#and for all his flaws that love is still so effortless

[tamedstray]

𝑫𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 ⸻ What kind of love are you? ☼

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅

Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same.

Tagged by @triinitas & @accultant (thank you ; u ; this was adorable !!)

Tagging @oathfcrged, @shdwtouch, @intothewildsea, @bloodyarn, @thoselittledespairs (for whomever you're vibing with x) & anyone who feels like doing it ♡♡

[puhpandas]

I think the reason beckory works well is that tony has a habit of getting self righteous and in his own head about things but Gregory isnt afraid to tell him off or call him out about things. the point of tony in ggy is that nobody ever told him that how hes treating other people isnt good, so that's why he got so bad. but tony would be close to Gregory and have every rational reason in the world to listen to Gregory so when he would say something like "you're treating ellis badly and that's not what a good friend does, you need to do better" hed actually listen and take it into account and improve himself

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 11

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.9k

Note : please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags!!! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

"Give me Something I Need"

Saturday.

You hadn’t planned to slip out of bed that morning without a word to Bucky.

But Happy’s message had played in your head all night like a broken record.

Bucky shifted beside you, still lost in an all-consuming sleep. You sat still, letting him rest a little longer. Quietly, you unlocked your phone and reread the message:

You’re welcome to watch it whenever you’re ready.

Maybe you were ready now.

You glanced at the clock—8 a.m. 

Maybe it was time.

You hadn’t mentioned the message to Bucky last night, and some part of you didn’t want to. He’d been so drained, drowning in worry about your next mission. He didn’t need one more thing weighing on him. Besides, last night he’d been plagued by nightmares, hiccuped murmurs and tiny cries slipping out as he fought with the demons in his dream. You’d tried waking him up, but he was too far gone to notice your fleeting touch on his skin.

Maybe, part of you kept this from him because, for once, you knew it was your own scar to carry, your own battle to fight. You thought he’d want to help, would try to shoulder the burden with you. But just this once, maybe you wanted to face it alone.

So, as quietly as possible, you slipped out of bed. Scribbling a quick note, you left it on the pillow beside him:

Happy wants me at the compound. Be back soon.

After a moment’s hesitation, you picked up the pen again and added a final line beneath it:

I love you.

—

Happy was already waiting as you entered the hallways of the compound.

“Take it slow,” Happy said softly, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder outside. “You can walk away if it gets too much.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. The stillness in the media room was unnerving, the air thick and heavy as you took in the blank screen.

The blank canvas felt like a reflection of the fragments in your own mind.

You pressed play on the remote.

The first video flickered to life, and there you were. 

You were whole.

You looked alive in a way that felt unfamiliar—radiant, confident, like you never doubted you belonged here. 

You hardly recognized yourself— whoever she was. 

In a way, you envied her. She was so… certain. So happy. 

The screen revealed more moments from the life you’ve forgotten: your easy laughter, your strong and effortless movements, the way you looked at the world without the hesitations and doubts that now seemed entwined in your bones

As you watched, a recurring figure loomed in the background of each clip. 

Bucky. 

He was always there—hovering at the edges, never fully engaged.

In one video, you sat at the kitchen table, chatting with him, your voice bright and full of warmth. You could almost feel the hope in your own tone as you tried to draw him in.

Oh.

You noticed the way he hardly looked at you, his gaze averted, his responses clipped and distant. A slight frown tugged at your lips on the screen. Still, you’d pressed on, covering the disappointment with another forced laugh. Watching it now, you felt the sting of rejection reverberate you hadn’t felt with Bucky before. 

So you let yourself wonder:

How often had you tried, only to be met with that same coldness?

The next clip flashed to you and Bucky in the gym, sparring together. You were smiling, trying to get a laugh out of him as you moved, but he was stone-faced, his eyes cold and focused only on your flaws. He corrected your stance with a harshness that bordered on contempt, barely looking at you. 

It was so different from the flirty, loving touches he now shared with you in training. It was so different from the gentleness he shared with you in bed, how his arms wrapped around your waist lovingly as you slept through the night.

In the video, you stumbled, and he just watched, his gaze almost dismissive, as if your struggle wasn’t worth his time.

The camera switched to you as you turned and walked away in silence, his gaze trailing after you with a familiar vulnerability.

Clip after clip, a bleak portrait began to form. And with each scene, a twisted realisation began to settle over you like a dark cloud: Back then, you wanted him to care. You’d tried so hard to make him care— and he just… didn’t.

Did he… hate you?

It wasn’t just you and Bucky, though. 

The footage flickered to glimpses of other moments, happier ones. 

Yelena laughing with you, arms slung over each other’s shoulders as you traded jokes over a glass of wine. 

Sparring sessions with Sam, his encouraging grin as he gave you pointers, patting you on the back when you managed a successful move. 

Lazy snack breaks with Clint, the two of you sharing bags of chips and laughing about some ridiculous stunt you’d pulled on a mission. 

But in every moment, Bucky was there. He was somewhere in the background, always lingering. Watching. Close enough to be present, but never close enough to be part of it. He looked like an outsider, an intruder.

Watching it all felt like a cruel joke. 

Here you were, spending each day with him now, building something precious and real—or so you’d thought. This was a fracture in that reality, a fracture that had been there all along. 

Had you simply been too pathetic? Had you just been too desperate for connection, that you looked past everything in order to get a fresh start?

The clips rolled on, a carousel of emotions you had no memory of feeling.

The Bucky on the screen was nothing like the man you’d come to know these past months. 

This was a stranger.

 A brooding figure who loomed over you, distant, dismissive, every single interaction tinged with disdain, disapproval.

What did he want from you now?

Why was he here with you, treating you with gentleness and care, like you were precious to him? Did he genuinely care? Or was he just trying to ease his own guilt, trying to make amends now that you’d forgotten how much he’d hurt you?

The final clip began, and your heart sank as you saw yourself in the doorway, pleading with him, desperation etched into every line of your face.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he hissed in the video. “I don’t want your company. I don’t need your pity. You think you’re being nice?”

You winced at the screen.

“I feel like I can't breathe around you,” 

The room fell silent, leaving you alone with the raw ache that spread like wildfire. 

The Bucky who had made you feel so loved, so safe, felt like an illusion now, a fabrication designed to soothe his own guilt.

Had he hated you that much? Had he resented you? 

Was this the man you were trusting with your fragile mind? The man you had trusted with rebuilding your heart?

The screen faded to black, leaving you alone with the echo of his words and the weight of memories that felt more like wounds. 

You couldn’t tell which Bucky was real. The one who now held you close, whispered reassurances against your skin, made you feel wanted and safe… or the one who had once pushed you away and looked at you like you were an unwanted burden?

When you finally rose, your hands trembled. 

The life you’d been building, the careful scaffolding of trust and affection you thought was real, felt like it was crumbling underneath your very feet. 

You looked one last time at the face on the screen—she was a person you didn’t know, a person who had once been you. A person who had tried so hard to break through his walls, who’d given him a piece of herself only to be met with a chill that bordered on contempt.

And now, you had to wonder if there was anything left of her worth reclaiming.

—

Every fibre of your being screamed at you to run away from this godforsaken place.

The air felt suffocating, as if even the walls of the compound were conspiring to close in on you.

You couldn’t look at anyone. 

You couldn’t bear the inevitable sympathy in their eyes.

All you knew, with a terrible certainty, was that you couldn’t stay here—not with Happy, who, despite the well-meaning confusion, didn’t understand the layers of the lie. Not with Sam, who was so close to Bucky he could probably piece together exactly what had been kept from you.

And not with Yelena, who, as close as she was to you, never uttered a word.

And to think, you had told her you love Bucky before you even told him.

You couldn't be with anyone else on the team. 

If they had kept this from you, what else had they hidden from you?

“Wait!” Sam’s voice rang out behind you, sharp and pleading. “Happy told me… Bucky messed up, we should have— Just let me explain!”

“Explain?” The word came out a near-snarling whisper as you turned around. “Explain what, Wilson? That it was somehow for my own good? That everyone thought it was better to string me along like a fool, to keep me in the dark? Or that Bucky—” your voice cracked as his name left your mouth, a crack that felt like it reached deep into the crater that had formed in your chest. “That Bucky can only stand to be around me now that I don’t remember how much he used to hate me?”

Behind him, Happy slowed to a jog. His expression was gentle, but hopeless. “I—I didn’t know,” he stammered, “I didn’t know he would come across like this—”

“Don’t.” The word lodged in your throat as you shook your head, stepping back.. “Just…stay away from me. Both of you.”

Sam stood there, his mouth half-open. He wanted to bridge it, to find some way to fix this— you were his friend, and Bucky was the closest thing to his best friend, after all— but he kept his distance.

The shattered look on Sam’s face told you he understood. 

You turned before the tears could break through, fleeing down the steps, your footsteps echoing hollowly against the sterile walls, each stride dragging you further from the truth, further from everything you thought you knew.

It felt so eerily like the day you snuck out of the compound the first night you remembered.

You had trusted them—all of them. Clint, Bruce, Scott, Rhodey, Happy, Sam, Yelena…and Bucky. Especially Bucky. 

The Bucky you thought you’d known, the Bucky who’d held you close in the dark hours, who’d promised to protect you.

As you reached the exit, gasping for air that felt painfully thin you realised that maybe you had never truly known him at all.

—

By the time you stumbled through the door, Bucky was already gone, out on his morning run. The apartment felt hollow once again, just like when you first moved back in. You shut the door behind you, locking out the world. You leaned against the door to hold yourself up. The anger that had burned out in a great ball of fire was now replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.

The home– your home– that you had welcomed Bucky into, that you’d come to share with him— felt surreal. Every piece of clothing that was his, every soft throw blanket you cuddled under felt like a mocking reminder of what you’d thought was real—his gentle smiles, his soft voice pulling you out of the dark, his arms wrapped around you in those vulnerable hours just before dawn. But now you knew it was only a cruel joke you hadn’t been in on.

What truly haunted you was how quickly he had changed.

You saw the time stamps— put everything together.

I feel like I can’t breathe when I’m around you, he had said.

That was the night before mission.

You woke up a week after.

He turned disdain to affection in one week? How was that even possible? And who’s to say he won’t change again in another week?

Your legs gave out and you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest. Somewhere, deep in your heart, there was a fragile shard of hope, clinging desperately to the idea that it was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. But that hope was buried deep now, with no chance of ever clowning it back out.

The videos Happy had shown you kept replaying in your mind, like a twisted record skipping over the worst parts— Bucky, cold and dismissive. 

You’d trusted him, told everything to him, let him be the anchor in a life you could barely remember. And yet, he had pushed you away, treated you like an inconvenience, and let you believe in this version of him that never truly existed.

One week.

That was all it took for him not to hate you anymore, apparently. He must want something from you, right?

And after all that you’ve been through, you would not let yourself be used— not as a vessel for Bucky Barnes to ease his guilt, if that even was what he’s looking for.

And to think that he had any right to deny you of a mission you were ready for.

To think that you had let him dote on you, let him control you?

It made you feel sick.

The sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you. Your heart skipped as Bucky stepped inside, looking every bit the familiar, gentle Bucky you’d grown to love. He carried a bag of groceries, likely planning another quiet night in, oblivious to things you now know.

When his stare landed on you, his brows furrowed with concern. “Hey,” he said softly, setting down the bag, “Everything okay?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “You need to leave,” you said, your voice coming out cold and sharp. It was the only armour you had left.

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“Get out.” you spat.

Bucky’s face fell into a frown, his confusion twisting into panic. “What’s going on?” He took a tentative step toward you, but you backed away, each inch of distance feeling like a wall between you.

“Happy showed me footage from the last three years,” you managed, your voice trembling. “I saw the way you treated me—like I was nothing, like you couldn’t stand the sight of me. You didn’t even like me, did you?”

Bucky froze.

Shit.

Too late. He was always too damn late when it came to you.

He’d been so obsessed that Yelena might spill everything, that he’d forgotten about Happy—the one person who was in charge over those cameras, with no idea of the mess he’d even made. Well-meaning Happy, who would have only shown you the footage because he thought it would help.

Then, a wave of guilt crashed over. 

God, he should’ve told you. He should have given you something, a thread of truth to hold onto, a warning, anything to soften the blow. But now—what did he have? Just the wreckage of a truth you’d been blindsided by.

And he knew how it looked. 

Even if he wanted to tell you why he was distant, would you even let him try to explain? Or would you see it as just another lie, another desperate attempt to hide the truth from you?

The colour drained from his face, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but you cut him off, your words rushing forward, filled with years of hurt you hadn’t didn’t you could carry.

“I trusted you, Barnes! After everything, you were the one person I trusted—my memory’s gone, my past, all of it, but I had you.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed on, each word heavier than the last. “But you couldn’t stand me before, could you? You only started caring once I forgot. Once I couldn’t remember all the times you looked at me with nothing but resentment.”

His eyes widened.

“No, no, it’s not… it’s not like that,” he stammered, a visible desperation, shaken to his core. “Please, it’s not what you think—”

“Then what is it?” you shot back, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your voice. “Did you just prefer me like this? Do you like me broken? Do you like me weak? Does this do something for you? You sick fuck.”

He stepped closer, hands up as if to calm you. “You don’t understand. I—”

“I don’t understand?” you choked out, the agony spilling over. “I saw how you looked at me, how you dismissed me. Am I supposed to believe this—” his hands pointed up and down his body, “—is real?”

His face twisted in pain, but you refused to let yourself feel anything for him, anything but the betrayal coursing through your veins wildfire. 

“It was all a lie,” you whispered, shattered.

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head desperately. “It wasn’t… it’s not a lie. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. You pointed toward the door. “I want you to leave.”

His eyes, filled with anguish, filled with tears burning on the edge “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“I don’t know you, Barnes,” you replied, your voice hollow, drained of all feeling. “Not really. And after what I saw, I don’t think I want to.”

“Please—”

“Out!” you cut him off.

He stood there, waiting for you to find your footing, but you held firm, your voice as cold as the truth you’d uncovered.

Finally, he gave a small, defeated nod. 

Slowly, he turned, each step toward the door reluctant. When he reached the threshold, he paused, his hand hovering on the doorknob, as if waiting for a sign, some word from you that might let him stay.

But when he glanced back, he found only the sharp gaze you levelled at him. Whatever hope he’d held onto was lost.

Without another word, he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

—

You stood there, staring at the closed door. For the first time, you felt the void he’d left behind. 

You did it.

You had pushed him out of your life as he had once pushed you away. 

But instead of relief, the hurt deepened, and the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free. You sank to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, your body trembling as sobs reverberated through you. 

You had lost everything—your past, your memories, and now the only person who you had loved in this new, fractured life. 

-to be continued...

Taglist :

 @hzdhrtss @irisk12 @tayyyystan @seventeen-x @lomlbuckybarnes 

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @avatarofthetimelords @bckynatt @winchestert101 @zemosprincesa 

@nngkay @hiireadstuff @sapphirebarnes @thatesqcrush @bethexo07 

@florie1 @nyutasgirl @coraliix @harrysgothicbitch @jules-and-gemss

@infqnitysblog @isnow-0r-never @roofwitty779 @baw1066 @wasalreadyhere

@cjand10 @greatmistakes @winterslove1917 @calwitch @sebastians-love

@gyllord @brckenmemories @ethereal-witch24 @diffidentphantom

@avatarofthetimelords @lumidotexe @oscarissac2099 @currentfacination @pono-pura-vida

@blackbirdwitch22 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @ayayaeyato @btssaysstudy @unaxv

@otterlycanadian @lifeisbutadream444 @mostlymarvelgirl @ozwriterchick @m1cky-y-y

@ordelixx @jadeofspadesxp @generousmiraclebread @jeremyrennermakesmesmile@titasweetandsour 

@one-lengthiness36 @chimchoom @waitingformysandman @blackhawkfanatic @chaotic-taco-collector-blog

@aurysartstudio @olive-main @purplecolordeer @mrsnikstan @annoyingrebelsoul

@sunnyhummingbee @onelonelybitch @angelichwv @hello-lisa1026 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 

@vickie5446 @portrait-ninja @trocaderoisyummy @walkwithfluffyangels @torntaltos

@dogtorjae @hhiggs @hi172826

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

why not me?

pair: Percy Jackson x reader

summary: Percy is dating Annabeth but y/n(she/her) has been Percy's only best friend, besides Grover, and she's had a crush on him for years now, even before they knew he was a demigod

masterlist | navigation

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

You sit at the edge of the campfire, your knees pulled to your chest as you watch Percy and Annabeth laugh across from you. Grover's somewhere to your left, probably foraging for more marshmallows, but you’re too focused on them to care.

Percy’s smile is bright, his sea-green eyes crinkling at the corners, and every laugh he gives sends a pang through your chest. You’ve known him for years—long before either of you even knew what a demigod was. Before the monsters, the quests, the gods. When he was just Percy, your best friend who lived down the street, the one you could always count on.

Now he has Annabeth, and the "what ifs" and "why not me?" consume you every day.

You were there before all this started. The thought races through your mind as you absently twirl a blade of grass between your fingers. You knew him when he couldn’t even pass math, when his biggest worry was keeping his ADHD in check during class, when you two would spend hours at the park just talking. You were the one who stuck by him when the world didn’t make sense, but now, sitting across from him, you feel like a background character in your own life.

Annabeth is perfect, you think, your gaze flickering to her. Of course she is. Daughter of Athena. Smart, brave, beautiful. You can’t compete with that. You’ve tried to stop comparing yourself to her, but it’s impossible. Every time you see them together, you can’t help but notice how effortless it is for her. The way she fits into Percy’s life like she’s always belonged there. The way she’s everything you’re not.

You glance down at your hands. What did she have that you didn’t? She was brilliant. Fearless. Meanwhile, you’re just... you. Ordinary, human, flawed in all the ways Annabeth is perfect. You don’t have godly parents, you don’t have that kind of courage. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always feel like you’re not enough.

“Hey, Y/N, you good?”

Percy's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to find his concerned eyes on you. Your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, but it also aches because he’s not really seeing you. Not in the way you want him to.

You force a smile, the same one you’ve been using for years now. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

Annabeth throws you a glance, and for a moment, you wonder if she can tell. You’ve gotten good at pretending—pretending you’re happy for them, pretending it doesn’t hurt every time you see them hold hands, pretending you don’t lie awake at night asking yourself why you weren’t enough.

Percy gives you a soft grin, one that you’ve seen a million times before but never get tired of. "You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight."

Quiet. Right. You’ve been biting your tongue so hard lately it’s a wonder you can still speak around him. You nod, your throat tight. “I’m fine, Percy. Really.”

He shrugs, seemingly satisfied, before turning his attention back to Annabeth. And just like that, the moment is gone. You’re invisible again.

As you watch them talk, your mind drifts to all the times you’ve wondered if things would’ve been different if you’d just spoken up sooner. If you’d told Percy how you felt before he and Annabeth got together, would he have seen you then? Would he have realized that you were always the one who stood by his side, that you loved him long before he was the son of Poseidon, long before any of this?

Or maybe you were just never meant to be more than the best friend. Maybe that’s your role, and you were foolish to think you could ever be anything else.

You hear Annabeth laugh at something Percy says, and it twists in your gut like a knife. She doesn’t even have to try, does she? Everything comes naturally to her—the love, the adventure, the destiny. And here you are, desperately trying to keep your smile intact, trying not to let the cracks show.

Why not me? The question echoes in your head again, louder this time. What does she have that I don’t?

You hate that you’re thinking this way. Annabeth doesn’t deserve your jealousy—she’s never been anything but kind to you. She’s never treated you like you were lesser, but that’s how you feel, anyway. Less than her. Less than what Percy deserves.

You swallow the bitterness building in your chest and stand up abruptly. “I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you say, keeping your voice as steady as you can.

Grover has finally returned with the marshmallows, and he offers you a confused look, his hand halfway to the fire. “But we haven’t even started roasting yet!”

You force a smile. “I’m just really tired. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Percy frowns again, but he doesn’t press. “Alright. Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” You turn away quickly, before the tears in your eyes can betray you.

As you walk toward your cabin, the weight of it all crushes down on you. The laughter behind you fades, but the pain doesn’t. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that’s threatening to spill over.

You wonder how long you’ll be able to keep pretending, how long you can keep wearing this mask. How long before Percy realizes the truth?

But then again, maybe he never will. Maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life standing in the shadows, loving him from a distance, wishing things were different.

[sassydefendorflower]

The way so much of the first chapter of the manga gets mirrored in the last one is so effortless, it feels pretty redundant to talk about it here.

We all remember the callback to "I'll show you who the novice is!" and the literal hand of God striking down. But the entire core of the theme gets represented so elegantly by this panel from the first chapter of the manga in which Ed compares alchemists to the closest thing to God because they are capable of the act of creation.

This arrogance is Ed's fatal flaw, it's what led him down this path of destruction (and redemption) even if he no longer believes the dead can be brought back. He still thinks alchemy is the answer. He still thinks that every problem has an alchemical solution and pure scientific belief will be able to answer the moral conundrums presented to him on his journey.

And then here he is at the end of his journey.

And the answer to the question of "will you sacrifice your power and simply become an ordinary human?" is "I've always been an ordinary human". It is the answer to a question asked a hundred-and-eight chapters earlier, and it is the final moment in which Ed finally lets go of his arrogance. They couldn't save Nina with alchemy, because they are not God. They aren't some higher being that can break the rules of the universe.

They are human.

That's all they've ever been.

Ed has finally accepted that alchemy can't fix everything (which makes it slightly ironic that just this once it does). But he accepts his arrogance, he lets go of his belief in the black and white rigidity of science, and still he never once gives up his ideals.

He admits that seeing Truth is what led him down this path, this belief that if only he had all the answers in the universe, all the knowledge within the Gate, he could solve everything. He could do the impossible. Seeing Truth is what led him to compare alchemists to God.

And in the end what does he do? He lets go of Truth. He destroys his Gate. He frees himself from the shackles of his knowledge.

He gets his brother back.

In the first chapter, Ed says humans are cheap. You can buy all the ingredients with the pocket money of a child, down at the village store.

In the last chapter, his brother costs Ed his arrogance and the ability to play God. And the acknowledgement that Rose is right: a person isn't a thing. It isn't just all these ingredients mixed together.

And it is disrespectful to assume otherwise, to act as if the answer to a lost loved one is science.

(the answer is the flow of the universe)

When the answer is love.

And for love? For his brother?

It is a steep price(his alchemy, his provenance, his arrogance, his knowledge), but one Ed is more than willing to pay.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 5

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: It's time for the first mixed program of the spring schedule, and so it's finally time to see Din perform.

a/n: Thank you everyone for your lovely comments on the last chapter. Everything still feels pretty shitty but being part of this community does not! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but we also have fluff

Chapter 5

In stark contrast to that disaster of a rehearsal, your performance in the January program went well. The first night had its usual jitters, but even so, you felt proud of the performance you and the others put on. And Jee had been excited and full of praise, with only a couple of notes about the choreography, which made you more excited for the next performance.

On Friday, though, you had a small costume malfunction, and so you were busy getting stuck with pins and missed Din’s solo. You heard the music from La Bayadère start and cursed — you knew you wouldn’t be back in time.

On Saturday, you saw it. You saw him.

You were standing in the wings, huddled with Adrian and a small group of dancers when Din’s music began. Everyone backstage quieted as soon as the orchestra began. He was wearing a sort-of doublet and white tights that screamed classical ballet. He started in the wings just in front of you and you watched the line of his neck and back as he walked calmly onto the stage.

You knew Talia had chosen three of Solor’s variations from different versions of the ballet. She had Din moving off stage and back on to continue with the three solos that usually appeared at different moments throughout the long performance. Three demanding solos, all in a row.

The music swelled and Din swept his arm upward and, from his first movement, he stole your breath away. Your eyes followed the sheer height of his jumps, the beautiful lines of his extensions. You couldn’t help but marvel at the perfection of his technique, the absolute ease of his movements. You watched the flex of his muscles and wondered at his strength. He made everything look effortless. He had such control, but none of that showed — his face was calm, expression serene. 

You tightened your hold on Adrian’s hand.

Din dipped into the wings and back out for the second variation, and you felt someone next to you suck in a sharp breath when Din launched himself into the air into a double saut de basque in attitude followed by a revoltade. How did he look so weightless?

Talia had been right — this was the perfect way to showcase the absolute phenomenon that was Din Djarin. His strength, his precision, his control, his power, his grace: all of it was on display. 

In the third variation, you assumed he must have been tired. But he soared through multiple double assemblé turns with such ease, it looked like he was floating. 

When he fell into his final pose, the audience lost their minds.

You looked at Adrian, and he looked at you, eyebrows high. 

“That was insane,” Adrian whispered, and you nodded. “I knew he was good, but oh my god.”

You agreed. And you couldn’t help but start to worry, again, about the pas de deux. How were you supposed to partner someone who danced like that? 

…

You worried over that question so much over the next few days that the words started to feel meaningless in your mind. You found yourself waking up too early, too anxious to sleep. It was only a matter of time before that started to show in your dancing. 

In class you didn’t look at Din. You knew you were letting this grow into something in your mind that it probably wasn’t, but you couldn’t get a handle on it. You’d been through this before — moments where all you could see were your own flaws — but none of the tricks you’d learned over the years to claw your way out of it were working this time.

By Thursday, you were so anxious about the entire thing that it must have shown on your face, or in your body. Adrian took one look at you after morning class and pulled you into the smaller, sad break room (with the couch everyone hated) to make you breathe with him until you calmed down.

“Look at me,” he said after you’d taken several deep breaths in unison, squeezing your hand. “You can do this. One practice isn’t enough to make or break anything, you know that. You’ve been there before.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and clutching his hand with both of yours. 

“He’s good, we’ve all seen it. But so are you.” Adrian’s voice was firm and you tried to believe it, too. “And you know Kuiil picked you for a reason. Think about it — Din Djarin has never danced anything remotely like this choreography. On Saturday he was doing what he’s best at, and of course it was freaking amazing. But you’re better at this.”

He was right. You let that truth of it settle somewhere in your chest. You felt at home in more contemporary ballet choreography, and to your knowledge Din had never so much as tried it. Concordia would never even consider it, that much was definitely true.

“You can do both, you know? I bet that was part of it. Casting someone who could show him how to let go of what he knows. He isn’t going to be the only person in that room who’s an expert on something.”

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes. When you met Adrian’s gaze, he smiled. “There you are. You ready?”

You nodded. “I can do this.” You couldn’t let yourself get in your head like that. You knew better.

“Hell yeah, you can. Come on.” He stood and tugged you to your feet, and then grabbed your shoulders. “Go fucking blow him away, ok? I know you can.” He shook you a little, and you laughed.

“Ok! Ok. I can do this.”

…

You tried to let that run through your mind like a mantra as you stepped into the small rehearsal studio. You can do this. 

Kuiil and Din were standing by the sound equipment again. As always, Din was wearing black tights, black sweats cut off at the knees, and a tight, long-sleeve black shirt. You pointedly did not let your eyes linger on the line of his shoulders.

“Come in, my dear. We are going to start with something different today.”

You tried not to wince as Kuiil beckoned you forward, remembering the disaster of the week before.

“Today I will give each of you part of your solo pieces for the start, and I would like you to watch each other as you learn and begin to practice them.” He looked at each of you in turn as you nodded. “I want you to pay attention to each other. How do your bodies move as you learn? How do you come to inhabit the movement? How do you each make it your own?” He gestured between you. “As you know, after these moments, you will encounter each other on stage for the first time. Think about what that would feel like, as you watch each other today.”

You nodded again, frowning a little as you tried to work out what he wanted from you. To watch, to observe? To notice something new? To watch as if you’d never seen before? You supposed you could only watch and try and see what you found. 

“Let us begin.”

He started with you. It was only a few counts of 8, a few moments following the wandering path of the violin in the music. What he gave you was very bare bones — you knew, from working with him in the past, that he sometimes wanted you to find your own way to connect things together. Kuiil always wanted his dancers to put themselves into his choreography.

You realized, after he had shown you everything he wanted to, that you hadn’t even looked or spared a thought for Din as you focused on the steps and the music. You were feeling better, more confident, focusing on choreography that played to your own strengths as a dancer.

“Good. Now, give it a try with the music a couple of times, and then I will show Din how he will begin. Do not be afraid to try different things as you let the movements settle.”

You nodded and took up the first position he’d shown you, arms extended a bit behind you. He started the music and you moved, finding your way through the moments Kuiil wanted in this brief part of the first movement. You let yourself sink into the music and the choreography, trying to feel it more than think about it. You whipped through turns and flicked your leg, almost smiling when your développé was timed perfectly to the music. There were moments that felt more awkward, moments you knew you’d need to work on, but overall you felt the weight in your chest lighten as you danced. You can do this.

Kuiil stopped the music just after you found the final position, and you sucked in a deep breath as you relaxed out of it and turned to look at him. 

“Very well done, my dear. I can see the shape of it forming. One more time, and then we will switch. Try to smooth out that transition into the turn.” You nodded, but your curiosity got the better of you and you darted a glance to Din.

He was watching you intently, which you supposed was only following Kuiil’s directions. But for once his face wasn’t expressionless.

Din was smiling. It was a small thing, barely there, but it took your breath away.

…

Adrian was waiting for you after your rehearsal, and for once you were out the door and down the hall before Din.

“So?” He raised his eyebrows at you as he tucked his arm through yours, leading you down the hall to your rehearsal for the February mixed program. You were both in the same piece, for once, a collaboration between Jee and Vince. “How did it go?”

You told him all about it, about the way Kuiil had split the time between you. “Maybe he realized we need to get used to each other first? But we didn’t really do a lot of that, we didn’t even talk to each other much.”

“But you look like you feel better about it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I got to do what I’m good at.”

“Hmm.” Adrian looked thoughtful. “I think that makes sense, though. Letting you learn about each other’s style.”

You shrugged. “Well, maybe. I guess we’ll see next time. But Adrian… he smiled at me.”

“Who, Kuiil?”

“No,” you almost whispered, glancing around the hall. “Din.”

Adrian’s jaw dropped as you led him through the door for your second rehearsal. “What,” he hissed, but there wasn’t time for him to ask you for more details. You put it out of your mind. You had to focus on the dance in front of you, anyway.

You took that motivation forward through your weekend and the next week of rehearsals. You had so many performances coming up — the February mixed program, Midsummer, and then after that, Swan Lake. And another mixed program in April. And Cinderella. You usually didn’t let yourself think that far ahead — you had so many rehearsals, and so much physical therapy, that you tried to focus on the next performance and maybe the one after. The ones that were right in front of you.

But it was a helpful distraction, for once, thinking through the rest of your season. 

You knew Din had joined the Balanchine ballet for the February mixed program, and you knew those rehearsals were heating up. So you barely saw him outside of morning classes, and you’d been trying not to watch him as much. You wondered, a bit, if you should try to talk to him again, but you weren’t sure what you’d say. Hey, let’s get to know each other so we can actually dance together? 

That one smile aside, he was still so closed off you weren’t sure how to bring yourself to try.

…

The Thursday of your third rehearsal with Kuiil arrived, and you moved quickly down the hallway, almost running — your rehearsal for Midsummer had gone long and you didn’t want to be late.

You turned the corner, moving quickly, and let out an “oomph” as you almost slammed into someone. You felt strong hands come up to steady you and once again blinked up to find Din looking down at you. His large hands were warm where they rested on your waist. 

“Shit,” you cursed. “Din, sorry, I was —” you took a deep breath. “Sorry. I was running late. Obviously.” 

His face was, of course, expressionless once more, but you could have sworn you saw the tiniest lift in the corner of his mouth as he looked at you. “It’s ok. I’m late, too.”

You smiled at him, hesitant, hoping to find that bit of ease you’d briefly had together before your rehearsals started. “Balanchine?”

He nodded. “Balanchine.”

You stepped back a bit and ignored the way it felt when his hands slid from your waist and brushed over your hips before falling by his sides. “How’s it going?”

Din fell into step beside you as you started to walk towards the small rehearsal studio where Kuiil would be waiting for you. “Good. They hadn’t rehearsed much when I started, so it was easier to step in and join one of the pairs.”

“Who have they paired you with?” Symphony in C featured four principal couples, and many of them had danced together for years at this point.

He nodded, seeming to understand your question. “Yuna. They hadn’t finalized that pairing yet, so it was easy to step in. And we didn’t do a ton of Balanchine at CBC, but I’ve danced the first before.”

That made sense. Yuna had just made principal this year, and had yet to form a strong connection with any of the others. You couldn’t imagine them breaking up the pairing of Mira and Diego, for example, or giving Din the adagio in the second movement, when he barely knew anyone yet. And that role, the pair featured in the first movement, was tough. It was perfect for him.

“Yuna’s great. She’s so good at partnering, too.” You could almost see Talia’s vision for them, in your mind — she and Din would dance beautifully together.

You’d arrived at your studio, but before you could step inside, Din said, “she said the same thing about you.”

You froze as Din moved past you into the studio. He had talked about you? With someone else? You stepped inside, in a bit of a daze, as you tried not to wonder what they’d talked about.

Later, during rehearsal, you clung to that positive moment in your mind, because it felt like the first rehearsal all over again. Kuill had you both run through the sections he’d shown you the week before and then returned to the moment you met on stage for the first time. But you could tell from the start that it hadn’t gotten better.

Somehow, it had gotten worse.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d tried it so far, but you took a deep breath as the music started. You started your pass across the floor, leaping into an attitude before rolling out of it. You were supposed to stand and find Din in front of you, except he wasn’t where you expected him to be, so it didn’t quite work. And then the moment passed. 

No matter how hard you tried, you and Din couldn’t seem to find each other at all, throughout the rehearsal. You had no idea why you couldn’t seem to connect with him. Were you feeling the music differently? He felt so distant from you, even standing only a few feet away. Your movements felt separate, like you were on two separate stages, rather than sharing one space together. 

You could feel the frustration begin to build from the base of your spine. You didn’t understand how you could have such an easy conversation with him in the hall and then hit this wall inside the studio, where it should have been easier to connect with him. It had never been this difficult for you to get to know another dancer before.

“Alright.” Kuiil stopped the music and you tried not to read into his tone. “That is enough for today. I know you have the mixed program this weekend. Focus on that, clear your minds, and next week we begin again.”

As you started to leave, feeling defeated, Kuiil called you back. You turned and saw Din hurry out the door in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of his expression as he did and realized he was frowning. Your own mouth turned down in response. 

“My dear, I can see that you are frustrated.” You nodded. As he’d said before, your body couldn’t lie. “I want you to think about something before our next practice. How did you learn to connect with other dancers on stage?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Through movement, I suppose. And interpreting the choreography together.”

Kuiil nodded. “How is it different, when you are performing different styles?”

You blinked. You suddenly understood where he was leading you. “In classical pieces, it’s more pre-defined. It’s constrained. The connection, I mean. And how we are able to express it.”

He nodded again. “Think about that, as you rehearse this week. And we will try again.”

…

prev | next

a/n: so 👀 how do you think the next one will go 👀🩰

Solor - this is a very difficult, technical role in a famous classical ballet, La Bayadère! Here’s a really long video of an almost complete performance by Sergei Polunin. The exact number of variations/solos that Solor has can vary by production but there could be as many as three, one per act, and I decided to make Din do all of them. Here’s one, two (and another one, and another, and another), and three with the double assembles. You may have noticed that the second variation can have a lot of different jumps in it – I stole the idea for the double saut de basque and revoltades (and another) from a couple places. I know I saw someone doing the double saut de basque in attitude where most of these men are doing a double saut de basque en dedans (both are in that video) but now I can’t find it.

Symphony in C - a very NYC Ballet piece choreographed by George Balanchine. It’s basically 100% focused on technique and it’s hard!! There are four principal couples featured in four movements. Din joins the first couple. Reader also mentioned the third. This is the sort of performance CBC would have been less likely to do, but it’s so technical and classical they would have added it to their repertoire to broaden it without moving from their classical stance. Here’s a recording of the whole thing from 1973.

Classical ballet - I’ve mentioned this before, but now I’ll say that not everyone would interpret classical ballet the same way. Din’s previous company was on the more strict end of the spectrum. We’ll learn more soon!

I know I've mentioned attitude before, but this time we also see a développé!

tag list coming in a reblog!

[section-chief-prentiss]

pretty isn't pretty

Summary: Your BAU coworkers throw you a surprise birthday party, but it triggers eating problems from your past. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Word Count: 1889

TWs: disordered eating, body shaming, panic attacks 

Ao3

Your surprise 30th birthday party was scheduled the day before your birthday.

You’d never particularly enjoyed celebrating your birthday, for no other reason than you were less than comfortable being the center of attention. Having all eyes on you brought pressure and self-consciousness rather than joy. But when your girlfriend Emily asked for permission to plan something special for your 30th, you couldn’t exactly say no.

Ultimately, Emily made the mistake of asking Penelope for help with planning, and that’s when she came clean with you about the surprise party.

You were grateful for the heads-up—you’d never had a surprise party before and weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted under that pressure. But when you stood in front of the mirror, appraising your appearance, you debated making up an excuse to get out of going.

You’d decided on a short black dress that hugged your frame and simple black heels. The dress made you feel confident when you purchased it, but you hadn’t worn it out yet. Now, it felt like it was suffocating you and highlighting your every flaw. Your eyes ran over every imperfection, each appearing more glaring than the last.

“Ready, love?” Emily asked, stepping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom you shared.

Your heart stopped at the sight of your girlfriend. Her raven hair was curled, and she was wearing a tight red dress that took your breath away. You couldn’t help yourself—you found yourself envying her seemingly effortless confidence.

Even more so, when you saw the hopeful smile on her face, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“I’m not sure,” you said, squirming. “That this outfit is right. Do we have time if I change?”

Emily frowned. “We can be as late as you want; nothing starts without you. But are you sure? You look beautiful.”

You turned to the mirror again, as though her words were enough to make you change what you saw. Your heart sank when you realized they weren’t, but you also didn’t want to have to explain to your friends why you were late.

Forcing a smile, you turned back to Emily. “You’re right; let’s go.”

*** The ruse behind the surprise party was that you were dropping something off at Rossi’s that he’d left at the office, and you were supposed to be on your way to dinner with Emily. But even though you were prepared for what was waiting for you on the other side of the door, you couldn’t help yourself from clinging to Emily’s side.

You braced yourself as you approached the front door, hand in hand with Emily, and rang the bell.

“Come on in!” Rossi called from the other side of the door.

“Ready?” Emily whispered.

Not trusting your voice, you nodded.

Emily opened the door to reveal complete darkness. When she hit the light switch, the entire BAU jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!”

Despite knowing this was coming, you still jumped.

“Happy birthday, love,” Emily planted a kiss on your cheek.

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” you said, hoping you sounded surprised enough to fool a room full of profilers.

“That’s part of the surprise,” Penelope sang. “When Peaches told me we were planning a party for your birthday, I knew we had to go all out.”

You turned to Emily, who whispered, “Sorry.”

Well, that explained the extravagance, at least. You were grateful your girlfriend knew you well enough to warn you ahead of time.

Rossi’s house was almost unrecognizable. A fact that, based on the scowl Rossi couldn’t keep off his face for long, he wasn’t thrilled with. You threw an apologetic smile his way, and he winked in reply.

Streamers and balloons hung from the light fixtures and along the ceiling. You followed them into the kitchen, where a full bar and spread was waiting.

“Guys, this is too much,” you flushed.

Spencer stepped forward. “You know, by the time you’re 30—”

“Drink, Y/N?” Morgan interrupted.

You chuckled. “Please. Wine would be great.”

Hotch, JJ, and Rossi wished you a happy birthday on their way to the food. Emily, knowing what you needed, wasn’t far away.

Morgan handed you a Moscato and Emily a cabernet, which you took gratefully, before he made his way to the food as well.

“Can I get you a plate?” Emily asked, resting a hand on your lower back.

“Maybe in a bit,” you said, your appetite dissipating. You’d been unable to eat anything all day due to the nerves, which had caught up with you on the drive over. But now that you were here, the sight of food was enough to make you nauseous. “But you go ahead.”

Despite your insistence, Emily stayed by your side. Gradually, the group made their way out to the backyard, where string lights cascaded like rain.

“Penelope,” you breathed. “This is beautiful.”

Your friend blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you argued.

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed immediately with a giggle. “But it was worth it to see that look on your face.”

“Speaking of…” Emily said, sliding over to your side and nodding toward something behind you.

You turned to find Morgan and Hotch delicately balancing a three-tiered cake, lavishly decorated in pastel frosting and delicately placed flowers, with what you assumed were thirty candles lit at the top. All around you, your friends burst into a slightly off-tune rendition of “Happy birthday,” but all you could focus on was the pile of sugar beelining in your direction.

Hotch and Morgan set the cake down on the table nearest you, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you fought to keep a smile on it.

“Happy birthday to you…” The group sang, holding out the last note.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you closed your eyes to fight the tears that were brimming in them, as you pretended to ponder your wish. When you felt composed enough, you opened them just enough to get a peek of where you were aiming and blew out the candles in one fell swoop.

Your friends erupted in cheers, and Hotch started plucking the candles out and placing them on a plate. Morgan picked up the knife and began cutting out slices for everyone, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the large slices he prepared.

Despite your best efforts, past comments from your mom rattled around your brain.

Are you going to eat all that?

You need to watch your figure.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

As if knowing your doubts and wanting to combat them, Emily reached out to hand you a piece of cake. “First piece for the birthday girl,” she sang, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek.

You glanced from the dessert to your girlfriend’s eyes, which were filled with love. But your heart hammered in your chest—what if it was just for show? What if your mom had been right all those years ago?

“Are you okay, love?” Emily lowered her voice so only you could hear.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

“I’m just not hungry,” you said, cursing your voice for shaking. “I had a late lunch today.”

Across the room, Spencer frowned. “Weren’t you guys supposed to be on your way to dinner?”

You clammed up. “Um, yes, but—”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, you can’t pass up at least one bite of your birthday cake,” Morgan teased.

Though you knew it came from a place of love, it felt like mounting pressure weighing on your shoulders. And with each passing moment, another one of your friends looked in your direction, and you couldn’t take the attention.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, pushing past Emily and back into the house.

Tears blurred your vision, and your chest felt like it was caving in. You weren’t sure how you were still breathing.

The first door you reached, which you were sure was a guest bathroom, you threw yourself inside it, only to discover a pile of coats waiting on the other side. You wiped your tears away to discover you’d thrown yourself in a closet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You collapsed to your knees, letting your emotions take over. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you enjoy the birthday party your friends threw for you without ruining it?

Why couldn’t you just eat the damn cake?

You cursed your mother, whom you’d stopped talking to the moment you turned 18 and moved out, for still holding such power over you and your inner thoughts. You knew what she said was wrong, but in moments like these, her voice was louder than your own rationale.

When the closet door cracked open, you clamped a hand over your sobbing mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing you needed was for anyone here to see you like this.

But it was Emily’s face that peered down at you. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, taking the space next to you on the floor.

“What’s wrong, love?”

She offered you her arms and you collapsed in them, letting her embrace you.

“It’s my mom,” you hiccupped through your tears.

“Did she say something?” The instantly fierce, protective tone in your girlfriend’s voice filled your chest with warmth. Emily was no stranger to the issues with your mother, and faced similar issues with her own mom. It was one of the things that bonded you together at the beginning of your relationship.

“No, not recently. It’s just… things she’s said before all came rushing back. And the idea of eating that cake, with everyone staring at me, was just too much,” you whispered.

Emily cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve thought about that before letting Pen plan this whole thing. Do you want to leave? I can sneak us out of here; you don’t need to see anyone else tonight if you don’t want to.”

You smiled into her shirt, your tears slowing. It was a tempting offer, but you knew what you needed to do.

“No. I can’t let her have that power over me. I just didn’t expect it all to bubble up like this.”

Emily rubbed circles on your back, and you focused on the sensation, letting your breathing return to a normal rhythm.

“Take as long as you need. We’re not in a hurry.”

You wanted to ensure you wouldn’t fall apart in front of your friends again, so you gave yourself a minute to collect yourself. Just as you were about ready, Emily whispered in your ear.

“Who would’ve thought? The two of us, back in the closet together.”

You coughed out a laugh, surprising yourself with it. Emily joined in and the two of you fell against each other, letting the giggles ride out. When you were ready, you kissed your girlfriend gently, and she helped you to your feet. She always knew what to say to make you laugh.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too,” Emily replied, taking your hand. “You ready?”

“Yes. But if Spencer tries to make another comment about being 30, I might kill him.”

Emily squeezed your hand, kissing the back of it. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

[rulerofstars]

they both (have feelings) reached for the gun

oneshot: chase has always known how to push your buttons back in med school, he loved to get under your skin. but now, working together at princeton-plainsboro, things got a bit. . . different. the rivalry cools, and something warmer takes its place. based on the song we both reached for the gun.

pairing: robert chase x reader

tags: slowburn, enemies to lovers trope, fluff (?)

You were used to coming out on top in med school. For as long as you could remember, your academic achievements defined you, and nobody threatened that more than Robert Chase. He was just as competitive, sharp, and ambitious—always one step ahead or right beside you, depending on the day. But unlike you, Chase seemed to coast on some innate charm, always managing to make his successes seem effortless.

It irritated you to no end.

“Another perfect score, huh?” Chase’s playful voice pulled you from your thoughts as he slid his exam sheet onto the desk next to yours. He flashed that casual, smug grin that you had come to know all too well.

You clenched your jaw. “Looks like it,” you said, glancing at his score. Of course, he had aced it too. “Though, I wouldn’t call it ‘perfect’ just yet.”

“You always have to find a flaw, don’t you?” Chase leaned back in his chair, his Australian accent making his words sound more laid-back than they deserved. “Not everything’s a competition.”

“Only with you,” you shot back before collecting your things and leaving the lecture hall.

You didn’t expect to see him again years later. After graduation, you went your separate ways, and frankly, you were glad to leave him in the past. But fate had other plans.

The first day at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was already nerve-wracking, and when you saw Robert Chase’s familiar figure walking down the hall, your stomach did a flip. He looked older, sharper even, with his blond hair slightly disheveled in a way that made him look more approachable, yet just as infuriating. His eyes landed on you, a flash of surprise crossing his face before it softened into something more unreadable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Chase said, stopping in front of you with a small smirk.

“I could say the same,” you replied, trying to keep your cool. You were not going to let him fluster you. Not now.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You shifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you both waited for the other to say something. Finally, he broke the ice. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Fine. Busy,” you answered vaguely. “Looks like we’ll be working together now.”

“Looks like it,” he echoed. There was a brief pause before his eyes flickered over you. “I’d say it’ll be just like old times, but somehow, I think things might be a little different now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Chase smiled—a softer, less smug one this time. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Working with Chase was exactly what you expected: maddening. He was still brilliant, still effortlessly charming, and still found ways to get under your skin. But this time, something was. . . different. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. There was a strange tension between you, the kind that made your heart race when he stood too close or leaned over your shoulder to point something out during rounds.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Chase said, pulling you from your thoughts as the two of you reviewed a patient file one evening. House, has once again, left his paperworks for the both of you to finish. You glanced up, your eyes meeting his in the low light of the office. He was standing closer than usual, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, you could smell his cologne— God, you could feel him.

“I’m not overthinking,” you protested, though the slight waver in your voice betrayed you.

Chase chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate in the quiet room. “You always do. It’s one of the things I… admire about you,” he said, his voice dipping at the end, almost as if he hadn’t meant to reveal that last part.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Admire?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in your hand before looking back at you. There was something unspoken between you, something that had been building for quite a while now. And in that moment, it felt like everything hung in the balance.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Admire.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to fire back with a sarcastic retort. Instead, the room filled with a quiet tension, one that was as familiar as it was new.

Chase’s eyes lingered on yours a second too long before he cleared his throat and took a step back, the spell broken. “Anyway,” he said, his usual demeanor slipping back into place, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.” He flashed you a quick smile before heading toward the door, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest.

The next day, you found yourself back in the break room, pouring a much-needed cup of coffee. You were still trying to process your feelings about Chase when he walked in, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Look who it is—Miss Perfect,” he teased, leaning against the counter. “You’re up early today.”

“Please, it’s called being responsible,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light. “Not all of us can coast by on charm and good looks.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the person who aced the last exam while I was busy trying to save a patient.”

“Are we really going to do this again?” you sighed, setting your coffee down. “Can’t you ever just let it go?”

He leaned in, his expression turning serious. “Not when you keep insisting on making everything a competition. Maybe it’s time we talk about it instead of arguing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Talk about what? Your inability to accept that I’m better than you?”

“Or your inability to admit that you actually enjoy the challenge,” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You thrive on it, just like I do.”

The tension in the room escalated as you both squared off. “You think I thrive on competition? I’ve worked hard for my grades, Chase. You think it’s just a game to me?”

“No, but you treat it like one,” he retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re so focused on beating me that you forget we’re supposed to be on the same team now.”

“Don’t act like you’re some sort of saint,” you replied, frustration bubbling over. “You’re the one who always wants to one-up me.”

“Maybe because I want you to see that I’m not just some arrogant jerk. I actually want to work with you,” he argued, his voice rising slightly.

“And what makes you think I want that?” you challenged, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Because deep down, you know it would be good for both of us,” he said, his tone softening. “And because I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unresolved tension. You both stood there, hearts racing, the realization of unspoken feelings hanging between you. Finally, you broke the silence. “You know what? This is ridiculous. We’re colleagues now, not rivals.”

Chase stepped closer, his expression earnest. “I don’t want to be just colleagues. . .”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hesitated, the walls you had built around your feelings beginning to crumble.

You knew exactly what Chase meant.

You knew because you both were holding onto a thin thread for quite a while. And neither one of you has ever had the courage to break free and see how everything will unravel.

A smile slowly formed on your lips, Chase won in this one.

Before you could respond, House strolled in, as nonchalant as ever. “What’s this? A soap opera I didn’t get the memo about?” He glanced between you and Chase, a knowing smirk on his face. “Are you two finally admitting your feelings, or are you just going to keep throwing insults at each other like five-year-olds?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “What do you want, House?”

“Oh, just making sure the hospital doesn’t turn into a high school drama,” he replied, clearly enjoying the moment. “I need my team to be functional.”

Chase crossed his arms, unfazed by House’s jabs. “And yet, you’re here, interrupting an important discussion.”

“Important discussion? More like a public service announcement for the clueless,” House shot back. “But fine, carry on. I’ll just be out here, waiting for the inevitable awkwardness that’s sure to follow.”

You shot Chase a glare, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at House’s timing. “Thanks for the support, House,” you said sarcastically.

Chase chuckled, the tension breaking as he leaned back against the counter. “Well, at least he keeps things interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” you replied, shaking your head. “But this doesn’t change the fact that we still need to talk about our work.”

“Fine,” Chase said, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Let’s focus on that, but can I at least take you out for coffee afterward? You know, to celebrate our newfound ‘colleague’ status?”

You chuckled then considered it for a moment, the thought of sharing a casual coffee with him igniting a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Okay, but only if you promise not to let it turn into a competition.”

Chase grinned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “No promises. But I’ll try my best.”

As he leaned closer, a playful banter started anew, the air filled with the kind of electricity that only grew with each exchanged word. In that moment, amid the laughter and jabs, you realized you were finally allowing him in—rivalry and all.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Experience (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer wants to make sure Reader’s first time is perfect.

Request: Same as Part One (Inexperienced) Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Kissing, make out, loss of virginity, penetrative sex Word Count: 3k

MASTERLIST

I’d always imagined that it would be difficult to date a profiler, even as a person who hated to lie. There were still some secrets I’d rather keep to myself.

Then again, I’d also thought I would hate dating anyone but a profiler, because, as a profiler myself, I would catch them in every lie. I would know their every secret.

After a few months of dating Spencer Reid, I’d realized the flaw in my logic. I had never considered the reality that the person I chose would never feel the need to lie to me.

When Spencer told me I was beautiful, he never had to lie. When he said he was happy, the truth of it was written all over his face. I felt each hint of excitement and insecurity through the way his hands shook when he touched me in a way he never had before.

It had been both a shock and a relief when he told me that he’d only slept with a couple women before me, and only once with each woman. From his perspective, he was nearly as innocent as I had been. In a strange way, it was comforting.

But the day he shared that information with me had also been the day I caught him in his first lie by omission.

“I appreciate you so much,” I’d said.

“I like you, too,” he’d answered, but he’d actually wanted to say, “I love you.”

(I‘d forgiven him for the half-truth when he’d proceeded to confess within the hour.)

Overall, dating Spencer had been effortless. If there was one negative thing I had discovered, it was that he made it basically impossible for me to catch up on recent movie releases.

Because every time around the thirty minute mark, without fail, Spencer’s hands would begin to roam. They would sneak under whatever fabric would accommodate him.

Of course, I say it’s a negative, but I didn’t really mind. I’d sacrifice a million poorly written scripts for him any day.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to tease him about it, though.

“Are you even watching the movie?” I asked.

Spencer hummed against my neck. Without answering, he gave another long kiss against the sensitive skin before he’d decided that the couch was better suited for horizontal activities. He helped guide me to lay on the couch beneath him; the both of us abandoning the movie screen for something far more enticing.

Again, he kissed me. This time just a chaste peck on the lips. I’d decided it wasn’t enough, however, so I pulled him back for the type of kiss that left lingering tingles from the loss of pressure when it ended.

“I take that as a no?” I giggled.

“You’re way more interesting,” he slurred.

I ran my hands through his mussed, mousy brown hair and pushed the few strands away until I had an unobstructed view. His pupils had grown so much in the dim light of the living room that I could hardly see a halo of amber honey irises.

I released a soft sigh at the sight because I knew it wouldn’t last nearly long enough. I had been right, too, because it didn’t take Spencer long to push against my hands and capture my lips with his once more.

I wasn’t going to complain. Especially not when he used his knee to push my legs apart. He replaced the empty space with thigh, which he politely offered to me for a more exciting seat than the couch beneath us.

My back arched on instinct as I ground down against the strong muscles. A gentle mewl escaped from between our lips. The sound only encouraged him more, and Spencer became even more insistent in his adoration. His hands held me closer, and I was happily crushed within his embrace.

“You’re so soft and so warm,” he groaned.

He hadn’t been wrong. It felt like every inch of me was on fire and I was helpless to stymy the embers. It was so hard to find my thoughts among the haze of lust, but I managed somehow.

“Do you want me to use my mouth again?” I offered with a giggle.

I watched the memories replay through his mind. Then, for the first time since our educational experimentation had begun, Spencer seemed almost disappointed in the prospect of being worshipped by me.

Instead of accepting, his wandering hand came to a stop at my hips. He slowed my movements until there was nothing but the sound of hot, heavy breath.

With the back of his free hand, he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. His eyes burned into mine, igniting an even deeper fire than I felt in my chest and between my legs.

“I want…” he whispered, his voice wavering so badly he had to try again. I could sense the restraint in his shaking hands and hard swallow.

But then he said it.

“I want to take you to bed.”

My heart stopped in my chest—not for too long, though—it had to find him again. It forced me to pull him closer, to share in the metaphorical and literal warmth of his embrace. I felt the lithe but strong musculature of him hold me as tightly as he could without hurting.

I looked into those darkened eyes and saw a soul overflowing with love. I saw myself in the oceans of his lust. I felt it, the soft rocking of our bodies that had begun moving again.

I wondered when it had stopped being scary. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

“Take me,” I whispered under my breath.

Spencer had prepared to accept rejection. So much so that he seemed genuinely shocked at the softly spoken words.

“Wait, really?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but giggle at the way his voice cracked.

“Really,” I promised.

The poor man practically tumbled to the ground in his haste to move from the couch. With absolutely no grace and an almost juvenile amount of excitement, he jumped up and helped pull me from my still horizontal position on the couch.

I could hear myself laughing. My chest was somehow both completely devoid of air and also full of it. The joy pouring out of us felt never ending. Even when we found each other again, I’d chosen his lips over breathing.

We disrobed each other with an equal amount of laughter and just as little grace. His hands didn’t feel foreign on my bare skin; he had held me fervently several times since the first movie night. But they still felt exciting.

There was a renewed vigor in the way he loved me. Not that anything had been missing before. It was just different. It was a comfortable chaos.

When we were finally bared before each other, however, the frenzy subsided. We stood together, with our hands interlocked despite so many other places we could hold one another. Spencer tried to keep his eyes on mine, but he must’ve found other sight too inviting. His eyes flickered over my naked body like a page from his favorite novel.

Part of me felt like we could spend an eternity there, basking in the vulnerability and trust we offered one another. But the rest of me was far too excited by the prospect of finally learning what all the fuss was about.

It was my decision to pull him forward, but it was his decision to kiss me. Somehow, despite his insistence to pay full attention to my lips, I managed to maneuver him onto the bed.

At first, I climbed on top of him. I perched myself on his lap like it was the most natural thing. I settled my hips so that his erection rested against my stomach.

Spencer took a moment to enjoy the sight of his girlfriend feeling at home with him. His eyes, still swallowed by the abyss of blown pupils, seemed to shine brighter. His fingers barely touched me. The tips dragged along my thighs like any pressure might cause me to shatter.

It felt that way, too. My heart was so full that each beat knocked the breath from my lungs.

I placed a gentle hand on the silken skin of him. I pressed him against my stomach and tried to imagine, one last time before I knew for sure, what it would be like to welcome him inside of myself in a physical way.

Spencer whimpered at the contact. His hands that had been gentle turned needy. He pawed at my thighs and dug blunt nails into the malleable skin. He didn’t stop me, though. He waited patiently until my palm slid over the tip. Once my hands were free, even just for a second, he grabbed hold of me and tossed me beside him on the bed.

The sudden movement made my lungs empty with laughter. Spencer joined in, rolling onto his side and mounting me before the momentum was lost.

He paused again. His eyes continued to scan heated skin between us. I realized that he was having his own moment, his own treasured memory of anticipation before the first had come and gone.

Things wouldn’t be the same, but he assured me they wouldn’t be different. He had told me early and often that he loved me. He had never given me any reason to doubt the veracity of the statement.

I’d gotten better at knowing when he was lying ever since I’d seen him naked.

So when he finally spoke, I knew that it was the truth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered with a roughness of a dried throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his hips lowered enough that he could once again feel the heat radiating between my legs.

“I want you so badly,” he whined.

His arms were shaking with restraint. Even when he pressed his length against me, his movements were unbearably slow. He slid himself back and forth through the wetness dripping from my folds.

I could hardly breathe. The tension from the waiting felt the same as the few seconds before the euphoria.

The next time that he pulled away, I issued my own beg.

“Take me, Spencer.”

His resolve stumbled. He rutted harder against me, but managed to maintain my purity for a few seconds longer.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “it sounds so good when you say that.”

I forced my eyes to stay even half-open as the torturous teasing continued. I looked up at Spencer and gently brought him back to me. His eyes were equally strained, glossy and fogged by the lust we shared.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked.

“I just…” he started just to stop.

He swallowed again. That time, he swallowed whatever lie he had concocted that he thought might sound more appealing to me than the truth.

But ultimately, he knew that I would have never accepted a lie. So, he told me the truth.

“I want it to be perfect.”

I fought the urge to laugh because I knew he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t realize that I was laughing because it was absurd to think that he could ever be wrong.

I’d imagined this moment a million times over and he was the only thing that had never changed.

Instead of laughing, I kissed him through a smile. Each time he pulled away to gasp for air, I kissed him again. I continued until he seemed drunk from it all. I ran my hands through thick brown curls and didn’t stop the giggle this time.

“It’s already perfect,” I explained, “because it’s with you.”

Spencer laughed. His eyes seemed clearer as tears gathered in the corners.

“Don’t be nervous,” I assured him.

“I can’t help it!” he squeaked, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and now you’re letting me touch you, and I am just—!”

Before he could wind himself up anymore, I kissed him again. He kept trying to speak his insecurities to life but I dismissed them each with a quick kiss to impossibly soft lips.

“You are perfect,” I sighed. “That’s what you are.”

And for once, my boyfriend was willing to accept the praise. He reveled in the pride and safety that he found in his lover’s arms. I felt it, too. Any fear or hesitation that remained dissipated when he kissed me one more time.

Then, I knew that it was time. Taking one of his hands in mine, I guided both between us until we reached the slick, lily-soft skin. Our breaths hitched in tandem as we prepared for the bliss of togetherness.

“Let’s do it together,” I whispered as I abandoned his hand to grab hold of his dick. It felt warm and firm and more than I could ever ask for.

Heat blossomed throughout my stomach like butterflies. My lungs and heart pumped harder when his hand wrapped around mine.

Together, we positioned the head against dripping folds. Spencer pressed forward, filling the emptiness of me with himself. Inch by inch, he coaxed tight, resistant muscles into a new kind of tension. My body clung to him the same way sweat beaded on my skin. Each second that passed, I became more and more aware of how empty my life had been without him.

When I finally felt the base of him rest against my inner thighs, I let out a shaky breath. I breathed in again, reinvigorated. New, but still innocent to the full force of his passion.

“I love you,” he whispered against my lips.

“I love you, too,” I answered. I’d hardly even recognized my voice.

The dreamy, otherworldly quality of it had been honest. Just as I’d started to transcend the ninth cloud, Spencer began pulling out of me just as slowly as he’d entered. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the heat of him dragging against sensitive muscles.

Then, when I’d least expected it, Spencer thrust forward. With one swift motion, he forced himself to the hilt inside of me.

“Ah!” I yelped.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, not understanding that it had been caused by the furthest thing from pain.

“No, no, it feels so, so good,” I said between heavy breaths. Unable to express exactly how it felt, I explained, “You feel so good.”

“You have no idea how good I feel right now,” he chuckled back.

The joke, however silly, served as another reminder to my body that I was safe there. Even when Spencer started to thrust into me with less restraint, my body started to relax and allow him to take what he wanted.

My thighs rippled from the contact. My whole body writhed underneath him, rocking in tandem with his movements. We were simultaneously together and off-rhythm, but it didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the soft sounds of pleasure pouring from our mouths and between our legs.

“I love you so much,” he pleaded, “Thank you for loving me.”

“I love you so much, Spencer,” I returned because it was true.

Spencer’s movements faltered simultaneously. He stopped at the deepest point of me and gasped. He steadied himself, trying to not lose himself completely.

Despite wanting it to last longer, I also needed him to come closer. So, I kissed him even though I knew it couldn’t last nearly long enough at his pace.

Still, Spencer’s lips lingered on mine. Each time he drove into me, his lips would brush against mine enough to satisfy my longing.

Punctuating every thought with our bodies crashing together, he whispered sweet nothings in the air between us.

“Your body is the closest thing to sanctity,” he groaned, “you are the only evidence of cosmic creation I will ever need.”

My stomach started to tense with the power of his words. They worked their way into the most intimate part of me the same way our bodies melded together.

My eyes, barely open, stayed fixed on his in the darkness. He served as my light, the fire burning between my hip bones. I felt myself becoming consumed so quickly that it made me hold him harder, closer, longer.

Spencer’s soul reached into mine and my words flowed from his lips.

“Fate exists and it brought me here to you. I was made for this,” he said between heavy whimpers, “I was made for you.”

There were no words left to be said. Every nerve in my body was firing, every beautiful word I’d ever heard was battling its way to my tongue. Only the most meaningful managed to be made.

“Spencer…” I whined.

He heard the desperation in my voice and he knew I wouldn’t last much longer.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered in earnest, “Take me. I’m yours.”

The sweet sound of my submission took him over the edge. Just as we’d started, we plummeted into the ecstasy together. With our bodies wound around one another and our hearts just as hopelessly enmeshed, we found our release. As my walls fluttered around him, I felt his heartbeat from inside of myself. Warmth unlike the rest filled where I was once empty.

When his body collapsed onto me, he still made sure that our lips met first. A chaste kiss devolved into a flurry of tongues and whimpers the way it always had.

It had been different, but it had been the same. Exactly as he’d promised.

Spencer eventually paused his worship to let his lungs catch up to our now gently beating hearts.

But he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Was it worth the wait?”

I laughed at his impatience and never ending desire to please. Relief washed over me when I realized that I hadn’t needed to lie.

“Yes,” I hummed before flashing a cheeky grin. “But I don’t think I want to wait that long for next time. Is that alright with you?”

And although it would take at least a few moments to fully enjoy each other to that extent, I still felt him twitch with excitement inside me.

Then, with a deeper, darker voice to foreshadow a future of exciting adventures, he rasped, “That sounds great.”

(And it was. It really, really was.)

(Tell me what you thought about this piece here!) NO PART 2 REQUESTS.

Looking for more fics with Virgin!Reader? Check out my category masterlist here.

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic Complete Taglist: @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme ,

Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.

[sukunasun]

how would gojo treat his partner/wife?

gojo doesn't really do the whole boyfriend thing very well, not for lack of trying but he's made it very clear. or as clear as "i've never had a girlfriend" can be. which pretty much explains everything.

there are late-night meetups and month-long breaks in between. maybe a gift or two when he's trying to make up for something, it's the only way he knows how to apologize. the latest being cartier bracelets tucked in a red bag, one he holds up to your face eagerly wishing that you'd just forget he's so flawed, in no way ready for commitment, or to talk about it. "i'm sorry, it's just really complicated," he'll sigh. nothing holds gojo down you think. he comes and goes as he pleases. always growing, changing, keeping the end of the world from happening all in plain sight while you move on with a life filled with mundane things he’s probably got no time or reason to care about.

it feels a lot like loving a god sometimes, how he's just that bit out of touch, and...impossible. one who’s desperately trying to be human. with so much fear in his shaking hands and bated breaths, with his lip tucked between teeth, holding back the words he shall never utter, 'don't leave, don't look at me, don't touch me where it hurts.’ gojo treats you—at least initially—like he would anyone else. like he’s learning to love for the first time.

backdraft or whatever they call it. opening a door to a burning house, a fire that bursts and screams at the first rush of oxygen. he wants you to step inside and manage these tempers, seething and roiling resentment, a roof that falls in on itself. 

all this and he's yet to tell you how he really feels about you, however, every once in a while, he does make the effort to call.

“hey it's me,” he says the moment you answer because who else would it be at this hour...does that thing with his voice that's so effortless. warm, and inviting. seductive really. ringing through right as the snow outside begins to frost over wilting leaves.

“sorry, don’t think i know who this is,” you reply, adding a playful lilt to the end of it. there’s a low chuckle in return, then the rustling of sheets, it’s enough to paint you a picture of him in bed. a very large bed from what you remembered, but the last time you’d stopped by his place, there'd been no need for accurate measurements, thread counts, and whether or not he’d gone with sustainable options. in fact, there was no need for talking at all, only muffled moans into the crook of your neck, a whining plea here or there. gojo likes to grit through his teeth, pausing before every first thrust, a savourer is he.

speaking of which, he asks, “how’d you like a reminder?”

you weigh things out, tucking your phone between ear and shoulder. "it's a tempting offer...but i'm starting to feel a little used here," you say. this is just a check-in point for him. just so he knows he still can have his fill of you and...whatever it is you bring to the table, he hasn't actually told you.

'it's the sex' your brain reminds you—all the multiple orgasms in under an hour–type sex, in an onsen, over a balcony, backshots and binding you to fancy rig, will accept a blowjob only if you want to, eager to please, so willing to learn—no, that's not true, the both of you are so much more than that. you talk about very important things like the news and whats good on tv right now. just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with his past or his future or what exactly is the state of this relationship...so it's definitely the sex.

"i thought that's what you wanted, weren't you screaming it at the top of your lungs that night?" for effect, he acts it out for you, "oh use me, do whatever you like," he doesn't try to pitch his voice higher, which makes it all the more embarrassing when hearing your own words said back to you with such impassiveness, such tease. who you were during the throes of passion is not the same person outside of it. to think he'd been a virgin when he met you.

"that selective memory of yours never ceases to amaze me," you can't help the smile that widens on your face.

he smiles too, despite not being able to see it, you know it's there. "well im a very selective man, i don't just ask anyone on a date." you roll your eyes at that. oh how you should feel so lucky. most times he chooses the place because gojo likes what he likes and your recommendations end up getting shot down or made fun of anyways.

you'd say the best part is that he shows up every time. something about how he detests people who flake on him. which is surprising because if anyone were to be tardy and forgetful, it'd be the man who's maybe a bit too blase about anything that doesn't hold his interest for long. that includes when and where his missions are, a flailing hand brushing off any bit of urgency or seriousness. picks and chooses the things he finds worthy of his efforts, his overly exaggerated bouts of emotion—"you wanna go sit by a lake and talk?" people often say he talks too much, besides didn't he just get off the phone with you hours ago.

"we're bonding, there's a difference," you defend, putting your foot down on the matter. if it'd been months earlier, you wouldn't have thought to stand your ground, and maybe a part of you would have been anxious over his reaction but gojo only gives you a pout. shiny, moistened lips giving it away, he's not coming out of this one without a fight and he's annoyed about it. reluctant.

so he'll make an exception, "fine, we'll psychoanalyze each other, how exciting—" the sarcasm is slathered and piled on thick. if he weren't masked you'd kick him in the shin for that eye roll he gives you, childlike almost, given the chance he might even stick his tongue out, "—but i get to choose the place, ah, ah, it's about compromise darling."

——————————————————

later on, when he's three parfaits deep into a sugar rush at a maid cafe, he admits, "you scare me sometimes," of course, he understands the importance of communication, and getting to know one another is part of the deal, this is what girlfriends and boyfriends do, but— "how are you still here?" there's something hidden in his question, sometimes it feels almost like he's testing you to see if you'd be offended, taken aback, huffing out indignantly and stomping away, making him watch you leave.

still, your answer remains the same. "i like you," you sigh out into the night, feeling his arms wrapped around your middle. gojo doesn't need worshipping or sacrifices made to please and appease, but he’s feeling ten feet tall in this body, too long and large, housing power he didn’t ask for. 

“you really mean that?” he whispers in the crook of your neck, you don’t miss the hint of self-deprecation there, or the uncertainty.

so you reach a hand up, just enough to hold his head full of self-doubt, “yes," is all that's needed for him to crumble. walls coming down.

"you're the only woman i've ever been with," he admits. waiting for the moment you face away from him so it's not as revealing, not as vulnerable, and he can say it with just that little bit of courage because he wouldn't see your reaction, he's escaped death many times, he'd be able to say it now, say it here. "and i intend to keep it that way..." you know he's waiting in anticipation for the final blow, the real death that comes for him is when he loses you because of how unlikely it sounds, gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, only bedded one woman.

his fingers come up to graze the slope of your shoulder, before he wraps an arm around your chest, pressing his weight into you from behind, wrapping you up, only it's ten times heavier when his admission presses down on your thumping little heart alongside with it.

——————————————————

in the middle of a restaurant in ginza, gojo breaks his chopsticks in half along a deep line with fine precision, before rubbing them back and forth to remove the thin, stray hairs of aspen. there are people who look up when the sound catches their attention, then avert their eyes away. but not before lingering over his striking looks for that split second, blue eyes and white hair, what a combo.

he barely notices at this point, but he does know you’re watching from where you sit. food untouched, like you’re waiting for something to happen. you don’t need his permission he thinks, or at least, no one had ever waited for it. so he explains before you get the chance to ask, getting it out of the way and maybe then you’ll start digging in and he wouldn’t have to sit in this weird, silent tension, “he always did it this way,” gojo shrugs. 

you don’t ask who 'he' refers to, “i wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, nodding along, trying to ease some of the nerves there because this isn't to do with the chopsticks, but that gojo gets like this around christmas. actually, he gets like this almost all the time these days. 

“why aren’t you eating? the unagi’s really nice,” he points to the piece of eel that’s cooked to perfection, glazed and sticky. “is it not to your liking?” he looks up quickly, searching your face, looking for any sign of distaste. 

“it’s fine,” you stop him from waving down the waiter, knowing he intends to order something else for you. but he never asks, not about what you would prefer or if you had any aversions to seafood. instead, he plays a guessing game, only tries, and tries again. hoping that he’d get it right immediately. just another thing satoru does. that he's way more accommodating than most would give him credit for. so much so you forget that he's barely touched the unagi himself, choosing instead to nudge it closer to you.

and maybe he’d been to used to this, maybe he’d always gotten it right with the one before you, maybe that’s why it hurts so much. and you're too occupied with wiping tears behind a blindfold that night to make sense of it when he can’t stop dreaming about long silken hair tucked into a bun, of a scent that lingers on a street crossing and by a classroom window.

still, he tucks a finger underneath the band. revealing clumped-up strands of white, silver, grey...a storming ocean swirls. a woman finally found, what a sight to behold. who chooses him and cleaves his heart in two every time she so much as smiles, calls him by his name, and touches his skin with her own. gently at first and then in a pressured, firm grip. "i'm not going anywhere," hand wholly encompassing his, fingers entwined, or maybe it's the other way around. gojo's got a wide expanse of palm, life and heart lines spanning across a region of an untouched, unmarred surface, all the power to bend space, time, and an infinity simmering above it.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say, feeling a minuscule gap close where you finally feel him, really feel him.

[sseomtada]

being [ruben dias]

the rekindling of your relationship continues, leaving a confession of your own pending.

warnings: 18+ | wc: 5576 | 5/8

Was there a name for a honeymoon phase the second time around?

There wasn’t a technical phrase, you checked. Interestingly, among your research, you came across an article that perfectly articulated what you were experiencing with Ruben. It was the stage of your relationship where you now saw their imperfections and flaws, where you didn’t see your partner on the pedestal you initially place them on in the beginning.

He was no longer the one person who could do no wrong in your eyes or the one who held all the answers to your problems. You weren’t the co-dependent and starry eyed girl who only viewed others through a lens of what you wanted them to be either.

You were okay with that and so was he.

After making quite the…mess in your office, there wasn’t much face to face interaction between you two. Ruben was quickly whisked away by his team to another country for a Champions League match. Even though that initially felt like an inconvenience, you shifted the perspective to something more constructive.

It gave you time to sit with your thoughts and emotions. You still had no regrets about getting back together with him, but you had to truly assess the decision from every angle within. The way it transpired seemed relatively rushed at first. In retrospect, you realized it was anything but hasty.

Your previously relationship with Ruben never came to an organic end. There was no fizzling out or love lost, only an obstacle that he didn’t give himself or you a chance to push through. Had things been different and he brought his fears to you then, would you have ever broken up?

All roads you took in that vein lead you to believe that you wouldn’t have. Of course, there was no way to know for sure what the future held for that version of events. Anything could’ve happened over the course of those seven years that might’ve eventually drove a wedge between you. However, as things were, there was no end in sight.

Maybe that was why it still was effortless with him, potentially even more so now than it was then. You’d both experienced a lot of growth as one naturally does when life progresses. The people you were currently and the past you shared left no room for pretense. He came as he was, raw and unfiltered in his accountability. You didn’t feel obligated to give him anything in return - you wanted to. And that carried the most weight.

“What happened to the sofa?”

Cindy’s question brought you back to a startling reality. You tried to reign in your nervous expression, smoothing fallen hairs at the back of your neck.

“I made a big mess with some takeout.” Even you had a hard time buying that. “It was irredeemable. A new one should be here in a few hours.”

Aki came in from the kitchen, munching on the lo mein. “Shame. I really liked that big, comfy thing.”

That nibbling guilt returned to your stomach. Compounded onto the fact that you still had yet to tell her about the first conversation was now the big revelation that you’d gotten back together with Ruben. Your apprehension only grew worse with the addition of the later.

It didn’t stem from a lack of trust or a fear of judgment. She was somebody that you could confess a murder to and it would only be met with a response like, do you need help hiding the body?

You just knew that it wouldn’t be highly celebrated news. The way things ended, her being caught in the crossfire and the absolute wreck you were would be the things playing at the forefront of her mind when you told her. It was no fault of hers, literally anyone else in the same position wouldn’t be able to not think back to that time.

Perhaps stronger than any of that was the worry that your confession would hurt her. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel like you didn’t consider the pain she carried silently in regards to Ruben. It was a complicated situation that you were still trying to navigate internally.

Luckily, for the time being, you had the distraction of work. Erling’s project was on its finishing touches. You’d finalized the website and had it ready to launch, Aki aced securing a major partnership and Cindy was working with his assistant to put together a small launch party.

Did they buy the excuse about the “takeout”.

You bit down on a smile as your fingers typed quickly.

I think so. The leftovers in the fridge sold it more than I did.

“What’s got you all giggly?” Aki materialized at your door.

You jumped slightly, startled by not even hearing her approach. The messages app flicked shut and you placed your phone down before feigning business at your monitors.

“My mom sent me another one of those videos of her cat.” You replied with ease that shocked yourself.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She did often send you videos of Jason being a weirdo. Your pseudo sibling had to be the most uncoordinated and ungraceful feline in existence. The latest snippet shared actually did come in this morning with him leaping up and completely missing a tree branch.

“That little guy is spectacularly peculiar.” Her lips pursed. Another white lie seemed to have passed.

“Tell me about it.” You chuckled. “What’s up?”

She slung dramatically across your guest chair. “Just wanted to know if you were burning the midnight oil again.”

Though certainly not her intention, her words made the ache between your thighs prominent to your senses. You squeezed them together and shut down the flashbacks running through your head as you shifted in your seat.

“I should actually try to rest since we have the party in two nights.” You exhaled lengthily.

It was well into the wee hours when you got home this morning, for obvious reasons. And for those same causes, or singular driver, you were too hopped up on adrenaline to fall straight asleep. It didn’t help that you were giggling on the phone with him like you were twelve either.

“Ugh, you’re right.” Aki groaned, shooting back on to her feet to exit. “About the party and the rest, by the way. Not even my emergency kit can rescue you from those eye bags. Luggage at this point.”

Before you could hurl a playful insult back or a pen from your desk, she made quick her escape. You shook your head and decided to actually start getting a move on your tasks for the day. Being snug under your blanket at a decent hour actually sounded like a fantastic idea.

After a nice, long soak in your bathtub, you threw on a onesie and a sheet mask to really activate the relaxation vibe.

The next order of business was finding something good to eat. As much as you wanted to start munching on those delicious chocolate covered ice ream bars in your freezer, you refrained until you could actually get a meal in your stomach.

Rifling through your fridge and pantry was kind of depressing. You’d been so busy recently that there wasn’t time to do a good grocery haul. Most of the food you ate had been acquired on the go and you wanted to cook for a change, but that didn’t look as if it was going to happen tonight.

You wouldn’t complain about ordering in though. Opening the takeout app was just as exhilaration as going on your favorite retail sites. There were so many options and all of your favorites were right at your fingertips.

Your mouth couldn’t help but water as you scrolled through to decide what your poison was going to be tonight. Just as you were looking through the offerings at an Italian place nearby, your phone screen was taken over by a call.

“What are you up to?” The smile in Ruben’s voice was audible.

“I was mid pasta hunt before you interrupted.” You tutted.

“That’s funny, I’m making some right now.” In the background, you heard a pan meeting a stovetop.

So, he was already back home then. You didn’t watch the match earlier, but you did check in on the result. It wasn’t a shock that his team had won given that they were so dominant in the sport - a fact you came to know rather belatedly.

“I can make enough for two, if you want.” Ruben continued.

“Extra cheese. I’ll be there soon.” You grinned before hanging up.

The sheet mask stayed on until the very last minute after you threw on some sweats. It felt like you were holding your breath as you left your loft. Aki wasn’t some overbearing friend that kept tabs on your comings and goings, yet you found yourself easing the door shut to minimize any alert of your exit.

It wasn’t a lie when you told her you wanted to turn in early tonight, you reminded yourself. That was actually the plan and you were halfway there. But when the pasta gods intervened, well, who were you to shun them?

Your car left the garage with Ruben’s address set on the navigation. He messaged it to you, making you laugh silently. Seeing it brought you back to what you guessed was the first tug on the string that unravelled everything. You’d known where he lived since his name popped up on Nike’s mailing list.

A short and smooth twenty minutes - more like fifteen since you kinda hit the gas - found you pulling into his parking garage. One thing he did provide that you needed to know was the code for entry. You took the guest spot beside his jeep and made your way inside.

“So, this is what making a shit ton of money will get you.” Your brows raised as he let you in.

“Mhm,” Ruben kissed you quickly. Then slower the second time. “Wait until you see the view.”

You jokingly gasped and followed the scent of aromatics to his kitchen. While your cooking skills were described as survivable at best, he always had a talent for putting together a really tasty dish. A moan sounded from you as you leaned over the steaming pan.

“I set the wine out on the balcony. Go get comfy, I’ll bring your plate.” He nudged your hips with his.

“Yes, sir.” You bit your lip and made your way over.

When you first stepped into his place, you thought the air was running but the exterior door was cracked. A wide grin broke of once you stepped outside to see the small setup with the admittedly impressive backdrop of the city. He’d turned on the lowlights and lit a few candles. A bottle of red was waiting for you as promised, along with a blanket folded over one of the seats.

You wrapped the thick, knitted fabric around your frame before pouring yourself a decent amount of wine. As you sipped, you took a deep breath and enjoyed the atmosphere. It must be one of his favorite ways to relax away from what seemed to be a hectic life these days.

“Are you comfortable?” Ruben appeared with your food, as promised.

You nodded, extending a hand to help him out. He joined in on your state of coziness and you poured him a glass too.

“Cheers.” He held his out.

“To what?” Your voice lowered.

“Being yours and getting to call you mine again.” Ruben placed a hand over your own.

You shook your head, calling him corny. but it was impossible to hide the way his words flustered you. It was nice to know that the years apart didn’t rob him of his ability to be so romantic. Also pleasant to note was that his cooking had gotten even better.

Your eyes widened as you took a bite of the chicken. It was juicy and perfectly seasoned. As if you couldn’t believe what you’d tasted, you went in immediately for a second bite with the pasta this time. Your palate was being blessed, objectively.

“I asked one of the team’s chefs for their recipe.” Ruben chuckled at your surprise.

“It’s so good.” You shimmed on your third chew.

Over your delicious meal, you asked him a series of questions that you were curious about. The first of them being whether or not this was a date. Of course. You apologized for being underdressed. Don’t be silly, we’re matching. That was true, those grey sweats of his…

Your mind refocused onto the impromptu Q&A. One thing you were definitely intrigued about was that first night you ran into each other. What was he doing in that area? That time of night and the lowkey look he wore honestly screamed leaving a booty call. If that was what it was, you couldn’t be mad.

“Some friends from back home were staying at a hotel nearby.” He answered. “I thought I was going crazy when I saw you running and called out but-”

“Headphones.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes. And then it became a whole thing when you dropped your keys. Nice swing, by the way.” Ruben tipped his glass to you.

The compliment was returned, “Nice reaction time.”

“Tell that to my back.” He grumbled.

You wrapped up your meal and headed back inside to tidy things up. Ruben knew better than to object because if there was one thing you hated, it was leaving a kitchen a mess before heading to bed. The least you would settle for was rinsing everything and placing them in the dishwasher, which you did as his eyes followed.

“So,” You walked over to where he sat on a bar stool. “Are you gonna give me the grand tour?”

His lips curled as he hummed. “This place looks best in the morning.”

Your body found itself between his legs after he pulled you close. Ruben grinned mischievously before tilting forward to taste you. It was instant, the way you opened up for him. His teeth flashing in between your tongues meeting showed just how much he liked that.

“Are you implying something?” You spoke into his mouth.

“Maybe,” He breathed. “Should I just come out and say it?”

You nodded slowly, hands sliding up the the soft fabric covering his muscled thighs.

“Stay with me.”

“Okay-“

Your acceptance was barely completed before it was replaced with a yelp. Ruben stood up and lifted you into his arms. In the time it took you to get to his bedroom, you could’ve scanned around a bit to see a preview of what was to come in the morning. You were too focused on him though.

The prominent vein running along the side of his neck was begging to be kissed. So you pressed your mouth to it - lips parted and hungry. You felt him shudder under the licks and sucks you gave it and all too soon, you were detached to be placed on top of his sprawling bed.

Ruben crawled over you, lifting the back of your knee with his own to hitch your leg over his hips. You giggled into his hungry kisses and then moaned. A sneaky hand of his had made its way under your hoodie, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple as he massaged your breast.

You bit down on his bottom lip, bucking into him - already on the hunt for some kind of relief for your thrumming core. He used his lower half to pin you still. It only made your urge grow into agony, feeling the one thing you wanted most concealed by too many layers. When you tried a stealthy maneuver of your own, he was quick to catch it.

“Always so impatient.” Ruben tutted as he caught your wrist.

“Always such a tease.” You gave it right back.

He chuckled in a way that said I’m gonna make you eat your words. By God, you hoped he did sooner rather than later. You pressed your palms to the bed and pushed up. The silent request was thankfully met with him at least removing your top layer.

You caressed his head and let your back meet the sheets once more as he kissed down your body. Ruben stopped at the waistband of your sweats, giving it a pull between his teeth. A vexed moan sounded in your throat. He shushed you, curling his fingers into either side of your pants before dragging them down.

“Someone came prepared.” His comment came in response to your lack of underwear.

Your look of annoyance didn’t last long. It was swiftly replaced with one of bliss when you felt his mouth close around your pussy, tongue slicing you open for him to get a taste. He exhaled deeply through his nose and tugged you flush to his face.

“Yes, fuck-“ Your breath caught.

Ruben arched his tongue around your clit in a full circle before settling under to push it upwards. You writhed beneath him. The voice in your mind was chastising you as loudly as your body was crying out. It was never a good idea to challenge him.

He was easily the most competitive person you’d ever met, proving it yet again as he held your swollen bud up with a glint in his eye. Chipping away at your resolve. Waiting for your concession. You knew when to choose your battles.

“Please...” The shakiness in your voice really sealed the deal.

His tongue finally licked up your clit and then all over it on the way down. Your thighs locked him in while he gave it his undivided attention, thorough as ever to avoid missing a single spot. Each nerve in the bundle got its kiss, flick and suck.

There were no other sounds in the room besides your labored breaths and cries, his grunts and wet mouth growing drencher with your never ending slick. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him deeper still.

It was right there. The torturously slow buildup preceding the crescendo. You just needed a bit more. Your hips rolled in circles, side to side and then up and down. When he slurped at your hole before twisting his tongue inside, they stilled. He knew he hit the target then and so he kept going.

You mouth stammered over your words as your body did the same in his hold. They were both saying the same thing nonetheless. Ruben spurred you on, a hand coming down on the side of your ass while his tongue kept lapping at your clit.

A guttural noise clawed its way out of you as you tensed and released into his lingering mouth all over again. Once you were reduced to nothing but limp muscles and jolts of aftershocks, he resurfaced.

“So good, baby.” Ruben leaned over to press his glistening lips to yours.

There was no trace left of him in the kiss. The insides of his cheeks, tops and bottoms of his gums and tongue all tasted of you. It sparked life back into your bones, a physical manifestation of what your glasses met over earlier.

Yours.

Mine.

In an unsuspecting move, you flipped him over until you were straddling his hips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you dragged your drenched core slid over his hardened length. It was him that was left squirming beneath you this time, something you’d delight in if you hadn’t already been pushed over the ledge.

Ruben was in the same headspace. His eyes mirrored your own, nearly black with yearning. The layers of his clothing joined yours in a heap at his bedside. No underwear either. Your brows raised alongside your hips, someone was prepared.

A chorus of sighs and moans filled the air as you sank down onto his cock. Your head dropped back, hands pressing into his chest. The way his heartbeat ran wild under your fingertips made your lips tug.

To test your readiness, you arched your back. More glide than burn. You started building your rhythm, thighs tensing to help you move up and down. The more confident you became in taking him, the more your body loosened.

Your ass rolled like a wave, tempo rising each time your flesh came flush to his. Oh, God, you thought you heard him say. Actually, you were sure he’d said it. The way he looked up at you, hands moving to cup your breasts confirmed it.

Along with his noises and your own came the meeting of the back of your hips on the tops of his thighs. It was the only sound that ever made you understand the term music to my ears. You slammed harder, deeper, more pointed to draw even more of those notes out of his beautifully agape mouth.

His cock was a thing of wonder, the way it filled you up. So snug between your walls that you could feel the prominent vein running along its back as you worked him base to tip and back again. So intoxicating, your mind was stuck like glue on the feeling of how much of you he was coated in.

You folded forward, unsynchronized breaths mingling with his as you gave him a kiss that matched the same energy. A spell of confusion caused your compass to malfunction and made you lose your way. How was it even possible for him to feel this good?

Ruben was right there to guide you back as he so often had been before. His knees bent and his hands settled under your hips while his own raised into you. The vein in his neck swelled thick with rushing blood just like the one fucking into your pussy did with his seed.

Mine.

Yours.

The earth cracked and shattered and you quaked. His arms circled your waist tight, holding you as he weathered both of your storms. Everything around you crumbled and faded out of existence. For the next euphoric moments that followed, only you and him remained.

After a prolonged period of feeling the prick of his facial hair under your fingertips and his own running up and down your spine, he guided you to his shower. The water pressure offered a nice massage, but paled in effort to the relief his hands brought as they glided over your skin.

Ruben held the covers open for you to slip under, a call that would never go unanswered. You molded to him in a way that made you shudder. Your head rested in the crook of his arm that curled around your shoulders, a leg nestled snugly between his - not too spacious and not too compressed, just right.

You blinked slowly, lashes brushing his nearby skin. “Ruben?”

“Hm?” His chest rumbled.

“Promise me that even if this doesn’t last, things won’t end like they did before.”

He stopped breathing for a second and so did you. Back then, you probably would’ve said something like promise you won’t ever leave. You never thought to because you didn’t believe he ever would’ve.

Now, you realized the flaw in that sort of ask. If he said he wouldn’t and then he did, you couldn’t accuse him of lying. No one thought in the moments where they were deeply enamored with one another that they’d part, just as no one who got married for love would only do so to divorce.

Ruben inhaled again and tilted your face upwards, “I promise.”

Your eyes searched his for any trace of disingenuousness. When they were met with a steady, unblinking, challenging gaze, you were finally filled with ease. You kissed him gently and resumed your previous position.

“Besides,” He snuggled deeper into you. “If anything, you’re gonna have to get rid of me. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and-”

You pressed a finger to his lips. “I get it. Go to sleep.”

For the first time in ages, you must’ve clocked in more than five hours of uninterrupted rest.

When your eyes peeled open, they were met with a fully lit sky instead of darkness or the murky beginnings of a sunrise. Your back bowed and then froze in position. Instead of being met with warmth, all you felt were cool sheets.

Just when you thought you might’ve lost Ruben to training or something, you heard rattling coming from the kitchen. There was also the faint scent of espresso drifting from under the door. You slid on his discarded sweatshirt from the pile that moved to his armchair and ventured out.

“There’s my beautiful chainsaw.” Ruben smiled as you appeared.

You smacked his bare back to earn a hiss, “I do not snore.”

“Only when you’re exhausted, love.” He handed you a steaming cup. “Did you sleep well?”

Your hand extended, beckoning to him. Ruben bent to meet it and melted under your fingertips that drew him near. You kissed him appreciatively, not wanting a moment to go by where you didn’t show him how grateful you were that he looked after you with care.

“I did.” You took a sip of your coffee and moaned. “Now where’s my tour?”

He shook his head with a grin and whisked you away to the entrance. In true social media giant with millions of followers style, he walked you through his apartment bit by bit. There was the coat closet, riveting and the guest rooms, very spacious. Then his bedroom which you’d already gotten very familiar with, he added.

All that was really left was the main open living space. What you were really interested in was his shelf and the mantle with all of his pictures, medals and awards. He explained the occasion and meaning behind each of them. Premier Leagues, domestic cups, bests of the season. You ran your thumb over the one you knew held the most meaning.

“Champions League…” Though you were infinitely proud of his achievement, your heart was heavy.

Ruben had spoken so much about it from the time when you were kids. He always knew that he was going to become a footballer, and a great one at that. This title was one he longed for vocally on many days.

“When I lift the trophy again,” He hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek. “You’ll be there with me.”

You nodded, wanting that dream to become a reality more than anything else. Well, besides being with him when he won the World Cup. At least that would be a first you got to experience together.

He took you back to the kitchen where he’d already started on breakfast. The toast was ready and after frying some eggs and adding slices of avocado, you both dug in. Such a simple meal that never missed the spot.

“So, Erling’s party is tomorrow night.” Ruben shot you a look.

Of course, the whole team was on the invite list you’d spied over Cindy’s shoulder. You knew what he was getting at and you also knew that it had to be today when you sat Aki down to have that conversation.

“I’ll tell her when I get back.” You promised.

“You don’t have to be nervous. She loves you, no matter what.” He reassured. “Me on the other hand…”

That was going to be the interesting part for sure. You wished you had some words to dispel his fears, but you both knew that they didn’t really exist. Her dislike for him was palatable, nearly a match for your mother’s - which was another bridge you certainly weren’t remotely ready to cross.

“One step at a time.” Was the best you could come up with.

It seemed to be good enough for Ruben, who approved with a half smile.

Wrapping up breakfast and trying to leave to actually get your day started was the hardest thing you’d done in recent memory. All you wanted to do was stay in this perfect little bubble with him - his arms caging you in, lips peppering your face, his deep voice begging five more minutes.

On days like this in the past, you would’ve easily played hooky and called in sick. Alas, that was when you were working for someone you honestly hated. Now that you had your own company, there was no room for letting your work fall behind since it all rode on you.

Ruben gave you one final searing kiss that took up the last of his allotted five minutes before you got into your car. The way you were beaming on the drive back to your place was kind of mortifying once you’d snapped out of your butterfly induced haze.

Almost immediately, it was replaced with sweaty palms and a racing heart. And not in the infatuation sense. You gave yourself a pep talk in the elevator as you headed up, remembering Ruben’s words. He was right and so were you, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Still, you found yourself tiptoeing once the lift got to your floor. You’d adopted his stalling tactic of promising that in just a bit more time, you would head over to hers. Maybe you should tidy up the place beforehand and -

“Ahem.”

You wanted to scream, but instead became that the woman was too stunned to speak meme. Aki was sitting cross legged on your sofa. She’d clearly been there for some time based off the empty plate and drained glass on the coffee table. It was now or never.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” You made your way over to join her.

“Spill! You’ve been acting weird for a while now.” She griped. “Are you having doubts about the business? Is the shitty weather making you moody? Wait…are you seeing somebody?!”

“Yes!” The answer to her rambling barrage came out louder than intended.

Aki stared at you wide eyed and then began going on another spiel, this time of excitement. You reeled her in, literally, by taking both her hands in yours. A silent version of the affirmations you gave yourself earlier ran through your head as you took a breath.

“I am seeing someone, again. Ruben.” You finally admitted. “I know that sounds fucking insane, but let me explain.”

Seeing Aki take on a serious expression was something you’d only experienced a handful of times. Not many things made her completely shed the upbeat, fun-loving layers she wore, but it wasn’t surprising that your revelation was now one of them.

She listened as you started from the day you went to City’s training grounds and the car ride that followed. It wasn’t the most cheerful conversation to rehash, both your emotions and his in that moment still tugging viscerally on your heart. Your gaze dropped for a second, returning to hers when you felt her hands give yours a reassuring squeeze.

The rest tumbled out painlessly. You told her about him coming to the office when you worked late, how you and him realized that trying things again was worth a shot. And then, of course, your absence from your loft from this morning was cleared up.

All that was left out were the parts about the sex, especially the office couch incident. She probably would appreciate not having that visual, though you were sure her powers of deduction would do the work for you.

“Wow, that’s definitely not what I was expecting.” Aki chewed on her bottom lip.

You digested her response with a nod, your head bowing. It was more than a lot to take in, so you weren’t surprised that she wasn’t throwing a parade in congratulations for you reunion with Ruben.

She untangled her hands from yours only to pull you in for a hug. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision and I wish you didn’t feel like you had to make it alone.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You failed to hide your sniffle.

“Don’t be, I understand.” Aki pulled back, wiping your cheeks. “I only care about two things: are you sure about this and are you happy?”

Something like the grin you wore on your drive returned, “Yeah.”

She groaned and hugged you again, pulling you down to rest on top of her. Aki wrapped her legs around you, shaking your body side to side like she used to when you would try out the moves you’d seen on WrestleMania. You reached up to give her a peck on the cheek and she screamed, pushing you off.

“I bet you still have his spit in your mouth! Ew!” She scrambled from the sofa.

You ran after her, making kissy faces. “I thought you wanted me to be getting pounded religiously!”

That was enough to chase her right out of the front door.

[cordyce]

⇢ FOR ALL YOUR ATTENTION

tsu’tey x gn!reader

includes: na’vi!reader. mate tsu’tey. teasing reader. tsu’tey is literally whipped. probably ooc tsu’tey. suggestive (?) themes.

notes: i’ve never written tsu’tey before so be gentle. also not proofread (what’s new?) so don’t judge i beg <;/3

tags: @nanamimizz @ydsm-29 @netesbby @loaksky @citruskasa @vanillawhale

If there is one thing you know about Tsu’tey, it is that he is attentive. Whether that be in the sense of categorizing and keeping tabs on his people, or the doting he does on those he holds dear in private; he is always watching, waiting, basking in the shadows to make sure he knows every detail. You think it partially to be his position as future Olo’eyktan that makes him that way. But you also know it to be just how he is in nature—even if he’d struggle to openly admit that. 

A fatal flaw on his part, maybe. The way he is so devoted to the lives of those around him; how he is so willing to double stack his duties to take care of the needs of his people. Bearing more stress and burden than he should (or more inside knowledge than he has any right to know) because he is simply so keen on ensuring he is not out of the loop with anyone, ever. 

He’s being attentive even now, at this very moment. If that is what you could call spying on Jake and Neytiri from his perch of raised tree roots, partially shielded by the overgrown flora in front of him. It is sweet and terribly endearing how he cares for her, loves her; his want to protect knows no limits. 

Someone else might stir up a smidgen of jealousy at that, but not you. See, even if he had been betrothed to her, you’re conscious of what resides in his heart; what always has. You know that his feelings never crossed that one fine line, no matter how much he’d try to pretend that they did. How much he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of his clan to have strong leaders—willing leaders. It’s commendable. 

Such an admirable act of a man of his caliber, one must admit. 

And it isn’t that he does not trust Jake—because if asked he would have to be honest and begrudgingly attest that he has grown quite fond of the uniltìranyu—but he is just.. wary. Rightfully so. That is a well suited sentiment for these types of situations. Relationships with tawtute, no matter how docile and complaisant they may seem, should always be handled with a lingering sense of fragility. So you understand his urge to leer, his need to observe when he is alone with one of your people. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t find it the slightest bit amusing, though. How he’ll stress and strain over maintaining glimpses. Hearing him scoff when you tease of his meddling is humorous. You enjoy getting to tug on his leg. 

“You are lurking again,” you state, stepping up beside Tsu’tey’s still form on the root, peering through the clearing of brush right along with him. 

And he must have been far more engrossed in his couple watching than you thought (it’s not like you were trying to sneak up on him after all, your steps were not even close to quiet) because he flinches the tiniest, minute bit at the sound of your voice. His head snaps to you and you turn your own to meet his gaze. 

“I am not lurking,” he rebuts, lips dipping downward in a scowl. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes just by the tone of his voice, but he won’t. He’s aware that that gives you satisfaction. 

Little does he know you get satisfaction from that fact alone. 

“Ah, right. Then what would you choose to call this? Spying?” You tip your head, a seemingly innocent gesture but it is nothing of the sort. Playing Tsu’tey is quite effortless when the dice fall into your practiced hands so routinely. “Snooping?”

“That is—” Absurd? Foolish? Whatever word was going to punctuate the end of his sentence dies before it reaches the tip of his tongue. His mouth screws up for a moment, along with the ridges of his brows, and you can tell something about him that is so painfully easy to pick up on. “I do not snoop.”

“Sure you don’t.” 

Your words tilt with a shrug of your shoulders, the leveling of your head. Swiveling back around to look through the brush once again, you have to bite your cheek to fight the smile threatening your lips as Tsu’tey still stays locked on you. It’s a pleasing feeling, knowing you have riled him up so much in less than a minute.

“I do not snoop. Nor do I spy.” He reiterates, says it with authority now. In the same stern voice he uses to talk to the children of the clan and warn them about venturing too far into the depths of the forest without parental supervision. But you are an excessive amount of familiar with him for it to work on you; for it to sway you in the slightest.

If anything it eggs you on. Maybe a small personality flaw; most definitely a little boorish of you. Nevertheless you enjoy it, you think you always will. Because you are the only one who gets to see Tsu'tey like this. Who gets to poke and preen and tease, without worrying if your head might end up on a pike afterwards. (Not that he could stomach ever doing such a thing without a monsoon of reasons, truly, because even behind his ostensibly permanent glower he is just a big hearted fool deep down). 

“I see,” you hum, and his gaze is still boring holes into the side of your skull, “Then you’re just nosy.”

“I am nothing of the sort.” And there it is, the scoff that always comes when you begin to make sport of his tendencies trailing after his detest. You’ve finally got him—successfully sunk your teeth into his throat and dragged him right into your claw toothed trap. 

“Great,” you denounce, then flick your gaze back to that of the agitated man beside you. “Then it will not matter to you to know that Jake and Neytiri snuck out of your sight five minutes ago.”

“What?” Head whirling, eyes shooting wide, he turns back instantly to his break in the brush to confirm your statement.

Your statement that was in fact laced in nothing but falsity and had the sole purpose of exposing him for just how intrusive he is; which worked like a charm, you must add. Jake and Neytiri are still there, of course. Still talking and collecting herbs like they were before. Still enjoying their innocent—albeit sickeningly flirtatious—time together. 

Tsu’tey whips back around to look at you, this time squaring his shoulders to glare at you properly.

“Wiya!” He hisses, but it holds no threat. Just his annoyance, the baseline of frustration. (Probably out of embarrassment for being caught, if the sharp flick of his tail is any indication at all). “What is it that you need?”

You consider him, hold his gaze. There are one of two ways you could go about this and you’re trying to decide which route would be the most entertaining. It becomes clear with each tick of his jaw what option you’re going to settle on, so you begin to pick up the puzzle pieces and place them down methodically. 

“Oh, nothing.” Shrugging as you lace your fingers behind your back, you count your breaths. “Was just seeing what you were up to.”

Tsu’tey, expectedly, does not waver still. “I am busy tending to things.”

“You mean spying?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

After your hum you let another pause take place. Another beat of silence between the two of you. There’s a faint rustling to your right and out of the corner of your eye you see Jake and Neytiri actually gathering their things to leave this time. You wonder if it’s because they heard the two of you or perhaps on their own whim. Regardless, you don’t miss the twitch of Tsu’tey’s ears as he picks up on it too. You’re almost certain his brows knit tighter together, if that is even possible. 

“What do you need, yawne?” He repeats himself, presses once more. 

Yet even on edge, his tongue strikes lovingly. How enthralling of him, how compelling. How can he expect you not to want to toy with him? When he is just so yielding? 

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

Another pass. The noises of the forest fill in your lull. 

“Well,” he huffs, straightening himself out. “If there is nothing you need then you should be going. Like I said, I am busy.”

And you’ve been plotting, scheming, for this perfect time to swing the hatchet down. Tsu’tey has set you up beautifully, honestly. It’s almost like he’s in on it himself. He should know better by now, you think.

“Right, you’re busy.” This time, your words drift off with a deep sigh. Shoulders rising up and dropping theatrically like they’re being controlled by a puppeteer's strings, you turn to leave the same way that you came. You mumble under your breath, but not low enough that the man in your presence cannot hear you as you take your first steps away, “Always so busy. Looking out for everyone. Leaving me be..”

Tsu’tey’s sharp intake of breath might be stifled, but you hear it without a single shred of strain. In less than a second wide strides are being made to close the short gap you’ve created between the two of you. And just as soon as they stop, the unreserved grip of a calloused hand is clutching onto the ridge of your hip bone, pivoting you back around to beset the (now slightly less annoyed) warrior before you.

“Leaving you be?” His voice is tainted with something endearing, something unfiltered. Concern flitters across his strong features and it’s riveting; telling. 

You’ve got him. Right in the palm of your hand. 

“Mhm.” Angling your chin with a nod you turn your eyes downward. Relaxing your shoulders into a defeated slump, posturing yourself to be despondent. “It’s fine, really. I know you are an important man. I should not expect your undivided attention.”

“My attention?” He quirks, and his hand is leaving your hip only to take place on your jaw. He tips your head up but you still keep your gaze averted. It is not time to give in yet. “You have all of my attention, always. Oeyä txe’lan, why would you believe that you do not?”

You bite your tongue. Attentive, heeding; earnest is his expression as he deciphers every twitch across your face. You’d think for a man that is so good at reading you he would be able to tell when you are presenting faux emotions. Yet it’s like his worriment outweighs his fluency of you.

Somehow that’s even more touching.

“Ma (Y/n),” he hearkens, veering into your line of sight until you’re forced to meet his gaze, now. The intensity of his focus has your stomach fluttering, your hands behind your back ringing together. Oh, how you love him. “Tell me, am I being neglectful of you? What is it I have failed to do?”

“I—” His thumb is rubbing against the plane of your jaw. The curve of his lips pushes them out in an adoring pout as he inspects every quiver and crease of your features. 

This was supposed to be a fun little game, one you are used to playing and one you are always in control of. So why does it suddenly feel like Tsu’tey has wiped the gameboard clean and tossed out all the cards? How has he flipped this on you, by simply cracking open his chest and laying his bleeding heart atop the deck? How has he become the game master, with a simple cradle of his palm and the dripping of devoted professions off his tongue?

How is this fair at all?

“Oeyä tìyawn.” My love, my heart; he holds you with such firm care like you are the very muscle that pumps life into his body. Like you are the very essence of his soul, all in all. Like you are his lifeblood—and aren’t you, really? “Do you crave for my attention? Have I not awarded you enough?”

“No.” It’s instant, no hesitation in your deliverance and, somehow, this is not about teasing your lover anymore. Your lungs burn, your internal clock ticks like the time frame of minutes has been cut short. “No, it is not enough.”

Contrition trickles down Tsu’tey’s face like watercolor pathos coating concern by the brush of your velvet tongue. His grip on your jaw softens, his free hand slides across the hollow of your throat until his fingertips bracket the braid encasing your kuru. He steps close; impossibly closer than he was until the beads of his neck piece scrape delicately against your sternum, until his breath fights to contrast the already growing warmth of your blood rushed cheeks. 

You swallow, but it is not enough to stomach the tension clawing up your ribcage. His forehead is just a mere breadth from yours, his nose twitching millimeters from your own. With his ears pressed back and his tail flicking lowly, he envelops every sense a Na’vi can use. 

He debilitates you, wholly and unquestionably. 

“Forgive me,” he presses, and his lips seal yours before you can respond. “Forgive me, paskalin,” he longs as he steals your breath once more, presses his thumb against your pulse point. “Ngaytxoa, Ma (Y/n). May you never want for my attention again. I will grant you anything to prove as such. What do you wish of me?”

“I wish…” It is tasking, trying to catch your breath. He is just so close and just so consuming and adhering. “I wish for you.”

“Me?” He ticks his head, drops a hand in order to slide it down to the base of your spine. “You have me, all of me. Do not be foolish and believe otherwise.”

You blink, regain yourself. Yes, you suppose he is right. You suppose you do have him—all of him—that his actions now prove to supplement that statement. So what is it you really want? What is it you crave of a man who has given you everything even if you bait that he does not? What is the desire that you harbor in your heart, that he has not already graced you with forthright, at the any shallow utterance you muster?

“The day,” you wager, “Spend the rest of this day with me.”

Tsu’tey’s lips cinch to the side for a moment—his duties listing off on the blackboard of his mind, you are sure—but a moment is all he tenses before his foundation gives. He nods, cleaves to your wish. 

“Of course. What would you plan? A hunt? A harvest?”

A fang hooks the corner of your lip and you shake your head. So willing to heed to you but it is not quite right, not quite on script. He has mistaken your petition for something far more innocent than you thought he would; but you suppose you cannot fault the conservativeness of a warrior that holds such merit as he. 

“You mistake me,” you correct, snaking your hands up until they reside over the ridges of his protruding collarbones. “I wish to spend the day with you. Alone. As my mate. Doing that of which only mates are permitted.”

At this, Tsu’tey’s ears flicker; his pupils expand against his will and you take that as your sign of agreement before he even murmurs as such. And his compliance does not run verbal—not fully—other than a gruff rumble of his chest as the hand on his spine drifts to drag against the back of your thigh and hoist you up. Instinctive is the way your legs find themselves winding around his cinched waist. The woven ridges of his cummerbund brush against the insides of your thighs, and it is not an unfamiliar feeling.

Funny, how as lips sear against your own, drift and smear along your jaw and down the curve of your throat until they find refuge on your pulsepoint at which his thumb now retreats, you feel far more innocent than tainted. Perhaps love does that to someone; hides guilt or shame and breeds only purity. Perhaps attention can surely prove to be a cure all, in certain sentiments. 

Whatever it is, you embrace it fully and relish in it with all of your being.

And maybe it distracts you, just slightly, because your tongue grows dangerously loose as you give up your will. You really do prove to be your own betrayer, truly.

“Sau,” you sigh as you tip your head to the side to allow virtuous lips room to roam, “I should tempt you with plight more often.”

Kisses halt and hands tighten where they grip onto you. You realize your mistake just as soon as the last word rolls off your tongue, but you cannot swallow down things already spoken. Fingers still sifted into Tsu’tey’s braids, you peer down as he leans back enough to look up at you. 

“How kawng of you,” he aims, but he grants you no tell of expression.

“And even so?” You ponder, hum as you scratch the base of his scalp. “Will you revoke my request from me? Will you be so cruel as to deny me this?”

“Do not be foolish,” he hearkens, and something twinkles in his eyes as he says it—something twitches at the tilt of his lips. “You will have your day with me, just as you wish.”

“How merciful of you.” And you cannot help the simper that plays at your mouth. Even after fumbling, giving up your original position, you have still seemingly gotten your way. How delightful, this has proven to be.

But Tsu’tey’s fingers delve into the meat of your thigh with a little more pressure. His kisses find their way back to the juncture between your throat and jaw with a little more fervent. His tail brushes against your hooked ankles and you are not foreign to this rhythm of flicks.

“Do not deem me merciful yet, yawne,” he apprises with a nip of your skin. “You wish for my attention? I will grant it. But remember—”

A deep chuckle rumbles against your skin and the heat of his laugh has your stomach boiling with fire-licked butterflies. Your heart skitters, your inhales hitch before they slip out of your throat, as his lips find their way to the shell of your feverish ear. You find yourself bated, waiting, on whatever is to come.

“You asked for all of my attention. So now, you must take it.”

And if there is one thing you know about Tsu’tey, it is that he is attentive. And that is what you are banking on as he carries you further into the forest.

[ambrossart]

I want to ask a question that's kind of has nothing to do with the plot of paper men like just out of curiosity . I was wondering who do the members of bowers gang feel jealous of ? I mean ofc each one of them has insecurities and feel jealously and I am curious to know who they might be jealous of

Hmm… this is a really interesting question. I’m assuming you mean jealousy as in “envy” and not the romantic form of jealousy. I certainly hope so because I find the former way more interesting than the latter.

Anyway, I can't think of a good lead-in for this, so let's just get right to it!

Henry

Henry is, without a doubt, the most jealous/envious person in the entire gang, and I wouldn’t be surprised if, at least subconsciously, that’s why he targets the kids he does. It’s definitely not as random as it seems.

He can experience jealousy toward anyone: kids who excel at school; kids who excel at sports; kids who can afford new clothes every year, new shoes, new backpacks, school supplies, etc.; kids who are well-liked and popular; kids who get to be carefree kids. Henry’s very easily triggered.

But above all, Henry’s jealous of people who have what he covets most: a happy, loving family.

In the most recent chapter (yes, I know you said this has nothing to do with Paper Men, but too bad, I make everything about Paper Men 😂), he expressed a lot of jealousy toward Victor Criss. And it’s not just because Evelyn used to have a crush on him (even though that does bother him).

It’s because, in Henry’s eyes, Vic has everything. He’s naturally smart to the point where he doesn’t even have to try. He has two parents who, flawed as they may be, love him unconditionally. Yet Vic is constantly complaining about his life. That’s really annoying for Henry, who, let’s be real, would trade places with Vic in a heartbeat.

“You think your mom’s annoying and overbearing? Well, fuck you, my mom abandoned me.”

“You hate your braces? I can’t even afford braces.”

“You’re tired of your mom nagging you to eat dinner with her? I ate beans out of a tin can last night.”

I could go on and on, but… yeah, Vic pisses Henry off, which is why their relationship is as strained as it is. They’re still friends, of course, but they’re not as close as Henry and Belch are. Not by a long shot.

Victor

Vic is the second most jealous, but he hides it well.

We know Vic struggles a lot with anxiety, self-hatred, and sensory issues, so he’s very jealous of people who are unburdened by those kinds of things.

People who are naturally friendly and outgoing, people like Evelyn Tozier, people like his childhood friend Jimmy Duncan, evoke a lot of envy for him.

He’s already expressed a little bit of jealousy toward Evelyn, especially when they were kids.

Evelyn would invite herself over on the holidays and chat up Vic’s family like she’s known them for years. Vic could never do that. He still can’t do that, but she makes it look effortless. That’s incredibly frustrating for him.

Unlike Henry, Vic internalizes all of these ugly feelings instead of taking them out on everyone else. This, in turn, only feeds his self-loathing.

Vic seems to hate a lot of people, but he hates himself the most.

Martin Davers is a close second.

Belch

Belch is one of the least jealous among the gang.

All in all, he’s pretty satisfied with his life. Sure, it could be better, but it could also be a lot worse.

It could be like Henry’s, for example.

That being said, I do think he envies, just a little, those who have fathers in their lives.

Belch’s dad died when he was very young, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a little triggered by that. It doesn’t make him angry or anything, but it does make him sad sometimes.

I could also see him being envious of wealth and the opportunities that provides.

For instance, Belch would love to participate in extracurricular activities. He’d love to play sports. But that involves a lot of money and time, neither of which he has in abundance.

I think Belch would secretly love to be one of the jocks, and to enjoy all the perks that come along with that, but he would rather spend his free time earning money than tossing a ball around.

It’s a sacrifice, but one he’s willing to make.

He’s the best. 🥰

Patrick

Patrick is the least jealous because Patrick doesn’t give a shit about anybody other than himself.

Seriously, if Patrick sees himself as the only fully conscious being, why would he feel jealous of anyone? As far as he’s concerned, nobody else is on his level. He’s the sole supreme being in this universe.

(Sure, Patrick, sure.)

Now, you could argue that Patrick has expressed some jealousy toward Jake Newham, but I wouldn’t really call that jealousy.

Jealousy’s such an emotional thing, and this isn’t emotional for Patrick, not at all. He simply sees Jake as a potential obstacle, one he’s ready to eliminate if necessary.

If Patrick thought Evelyn truly liked Jake, if he thought Jake was the one Evelyn was saving her first kiss for, Jake would be six feet under right now. He’d be deader than dead.

The whole kiss thing genuinely irritates Patrick.

Why wouldn’t it? He’s used to girls throwing themselves at him and practically begging him to take their virginity.

But Evelyn’s being especially difficult, and this confounds Patrick to no end. It just doesn’t make any sense. He can tell Evelyn’s starting to like him. He can tell she wants to kiss him. But she’s still hesitating, and it’s all because of this mysterious other person, a name she refuses to give up.

It’s all very annoying for Patrick.

So if Patrick was capable of jealousy, it would all be directed toward this other person.

He hasn’t quite figured out who it is yet, but he definitely has his suspicions.

Sorry if this is shit. I haven’t done one of these in a while, so I’m a little rusty. Plus I honestly suck at these anyway.

[rae-blogging]

CROSSING LINES: Prologue

pairing : park jongseong x fem! reader, park sunghoon x fem! reader

genre : angst, fluff and smut

word count : 700 (for the prologue)

format : series (not in lowercase)

synopsis : jay and y/n are content in their happy relationships with minjeong and sunghoon, blissfully ignorant of each other's presence when an accident turns their lives upside down. was anything ever the way it had seemed?

contains : themes of death, infidelity, heartbreak, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sexual harassment in upcoming chapters, jay being a complete jerk who def has anger issues, y/n being extremely delusional and naive

a/n : it has been ages since i've really sat down and written, but i had wanted to write this for a while now so here it is. this is based off a show called 'bepannah' which despite its flaws i was absolutely in love with, jay and y/n's characters are heavily inspired by those of aditya and zoya so if ridiculous anger issues or seeing jay be petty and horribly mean is not something you'd like to witness, i'm sorry.

Park Jongseong had only ever been sure of two things in life:

Flying 

Kim Minjeong

And he couldn't ever come to a conclusion about the order. It didn't matter, though, because the only person he needed to understand that was always by his side, his best friend, his girlfriend, Minjeong. With her, Jongseong could be Jay; he could be childish, immature, and whiny. He could be flawed. He could be more than the arrogant heir of Park Industries.

Jay didn't honestly remember when he fell for Minjeong; all he knows is one day she was singing along to Harry Styles in his car, and the next, they were tangled on the back seat, her voice whispering a confession he could only smile in response to. For Jay, the transition was easy, and their relationship was effortless because, to him, despite everything, Minjeong was his best friend above all; she knew him inside out, and he, her. Nothing could ever change how he felt about her and how he felt with her.

Why then was he standing, trembling on this unassuming street of Seoul, with his darkened eyes fixated on the dead body of his girlfriend and a stranger right now? Their hands intertwined. Rigor Mortis, the doctor whispered, not even bothering to glance up at Jay before he turns to the team of detectives at the scene.

Jay could barely feel the glass shards from a stray bottle crackle under his feet as his body unwillingly staggered back, only then realizing there was someone behind him. His body turning around, and he blinked at the hazy silhouette he saw on the ground, his vision blurred by the thick sheen of tears covering his eyes that he didn't even register were there.

His mind still trying to make sense of the situation when his eyes meet your reddened ones, his ears suddenly becoming aware of the sound of loud sobs. Your frame kneeled upon the muddy ground whimpering while one of the detectives tries to console you and get you back up. Jay can catch a few words from the conversation, his mind too muddled to pay attention when you try to push past the cop towards the bloodied bodies.

“It's my fiancé! You don't understand! Sunghoon!” You cry, and Jay wonders for a second if he should be screaming too. His body unable to react or respond to the sight, his eyes blankly falling at the ground where his girlfriend now lays dead. Her face somehow free of any major scarring; she looks just fine, and he almost calls out to her like he can hear you do for the man in the background. His eyes once again darting towards the intertwined hands of Minjeong and Sunghoon as he stares lifelessly. She wasn't wearing her ring.

He can faintly hear the sound of a few detectives whispering, his brain barely able to piece certain words together, but he could guess their words as he stared at your frantic self overwrought with emotions that Jay hadn't even acknowledged yet. He saw how you vehemently shook your head to something one of the policemen said and your tearful but firm voice piercing his ears as he clenches his fist at your words.

“They were just sharing the cab!” You protest, trying to wipe your tears, but more keep falling. “She was- she scared, she must have been scared, she must have asked for a lift" You sniffle, trying to sound sure of your words as your eyes meet the sympathetic ones of the policeman in front of you, his gaze angering you as you gulp down tears, "Some women have to be like that, they- she must have been running away from home, so, so he held her hand; she must have- she must have asked him to. Sunghoon is kind, he's really nice like that, he-”

Anger finally flickers on Jay's face, his presence left unnoticed as he clenches his jaw at what you say, his voice cutting through your heart as you immediately jump back, not having even realized he was standing there.

“Your fiancé cheated on you.” His voice is sharp and almost hollow, and you can feel faint memories of earlier this morning resurface at his appearance. Memories that suddenly seem of a distant past. “Your nice, kind fiancé cheated on you with my girlfriend.” His cruel words of disdain making you open your mouth in immediate denial and anger, but he doesn't let you. “You are an ignorant id-” His words getting cut off by a wary detective, “We are taking the bodies to the hospital for an autopsy; if there's any immediate family, you can inform, please do it now.”

Your hands immediately fiddling before you ask hesitantly, “Did he- did he- did it happen immediately after the car crash?” The detective sighs, “We can't be sure yet, but the doctor seems to think so, yes. Both seem to have died at the spot right after the accident. We'll find out more once we take them to the hospital.”

Jay's lifeless gaze flits over the ambulance his girlfriend is in. His dead girlfriend. Just a few hours ago, he had been out buying a birthday gift for her. And a few hours before that, Minjeong had woken him up after opening all the blinds and teasing him when he protested.

“Don't be a baby," she grinned. "You know I have to leave for Busan for the art exhibition soon. Now get up!"

Jaw clenched, hands balled up into fists as Jay realized how easily she had lied to him. Was any of it ever true?

“You can't think the worst of everything," your voice shakes Jay back to reality, your soft eyes still brimming with tears as you try to console an angry Jay. “I'm sure there's an explanation. Sunghoon would never cheat on me, neither would- would your girlfriend if she loved you. You don't have to take everything as you see it. That's foolish."

Your voice magnetic and firm enough to almost make Jay believe your words, but he could hear the slight waver in your voice, the uncertainty in your lilt, how it sounded more like you were convincing yourself than him.

“You are a fool to force yourself to believe any of that.” Jay's words are flat. “You and I were both cheated on, and right now, I don't know if I am infuriated or devastated, but it doesn't matter because you are neither. You are just a fool whose fiancé probably cheated on her because she was too delusional to live in the real world. Anyone would cheat if they had to deal with someone like you.” Jay's words seem to prick your soul. Your heart wrenching as he walks off, his hand grabbing his phone as he walks out of earshot, and you are left to stand on the once barren road, the quiet buzz of policemen and ambulance not enough to pierce through your thoughts as the words of the stranger seem to reverberate in your head.

Anyone would cheat if they had to deal with someone like you

[4wkjun]

forever, kiss (1989) | sjy drabble

pairing: sim jaeyun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, lots of love warnings: literally none. this is so short lmao! but anyways, i literally grew up listening to this song and i love how cheesy it is. enha soft hours are definitely open!

— what is the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of me? – you asked jake, completely out of the blue.

the two of you went out for a picnic in order to celebrate your third year of relationship. while sitting on the soft grass, you looked at him and suddenly he looked so... precious. from time to time, your brain seemed to freeze and jake was the only thing you could see. with the sunlight kissing his face, he looked almost like an angel – which made you wonder: did you make his heart race as well?

— honestly? i see my future when i look in your eyes. – he responded naturally. you couldn't hold back your smile, your eyes shining.

— are you serious?

jake nodded, shoving a piece of cake inside of his mouth. while chewing, his hand reached yours and he placed it right above his heart. you could feel his heart rushing through his skin and clothes and smiled.

— my heart is about to burst everytime i see you! – he laughs. — i’ve been saving those words for our wedding vows, but ok, i’mma give them to you right now... – jake said dramatically, adjusting himself on his spot to look at you properly.

you laughed, your fingers intertwined with his.

— before i met you, i lived my life believing all love is blind. but it is so not blind! after three years, i can see your flaws. and i see mine as well, which sucks but it’s also great, cause it allows me to be better. and i want to be a better person for you, you know? it took your love to make my heart come alive, i guess. – he chuckled. — jesus, why am i nervous saying that shit?!

slapping his arm with your free hand, you laughed. jake has always been effortless funny and you loved that about him.

— the thing is: i’m outta my head over you. i love your laugh, love it when you hug me after a tiring day, love how you never seem to know what to say but still make me feel better. i love when you play with my hair and love it when you let me lay on your thighs. i love when you ask me what nail polish you should pick this time, even though you never choose what i picked for you. i love when you have a glass of whine and gets all clingy, telling me how much you love me – he chuckled. — i love your dimples, your messy hair in the morning, your habit of swinging your legs when you sit down and your feet can’t reach the floor, your soft skin and how ticklish you get when i kiss your belly. i love so many things about you, i couldn’t possibly list all of them. so, to answer your question: when i look at you, i know it’s forever and there’s no doubt in my mind. i think that until my life is through, i’ll be loving you forever.

as jake finished speaking, you let go of his hand only to hold his neck nape and kiss his soft lips. he smiled during the short but passionate kiss, his hands caressing your waist.

— now, what do you think when you look at me?

— that i am the luckiest woman alive.

[lovestruckkkk]

A Puppet, An Ally, A Lover — The Emperor x Tav

Tags: basically just a draft but i decided to share, not proof read much, pretty fluffy and vanilla (sometimes garlic), tried to make the emperor as non ooc as possible, he/him pronouns for the Emperor, gender neutral tav, empy sends you a letter <3

Tav is either partially illithid or not illithid at all.

wordcount: 1297

also available on ao3!

"What was the true nature of your relationship with the Emperor?

Was he as manipulative as he could possibly be?

Or did he have at least some genuine feelings towards you?

Well. Time to reflect a little."

enjoy, loves 💓

The Emperor treasured your alliance, and your relationship, well. The two of you worked wonders in multiple ways - your human form, although still sometimes seen flawed by the Emperor, has been a great help when he, as a mind flayer, couldn't possibly accomplish the things that you can. That especially included working with people - his previous alliance with Stelmane led him to believe that being so open with his actions was dangerous. And when some people needed proper persuasion you came into the picture. Ever eloquent, ever successful. It felt as if, given enough time, the two of you could conquer the city. His city.

But while that was important, it wasn't the main thing.

You two enjoyed each other.

You weren't too quiet about your affection towards him, not like you could be anyway - he's a mind flayer, after all, - but it was much harder to sense his. He was ever-alert, wary of jumping to conclusions, but not blind to his own genuine caring for you. But yes of course, admitting it took a lot of time from his side. You were ready for that - it, well, comes with the package.

It took time, but the Emperor finally made peace with the fact that you didn't want a full-blown ceremorphosis. After all, there was no guarantee that you would remain your present self.

Yet it's hard to deny one's nature. You weren't exactly the prey, and he wasn't exactly the predator, but it was somewhere in the air. A distant thought, a tiny hint of something alarming in the back of your mind.

And maybe you were smitten, but you weren't stupid, you weren't naive. The Emperor could sense your light anxiety on the matter, he even brought it up in conversation, but you both knew no matter how honeyed his words are - the nature of your relationship is just... Is what it is.

Until you just trusted. For when you cannot know - you trust, right?

So you did. It took effort. It took strength. Forgiving him his past half-truths, discounting his manipulative nature. Believing that something within him actually feels something.

And yes, it's hard to deny one's nature. But possible.

At least to an extent. While The Emperor valued your presence, he couldn't stop being a creature that longs for finding new ways to hold the reigns. That's why you staying in your humanoid form took less time for him to make peace with. He knows an opportunity when he sees one.

But he was thankful for your trust. And he always showed you how he was feeling - except for those times when it was already obvious. He thanked you, he commented on your worries, he comforted you, he tried being more honest about what troubles him, too. Not as a part of manipulation, but as a part of securing an alliance.

But of course it all was deeper than just a stupid alliance.

You were lovers. You did your best to understand each other - it was easier for him to do, and harder for you. But you tried. You wanted to understand so bad. And what is it to love - if not to want to understand?

He saw it. All of it. And he was thankful. He repayed you for your efforts and always helped in indulging your curiosity. And he couldn't fight his rising affection towards you for long, - your genuine care swayed him easily, but gently - like autumn leaves carressed by gentle blow of the wind.

It was odd, to see how easy and effortless things became once you actually trusted each other. Odd because - how can two creatures that are so different turn out to be so alike? But all the pieces were falling into place. It felt natural, albeit actually being extravagantly unnatural.

You embraced it, both of you. And it didn't take long for your relationship to bloom into something invaluable. Something treasured. It was discreet, it wasn't loud, your care for each other felt like a sacred secret, yet when there were people around they always sensed it. Your affection had its own gravity field.

Well, of course it was different when someone wanted something from you. Or especially when someone went out of their way to hurt you.

As respectful and as aware of your talents as he were, the Emperor grew very impatient by the minute when someone wanted to harm you. It was happening more often as your relationship became deeper. He would unlikely ever admit it out loud, but he was possessive. You knew it. And... It felt nice.

And you were protective of him, too. You never let anyone, except those he trusted, find out his true identity. And never let anyone disrespect him for who he is. It was always that same feeling of building up rage that your Emperor had later always calmed down. He would say:

They don't understand. It's fine. Let them.

After all, no matter what they say about him, it could never undo all the precious moments you get to have together. Your conversations have always been interesting, you enjoyed how complex and deep his knowledge of things was. He enjoyed how open-minded and unorthodox your opinions and approaches were. You complimented each other perfectly. It's exactly why he is assured that the two of you are indestructible together.

The mental connection that you shared was also something absolutely remarkable. It feels like nothing would ever be able to sever it. You just knew each other. Inside and out.

And there's physical connection too, of course. It felt like an extension of how your minds connected - you touched each other in desperation, trying to find new ways to connect even more, to become one.

Few of your former companions understood your relationship with the Emperor. But, in his own words, you let them misunderstand. It was fine. They didn't have to get it.

At the reunion party that was so thoughtfully arranged by Withers, you were alone. But it did take about a tenday to get to the place, so your Emperor sent you a letter to greet you when you arrive. For you to read at the party. He knew you would miss him. And he was right of course. He missed you too.

"My beloved,

I hope this letter finds you well, and you've successfully reacquainted yourself with your former friends. Send them my regards. I am writing this letter about a few days since your departure - I hope the pigeons delivered it in one piece, knowing how troublesome they can be.

I do not particularly enjoy written form of communication, but given the distance between us, I will allow it. I must admit your absence is something I cannot shake off lightly - so I decided to write you this letter to remind you that I am patiently awaiting your return.

Things over here are in order. I am continuing my search for allies who could potentially help us restore The Knights of the Shield. I hope I will have better news and actual results to share upon your return.

Enjoy your time celebrating. You deserve it. And please remember I will always be waiting for you.

Unwaveringly yours,

The Emperor"

Oh, how you wished that he was here. He deserved it just as much. After everything he did for the lot of you, even if it was mainly because your interests simply aligned, he deserved to be here. But your companions could disagree.

Yet no matter how much you wished for him to be here, he's somewhere else. Right now you get to enjoy your time with your friends - and you're not going to miss out on the opportunity.

But you already count the days until the two of you reunite once again.