. “Ask—ask me to touch you.”

She obeys in a whisper. “Please, touch me.” 

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it’s not—

“Ask me to touch you and say my name.” 

“Touch me,” she breathes, and he can feel the vibration of her voice where his mouth is still latched onto the base of her throat. “Please, Ominis.”

There.

His name on her lips strikes his nerves on fire, lights the very blood in his veins alight. He caves.

Her skin is warm under his fingertips. He can feel her heartbeat where he presses his palm to her sternum, a frantic pounding— undoubtedly a reflection of her subconscious beneath the influence of the spell.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel guilty, he can’t. Not now. 

Instead, he indulges. Pushes the sheer material of her chemise the rest of the way up, until it’s over her chest, and he can feel.

Her nipples pebble as they come in contact with the cool air of the Undercroft and he runs his hand over the stiffened bud, rolls it between his thumb and index. 

She’s overwhelmingly soft. It disgusts him how badly he wants to defile her for it. 

He notes wryly how revoltingly weak he is, if all it took was some poorly-placed obsession for him to do away with every last principle he’s spent the better part of his life cultivating. How easily an Unforgivable spilled from his lips at the prospect of feeling hers.

He’ll scrub his skin raw afterwards in the shower in a desperate attempt to forget all of this, he promises himself. He won’t do this again, he can’t—

Just this once.

His head sinks to her chest and he murmurs against her skin, “Again— Say, say it again.”

“Please, Ominis.”

He sighs in blissful relief. “Yes.”

He counts the rows of her sternum with a drag of his tongue. Her chest is already sticky with his saliva when he takes hold of his cock again, the dripping tip sullying her untouched skin.

His hips rut into his own hand and the Undercroft fills with the sounds of his quiet grunts. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines it’s her he’s thrusting into as he fucks his fist, his other hand groping blindly, fondling and squeezing her supple flesh until he’s sure he’s left marks in his carelessness.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, because he likes to pretend it’s real. “So–so good, angel.”

She lets out the softest whimper, and it’s enough to make his jaw fall slack, a pleasured groan escaping his parted lips. 

He presses his forehead to hers. “I love you. I love you so much. Tell me— tell me you love me. Please say it.”

“I love you.” 

She obeys too fast, her voice too vacant. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t care. Those three little words are enough to wrench a strangled sort of sound out of his chest.

“Again,” he begs, voice hoarse, and he’s only distantly aware of the wet tracks running down his cheeks. His thrusts are sloppy and frantic, so close to his undoing. “Say my name.” 

“I love you, Ominis.”

“Fuck,” his voice cracks, his head dropping to her shoulder.

He’s pushed over the edge with a sob, painting her stomach and chest in ribbons of milky white. An endless litany of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry pours from his lips as he shudders through his climax.

Shame sears through him like fiendfyre and he moans his forgiveness on a cry against her lips, kisses her tenderly as if it’s an act of retribution.

His hand finds her stomach, his palm rubbing into the incriminating mess of his seed on her skin, and the satisfaction he feels with it only serves to amplify his self-disgust. 

He kneads the sticky flesh beneath his fingertips, as if he can make it so that even after the scourgify, some part of him will be there, a memory only he’s aware of. He doesn’t want to let her go, he can’t— he—

He does so anyway. He forces himself off of her on unsteady legs and tucks himself into his trousers. 

He cleans her with all the care in the world, as if his tenderness will somehow make up for how crudely he’s violated her trust tonight.

Everytime his hand brushes over her skin as he redresses her, he repeats to himself that it was just this once. Brands it into his brain, lets that contrite voice repeat it over and over again until he might go mad. 

He takes her back to the common room and sets her down gently into that same armchair she was waiting for him in at the beginning of the night. Brushes a lingering kiss to her forehead that stretches for a moment too long.

He mutters a reluctant finite incantatem under his breath, pairs it with a heavy sleeping spell, and retreats to his own dorm before he can fall to temptation again. 

Only then, behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster, skin still prickling with the memory of every way he’d touched her, is he made certain of something he’s been trying desperately to deny all evening.

This was the first time, but it certainly won’t be the last.

[kxlitz]

★ Growing up with Tokio Hotel (Devilish) ★

AN: It is no secret that I adore the childhood friends trope with all of my soul. This is very self indulgent and I have zero shame about it.

!! Some if not most hcs are based off events from Bill Kaulitz’s book “Career Suicide” !!

Part 2

Warning! Underage drinking and Smoking, small mention of bullying, some sexual themes briefly addressed. Friendly reminder it’s Tokio Hotel we’re talking about

How did you end up in Magdeburg or Loitsche is up to you, but there is no denial in saying that you were at the right place, at the right time when you met a little boy with spiky black and red hair at your new school playground

Little Bill Kaulitz thought you were cool from the second he saw you. There weren’t many people in the school that he had an interest on or that even payed any positive attention to him. With you it was different. You looked kind and unique!

Quickly he introduced you to his brother Tom, him being a kid with a bit of an inflated ego it would take him some more time to warm up to you.

In the meantime, you and Bill became inseparable. You were basically glued to each other’s hip. His mom would drop him off at your place every Saturday for you guys to play with your Polly Pockets, Power Rangers, dressing up in some ridiculous outfits that were the highest of fashion for your little selves.

Bill’s mom genuinely loved how her son was not scared to be himself around you. She would often ask how you were doing and when you would come over next.

You started to grow on Tom thanks to his mom’s faith in you. If his beloved mom trusted you then so could he.

Tom was getting into skating at the time, he would offer you to learn with him or watch him do tricks.

He loved the attention.

He probably tried to charm you up but gave it up when he saw of how much worth you were. You guys did not bring it up again, only in interviews later on when you wanted to dirt on Tom.

Unfortunately you wouldn’t always be shielded from the chaos in their childhood. One way or another you would probably end up trashing a train or smoking blunts behind the school bushes very early on.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to show up to class totally high.

On the evening you guys would grab your bikes, or you would ride with one of them, and head down by a lake to smoke, chat and unwind. Throwing rocks in and seing how many times it bounced.

With time the twins found their one true love, music. They dreamed big, long gone were the school talent shows and weddings. They wanted to reach the world.

For that, their little singer, guitarist duo with a keyboard that played bass and drums wouldn’t work.

One morning right before class the boys came up to you, literally sprinting and blabbering at the same time. You only understood “band, you, join, casting”

From that moment on you were doomed.

If you didn’t play an instrument already the twins’s step-dad would happily accept you into his music school for free.

Through his acquaintances you guys found a drummer. He was immature for his age according to Tom. He wore glasses and a little shirt with a cow skiing.

When the day of the “casting” as the twins called it came, Gustav played some Phill Collins and solos for you guys. Clearly it wasn’t a real casting and you were fully aware that this boy was your best bet at getting a drummer for your newly formed band. Yet, the boys took it very seriously.

Tom replied “alright good you have the job” and rolled with it.

What were the odds that at the same music school Gustav attended there was an aspiring bassist.

Again, it was your best bet so you took Georg in.

If your first language was english it could’ve gone two ways when the twins came up with the name “devilish”. You either loved it and thought it was sick or you cringed yet had to tag along with it for the boys.

Now you guys had the time of your lives with the band.

Weekdays after school would be spent entirely at the garage jamming out and drinking. You all sucked at the beginning, barely mastering your instruments but your charm stood out.

Georg and you became friends right away. His energy jumped right at you and you both became such a comedic duo.

He started the fire and you just added fuel to it.

You loved to prank your friends so much.

And innuendos. So many innuendos.

Once Tom joins into your madness, it’s over for everyone else.

It wasn’t rare for you three to come back home all messed up and pass out on Tom’s couch.

Gustav baking and making little snackies for the band while you rehearse !!

Well, you drank and lazied around more than rehearsing per say.

Tom, Georg, Gustav and you playing video games all coddled up on a couch together.

Thank god Bill is there to kick your asses so you actually play music.

Tom and You developed a habit of playing back to back. You thought it looked cool.

Gustav is the glue that keeps you all together, and away from major trouble. Half he time at least.

Quickly enough you gained a little fanbase in town.

At school you might’ve been the outcasts still, but the older and “cooler” kids took you in happily.

Not much changed, it was the same old story of drinking, smoking, trashing shit down but now with the slight change that everyone around you was discovering their sexuality.

You walk in and Georg’s wanking in the corner? Throw a blanket over him and continue with whatever you were doing.

Being around four young boys and their friends surely set you up to become just as shameless as them.

You guys got very familiar with one another and could not care less about changing in the same room or sleeping in the same bed.

You guys were starting to become a set of quintuplets.

You were probably one of the first if not the first person that Bill ever talked to about questionning his orientation and the little romance he had with his old friend.

If you happen to be a part of the community as well, Bill was your confidant as well. It was you guys’s little secret before coming out of the closet.

Needless to say, when Bill got the confirmation that he would be attending “Starsearch” he jumped right into your arms. You were one of his biggest supporters and he wanted you to be there for him.

Bill might’ve not won the competition, but it opened a door for your little band.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! Congratulations on making it to 650! Your fics are some of the best and you deserve all the love and attention.

Okay, could I ask for a romance with Jango Fett in a medieval or fantasy AU? I don’t know; the idea of Jango dressed in warrior king attire just waltzed through my mind and won’t leave me alone. Maybe something along the lines of the relationship started as purely political, but it turns out you’re good for one another and it’s just mutually falling for each other.

For The Dancing

Summary: Your marriage to Jango Fett was decided long before you were old enough to understand what was happening. And it was supposed to be a purely political marriage. Love was never meant to be part of the hand you were dealt. You’re not upset, however, when love appears.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

AU Prompt: Fantasy/Medieval AU

Word Count: 1550

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, reader is referred to as wife

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Alright, so here is the first fic of my new event, and naturally I had to start with Jango! I hope you like it~

“You seem troubled, wife.” You don’t pull your gaze away from the garnet colored wine that you’re sipping when you hear your husband’s voice from the doorway behind you.

“Not troubled,” You reassure after a moment, as you finally lower your glass back to the table, “Just pensive, I think.”

“May I join you?”

You finally turn your attention towards the man waiting in the doorway, an amused tilt to your lips, “You hardly need to ask for permission, Jango.” He’s dressed down, his ceremonial armor likely sitting neatly on it’s stand.

Oh, how far you and he have come since the day of your wedding.

There was a time when Jango would never dream of allowing you to see him without his armor.

You watch him as he steps onto the balcony and sinks into the chair across from you. Your expression doesn’t waver as he almost falls into the seat, as though there’s a massive weight on his shoulders.

“The talks went poorly then?” You ask, taking in the tension in his frame and the stress lines on his face.

He shifts in his seat and rests his cheek on his hand, “Don’t they always?” His dark gaze scans your face, “The Duchess asked after you.”

“Of course she did.” You reply dismissively, “Likely worrying about how I’ve been treated by you...godless heathens.” You add with an amused smile.

Jango’s lips quirk up into a small smile, “Those were her exact words.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Honestly, you’d think she’d be better at this by now.”

He chuckles and leans back, “If it helps, she did seem to be genuinely concerned as to your well-being.”

“Hm. Yes, I don’t doubt that at all.”

“You have no intention of seeing her, I take it.”

You lift your wine glass again and absently twist the stem between your fingers, “There’s no point. Satine and I haven’t been close since we were children. And the last time we spoke, she had some things to say to me in regards to our marriage.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.” Jango allows, “Is that why you’re wallowing, wife?”

“Wallowing?” There’s a hint of laughter in your voice, “I suppose it must seem like I’m sulking a little bit.”

“Miles says that you haven’t left our wing since Satine and her entourage arrived.” Jango murmurs, “I am...concerned.”

You regard him fondly, “I have little love for large gatherings, Jango. You know that.”

“I would never dream of asking you to interact with people who cause you distress, wife. Were it in my power, I would cast Satine and her entourage out of our kingdom so that you might be less distressed.”

“It is in your power,” You remind him with an adoring smile, “But I would never dream of asking such a thing. You need these talks to go well.”

Jango taps a rhythm out on the table, “Is that what is troubling you?”

You pause, “The Kyr’tsad have become more bold with each passing day. Entire families have gone missing from the mining villages. Our people are afraid, husband.”

Jango grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, “I know. My hands are tied until Satine and her…” He makes a face and mutters something in Mando’a, “Until she agrees that we need to take decisive action.”

You straighten, “And what, pray tell, is my honorable cousin’s suggestion for dealing with the situation?”

“She would like us to talk.”

“...I...what?” For the first time, in a very long time, you’re properly befuddled.

He chuckles, “That has been the reaction of a lot of people. Including the Jedi who she brought with her to act as mediators.” Jango shakes his head, “The Jedi told her that her suggestion was a fool’s suggestion and that she needed to take the talks seriously, and she doubled down-” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck again.

You set your wine glass back on the table and smoothly stand to walk around the table. Gently, you settle your hands on his shoulders and start working out the tension in his shoulders and neck.

“I am not so eager to become a widow, Jango.” You murmur as he all but melts under your careful touch.

Jango tilts his head back so that his dark gaze is able to lock with your worried one. His hand comes up and presses against one of your hands, “I have no intention of leaving you a widow, wife. I will always come back to you, that I promise.”

“Gods willing,” You murmur in reply.

Slowly Jango turns the chair so that he’s facing you properly, and he stands so you’re standing chest to chest. He reaches out and lightly cups your cheeks with his warm hands. “Have you so little faith in my skills, wife?” He rumbles low in his chest.

Your eyes close as the scent and feel of Jango surrounds you, “It is not your skills that I have no faith in, Jango.” You press your hands over his, “Marching into battle with unwilling soldiers at your side-”

“That will never happen. You needn’t fret, wife.”

Your breath hitches as he presses his forehead against yours, and your eyes slide shut, “Satine is a fool, and she would see Mandalore lost before she gives up her ideals.”

“You know her better than I.” Jango says after a moment, “Would she truly sacrifice our homeland for the sake of her pacifism?”

“She believes that her way is the best way and that everyone will be better following her rules.” You murmur, “In a way, she’s just as fanatic as Pre Vizsla, just in the opposite direction.”

“Are you allowed to say that?” Jango asks, amused. “You are her cousin after all.”

You open your eyes and make a face, “I’ve always been a bit more even-keeled than Satine.”

“And I am grateful for it,” Jango admits, “And so our people.” He lightly strokes your cheek with his thumb and there’s something soft in his gaze. “While I would never dream of asking you to do something that you’re not willing to do, wife, I could use your silver tongue in the meetings tomorrow.”

You hum softly, “Then you shall have it.”

“Thank the stars,” He mutters, “Between you and the Jedi, I think the meeting will be less contentious tomorrow.”

You smile at him and lean into his warmth, “You are still so tense, husband.”

“It has been a very long day.”

“How can I help?”

Slowly, Jango drags his hands down from your cheeks, over your shoulders, and down your arms, until he’s cradling both of your hands with his own. “How long has it been since we last danced?” He asks as he lightly guides you from the balcony and back into the safety of your shared quarters.

“It’s been a couple of weeks, at least. You’ve been busy.”

“Well, that’s no excuse.” He twirls you into his arms, and starts dancing with you around the bedroom. There’s no music, but it’s perfect all the same.

“Careful, Jango.” You murmur as he spins you and then tugs you so you’re flush against his body, “You run the risk of making me fall in love with you.”

“Are you not already? Then I’m not trying hard enough.”

You laugh softly, and lightly brush your lips against his jaw. His hand, settled lightly on your hip, tightens. You’re no fool. You know that Jango loves you, you can tell in the way that he touches you, the way he looks at you, the way he protects you.

In truth, you love him too. You wouldn’t worry so much about him if you didn’t.

And he knows it.

The words are unnecessary at this point.

“I love dancing with you,” Jango murmurs, as he draws you closer to him and tilts your head back so his lips hover just over yours, “Have since the day of our wedding.”

“I feel the same way,” You murmur, “You’re the perfect dance partner.”

Jango closes the gap between your lips and his. He kisses you like you’re his most valued treasure, his lips warm and gentle against your own, though there’s a hint, just a hint, of roughness behind his lips.

Someday, you’re going to push him to see what he looks like when he’s not trying to be gentle with you. But not today.

He breaks the kiss and bumps his forehead against yours one more time, “When this crisis is over,” Jango murmurs, “I would like to speak with you about having a child.”

You blink at him, surprised, and then you smile, soft and slow, “A baby Jango.” You murmur.

“A baby you,” He corrects, “With your clever tongue and my strength.”

“He’ll be perfect.” You murmur with a warm smile.

“Yes. She will.”

You laugh, and slide your arms around him, “Alright, alright. As soon as this is dealt with, we can start trying for a baby.”

Jango grins, “Well, now I’m motivated.”

And then he sweeps you into a deep kiss, and you wrap your arms around him and allow yourself to be lost in him.

Love might not have been in the cards when you married him, but it’s in the cards now. And nothing could make you happier.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dancing With Fire Part 2: Save me ✨

- Summary: You’re starring in the ballet Swan Lake, taking on the lead role in New York. You practice day and night and are always staying after hours. You keep seeing Joel around the theater, the hot maintenance worker you can’t keep your eyes off of. You aren’t the only one though because you think he’s watching you too.

- Tags: No outbreak, protective Joel, angst, fingering, oral, cream pie, abusive dance partner, tension, longing, porn with plot, smut, dom! Joel (reader mid 20’s, Joel in his early 40’s) Joel x you, No use Y/N

- Word Count: 9.2k

- Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Part 1 Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seemed to blur together. You were constantly being worked overtime. Carlotta was insistent that you stay over every day and practice till you got every single move perfect. It was grueling, excessive and honestly a chore. You had absolutely no free time to yourself except some weekends. Not that it mattered. You had no friends in New York, but it’d still be nice to have some room to breathe and relax.

Today was an exceptionally bad day because you had to spend the entire day dancing with Pierre, your awful dance partner. He was tall, had slicked back short blonde hair, beady blue eyes, and had a short temper. A lot of the girls fawned over him, gushing how handsome and nice he was. You wanted to laugh every time you saw it happen because you knew how he really was behind those thin walls.

He was cruel and brutally wicked. A pig at best.

You’d never forget that day where the company threw a celebration party for the cast after auditions. He’d introduced himself and offered you his hand as he congratulated you for getting the lead. He seemed friendly enough until he tried to smother you and demand you let him take you out. You politely declined, not interested in fraternizing with your co-star.

What happened next was something you wanted to forget entirely. When you turned to leave after saying no, he’d grabbed your hips and pulled you to him, securing his hands around your waist. You tried to pull out of his grasp, but he dug his nails into you so hard that you couldn’t. You snapped at him and demanded he get his hands off you, but he wouldn’t listen. He had other intentions. Intentions you didn’t want to revisit.

“Let me make this clear. Refuse me and I will make your time here a living hell,” Pierre had warned, leaning into your ear and whispering so nobody else could hear the conversation around you in the busy foyer, the two of you standing in the corner of the shadows where no one looked over to. You squirmed and stomped on his foot in defense.

He finally let you go, wincing from the pain of your foot. You kicked his shin with your long heel and cursed him for laying a hand on you. He intended to sleep with you, but there was no way in hell you were letting that happen. He even tried again a week after that, but he had failed miserably.

You tried to confront Carlotta about the whole thing, but she had shut you down and said Pierre would never do such a thing, and it had made you want to quit right then and there. But you worked for this your whole life, so you decided against it. You’d just roll with the punches until the last show was over. It was just a few months. Which couldn’t hurt. Right?

“Alright, let’s take it from the top. Pierre, the first dance with the swan. Go on,” Carlotta commanded, pointing to you with cat-like nails to get ready.

As the slow, romantic music filled the auditorium, you took your spot and got into fifth position, placing your arms over your head like the delicate swan queen you were.

Pierre was smirking at you from the other side of the polished stage, his blue eyes narrowing into slits. Before Carlotta spotted him, he put on a huge fake smile and turned his eyes friendly.

What a fake.

You rolled your eyes and then started the routine as he danced over to you, grabbing your hands and twirling you around the stage in a frenzy. You hated every second you had to dance with him, wanting to push him out of your hold and smack him across the face.

You kept your vision on the red velvet walls as he spun you over and over, lifting you over his head and catching you after your big leap, pirouetting from his hold until he joined you again, clashing you to his chest.

“Smile pretty now. Don’t want Carlotta to get on to you,” he smirked, turning you again so you were facing him.

You scowled up at him and glared. “Don’t worry about me.”

When he turned you back around to face Carlotta, you put on a big smile, not showing her just how uncomfortable you truly were. Before you took another step, Pierre stomped on your pointe shoe hard and tripped you, almost falling over before he grabbed you.

“Stop, stop! Start again. None of that,” Carlotta huffed as she put a hand on her forehead like she was in agony.

You turned fast and gritted your teeth at him. “What the hell was that?”

He laughed quietly and smiled down at you. “Just having a little fun,” he teased, taking his hand and fixing a flyaway on the top of your head.

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away from you. “Don’t touch me unless we’re dancing,” you hissed, stomping away from him back into your starting position. You could still hear him quietly laughing as he took his place across the stage, smirking up at you with a dare in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

You went through the same dance time and time again that day, Pierre always doing something to mess up the routine so you’d have to start from the very top. You were absolutely done with him, wanting to just go home. It was almost 4:00pm, and you still hadn’t had a break. Your body was about done for.

“You two, I want you to go through a few more times. I have a meeting I can’t be late for,” she said hurriedly as she grabbed her stack of folders and pink iPhone.

No.

She was leaving you alone with this thing? Fear crept through your body and slithered down your spine, leaving no room for breathing.

“Wait, Carlotta…”

She cut you off fast. “No buts, you’re staying and that’s final. You two work it out. Today was not your best work. The two of you need some bonding time, so go focus on perfect form and pointed feet,” she said harshly.

Her cell phone started buzzing and she picked it up and answered with a laugh, walking away until her high pitched voice was out of range and she was disappearing through the back doors. Leaving you all alone with Pierre.

You slowly turned and gulped away your fear. Focus. He couldn’t do anything to you. Could he? No. He wouldn’t. Surely not.

As soon as you turned, he was staring down at you with cold calculating eyes, a smirk plastered against his mouth as his sunken cheekbones reflected off the auditorium bright lights.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, princess,” he scoffed.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you insisted, taking a big step away from him.

“Oh come now, you don’t wanna spend a little quality time with me?” he said in a deceiving way, sticking his lower lip out like he was pouting.

“No,” you said back in a hard tone, your eyebrows furrowing at the cruel man that stood before you. “You did this on purpose! You kept messing me up in practice so Carlotta would make us stay longer. You thought that was okay?”

“Of course I did it on purpose,” he laughed.

“You’re making me look bad in front of her! And you’re really fucked up for doing that, you know that?” you bit back bitterly, almost biting down on your tongue.

He was laughing at your words, a wicked cackling sound escaping his throat. He just stood there taunting you, asking you to throw another insult his way. Daring you to keep on.

You rolled your eyes and got into place. “Enough. Let’s just do this already,” you said firmly as you raised your arms into your starting pose.

“Fine by me,” he said as he got into his own position, signaling you to begin.

You started the routine, moving your arms gracefully up and down as you made your way to center stage, putting your pointe shoes to use as you dug your toes into the ground, twirling around as he chased you across the stage. You were the swan that got away, and he was on the hunt for you. Carlotta always said seduce him, make him fall in love with you. That’s the last thing you wanted. It was all for the act, the ballet. That was your mission in this dance routine, and it was your least favorite because of it.

You performed your best, making every turn sharp, pointing your toes with perfect precision, elongating your arms to be as graceful as a flower, lifting your legs as high as they’d go. Making every single move pristine so this would be the only run through you’d have to do tonight.

He was the hunter in this scene, and you were the beautiful, untouchable swan. His mission was to catch you, and yours was to keep away until he could finally reach you. He chased you throughout the dance. With every turn you’d make, he’d try to get closer. Reaching, fighting, trying with all his might to snatch you. He stretched out an arm, but you jumped out of his wavelength. He tried again as you flew across the stage in a graceful run.

But in the end he won. Finally winning you over as you stopped in the middle of the stage motionless as he grabbed your waist and spun you on your toes in place, catching your arms above your head and then stopping your rotations. His arms were still on your waist as you faced him, almost chest to chest with him. Suddenly he turned you and positioned you in a laying back position when the song ended, signaling the end of the routine.

You took a breath before getting up and then attacked instantly. “Why didn’t you just do that in practice today? That was spotless, clean. We could’ve been done a lot earlier if you wouldn’t have kept messing me up,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Remember that night I said I’d make your life a living hell? Well, I wasn’t kidding,” he said with a laugh, his blue eyes piercing into you like a knife, making your insides instantly icy. “I can make it go away, you know. I can stop taunting you every day. All you have to do is change your mind.”

You dropped your arms to your side as they grazed the white tights, trying to make your mind focus on anything but that night. “No,” you said firmly.

“No? You sure about that?” he asked as he grabbed a hold of your wrist and pulled you into his chest, his grip on you not letting up.

You tried to pull away, but he grabbed you tighter, digging his fingers into your skin. Searing it with a tinge of pain. You winced in response. “Let. Go,” you said slowly as you glared up at him, daring him to try anything else.

“I don’t think so,” he said as he pulled you tighter, pain resonating through your wrist.

“I mean it, Pierre. Let go or I’ll scream,” you warned, giving him your best dirty look you could muster.

He narrowed his eyes as he locked his jaw, weighing his options carefully. He dug his fingers in one more time and then released you, letting his fingertips leave marks against your sore wrist.

“Little bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he turned the opposite way, about to head out.

“Prick,” you muttered quietly.

He must’ve heard you because he spun around so fast that you could’ve sworn he got whiplash.

“You better watch it,” he warned, pointing a finger terribly close to your face.

“Or what?” you asked confidently, wanting to fight back.

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to do this,” he said as he took a step towards you and pulled your arm, forcing you up against his chest.

“Let me go,” you demanded as you hit him in the chest, trying your hardest to pull out of his grasp.

“Change your mind then maybe I will,” he smirked, laughing at you while you struggled against him.

“Get the fuck off me,” you shouted as you pushed at his upper body, slipping away from his sharp grasp.

He tried grabbing you again as he caught your wrist, his fingernails digging into you. You spit into his face, and then he did something that shocked your entire system. He slapped you hard across the face as you felt a sudden searing, stinging pain fill your cheek. Then he pushed you down against the hardwood floor as you landed with a hard thud on your hands and knees.

“No more saying no to me, little swan. Have to teach you some manners. Let me show you how it’s done.”

He took a step closer and you cowered over, shutting your eyes so you could block out the ringing noise that was blasting through your eardrums. So close to having a panic attack, not wanting him to lay another hand on you. You shaded your eyes against the shining floor and sank down as far as your body could go.

You waited for the next blow to come, but it never came. Instead, you heard a loud crashing sound behind you, like something had just collided into the wall.

You looked up and glanced behind you, freezing once you saw just what it was. You gasped, too stunned to move.

There he was. Joel.

Joel had Pierre cornered into the red wall, slamming his body hard against it as his hands dug into Pierre’s white shirt. Bunching the material so much that it looked like the shirt would rip at any moment.

“Think you’re such a tough guy, huh? Do ya get off on hitting women for fun you twisted fuck?! Huh? Well, do ya?!” Joel yelled into Pierre’s horrified face, digging his fingers deeper into his shirt, bringing him closer to the bared teeth of his scowl.

Pierre stuttered and couldn’t get a single word out, mumbling nonsense quietly to Joel.

“Answer me!” he growled, his eyes going the darkest shade of brown you’d ever seen them turn. Almost like a dark charcoal color, pupils getting larger by each second that ticked by.

“N-n-nooo,” he stuttered, chattering his teeth together as the whites of his eyes expanded.

Joel shoved his head against the wall, grabbing his blonde locks and pulling hard, making Pierre yelp. “If you ever lay a hand on her again I’ll break your fucking jaw. Do you understand?” he roared. His massive fingers moving up around Pierre’s neck to hold him in place, the veins in his hands growing larger, and his breathing coming out rough and winded.

“Y-yes,” Pierre shrieked.

“Repeat it!” Joel growled, jerking Pierre’s blonde locks so hard that you swore he was about to pull out a fist full of hair or snap his neck all together. You weren’t sure which would come first.

Joel pulled harder, making Pierre scream out in pain. “Alright, alright! I won’t touch her again. Unless we’re performing for the show.” He looked scared as his eyes were bulging out of his skull and his face was scrunched up into absolute terror.

Joel accepted that answer and muttered a groan. His eyes were locked on Pierre, hounding him with those dark brown eyes. He was feral, unhinged, overpowering as he stood there holding Pierre in place, punishing him for putting his hands on you. It was so hot. Making your insides feel all sorts of warmth as you sat there in awe, watching your protector defend you.

It was absolutely exhilarating.

Joel slowly released his hand from his shirt and backed up just the tiniest bit from Pierre, giving him room to breathe. Pierre pressed against his shirt and smoothed it out, fighting to catch his breath as his eyes were wild with fright. He took a step past Joel, but Joel stopped him, putting a strong hand against his bicep as he grasped him firmly, turning him so he could face those burning brown eyes.

“I’ll be keepin’ a close eye on ya. Better learn where your fucking place is before I put you in it,” he warned, turning his mouth into a hard scowl as his forehead hardened into wrinkles. “You do anything to give her a hard time and I will have words with you. Words that lead to fists,” he stated firmly as his right hand clenched into a tight fist.

His jaw flexed as his eyes glanced over Pierre’s timid face, finally releasing his grip and letting him run off the stage in complete fear. Not wanting to stay in Joel’s fuming presence anymore.

You sat on the floor gawking at the tall, broad man in front of you who had just saved you from God knows what. Your breath was coming out shallowly as your eyes were wide, staring at his large biceps that were flexed and pulling at his denim button up. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing those long protruding veins that you couldn’t get enough of.

You watched as his colossal hands went from tight, flexed fists to relaxed fingers against his dark jeans. His jaw went from tensed to tempered as he continued glaring in the direction that Pierre had fled in. A faint smolder setting his features that made you weak in the knees. A vision you wanted to burn into the back of your mind. The man that made you ignite with desire.

Your savior.

Joel finally dropped his tight fisted knuckles and relaxed his glare, turning in your direction. The moment he saw you he dropped his furrowed eyebrows and came to your side, kneeling down to be eye level with you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked with concerned brown eyes as he reached his arms out to place on your shoulders, making you shutter at how warm his hands were on your bare skin.

“No, I-I’m alright,” you responded breathlessly, forgetting about your aching jaw. Too focused on the gorgeous man that was right in front of you, bending at the knee to examine your frail body.

“Here, let’s get you up off this floor so I can take a look at ya.” He held out a hand, and you didn’t hestitate to take it, feeling right at home when his rough fingers met your smooth skin. Sending electricity through your fingertips.

He grabbed a hold of your waist and hoisted you up off the cold floor, bringing you over to sit on a beige upholstered bench behind the stage. He sat down next to you and turned you to face him, his concerned honey eyes looking over your face carefully. He reached out a hand and slowly lifted your chin, gently bringing his fingers to the left cheek that was raw from the hard slap.

He moved ever so gently, sliding his fingers slowly over your jaw. Examining it to make sure there was no damage to the skin. His calloused fingers brushed against your cheek, making a tingle run down your neck, sinking its way to your lower region. You fought back a blush as he continued looking you over thoroughly. He hit a sensitive spot and you winced against his touch. He apologized as he dropped his hand, leaving your cheek cold and untouched.

“I don’t see any bruises, but you might wanna ice that tonight,” he said as he ghosted his fingers over your thigh, barely putting his fingers on you. But it was enough to make you jolt in place.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, noticing your jumpiness. You couldn’t help it though. He made you feel like a complete nervous wreck, never able to fully calm yourself when he was in your presence.

“Yeah, just a little shaken up still,” you stammered out, eyes fixed on the thick fingers that laid against your thigh.

You peered back up into his face as it changed from relaxed to apprehensive as he furrowed his brows. It made your eyes go that much wider, not fully understanding why this man made you feel the things you did when you barely knew him.

“Is that the first time he’s hit you?” he asked with a serious gaze, his jaw clenching into a fist.

“Yeah, that’s the first time,” you sighed, trying not to think about how scared you were in the moment. What you were afraid he would’ve done if Joel wasn’t around. Just to spite you and take what he thought was his to take. It made you sick.

“And it’ll be the last time if I have anything to do with it,” he said with bared teeth, his eyes growing darker the more he talked about it.

You sat there gaping at him, your eyes sinking deep into his as you were swooning at the way he was talking about defending you. Making every single fiber in your body want to melt into his chest, wrap your arms around him so he’d never let go.

You got your wits about you and focused back on the brooding man that sat in front of you, his fingers still laying against your toned thigh.

“Thank you. For saving me,” you said slowly, looking up from underneath your long lashes, your fingers digging into the soft material of the bench nervously.

Joel’s large veins tightened up in his neck as he flexed his jaw again, eyes still alight with anger, but then he slowly relaxed as he gazed into your eyes. Those amber eyes simmering into yours.

“‘Course, darlin’. I wasn’t gonna let him hurt ya,” he said gently as he brought his hand to your cheek, slowly caressing you tenderly. He looked so composed, so soft as he ran slow circles across the skin, easing away your pain.

And fuck, did it feel good.

“You hungry?” he asked as he let his hand fall back to his side.

Your stomach growled at the mention of food. You were more than hungry. You were starving. Ravenous almost. “Starving,” you answered almost too quickly.

“You like Italian?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Do I like Italian? It’s my absolute favorite,” you said excitedly, almost bouncing out of your seat.

Joel noticed the response and laughed casually, his dimples forming over that beautiful mouth of his, making your insides buzz with glee.

“Alright then. C’mon, I’m taking you to eat,” he said as he stood up and held out a hand for you to take.

You glanced at his rough hand for a few seconds, blinking slowly, trying to process that Joel was about to take you to dinner. You finally got up the nerve to reach your hand out, sliding your fingers along the back of his calloused hand until he closed his fingers around you.

It felt so good. So right. Like putting on the perfect fitting glove. A warm, gentle embrace that was only for you.

He started pulling you towards the side door, but you stopped fast. Painfully pulling your hand away from his tight hold. “Just a second. Let me go change real quick,” you said hurriedly as you started to head towards your dressing room.

“Alright. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he stated.

As you rounded the corner to the back of the stage, you turned your head, stealing one more glance at Joel. Your heart skipped when you saw he was staring back at you. You gave him a quick smile before you ran fast to your dressing room, nearly knocking over the pink wardrobe dresser as you threw off your pointe shoes and leotard, stripping your tights to expose bare skin.

You pulled on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized purple sweater, quickly slipping on the white Converse to finish the job. You swiftly undid your too tight bun and ran a hand through your messy hair, trying to tame the long waves that went down a little past your shoulder blades.

You checked yourself in the mirror one more time before you decided it was good enough. You were ready.

As you made your way out of the dressing room and rounded the corner to the stage, you found Joel with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you his eyes went wide as his brown eyes trailed down over your waves, past your long legs and then back up into your face. He looked mildly surprised, like this was the first time he was actually seeing you. And that made you shiver with anticipation.

You walked up to him slowly, batting your long eyelashes at him and giving him a gentle smile. Trying your best not to look like the absolute wreck you were and instead trying to look as flirtatious as you could come off as. “Okay, I’m ready,” you beamed, giving him your best smile.

A small smile crept up to his lips as he ran a hand through his tousled curls, making something stir deep inside you. You wanted to know what it felt like to slip your own hand through his hair, wanting so badly to tousle it even more, dig your fingers into his scalp. You wondered if it was just as smooth as you imagined, just as coarse.

He brought you back to reality as his deep voice smothered all your senses. “C’mon then. I’m gonna show ya my favorite restaurant. It’s jus’ bout a ten minute walk from here. Not too far.”

And then he was leading you out of the massive auditorium and out of the theater, stepping into the chilled breezy evening as the wind howled and the orange leaves blew across the busy road.

It didn’t take you long to get to the restaurant. Matter of fact, it took no time at all as Joel was easy with conversations. Something that came naturally to him. You weren’t usually the best talker, but with him it was different. It was simple, just like a walk in the park. It was unforced, carefree, and casual. You never felt like this with anyone else which was strange, but you’d take it. Because every minute you spent with Joel, the more you liked him. The more you wanted to be around him. The more your insides burned for him.

Once you were inside, a waiter led you to a back booth. Joel took one side and you took the other, sitting back into the black cushion as your hands went to the menu the waiter placed out for you. He took your drink orders and left the two of you alone.

As you looked around, you took in the laid-back, quiet ambience of the restaurant. A single white rose adorned each table, the chiffon curtains draped over the lavish tall windows, and soft music played over the speakers faintly. It smelled like garlic bread and serenading pasta in here, making the inside of your mouth water with hunger. The back booth that you sat at was a little private as no one sat around you. The restaurant was quiet, peaceful as the dinner rush had not yet entered. Giving you the perfect opportunity to talk to Joel without the weight of a loud crowd or overstimulating environment.

As you looked over the luxurious menu, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, suddenly averting your gaze from the jumbled words on the page.

“Know what ya want?” he asked coolly.

You quickly scanned the menu and decided on the first thing that popped out at you. “Think I’m gonna go with the chicken Alfredo pasta.” Your go to always.

“Not a bad choice,” he nodded.

When the waiter came back, Joel ordered for you, telling the waiter you’d have the chicken Alfredo pasta and he’d have the classic Italian spaghetti. The waiter left a basket of fresh garlic bread in the center of the table before heading off and placing your order. It smelled amazing as the warm buttery scent wafted through your senses.

You reached out and grabbed a hot piece and sunk your teeth into it, quickly devouring it as the melty goodness ran down your throat. You held in a moan as the taste hit you hard, pulling at that hunger that had been attached to you all day.

“This is the best bread I’ve ever tasted,” you gushed, taking another bite without wasting time.

“Glad ya like it,” he said with a smile that curved at the corners. One that could make you weak at the knees.

After you finished the first piece and sat in silence for a few moments, Joel spoke again. “So, tell me about yourself. You go to college out here?”

You looked up after wiping your hands on the crimson napkin, dabbing at the corners of your mouth. “I attended Juilliard. Just graduated a couple of years ago.”

“You went for dance I assume?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Mhm. They actually gave me a full ride after I submitted my audition and application to them. Guess they were impressed by me,” you said as you shrugged your shoulders.

Joel let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat to take a better look at you. “Full ride, huh? Impressive,” he said with awe. “And ‘course they were impressed. I mean, look at ya. The way ya dance says it all. And not to mention you’re easy on the eyes,” he said lowly as his coffee colored eyes flicked over your face, making your cheeks burn as you simmered in his presence.

You pulled back a lock of hair behind your ear and fidgeted in your seat, suddenly a nervous wreck again from the smolder he was giving off. Making your insides complete jelly. “Oh, uhhh, thanks,” you said shyly.

“You always know that’s what ya wanted to do? To dance?” he asked as he leaned his elbows against the table, placing his hands under his chin so he could give you his full attention. You gulped at the sight.

“My parents said I was dancing before I even learned to talk. They put me in some classes after I learned to walk, and I never looked back since. That’s what I love,” you said knowingly.

He gave you a small nod and continued staring at you, making you that much more nervous. Before he could ask you anything else, you threw a question in. Wanting to know about him.

“What about you? You aren’t from around here are you? Not with that southern accent you have. Where are you from?” you asked curiously.

“Austin, Texas,” he said with a thick accent coming off the s.

You nodded in response. You should’ve guessed that. Of course he was. How could you not hear it in that sultry southern accent?

“And what on earth made you move from Texas to New York? That’s quite the change,” you said questionably, observing his stature as he sat up just the tiniest bit straighter before he spoke.

“I found some high paying contract jobs up here and couldn’t pass ‘em up. Money was too good. Thought a change of scenery might do me some good too. Been in Texas all my life, wanted to see what else was out there.”

Made sense. “And now you’re working for the theater?” you asked with raised eyebrows. Questioning his choice in work.

“Stumbled upon them from a client of mine. Said they were lookin’ for someone to help keep the theater in one piece. Always needin’ something fixed. And the pay and benefits were worth it. So now I just do contract work on the side. Keeps me busy, but that’s how I prefer it,” he said straightforward as he took a swig of his water and sat back against the booth seat.

“I see. Well, I’m…” You stopped yourself from what you were about to say, biting your tongue as you felt the tinge of blood run down the back of your throat.

He raised an eyebrow and kinked his neck while his honey eyes bore into you. Making you gulp at the sight. “Well, go on. Finish your sentence,” he urged.

You took a breath and finished what you were holding back. “I’m glad you decided to come to New York.”

“And why’s that?” he asked as he leaned forward, elbows going on the table, and eyes growing darker. Making something stir deep inside you.

You leaned forward as well, digging your fingers into the cushioned material, getting a grip on yourself. “Because I met you…” you whispered bravely, staring up into those dark eyes that turned a bit more primal but yet stayed soft. Triggering heat inside your legs.

The waiter interrupted the tense moment and placed the food on the table, quickly disappearing once again. The suspense ended as you looked down at the glorious plate of food that sat in front of you. Carbs galore. Exactly what you were craving.

You didn’t waste a second as you dug your fork into the creamy noodles, scooping up a large amount and shoving into your mouth. You nearly moaned at the taste as the marinated noodles slid down your throat, the Alfredo sauce setting off all your taste buds into a frenzy. You scooped up more and pushed another fork full into your mouth, almost forgetting Joel was right in front of you.

You nearly coughed up your food as you looked up to see him watching you carefully, an amused look on his face. He wasn’t even touching his food yet. He was just sitting there watching you closely, while a noodle was hanging out of your mouth.

How embarrassing.

You quickly swallowed the noodles and wiped your mouth with your napkin, making sure there was no sauce left on your face. You were mortified at what he just saw. He probably thought you had no table manners. Christ. You did not want to give off a bad impression to him.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away. The food is absolutely sensational,” you stated quickly as your cheeks burned bright red.

He laughed a little at your hurried apology, his eyes glowing brightly as he watched you. “No need to apologize, sunshine. Glad ya like the food.”

There it was. That nickname. Sunshine. The one that pulled at your heartstrings and made you want to shriek with admiration.

God, he got you good.

Something shifted in his eyes as he watched you twirl the spoon in the bowl full of steaming noodles. A concerned, caring look. He leaned forward again and concentrated on your facial features.

“They’re starving you, aren’t they?” he asked with fleeting brown eyes, carefully registering your hesitation to the question.

“What? Well, I wouldn’t quite say it that way…” you said too quietly, digging your fork into a cooked piece of chicken.

“Don’t lie to me, sunshine,” he warned, a serious look glossing over his eyes, causing them to grow darker.

“They…well, they don’t really let me have breaks often when I’m at the theater. And by the time I do get to the break room, someone has already thrown my food out…”

He didn’t like that answer. Not one bit. You saw his jaw clench and his lip twinge, watching as the veins in his neck bulge.

Oh, no. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious.

He leaned all his weight into the table, leaning forward so you could look him straight in the eyes, making it known that he wanted you to pay attention. “From now on you leave your lunches with me. And you will have breaks,” he said with gritted teeth.

You gasped at the force in his voice, the way he was making it known that you would be taken care of. You were swooning then, loving how protective he was being.

“But Carlotta, she doesn’t let me…”

He cut you off quick. “I don’t give a fuck what she says,” he growled, nostrils flaring as his breath came out ragged. “You will eat and you will have breaks. I’ll make damn sure of that,” he promised with a thick, deep tone as his dark eyes penetrated straight through your walls, sending you into a spiral of overdrive. “Okay?”

“Okay…” you whispered. Slowly watching as his brooding eyes turn into softer chestnut colored eyes.

“Alright, well go on and eat. Don’t want your food gettin’ cold on ya.”

He was being so dominant. Dare you say even primal which sent a shot of warmth in between your thighs, making you squeeze your legs shut at the growing arousal that was building.

He was being so vigilant with you, so careful. You just couldn’t wrap your mind that this was actually happening. That he was happening. That he cared that much about what happened to you. This was all you ever wanted. He was what you needed. A protective, overbearing, gallant man. He was exactly what you pictured in your mind over the years. And it was happening.

This was happening.

You went back to eating your pasta, making sure you took slower bites, trying to savour the rich flavor in your watering mouth. You made sure to look up every few seconds to watch Joel down his spaghetti, watch as he twirled the long strings of noodles with his fork, trying not to drool at the way he was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Gaping at the way he licked his fingers clean from the red sauce. Wishing that those fingers were your own.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he cleared his throat, lurching you out of your mind numbing thoughts of the brooding man that sat in front of you. He smiled gently, the corners of his mouth crinkling up as he focused on you. Only you.

“How old are ya, sweetheart?” he asked with charm in his voice, a lilt that could hum you to sleep.

“25,” you answered as you smoothed a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. “And you? How old are you?” you asked with your ears practically perked up.

“How old do ya think I am?” he asked as he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly studied his features, gathering as much information as you could before you guessed a wrong number. You carefully examined him as if you were drinking him in. Taking in his sensuous big lips, going over the slight wrinkles that lined his forehead when he was tense or angry, holding yourself back from running your hands through his thick, tousled dark curls, lingering on the scruff that lined his jaw, noticing the patchy grey areas along his hair. Gazing over his calm, collected composure. Fixing your sight on those warm, inviting deep brown eyes that pulled you in. Nearly losing yourself in the way his bulky arms were clinging against his denim button up.

And then you made your assumption, finally feeling confident enough to guess an age. “38,” you said with finality in your voice.

“Good guess, but you’re wrong. I just turned 40,” he said with a smirk, leaning up against the side of the booth.

“Ahh. I was close enough,” you laughed quietly.

40 huh? The perfect age. Only 15 years older than you. And you were perfectly fine with that. You were always attracted to the older men. The way they were more experienced, knew what they wanted, were more confident, sophisticated, protective, handsome…

“That don’t bother ya now, does it? That I’m a little older?” he asked with concern flashing in his dark eyes.

“Not at all,” you said with a laugh, giving him your best smile.

“Good,” he stated, relaxing his shoulders at the answer.

You twirled your fork around a lone noodle, getting up the courage to ask your next question. You peered back up at him and asked before you lost your nerve. “You’re not seeing anyone…are you?” you asked with a nervous stutter.

“Now if I was seein’ anyone, would I be taking ya to dinner?” he asked with a raised brow, a mischievous look playing at his features. Making you gulp at the way he was looking at you.

Taking you out? Was this a date? Holy…

“Oh, I mean…I wasn’t sure. You’re uhhh…you just seemed like the type of guy to have someone is all,” you shrugged, cursing yourself for being a blubbering mess around him.

He laughed at your response, apparently finding you humorous by the way you were talking. “No, I’m not seein’ anyone. Haven’t had anyone in years,” he replied factually.

“Why not?” you asked timidly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Guess I just didn’t find the right one,” he said matter of factly. But he was looking at you with such intensity that maybe he was insinuating that someone could be you. You gulped at the thought, your eyes going wide as you recomposed yourself.

“And yourself? Seein’ anyone?” he asked with a fixed gaze, twinging his lip as he waited for a response.

“No. Can’t say that I am.” You wanted to tell him that you were seeing someone. And that someone was him.

“A beautiful girl like you isn’t seein’ anyone? I see the way guys look at you. You could have anyone,” he stated, dropping his hand against the table, just slightly brushing against the outside of your hand, sending fire along your skin.

You laughed nervously and shook your head. “Guys don’t look at me like that.”

“Really? Cause I’m lookin’ at ya like that.”

You froze as his eyes flicked down to your lips and back into your eyes, fixing his stare on you. You swallowed trepidatiously and stared back at his burning gaze. Making you want to melt into those simmering eyes. He was the only man that mattered. The only one you wanted attention from. And you had his attention now.

The two of you continued dinner with flirtatious smiles and small talk about mutual hobbies and life in general. You probably stayed there for two hours, just losing yourself in conversation. When the waiter had come back, Joel paid for the check like the gentleman he was. You offered him some money to pay for your portion, but he declined. Saying a lady should never pay for her own meal.

He walked you back to your apartment which was only a couple of blocks from the theater. Joel walked on the outskirts of the curb, making sure you weren’t the closest one to the crowded street. He gently put his hand on the small of your back which sent goosebumps down the whole proximity of your arms, guiding you along back to your place.

The casual conversation continued as you carelessly let yourself relax around him. Fawning over how easy it was to talk to him. He told you about some of his goals in life, what he wanted to accomplish in the next five years and even told you about his daughter. Sarah was her name and she had just turned 18, just starting her first semester at Harvard which was impressive in itself. You should’ve known he was a parent. The way he was so overprotective should’ve said it all. Maybe you’d meet her one day. Assuming this was going in the way you wanted it to.

You finally made it to the dark blue front door of your apartment, stopping just before putting your hand on the handle and turning around to face Joel. “Thank you for today. Not just for the food. But also for defending me back at the theater.”

Joel looked carefully at you, a slight twinge in his upper lip as he moved a lock of hair behind your ear delicately. You leaned into his touch as his fingers trailed along your cheek, keeping his eyes fixed on you.

“It was nothing I wouldn’t do anything,” he said nonchalantly stepping even closer to you, crowding your space. You concentrated on keeping your breathing normal as your pulse picked up, alarming you of why he might be coming closer.

Was he going to kiss you?

He flicked his eyes over you languidly, stopping just short of where your lips curled up in a smile.

Oh my God, just do it already. Please. You were begging.

You bit your lip discreetly to stop the nerves that were racing through you. You counted to three in your head, trying to stop the pounding thoughts that were swirling through your head. Come on, Joel. Do it.

He looked like he was about to lean in, but instead he trailed his eyes back up to yours and gave you a tight smile. “Go get some rest, sunshine. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He grazed his fingers underneath your chin and then turned to head back to his place. Leaving you with disappointment written all over your face.

You leaned your head back against the door and groaned. So close. He was so close. But that wasn’t enough. Not even close. You sighed and turned to unlock your door, stepping into the empty apartment that felt somewhat hollow now. You threw your keys against the kitchen counter and decided to get ready for bed. Pushing away the disappointment that was eating you alive.

That night you tossed and turned against your sheets, trying to get him out of your head, but it was no use. He was stuck like glue, a sticky substance that you couldn’t ever get rid of. When you finally got to sleep hours later, you dreamed of dark eyes and calloused hands encompassing you slowly.

The next day at the theater was different. Pierre didn’t do anything to make you mess up in practice. You got through every dance with him unscathed. You guessed Joel really got under his skin. Carlotta still made you run through the routines more than once, but it was tolerable. As long as Pierre wasn’t making you suffer, it’d be fine.

After getting done with one of your routines, you made your way to the side of the stage behind the crimson curtain so you could wait for your next dance. Taking a small rest between dances since you were not in this particular one.

As you rounded the corner, you came to a halt. There he was. The man with the tousled salt and pepper hair and broad shoulders stood feet from you. He was busy fixing up a broken board on one of the props for the show, using his rough hands to manhandle the jagged edges. Flexing his thick fingers around the wood, making his veins fully display across his massive arms.

You were biting your lip while you watched, pretending that it was your hips he was holding down and not the broken prop. He looked up from what he was working on and found your eyes, smiling gently with that sideways smirk you couldn’t get enough of.

He dropped what he was doing and put his full attention on you, taking a few steps in your direction. “Hi, sunshine,” he said in a low voice, making your insides quake against the sound.

“Hi,” you whispered, suddenly more nervous that you had ever been around him.

He trailed his eyes over your body, going from your tight swan bodice, down to your flowing, short see through skirt and over your white stockings that clung to your toned legs, ending at the polished, shiny ballet pointe shoes.

“You look nice today. That one of your costumes for the show?” he asked as he peered back up at you, taking another step towards you.

“Thanks, it’s part of Act 1, one of my main pieces,” you said nervously as you brushed back a flyaway strand of hair.

“Sure looks good on ya. Brings out the color of your eyes.”

Brings out of the color of your eyes? Okay, Cassanova. Keep talking.

“You think so?”

“Mhm,” he groaned with a low hum coming from his throat, making your toes curl in your tight shoes.

“What else?” you asked curiously.

“What else what?” he asked questioning you with the cock of his thick eyebrow.

“What else do you like about the dress?” you asked quietly, mustering up every ounce of courage you had.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, looking over you once more. Those dark eyes eating you alive.

“I like the way it matches your complexion, how it fits you perfectly.” He took another step closer, causing you to take a step back in response.

“What else?” you asked, pushing the limits as far as you could.

This time he took two steps, his eyes growing darker. That honey color turning into black colored coffee. “The way it hugs your curves in jus’ the right places. How the sheer skirt falls short against your thighs.”

He reached out a hand and trailed his fingers lightly over your hip, down to the top of your thigh. Making you gasp as he backed you up against a post, covered up by the crimson side curtain.

He took one step closer, and his tan work boots were toe to toe with your pointe shoes. He couldn’t get any closer. Not really. Not unless he leaned into you.

Please, you practically begged. Touch me.

“Anything else?” you asked in a trance like state, voice barely audible over the music that was playing on the stage.

He reached a hand up and brushed his fingers over your jaw, trailing it down to your chin, lifting your head where it was level with his mouth, making you inaudibly gasp at how close you were.

He smirked down at you, a smoldering, devilish smirk that could make you fall to your knees. It was that powerful. He was that powerful. He ran a calloused finger against your skin, torturing you with how intense he was looking at you. Making you want to pull his mouth to yours with how big and soft they looked.

“I like how the back of it laces up, how easy it’d be to slide on and off. How absolutely gorgeous you are right now…”

Oh.

He placed a hand on your hip, flexing his fingers against the smooth material. You could feel the burn of his calloused fingers through your dress, straight over your skin that was alight with arousal.

His other hand lifted your chin higher as he leaned in and ghosted his lips over yours, not quite touching but barely grazing the surface. Able to feel just how soft they really were.

“How easy I could do this,” he whispered as he moved his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. So close. Almost fully contacting his lips. The tension was everywhere, encasing the air around you in a thick pool of arousal, fueling that chemistry, lighting a fire deep in your core.

“This what you want?” he asked with a low, raspy breath. That bedrooom voice returning in full force.

“Mhmm,” you moaned out, about to completely lose yourself in a pool of desire.

“Thought so,” he laughed, ghosting over you again, getting a hint of coffee breath from his mouth. Something you wanted to taste, drink down as you swallowed him whole.

“Joel…” you begged, grabbing a fistful of his plaid shirt, digging your fingers into him. Telling him exactly what you wanted.

“Sunshine,” he answered back with that low drawl, sending a wave of slick down your center.

He pulled your chin up again, this time not letting it fall. His pupils were blown out as his dark eyes stared at you, his eyes slowly going down to your lips, that primal desire flooding his features. Making you fucking feral for his touch. He trailed his thumb over your lower lip slowly, seductively. Teasing you in the best possible way.

He gazed into your eyes, so deep that you swore he could’ve seen right through you. Could’ve reached into your soul and taken every bit of you in that moment. And then he was moving his thumb down, leaving room for his own lips.

He flicked his eyes up to yours, asking you for approval before he put his lips on yours. You slowly nodded, giving him your full permission. A smoldering smirk ghosted over his mouth, and then he was leaning in, pulling at your hips and sinking you against his chest.

Before he could brush his lips against yours, you heard Carlotta scream in the auditorium. “Where is my swan? Get out here, you’re up! Hurry up now. We don’t have all day,” she yelled as her authoritative voice carried through the balcony, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks.

Damn it.

You internally groaned at how close Joel was, how close you were to getting exactly what you wanted. Until Carlotta ruined that moment completely.

“White swan!” she yelled again, this time her voice was more annoyed.

“Better go out there,” Joel whispered in a raspy voice. “They’re waiting,” he said quietly, still hooked around your hips, eyes devouring you.

You gulped and locked eyes with him. “You have to let me go first,” you said slowly, your breath coming out in waves.

“Oh. Right,” he said, fingers still digging into your side.

“Can someone please go find my swan? Time is being wasted!” she screamed at one of the other dancers, hearing their feet echo against the hard floor. Making you jump at the sound.

Joel slowly dropped his hand from you and took a step back, giving you room to breathe freely. Eyes still burning into you. Tempting you to go dance in the flames. You slowly backed up, drawing closer to the side opening to the stage, almost stepping into the light.

“Go knock ‘em dead, sunshine,” Joel whispered, making the floor feel like quicksand, threatening to take you under at any second.

You were still breathing heavy, eyes never leaving his, fingers flexing so hard against your skin you swore you were about to start feeling warm blood.

Once you stepped into the light Carlotta ripped into you. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting!” She continued letting you have it, but you couldn’t hear her. Drowning out the distant screams to focus on the brooding man that stood feet away from you, still fixating his stare on you.

You turned and quickly apologized to Carlotta, getting into position to start your routine. Before the music started up, you turned your head slightly and peered up behind your long lashes, finding his gaze again.

And then the burn simmered over you. Scorching you alive.

There was nowhere to run or hide. Nowhere where you could kill the heat. It was too late. You were already consumed by the flames, doomed to incinerate to liquid. Branded by the man made of fire.

Part 3

[bronzeagepizzeria]

A COMPREHENSIVE DEFENCE OF EVERYTHING TENTOO (PART 1)

Because unfortunately there’s a lot of stuff out there to refute.

so i guess a lot of people are watching doctor who right now because of good omens. and that, for some reason, means the tags are being constantly subjected to Certain tentoo takes so...it's meta time.

in this meta, i'll be rehashing how, exactly, tentoo is the doctor, and answering some other commonly posed objections to the pairing that is tentoo x rose.

But he's not the Doctor! Rose ended up with a copy!

First things first. The entire show revolves around the philosophical concept of Cartesian Dualism--the idea that the soul/spirit/mind has an entirely separate existence from the physical body. This is the basic principle of regeneration; when the Doctor regenerates, every organ, every cell in his body changes, and yet he remains the same man. What makes the Ninth Doctor the same man as the Tenth Doctor? There's something underlying here---the memories, the mind, the spirit. The body, has absolutely no significance.

In S6E6, The Almost People, we are introduced to the Ganger!Doctor. This is a man made out of like, slime, but he has the Eleventh Doctor's memories. Thus, he IS the Doctor. The Doctor himself says this.

In S9E11, Heaven Sent, the Twelfth Doctor is reduced to ashes millions and millions of times, and yet each time his body is 'recreated' or 'cloned', he remains the same person. Why? Because the memories persist. The soul lives on.

Here, have it straight from the horse's mouth.

"A man is the sum of his memories. A Time Lord even more so." - The Fifth Doctor, The Five Doctors, 1983

More evidence? What's the first thing the Tenth Doctor tries to do in Born Again to convince Rose that he really is the Doctor she knows?

DOCTOR: Very first word I ever said to you. Trapped in that cellar...Surrounded by shop window dummies. Oh...such a long time ago. I took your hand...I said one word. Just one word...Run.

Right. He shows her that he has the same memories.

Now cast your minds back to S4E13. What does the Metacrisis Doctor say when he's trying to convince Rose he's the same man?

Therefore, according to the lore established by the show itself, his missing heart has no significance to who he is. He is the Doctor.

2. But he's a CLONE.

Okay, first of all, he's not. He's a biological metacrisis, the only one of his kind. He has only one heart, i.e, he is not biologically identical to the Time Lord Doctor.

Second, even if he was, he would STILL be the Doctor. As established above.

Third, we see a Martha clone in S4E4, The Sontaran Stratagem, and she is a far cry from what we see of Tentoo.

3. Alright so he's not a copy. He's still only A Doctor! He isn't Ten, he's Half-Donna!

So. We've established that what makes a man is his memories.

If the Doctor had Donna's memories, he wouldn't be the Doctor anymore--which makes him ending up with Rose redundant. Here's the silver lining though.

Tentoo has only ten's memories. His own memories.

'How do we know this?' you may ask. Let's examine the script of S4E13, Journey's End.

(The Daleks spin around on the spot.) DALEK: Help me. Help me! DONNA: And the other way. NEW DOCTOR: What did you do? DONNA: Trip switch circuit-breaker in the psychokinetic threshold manipulator. NEW DOCTOR: But that's brilliant! DOCTOR: Why did we never think of that? DONNA: Because you two were just Time Lords, you dumbos, lacking that little bit of human. That gut instinct that comes hand in hand with planet Earth. I can think of ideas you two couldn't dream of in a million years.

Not very likely if Tentoo had her memories, right? This happens again, in the TARDIS Coral deleted scene:

DONNA: If you shatterfry the plasmic shell....you accelerate the growth power by fifty-nine. DOCTOR & NEW DOCTOR: We never thought of that.

There we go. Canon evidence that Tentoo does not have Donna's mind/memory/thought process. Instead, we see his mind being constantly referred to as that of his Time Lord counterpart.

4. So what exactly happened during the 'metacrisis' then? Why was Donna unable to sustain the change whereas we're meant to assume Tentoo is doing fine?

What happened in JE was a two-way metacrisis.

Tentoo is a biological metacrisis, i.e his mind remained the same, but the regeneration energy in his hand picked up on Donna's human biology and grew a human body. (His body is PART human, as in the ageing part. He'll grow old, and never regenerate.)

Whereas, Donna's body remained the same; she got the Doctor's mind, becoming the DoctorDonna. She is essentially the Doctor AND Donna, at this point in time.

At one point in JE, there are three Doctors ("There's three of you?") because as proved earlier, anybody that has the Doctor's memories, is the Doctor. There is: the Time Lord Doctor (Ten), the Human Doctor (Tentoo) and the Doctor Donna.

Since Donna was a human, she could not sustain the Doctor's mind alongside her own, which is what led to it burning up. It was simply too much for a human brain to take.

Tentoo, as proven earlier, does not have Donna's mind.

5. But he talks funny.

We are shown the Doctor picking up her mannerisms. The Doctor regularly picks up things from people he travels with. He "imprints" on Rose as a newly regenerated being and is shown to pick up on his companions' accents very often.

On a more analytical level, the "Donna mannerisms" bit is obviously comedic relief in an extremely action packed episode (evidenced by the fact that he literally never sounds like Donna again throughout the episode) and isn't meant to be taken that seriously. In every other scene, he is played by David Tennant, exactly as ten.

Tentoo is the Tenth Doctor, but human. In every way that matters, he is exactly Ten.

6. But he's Season 2 Ten! He doesn't have any of the character development Time-Lord Ten does!

Erm. Yeah. You've got to watch the show again.

7. Alright. Okay. If Tentoo is the exact same man, he would get bored of a life on earth with Rose. They'd never last.

Now we've got to address a key aspect of the Doctor's arc. (Keep in mind, when I refer to the Doctor herein, I only mean the Ninth and Tenth, the ones written by Russell T. Davies.)

The Doctor always wanted to be human.

The Doctor, and the Tenth Doctor in particular, wants to be human. It’s peppered here and there throughout the first four seasons, but if you watch closely, there’s this underlying current of wistfulness in him (“I’ve never had a life like that”; “The one adventure I can never have”), not to mention the entirety of the Human Nature two parter.

I think to some extent Rose made him feel human, and it’s his alienness that’s the big barrier in their relationship. He doesn't allow himself to love her the way he wants to because of the difference in their life spans. Because he's a Time-Lord, and he has a responsibility to the Universe, and he can't be more selfish than he's being already, keeping her with him.

She makes him want to be human, to be loved and to be free to love her as he wants to. She even helps him forget, sometimes, that he isn't human. Remember his expression in The Stolen Earth when he sees her again? He is so glad to see her. In that moment, it doesn't matter that they can never be together, because Rose loves him so much she came back.

I'm reminded of a quote from Buffy The Vampire Slayer:

I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man.

And then bam. The almost-regeneration. The crushing reminder that he is intrinsically different from her species, from what he aches to be. Constant and selfish and free. Human.

Giving Rose up to his other self was the most selfless, loving thing he could’ve done. His other self, who is uninhibited, unburdened from the responsibilities of a Time Lord—can and will give Rose everything she deserves.

8. Just make Rose immortal then! Happy endings all around.

Now you might say, the earlier problem could be solved simply by making Rose immortal—she’d stay with the Doctor forever and she’d never have to leave him!

Here's the thing. Being immortal is Not Good.

A constant theme throughout seasons 1-4 is that immortality is not desirable. There is a constant motif of “living too long”, whether it be from Jack, the Face of Boe (cough), or the Doctor himself.

Things are only precious and meaningful because they end—the human way of doing things? Fast, and bright, and temporary? It’s the right way.

One of the many reasons the Doctor loves Rose is because she’s human—it’s a big part of why he’s attracted to her in the first place.

Besides, an immortal Rose would mean having to outlive her family, her friends, everyone she’s ever known—who else has experienced that? Oh, yeah. The Doctor. I can’t imagine him wanting her to go through the same thing under any circumstances.

9. Rose would never accept him. She wanted the adventure too, not just the Doctor.

This is the Rose who instantly felt connected to a parallel version of her parents. Remember, this Pete and Jackie had NO memory of her, and yet, she loved them. Tentoo IS Ten.

She also constantly refers to Tentoo as The Doctor, so I have faith in her figuring it out just fine.

As for the adventure, being human doesn't mean they're suddenly going to become accountants or work in childcare or something. (Looking at you, Jenny Colgan.)

Canon (Big Finish) tells us that they both work with UNIT/Torchwood, so we know that they're out there, defending Pete's World together.

'What about the TARDIS?' you may ask. Well, the writer considers it canon that the previously linked TARDIS coral scene did take place, so we can imagine that they're out there, exploring a new Universe.

But even if they didn’t have a TARDIS, we only need to look to S1E13, The Parting of the Ways, to understand that Rose cares about the Doctor above all else.

ROSE: But what do I do every day, mum? What do I do? Get up, catch the bus, go to work, come back home, eat chips and go to bed? Is that it? MICKEY: It's what the rest of us do. ROSE: But I can't! MICKEY: Why, because you're better than us? ROSE: No, I didn't mean that. But it was. It was a better life. And I don't mean all the travelling and seeing aliens and spaceships and things. That don't matter. The Doctor showed me a better way of living your life. You know he showed you too. That you don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away.

Of course Rose loves the TARDIS. She just loves the Doctor more.

More evidence? S2E8, The Impossible Planet:

DOCTOR: ....They were grown, not built. And with my own planet gone, we're kind of stuck. ROSE: Well, it could be worse. This lot said they'd give us a lift. DOCTOR: And then what? ROSE: I don't know. Find a planet, get a job, live a life, same as the rest of the universe.

Clearly, she doesn't mind settling down---not if it means staying with the Doctor.

DOCTOR: I promised Jackie I'd always take you back home. ROSE: Everyone leaves home in the end. DOCTOR: Not to end up stuck here. ROSE: Yeah, but stuck with you, that's not so bad. DOCTOR: Yeah? ROSE: Yes.

Here's another conversation she has with Jackie in S2E12, Army of Ghosts:

JACKIE: No, but really. When I'm dead and buried, you won't have any reason to come back home. What happens then? ROSE: I don't know. JACKIE: Do you think you'll ever settle down? ROSE: The Doctor never will, so I can't. I'll just keep on travelling.

"I can't." Not I don't want to, or I'm not interested---I can't. Rose is in love with the Doctor, and she knows at some level that the feeling is mutual. She also knows, he will never fully act on it.

But that's alright, because she loves him so much she's made her peace with it and with his limitations.

And instead of the typical female protagonist sacrificing things for her love interest trope, we get RTD flipping it on its head and letting Ten deliver the ultimate sacrifice, perform the ultimate act of love---letting Rose go.

By doing this, he's giving her everything he never could. It's beautiful. It's heartbreaking. It's the best love story ever put to television.

Let me conclude with this quote:

“Firstly, Rose is neither shallow nor stupid. She doesn’t settle for second best. She gets the person she fell in love with. And, as a bonus, he’s now able to spend the rest of his life with her, as she with him. Secondly, the very same person who experienced the heartbreak of losing Rose for the first time now experiences joy at the prospect of a lifetime in her company. In this full sense, the Doctor who lost, finally wins.” - Paul Dawson, Doctor Who and Philosophy.

10. But the Doctor and Rose ending up together is disgusting! They were platonic!

…..

[sludge-saturday]

guidance

pairing: connor rk800 x gn!reader

summary: fresh out of the revolution, connor is still adjusting to his deviancy. his very existence has given the word "life" an entirely new meaning, and he is experiencing some inner turmoil surrounding his true purpose now that he has free will. will you help him navigate these complex feelings?

tags: comfort, fluff, upset connor

warnings: none!

word count: 1,483

a/n: HUGE THANK YOU to @thiriumstains for submitting this request!! for the purposes of this fic, deviated androids can cry when their systems are overloaded with information, and mimic human-like sleep behaviors when going into sleep mode! i hope you enjoy :]

☆ as your keys jingled in the door handle, you could hear the vigilant barks of your golden retriever and hear the sound of his paws trotting up to the doorway. connor, with similar dog-like reflexes, started getting up from his place on the couch as soon as he heard the clamor from the entrance to your shared apartment. opening the door you excitedly greeted your furry friend as he jumped on you, licking your face in appreciative excitement.

☆ "y/n, welcome home!" connor said. eager to assist, he takes some of the bags out of your arms and sets them on the table. like the gentleman he is, he helps you out of your jacket and hangs it on the hook next to the doorframe. you turn around to look at him, feeling refreshed just by the sight of him after a long day away. and, just by looking into connor's eyes, you can tell he feels similarly. with this shared glance of cherishment, your bodies are like magnets with the way they move toward each other for an embrace.

☆ "i've missed you so much." connor sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. his grip on you was strong, as if he was finally finding solace after running from something stronger than him. your bodies lingered in their positions for a moment before you both pulled away, connor's hands squeezing your arms before dropping to his sides. you studied his face unconsciously and realized that something looked amiss about the way he looked. his cheeks were glistening and his eyes looked glossier than normal. "connor," you started cautiously, afraid of upsetting him. "are you feeling alright?"

☆ connor's eyes widened slightly, a micro-expression that most wouldn't notice, and he straightened his posture. he felt as though he had been caught doing what he wasn't supposed to. the truth is, he didn't know what was happening to him. he has only been deviated for a few weeks, and this was the first time since then that he's felt so... overwhelmed. but he couldn't tell you, the thought of doing so only amplified the sensation. trying his best to maintain his usual calm and collected appearance, connor unknowingly gave you a sad smile. "all of my systems are perfectly functional," he lied. "what makes you say that?"

☆ looking into connor's eyes as he tilted his head to the side, you saw more than he was letting on. his gaze looked pained, specifically the kind of pain that you feel you must hide for the sake of others. neither of you knew what deviance would hold for connor, but you were determined to help him through everything. "i don't mean to pry, but you look upset. don't feel obligated to tell me anything you don't want to, but i want you to know that i'm here for you." you smiled gently at him to punctuate your message.

☆ shame continued to bubble within connor, steadfast and and committed. he didn't want you to see him like this, but, deep down, he knew he couldn't keep this at bay any longer. all it took was one blink for tears to drip down his cheeks once more, and your heart clenched at the sight. connor's hand flew up to wipe his face, embarrassed that he couldn't control what was happening to him. actually, it was quite frightening for him.

☆ "i'm sorry, i-" he whispered, eyes cast downward. the tone of voice in which he spoke revealed just how out of control he felt. "i don't know what's happening. my optical units- my eyes- they don't need additional lubricant." it was concerning, to say the least, watching the usually composed android unravel like this. you reached out and pulled him close to you, making a silent promise to yourself that you were going to take care of him. "what's wrong, connor?" you knew that you were gonna have to coax him through this, that he needed guidance through this uncharted territory.

☆ "i don't have a mission," he spoke, just above a whisper. taking his frame in your hands you turned him to face you, his face was perturbed and his eyes still lowered. "what?" you softly urged. his teary eyes met yours with a look of disbelief. "...i don't have a mission. what am i supposed to do without a purpose to fulfill? without a goal to meet?" connor's voice shakes. "my entire existence has been ruled by objectives. i was activated to serve as a tool for humans to use, and i was okay with that. but now... now-" he covered his face with his hands, leaning forward as a heavy sob shook his body.

☆ your hand instinctively reached to rub his back as he wept, your touch letting him know that he didn't have to go through this alone. he wasn't used to this: to not having feelings, to people wanting to know how he's feeling in the first place, it was all too much. he's never experienced this kind of input running through his circuitry before. "do you want to talk about this?" you said, continuing to rub his back. he lifted his head back up to eye level, looking so, so broken.

☆ he didn't want to, he couldn't admit that he needed help. all he'd known was how to be the help others needed. how was he supposed to accept it for himself? connor stayed silent, staring at the ground as more tears rolled down his cheeks. in an act of immense courage, connor nodded, and that was all of the confirmation you needed to try and lead him into the right direction. "the truth is, us humans, we don't know what we're doing either. we may seem like we already know what our futures have in store for us, but some of us, not all of us, know deep down that tomorrow is never promised."

☆ connor sat and listened. he didn't interject, become distracted, or avert his gaze as you spoke. "it's more than okay to not know what your destination is yet, what's most important is that the journey is savored. part of having human-like qualities is to doubt, to question, and to be unsure." you paused, getting up from the couch to move toward your shared bedroom. you reached out your hand to him, knowing how much he's valued physical touch since he deviated.

☆ "and don't forget, you still have duties you can fulfill at the precinct. no one's gonna take that away from you." you said, walking the two of you through the doorframe. "but you also don't have to be tied to that place anymore if you don't want to. its your decision, in the end." you moved to your dresser and rifled through the drawers for pajamas to wear. connor did the same, itching to get into more comfortable clothes. you both faced away from each other as you changed, but the conversation did not cease.

☆ "it will take a lot of getting used to, this freedom. i'm not doubting that. but i want you to know that i'm gonna be here for you the whole time." you finished changing and moved towards the bed. "even if you think you have no one, you'll have me. got it?" you affirmed, peeling the blankets back. nestling inside, you patted the spot next to you on the bed. "come," you beckoned. "i'm sure you're exhausted." connor walked over, still silent, and slid underneath the covers.

☆ you smoothed a hand over his hair as you two laid side by side, facing each other. "the beautiful thing about this is," a yawn overtakes your sentence. "you are now the director of your own destiny. no one gets to tell you what to do anymore. its up to you to decide what you want your mission to be." your eyelids grew heavy as your hand slid down to rest on his side protectively. "this is your life, connor. you have the power to choose how it unfolds for yourself."

☆ your eyes fluttered, fighting the creeping, persistent grasp of slumber. connor noted this, and, with the same small voice he spoke in before, he whispered: "thank you. i... need time to process... and reflect... but..." he paused again. "thank you." connor shifted his eyes from looking down at the mattress to meeting yours, but yours were already closed. aching to join you and to finally release this burden for the time being, he began the process of entering sleep mode.

☆ taking in his last moments of wakefulness, he couldn't help but wonder: did you hear him? his eyes were closed, but he felt the mattress shift as your dog jumped on the bed to snuggle between you two. as he laid there, counting down the seconds to sleep, he swore he could have heard the ghost of a voice float through his auditory processor. "always." it said.

[candy69gurl]

i was thinking a jjk req.

the reader is shy and kind but one day as they were pushed towards his limits and saw Yuji hurt,they lost it so they true power pops outs,they become more derangered,crazy,bloodthirtsy as they slash the head off of the enemy and did a mass genocide of their opponent and they laughed isterically covered in blood with a toothy sharp smile like this?

and they basycally become more fast and stronger

(idk this is more based on my jjk sona but...i hope its okay?)

Unstoppable

Yuji Itadori x gn!reader

Warnings- mentions of violence (fight with curse)

wc- 1.5k

Tags- @sweetchildcloud @rabbidbunwy

Your concerns prove to be prophetic. The Special Grade Cursed Spirit regroups, reemerging with renewed vigor. This time, it's bearing an even darker countenance, lunging with a vengeance. Unable to react in time, Yuji gets knocked unconscious by its unrelenting onslaught.

Helplessness floods you as you watch Yuji collapse under the Cursed Spirit's brutal attack. Fear gives way to determination, driving you to action.

You could vaguely hear their conversations as they passed by. They spoke of all sorts of things—the current status of the curse and how the first semester of school was going for them. Nothing overly interesting, but nothing to complain about either.

However, someone caught up to you quickly and walked along with you.

“Hey.”

You looked over to see a tall guy with strawberry blonde hair walking alongside you.

“Hi,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks flush slightly at his sudden appearance.

“I heard you’re the new kid on campus—Y/N, right?” Yuji asked, smiling warmly as he walked beside you.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, still not used to hearing yourself admit such a thing out loud.

“Well, don’t worry too much. You’re among friends here,” he continued with a reassuring grin. "I'm Yuji Itadori, by the way. And we're in the same class, so we'll be seeing a lot of each other. You can come to me if you ever need help or just want to chat, alright?"

Yuji's hand brushed against yours briefly, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. He had a friendly demeanour that put you at ease, making it hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks felt warmed once again, and you found it difficult to meet his gaze. You managed to muster a forced smile in response.

"Thanks, Yuji... I really appreciate that. I'm still getting used to all of this." You gestured towards the school, trying to hide your nerves behind a polite facade.

As the weeks went by, you and Yuji grew increasingly comfortable with each other. The once-strained atmosphere transformed into an environment of easy camaraderie and mutual understanding. Sharing laughter, tears, joys, and fears, you began to feel a bond unlike any other.

Today, after a particularly grueling training session, you were hanging out with Yuji. The city lights flickered below, casting a prismatic glow upon both of you.

"You know…" Yuji started softly, shifting to turn onto his side to face you

"We're getting pretty close now, huh?" He asked, his eyes reflecting the twinkle of stars overhead.

"Yeah..." Your fingers hesitated before seeking out his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. "It feels like...we're unstoppable together, you know?" You whispered, glancing at Yuji's hand that now rested securely in yours. The warmth from his touch made its way up your arm, spreading throughout your entire body.

"Unstoppable," he repeated thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly.

"I like that," Yuji murmured, leaning closer to you, "you know Y/N, I don't want to lose you. Never"

You looked at his eyes, his eyes sparkled with love, "I don't want to lose you either"

"Y/N, I promise I will always protect you", he moved a strand of your hair from your face. Your lips were mere inches apart when the sweet moment between you and Yuji was abruptly interrupted by a blood-curdling scream echoing through the night air. You exchanged panicked glances before springing into action, charging towards the source of the piercing sound.

Upon reaching the location of the scream, you and Yuji found a small child, who was in the verge of death. A special grade cursed spirit, with its twisted, tendril-like limbs writhed about, wrapping the child.

Terror overwhelmed you as you beheld the horrific sight. The little child, trapped within the sinister, grasping tendrils of the Special Grade Cursed Spirit. As you retreated, fear etched every line of your features, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The sheer magnitude of the threat hit you like a ton of bricks. This was your first encounter with a Cursed Spirit - no amount of education or training could've prepared you for the raw horror of it. Tears streamed freely down your face as fear seized your heart.

Yuji, however, remained stoic, his gaze fixed firmly on the terrifying beast before him.

"Stay back!" Yuji barked, already preparing to engage the monster. He activated his cursed technique, and his eyes gleamed with determination as he lunged forward. His fists connected with the massive creature, sending shock waves through its form. The child managed to escape it's grip, running away from the area as soon as he could, crying for his mom.

From a safe distance, you watched in terror as Yuji fought valiantly against the monstrous curse. His fists lashed out with incredible speed and power, cracking the ground beneath him. Yet, the creature seemed unfazed by his assault.

Despite your overwhelming fear, you wished desperately to assist Yuji. You knew that standing idle while he risked his life would be irresponsible. However, paralyzing dread gripped your body, holding you back. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he continued to strike the massive entity.

In the midst of the battlefield, the air shimmered with the intensity of Yuji's battle against the colossal Cursed Spirit. Each punch sent tremors rippling through the earth as he tirelessly sought to free the trapped child. His cursed technique radiated power, painting the air with a blue aura.

Against this relentless onslaught, the creature's form quivered, yet it did not falter completely.

The air around Yuji grew thick with anticipation as he readied his ultimate move. With a swift motion, he darted forward in a blur, utilizing his Black Flash technique.

His movements became a blur, leaving streaks of distorted air in his wake. The Cursed Spirit was caught off guard, struggling to keep up with his rapid attacks. Witnessing this display left you in awe, even amidst the terror.

For a brief moment, hope sparked in your heart. Just as Yuji landed a devastating blow, the enemy's remaining tendrils recoiled, vanishing into the shadows. The freed child lay unconscious on the ground, narrowly escaping death.

Your heart pounded wildly in relief as Yuji staggered back, panting heavily from the exertion. He collapsed onto one knee, a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion etching his features.

"Are you okay?" you asked him.

"I'm fine," Yuji managed, forcing a brave smile despite the strain evident in his voice. But the curse's swift strike left him comatose.

Closing your eyes tightly, you summon the courage to fight. Drawing from the lessons learned at Jujutsu High, you focused on the curse, attempting to channel your powers to aid Yuji.

The newfound resolve surges through your veins, pushing away the fear that have previously paralyzed you. With a deep breath, you focus intently on the Cursed Spirit, determine to aid Yuji.

As the enemy draws near, your cursed energy ignites, it surges into your katana. The demonic essence within you seethes, fueling a thirst for destruction. Like a frenzied predator, you unleash your power upon the Cursed Spirit. Your once-friendly features contorts into a ghastly, bloodthirsty visage as you swing your weapon, decapitating it with a single stroke.

Blood dripping from your teeth, staining your smile crimson as you laugh maniacally. "That's what you get bad for attacking innocent people," you cackle maniacally, showering the area with gore as you continue your rampage. Your laughter echoes eerily through the silent night, punctuated by the sickening crunch of each blow.

Finally, exhausted, you collapse to the ground, panting heavily. Purple Blood paints your hands and clothes, creating a gruesome tableau. Your laughter subsides, replaced by heavy breathing as the adrenaline begins to wear off. A wave of guilt and horror sweeps over you, washing away the madness. Your eyes lock with Yuji's unconscious form on the ground, and remorse floods your heart.

"Y-Yuji…" you manage, reaching out tentatively to touch his chest, checking for any signs of life.

Thankfully, Yuji stirrs slightly, his eyelids fluttering weakly. Relief washes over you as you realized he was still alive.

"Y-Yuji!" You cry out, squeezing his hand gently. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to do that... But we couldn't let those monsters hurt you again..."

He opens his eyes slowly, gazing at you with confusion and concern.

"Y/N..."

Relief floods Yuji's expression as he recognizes your efforts to save him. Gratefulness wells up within him, culminating in a tender smile.

"You...you saved me..." He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes turn teary, "Sorry I couldn't protect you."

"No," you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear, "it's part of the job... protecting each other."

He pulls you close, and as he does, you feel a warmth spreading from your core outwards.

"Thank you..." Yuji whispers, his lips brushing against yours in an intimate gesture filled with gratitude and affection.

The kiss deepens, fervent yet gentle. The lingering scent of battle hangs heavy in the air, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of the moment. Passionate, yet gentle, Yuji's kiss leaves you breathless. In this embrace, all outside stimuli fades away, leaving only you two.

Drawing back slightly, Yuji gazes lovingly into your eyes. "You're amazing, Y/N," his voice is husky, laced with emotion.

"Thank you, Yuji," you respond, "I am nothing without your support"

"Together we are unstoppable, Y/N", his forehead touching yours. The moonlight cast a soft glow upon your faces as you share a loving look, your hearts beating in unison.

"Always by your side, Y/N," Yuji promises fervently, leaning in for another tender kiss.

This time, the kiss is slow and deliberate, filled with love and appreciation. It lingers, fueled by the strength of your bond. When he finally breaks away, he smiles softly.

"We're going to be the strongest duo".

[twistedchatterbox]

you > work

“summary: how would they act around you during work? ft.Azul and Floyd (seperately) tags. GN Reader, Fluff, This is basically my first ever “fic” reformatted, No Spoilers, yes I am biased as fuck mind your business, the fish mafia acts like an actual fish mafia, loveels, domestic Azul, Floyd is a lover for you and a danger for literally everything else, Jade makes a cameo, the fish are all so lovesick oh my god, no beta we overblot like men; i am kinda busy atm so please just accept these crumbs while i work on many things at once lol,, enjoy.

Wordcount; 700+ | Masterlist & Taglist

They’ll treat you the way they always have; adoringly and lovingly. As unpredictable as they can be, for you, they’re simply smitten. Lovesick fish. It’s adorable, really. The way... The way Azul’s eyes light up into a look of excitement upon seeing your contact light up on the screen of his phone would have been contagious.. had his witnesses not been thoroughly terrified and possibly beaten out of their wits to even think or consider commenting on it. He quickly gathers himself, though, and asks his clients if they’d mind waiting a moment as he casts a spell; pointing his pen and channeling the spell directly against their throat, effectively ridding the poor unfortunate souls of their voices.  Elegantly rising up from his chair in a well-practiced manner, he grabs his phone and heads towards privacy, where his own voice turns sweeter than honey as it fills to the gills with affection for you. Azul chuckles as he whispers a “Hi”, sighing as your voice brought him the fresh breather he’s yearned for all day. “Hi darling, has everything been alright?” he asks, softening with not only his voice but his smile as it turns genuine for you; which only intensifies as you explain you just called him to ask what he’d like for dinner, since you remembered the two of you forgot to assign kitchen duty today and you arrived home early. Azul’s eyes crinkle and he finds himself indulging in a closed-eyed smile, fondly shaking his head as if you could see it. “Ah, is that so?” Azul teases with no edge to his tone, “You just wanted to ask me what I’d like for dinner? My, my, aren’t you so benevolent today~?” he playfully murmurs, enjoying himself. But he can’t take too much time, since he does have a real answer for you. Sighing, he says so, “You truly are the sweetest thing...Can you please make my favourites today?”, feeling proud of himself when you pick up on it and ask if today has been exceptional, nodding as if you could tell. Azul feels sad that the call cannot last forever, yet he knows a way to remedy it so he gently murmurs his response, “Yes, today was great, thank you darling, i’ll see you at home. I love you.” Feeling more refreshed than ever compared to earlier, Azul re-corrects his posture and draws a breather, determined to quickly finish his leftover work early so that he can join as you soon as possible. Plus, getting home early and being able to wrap his arms around you while you navigated the kitchen just sounded perfect.

Now, visiting Floyd during work was Russian roulette with all chambers rigged for most people, meanwhile you could only describe it as a game of hide and seek. To say he adored you and was biased for you is an understatement.  Wearing a warm, fluffy on the inside winter coat, you walked alongside Jade as you neared the place Floyd was supposed to be at around this time- according to Jade, at least. And today, that hunch seemed correct. In your sights was Floyd Leech in the flesh, humming a cheerful tune as he dragged a trash bag alongside the floor with a carefree smile that turned strained whenever the contents seemed to move around- or at least tried to. The way Floyd’s entire figure is engulfed in an excited and thrilled way is a familiar and endearing sight to you; making you smile when he notices you in the middle of his previously assigned task, looking directly at you as soon as you entered his line of sight. Smiling from eye to eye, unable to suppress the trill of sheer joy your surprise visit brought him. You couldn’t help but notice how his clothes were clean as of now, which meant- “Shrimpyy~~!! Gimme a hug~!” Floyd’s laughs with a lovestruck grin, showcasing his sharp, white teeth as he opens his arms for you. And his smile only grew happier as you ran upto him, jumping into his ready arms; he hugs you securely as he twirls you around- he has always been so careful of his strength when it came to you, protective of you, far more gentle towards you than anyone else has been, or ever cared to be. And as his right foot pressed down cruelly onto the tie of the suspicious body bag that finally stopped squirming, the none-existent audience was his witness. This gentleness would only ever be reserved for you.