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saetoru · 2 years ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he��s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

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notquitecanon · 1 month ago

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Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong."

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’.

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous.

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night.

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year. Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes. Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical.

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess.

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old.

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there. Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey. Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist.

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-"

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?"

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you.

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon.

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?"

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military. You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here.

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late."

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia.

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important."

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?"

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?"

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.”

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside.

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in.

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed.

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?”

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically.

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.”

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.”

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.”

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind.

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter…

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.”

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm.

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.”

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.”

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet.

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine, "A lot nervous, actually.”

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him.

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?”

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again…

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.” His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth.

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart. God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to?

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night.

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?”

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process.

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all.

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

#call of duty modern warfare x reader #codmw x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod mwii x reader

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astuteology · 10 months ago

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♤Another astrological observations♤

Ps: i am still learning and astrology is a forever learning subject. It may or may not be relatable. :)

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•° solar return observations °•

Solar return 7th house- the sign in your 7th house of your solar return will probably be the one to backbitch/backstab you👀. For eg- having Sagittarius descendant, people with sag sun or prominent sag placements are likely going to do you very wrong. 😊🪰

SR Uranus in 1st- an apparent change in the appearance of the individual. Dying their hair, a haircut, change in the makeup looks, joining the gym, having skincare routine, etc.🦄😋

SR Jupiter in the 12th- spiritual enlightenment🧞‍♂️. Could be the time youre very sensitive to the energies of the people. Seeing spirits frequently👻. (Hack- wear black tourmaline for the shield against negative energies). This is the time when everything will be clear to you, the intentions of the people, their traits, their habits, their trauma🤠 (your's aswell).👽

SR moon in the 6th- sensitive to other people's words, their criticism, etc. Take care of your health at this time please. Eating disorder. Very moody. Might eat spicy food alot. 🥲

SR neptune in the 11th- the friends, peers, acquaintances you have, you'll be getting to know about them more clearly👀 in negative way ofcourse, Alot of deceiving, lying, manipulation, taking behind your back, cheating, blah blah blah.😗🪓🩸

SR Saturn in the 11th- yes you ARE GOING TO LOSE FRIENDS, even the closest friend you have🙃. I honestly LOVE Saturn whatever house it's in because it fucking slaps you so hard that you begin to see everyfuckingthing very clearly🤪😶‍🌫️. Its going to be hard for you but dont worry youre better of with little to no friends than lying poopies.💩💝

SR venus in the 1st- you're going to be every 2nd person's crush, like literally fr. You're guna appear more ethereal and soft to the other person, maybe innocent too which will make the other person wAnT tO pRoTeCt YoU aT aLL cOsT🥺 because to them you're vulnerable to the world😐😐😐😐.

SR mars in the 3rd- alot of fights with your siblings/ cousins/ childhood friends. Way of communication may be direct, more straight forward, could even be a little cruel ehe🤭. Probably guna put people in their fucking place. Humbling down people alot.💅

SR aquarius ascendant- very detached from the emotions. Its like giving yourself 5 minutes to feel everything then after that, stop feeling completely until the next year. ORRR.... you could be in your feelings for the 1st or last 6 months then the rest of the year? Nonchalant🧘(could be opposite).Your mood for the year: 'eehh'😐 'Okhay'😐 'Yeah'😐 'Mhm'😐 'No'😐 'Don't'😐 'Shut up'😐 'Can you leave me alone'😐 'Youre so annoying'😐 'Can you stop'😐 'Omg youre a fucking fe/male'😐. Might be the year you'll question your sexuality.

SR lilith in the 4th- watch your closest ones/ own family turn against you just cuz you stood up against their negativity and manipulation. Oof!! 😍😍😍THE BEST YEAR EVERRR!!!🥳🤯💋 Sarcasm intented. Theyre going to spread false rumors about you. Play victim card in the situations they create. Its like creating a problem for you to solve.🧍🏻‍♀️🧍‍♂️🗣

SR venus in the 5th- will attract ALOT of love interests👀🔥🧲 but since its a 5th house, it wont be long lasting. For girls: this placement can make guys crazily obsessed with you for monthsss beware as they can note down your every move (3 of my friends had this and the guys ended up following them home, it was scary). For guys: this can make girls want to be with you just bcz everyone wants you, youre the center of everyone's attention (cheating could be involved too👀)

SR Sun/mars/pluto in the 6th- take care of your health because; sun: can make you vulnerable to the evil eyes which could lead you to falling sick frequently🪰🧿. Mars: your anger, impulsiveness, all the othet martian feelings, can make you sick as well, so beware of your surroundings and your mental health🎭. Pluto: the jealousy with this can turn physical real quick✂️. And all three: JUST. TAKE. CARE. 😀 🫠

SR moon in the 7th- sweeeeettttt cravings will ⬆️⬆️. Feeling very joyful for no reason🌞. Feeling 'Butterfly in the stomach' frequently🦋. Lovesick🐕‍🦺.

SR mercury in the 5th- you could hear from a friend that a lot of "certain someone's" like you😊. Love to talk about your interests and hobbies. Involvement in frequent get-togethers, random friends meet💁🏻‍♀️.

SR saturn in the 8th- might deal with your own fears. Could be a triggering year for you🧘.

SR nn in the 9th/12th- frequent travels🗺. Might overthink alot about the world and the life (a lot of what's, why's, who's, how's, etc).

Wherever SR Jupiter is, you're expanding that. Like for eg- 5th house: your interests, might pursue your hobbies, or if you already are, lets say an artist, youll expand your art, the type of drawings you make. 2nd house: your business. Money. Self esteem. Confidence. 11th house: your friend circle, electronics, etc.

SR saturn/neptune in the 8th- out of nowhere setbacks, betrayal, cheating, etc are possible. BUT you WILL receive a news about CERTAIN SOMEONE which will make you question them🤫. Or youll get to know some f-ed up family secrets😗.

SR Scorpio ascendant- watch people getting intimated💁🏻‍♀️. You're guna hear rumorssss about youuu👀🤫. Random guys/girls approaching you with the intention of "hUmBLiNg YoU dOwN" 🗣💩 (ykwim).

SR venus in the 7th- randomly, out of nowhere, falling for someone veryyyy haaarrrdd🕳🚶🏻‍♀️.This usually happens within 3-5 months after your birthday.

Whereas... 😗

SR neptune/saturn in the 7th- showing you why you shouldn't have😊. (If i were you i wouldn't give them a 2nd chance, many people don't deserve it🧘. Pay attention if its their "traits" or "company" either way, you shouldn't forgive them because "traits" are self explanatory, they wont ever change, and if its the "company" affecting them then its guna be tiring for you and trust me you wouldn't want a person who is gullible🧍🏻‍♀️).

SR Uranus anywhere- sudden. Anything sudden. For the better or the worse🎭. Out of nowhere. Unexpected👀. The ex you didn't see? Here s/he comes💩. Job offer🌞. Oldest friend contacting you🏌‍♂️.realization about career path. Your personality, your looks. Family dynamics. Home, etc.

SR lilith/neptune in the 1st/5th/7th/8th/10th/11th- people be copying youuuu i seeee👀. Your secret enemies wanting to be you👀. Copying your style, outfit, skincare. Haircare, haircut, your hobbies, even your career path🤾‍♀️. Amd they'll still have the audacity to TELL YOU how you should be doing *insert what you're good at* 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍‍♂️like?????. Jealousy runs deeeppp 😶‍🌫️.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Thank you for reading :) <3

#astrology observations #astro notes #astro community #astro placements #astrology placements #solar return #solar return observations #astrology notes

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dollfacefantasy · 5 months ago

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toji fushiguro x crybaby!fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, dacryphilia a/n: i'll probably write the mating press one at some point too i just felt like doing this instead today

Thinking of Toji Fushiguro with his sweet, sensitive girlfriend who's had a bad day.

He's lounging on the couch when you get home. His head rests on the cushion with one of his thick arms tucked behind his head. His meaty thighs are spread wide open, almost calling for someone to sit on his lap.

The second you come through the front door, he knows something’s up. You don’t have a pretty smile for him or chirpy hello. You just brush by and head straight to the bedroom. He doesn’t have to ask the obligatory ‘how was your day?’ to know his baby is overworked and overtired.

When you return to his vicinity, your clothes from going out are gone, swapped in favor of soft pants and a thin camisole. You answer the call his thighs put out and take up the spot on his lap, landing on one of his legs and curling your own to rest your feet on the other.

"s'wrong, baby?" he murmurs with a small peck to your temple. His fingers trail up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm.

You sniffle before answering and tilt your head back. Another couple tells. “Just tired n’ stuff,” you answer weakly.

“Yeah? That all?” he asks while using his arms to squish your body closer to his. His lips lay feather-light kisses across your cheekbone and down to the skin beneath your jawline.

You tilt your cranium for him, giving him more room to lavish affection on you. The rest of your body melts in his direction, eager for him to soothe more of your problems away with his presence.

He covers one side of your throat with his lips while his fingers tend to the other. They stroke back and forth in little stripes. When you don’t answer his last question, he tries a different one.

“Just a bad day?” he mumbles.

To that, you nod.

He hums knowingly. His hand on your neck slides down over your breast to your waist. He knows what you need. You don’t want to actually talk about what’s wrong. Don’t want advice or a place to vent. You just want Toji to make it better in the best way he knows how.

“Why’s everyone so hard on my girl, hm?” he murmurs. His lips drift the opposite direction of his palm, finding your cheek again and working over to your lips.

“I dunno,” you answer before his lips swallow the sound of your voice.

Soft, wet noises from kisses replace actual words. You melt against his chest, letting him support you in the embrace. One set of your digits lazily plays with the smooth ends of his obsidian locks that sit at the nape of his neck. You can feel the frayed skin of his scar as your mouth moves on his own.

The first time this happened, Toji felt like he was doing something wrong. Beforehand, he thought you’d want to feel listened to when you were sad. That you’d expect him to provide words of alleviation. Maybe you’d wanna watch some of your favorite movies or order takeout from that place you like. Instead, all you wanted was the most base form of physical comfort. And there was no way he was gonna complain about that.

His fingertips pet your waist while his other hand slides down between your legs. He cups your sex before actually administering any touches.

“My baby just needs to relax a little,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your saliva coated lips.

You nod and brush your nose against the tip of his. “Need you.”

He hears another tiny sniff in your voice. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip before he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I know,” he coos, voice low and smooth, “Need daddy to just rub all those worries right out.”

A whimper spills from you - both a reaction to the words and his thick fingers that were beginning to stroke your cunt over your soft bottoms. The sensation is too dull to provide any real pleasure, but it’s enough to stoke the sparks of anticipation into flames.

You lean back and angle your hips upward, giving him more access to your center. He pushes down with slightly more pressure. A puff of air leaves you both in sync as you each fall into the rhythm of this dance.

He doesn’t play with you through two layers for too long. When he does slide his hand under the waist band of your pants, he also bypasses your panties. His digits delve right between your folds, seeking out the tender wetness that lies there.

His middle finger finds your clit with learned precision. It gives the swollen bud a few swipes, relishing the mewl you let out.

Your body loosens up as his finger begins to work at you more. His shoulder catches your head when it falls back. Moments later, your legs spread a little wider across his lap to make this all easier for him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he praises.

Like always, he rubs you dumb. Toji’s skilled fingers get you all floaty and mindless in the span of five minutes. Your eyelids droop while your pupils find his face. You see him smirk, visibly amused by your look of love.

“Looks like you’re gonna start droolin’ for me,” he teases and swipes at the edge of your lip with his free thumb.

You don’t know what makes him so good at this, what gives him the ability to crack you like a safe, but he does it time and time again. Your head begins to fill with clouds as tears mist over your water line. It’s as if he reduces you down to your most base instincts.

He can see the extra shimmer in your eyes. “Such a good girl,” he croons.

His scar splits with a grin. More arousal begins to leak from you, slicking up your cunt and his fingers. He drags his digit over your entrance. He doesn’t dip it in, only uses enough pressure to tease.

When you sniffle for the third time and turn your face into the warmth of his neck, he knows you’re ready for more.

His hand glistens with your nectar when he frees it from your panties. He gives you a little boost and tugs down the garments before sitting you back on his lap bare. He was already semi-hard from watching you get worked up. Palming at his bulge, he gets it to fill out some more and then pushes his own bottoms down.

As much as he loved making you ride, you were in no mood to right now. He tilts you back against his chest, kissing at your neck while jerking his cock a few more times.

You get your legs back up into his lap, which works out for the position he wants you in. One of his hands grips your hips, guiding you up so he can slot his swollen tip at your hole. He presses at it gently, popping into you and letting you adjust to the first part of him. Whining in satisfaction, you squirm against him.

“Hold still for me, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of it,” he breathes.

His hands cup behind your knees, folding you up against him. Lifting his hips, he slides the rest of his thick shaft into you. That’s what breaks you open and beckons those waiting tears to roll down your cheeks.

He soothes you through it. You’re not in pain, and he knows that. You need this release. He's just more than happy to give it to you.

You’re so used to the satisfying stretch of Toji’s cock. It stills draws these tears from you, but the best kind. And this is the way you like to get it. Held up in his strong arms while he pumps his hips up and down.

His heavy balls sway with the movements of his pelvis. The prickle of his hair down there meets your ass every few seconds. He nestles his own face against your skin, muffling his grunts with your skin.

“This making you feel better, sweetheart?” he coos, his voice more strained than before. Your cunt was just so tight and warm. Each thrust enveloped his dick with feelings straight from heaven.

“Uh huh,” you choke out. It’s impossible for you not to clench around Toji. He just fills you so well.

His tip prods at your interior sweet spots. You arch your back, breasts heaving from the slow stream of pleasure filling your veins. His pace is nice and slow for now; designed to settle your emotions. He could speed up and drive you to more tears in a few minutes.

“Fuck,” you sniffle simply, your hand rising to wipe your tears away.

“It’s ok. You let it allllll out,” he says from behind you, voice laced with the pleasure of knowing he handled you just how you needed.

“T-thank you, daddy,” you whimper.

“s’what I’m here for.”

Once that pace becomes too comfortable, he starts speeding up. Your pussy squelches with the increased fervor of his efforts and another cry leaks from your throat.

He groans against your neck, dick throbbing at the noise. His hips rock up and down, up and down. He can feel the simmer of release beginning to sizzle in his belly, and he knows you’re probably feeling the same. It only makes him work harder.

The muscles in his legs go taut as he uses them for leverage and prepares to feel the rush of euphoria.

“Almost ready for me, babydoll?” he mutters in your ear.

You nod. Your own legs quiver while your hips buck. Your breaths come out in pants, measured despite their ragged quality.

One of your hands slithers down to rub at your clit to give yourself that extra edge as you hurtle towards the finish line. The combination of the two sensations gets you there. A whimper tangled with a long whine bursts from you and your pelvis bucks sharply as if you’re the one thrusting.

“Oh-ho. There it is,” Toji coos. His hand slithers forward, draping your leg over his forearm insstead of holding it. His fingers wrap around your throat, keeping you as close as possible while he fucks you through the high.

A sob tumbles from your mouth as the rest of your features scrunch up. Twitching and writhing, you ride out the wave of euphoria. You’re so far entrenched in the bliss of release, you nearly miss the feeling of Toji reaching his peak and flooding your pussy with a strong eruption of cum.

His hips falter when the feeling crashes into him, but he manages to stay steady as the pleasure rolls through him. His hips pump each rope deep inside you.

You’re through with it first, but he’s not far behind you. You come down together. Your body sits boneless on his lap while he stays nestled inside you.

Slowly, his arms dislodge your legs from their folded up position. He uses the freedom to bring his thumb to your cheek and wipe away any remaining tears. You nuzzle at his throat in appreciation.

No words are needed between you two, but you offer one anyways.

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. Your face looks at him genuinely but with a simultaneous desire to not get so serious.

He pats your waist. “Don’t mention it. There are worse ways you could need my help,” he says. That scar you love so much thins as he gives you an expression similar to yours.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #this was self indulgent can you tell 🤩#ch: toji fushiguro 💌

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1d1195 · 14 days ago

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Two Negatives - Extra I

Read Two Negatives here | ~1.8k words

From me: idk if anyone is going to like this. I feel like nothing about it makes sense but I just wanted him to worship her.

Warnings: smut smut smut (but probs not the kind you want from this Harry)

Summary: Harry loves annoying her still. Especially when he wants to please her.

It had been two months of Harry doing so many sweet things for her. Granted he headed home for his winter break, and she stayed on campus so some of the sweet things were virtual but that was fine by her. He FaceTimed her every single day, making sure she had enough to eat and that she wasn’t overexerting herself with tutoring the winter classes and working at the local coffee shop. “It’s kind of nice being here alone,” she said quietly. But it felt like she was saying the opposite. He knew she missed her mum and knew that she was a bit lonely. Her mum sent presents and so did Harry. Each of them FaceTimed her on Christmas day and she had dinner at a local, good restaurant per Harry and his money.

He tried to get her to come back home for Christmas, but she begrudgingly told him she would be upset and missing her mom and didn’t want to put a damper on the holiday.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him. “I hardly got you anything in comparison.”

“Honestly, kitten, jus’ being yourself is a gift t’me,” he assured her. “You’re like m’missing piece.”

“Well, you got me too much stuff.”

“Y’winter coat was stressing me out. Can’t have a popsicle for a girlfriend. S’not even name brand, so don’t have a fit,” he reminded her. He sounded slightly irritated. Like how he sounded when she was in class and didn’t want to give him an answer or all the back and forth when she didn’t give him a pencil. “M’not ignoring you,” he said when his face disappeared from her screen and the little pause took his spot. “M’going through withdrawals,” it had only been two weeks since he left school for home. “M’checking m’calendar t’see when I can come visit you.”

“Harry?” She asked quietly. The thought that he was letting her know why he was paused made her woozy.

“Yes, kitten?” He answered instantly, still not looking at her as he presumably looked over his calendar.

“I love you.” The pause turned back to Harry almost instantly. He blinked, his lips parted ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure she had ever caught Harry off guard and the silence that ensued in those following moments made her feel ridiculous. “I’m sorry,” she looked down at her lap, embarrassment in the form of red cheeks took over her face. “I know it’s probably too early to say that and you probably don’t feel the same—”

“Kitten,” he shook his head.

“—it’s just I don’t have any other words to explain how—”

“Baby,” he tried again.

“—I feel and it’s like I can’t keep it bottled up because it was just dying to come out, I want to say it all the time—”

“Your Majesty,” he chuckled shaking his head making her finally stop rambling when she heard the slightly antagonistic nickname that she hadn’t heard as often since he replaced it with kitten and baby. There was no need to tease her much anymore, not to the degree he had been. “I love you, too. M’gonna pack some clothes, and m’going t’make my way out now. Because the only reason I’ve hesitated t’say it these last two weeks is because m’not there t’kiss every inch of your pretty face when I say it,” he explained. “Now sit tight, wait an hour, and m’planning on doing just that.”

Her face remained flushed, and she wondered how anyone in their right mind broke off a relationship with someone as sweet as him.

True to his word, Harry didn’t pressure her to have sex. In fact, he considered not doing it with her at all. Not until they got married if that’s what it took to gain her trust. But when he slept over, he was a slave to nature, and she couldn’t help but notice his hard dick pressed against her butt when she woke in the morning.

“Sorry,” he mumbled turning his hips the other direction.

“I think it’s actually very complimentary,” she shrugged.

He chuckled. “Well, m’hard jus’ ‘bout all the time from jus’ looking at you, kitten,” he assured her. “Y’don’t have t’worry ‘bout that.”

“I would really like to have sex with you.”

“I know,” he brushed his hand over hair brushing it down softly. “I do too.”

“Well, can we?”

He brought her closer again, a breath of laughter warmed her ear as his body wrapped around hers. “I jus’ want t’make sure s’what y’want. Because... I don’t want you t’think m’with you, in love with you, and downright obsessed with you, because I think you’re going to be extremely hot in bed.”

“I don’t think that. I want that too. I’ve heard really good rumors about you,” she reminded him which made him snort through a bout of laughter.

“Mmm...”

“I just think it would be special. To be that close. And... I don’t really know how else to...” she heard it coming out of her mouth before she completely said it. Fortunately, she managed to stop herself.

“Yeah,” he nodded and kissed the side of her face. “I know.”

“I don’t mean... It’s not like I don’t love you... it’s just that— I’m—”

“Kitten, I don’t want you t’do it because y’think y’owe me something. Y’don’t. The fact y’even want to is mind-blowing,” he acknowledged. “But... I don’t think s’a secret that I teased you a lot. Then I didn’t. That y’had t’deal with a lot of heavy stuff on your own,” he reminded her. “Y’don’t owe me for anything. So if we have t’wait, then we wait.”

“You’re so much sweeter than I ever thought you’d be,” she sighed.

He chuckled. “Good.”

“Can’t we do... something, though?”

Harry was tracing his finger along her skin, going up her neck and across her jaw. He smiled. “S’that something y’want?” He asked. “Cause I can do something for you,” he brushed his lips along her ear. “S’obvious I’ve been dreaming ‘bout a few things I could do t’your body, hmm?” He asked sliding his hand along her hip.

“Well...” she cleared her throat. “I meant more so something I could do for you.”

Harry could feel his dick twitch. “Kitten,” he hummed. “I don’t—”

“I have never had any complaints about—”

“Baby,” he laughed. “I know s’going t’be perfect.”

She blushed. “Well... can I?”

His heart fluttered. “Are you... begging?”

“Well, I don’t want to but you’re being stubborn!”

He chuckled. “God, you’re sexy,” he brought her mouth to his. The kiss made her hot and flustered. He pulled back and smiled at her. “No, y’can’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry. You’re even obnoxious when you’re sweet,” she sighed dramatically.

He chuckled, kicking the covers back. “Take your pants off.”

“You just said—”

“Well, m’going first,” he shrugged.

“But I—”

“Y’need t’relax and m’insistent.”

“It was my idea!”

Harry shrugged and propped his head on a pillow and laid completely still. “Y’can sit on m’face now or not. But if y’don’t, m’not letting y’suck m’dick.”

His bluntness made her flustered, her face beat red, and Harry just waited patiently while she decided. Smug and hot. The worst combination and yet he was all hers. “I haven’t even showered, Harry.”

“Y’already made the sale, kitten,” he tutted.

“Jesus Christ,” she covered her face and slid her pants off her legs as quickly as she could.

“Y’think I told you I was going t’break each of your fingers one by one and not about t’make y’come on m’tongue,” he teased.

She straddled his chest and Harry’s hands clasped the outside of her thighs urging her forward. “I don’t...” she swallowed.

“What?” He paused giving her thighs a squeeze.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “Isaac only did this like once and I don’t really know how I’m supposed to...” she pressed a hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“It would be an honor,” he assured her. She didn’t answer. “Kitten, look at me please,” his voice was gentle. “You’re stunning and I love you,” his voice had a promise in it’s tone. “If y’want t’stop, we stop. It doesn’t have t’be all or nothing here,” he rubbed her thigh. “M’not even going t’take your underwear off unless y’ask. Please relax or it won’t be fun,” he reminded her. “And m’a grown man, if y’suffocate me, I’ll let you know,” he promised.

“You could just let me suck your dick without begging and then maybe I’d—”

“Kitten, jus’ let me make y’come, alright? God you’re so stubborn,” he tugged her legs toward his face so she would be lined up with his mouth.

“Wait!”

“My God, what?!”

“I love you too,” she said quietly.

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Good. Now shut up. Unless you’re going to scream my name.”

“I don’t scream,” she warned but her voice was thin. His breath was warm against her core. Even with the small layer of underwear between her and his sinful mouth that she all but dreamed about.

“Oh, kitten,” he practically cooed. The thought of every exam they took, all the homework questions they argued over, every single time she bantered with him about a pencil... all of it was at the forefront of his mind but now coincided with the gorgeous image of her straddling his face, pressing a hand to the wall behind his head. If he argued with her in class from then on he was going to be fucked. He would probably come in his pants just thinking about this moment and he hadn’t even tasted her yet.

Which was short lived as he licked a stripe over the triangle of fabric covering where Harry wanted her most. He groaned as she gasped. He soaked her underwear with his tongue and the mess she was making. He pulled her hips closer. He wanted her closer to his mouth and he could tell she was holding back. But as he licked and licked, making her underwear practically translucent with his saliva and her wetness, he was able to suck and swirl his tongue over her clit. Her whimpers were music to his ears. Hopefully she would beg him to remove her underwear in the next few moments. But he was perfectly content with this as well. It was heaven. She was heaven. “C’mon, kitten. Don’t y’want t’scream?” He teased.

“No,” but her voice cracked, and she moaned softly. Harry pulled her tighter to his mouth, only pulling her away ever so slightly so he could speak, and she would hear it over her gasps.

“Y’sure, kitten? Y’know I love a challenge. Especially when it comes to you.”

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novy2sirius · 5 months ago

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astro notes volume nine

༊࿐ gemini’s often get hated on because a lot of people hate themselves but don’t realize it. gemini’s are mirrors. they try to relate to you as much as possible. this is also why they’re so charming. they match people’s vibes. long term though people tend to dislike them since they don’t wanna meet themselves/be around people like them. this isn’t always the case of course. when low vibrational there is definitely gemini’s that are fake since the sign is associated with gossip. there is times when they will be nice to your face and then talk bad about you behind your back. however, high vibrational ones put their energy toward their interests and don’t gossip, but instead have better communication skills and are direct with people

༊࿐ aquarius’ are probably the most misunderstood sign. every one i’ve met has just had a chaotic upbringing and because of this they have lots of chaos going on their mind sometimes. they don’t always know how to express themselves perfectly as they’re the opposite sign of leo, so they can come off as cold and insensitive. i’ve actually found often times they don’t even truly know when they’re being insensitive though until they’ve been called out by someone and then (if they’re evolved) they do try and correct this if they know they’ve hurt someone, so in other words it’s not that they don’t care about you, it’s that they can be quite literally unaware due to their upbringing and them being raised in a “cold” household. i would say especially aquarius moons though

༊࿐ moon square mars can indicate what your soul truly wants to do in life doesn’t always align with your actions and it may take some time for you to make changes in your life or change who you are as a person. for these people change is harder than it is for others since the moon is associated with comfortability, squares create obstacles, and mars is where we take action they want to stay in their comfort zone and can lack motivation at times depending on where they happen to be at in life. people with this aspect should force themselves to do things they don’t want to in order to try and work through this square

༊࿐ venus and the ascendant are great placements to check for fashion, but if you want more info about fashion you can also check the house of your neptune as it is the higher octave of venus. the sign in neptune doesn’t change often, so it won’t be telling, but the house can be helpful! for example, neptune in the 10h could indicate looking better in classy clothes, professional clothes, brown clothes, or darker colored clothing

༊࿐ jupiter is the planet of ease, so yes it can show things that come to us with ease, but it can also show areas where we’re lazy because jupiter discusses the areas we haven’t had to ever work for. for example, jupiter in the 5h could indicate being too lazy to have any hobbies that are productive and just enjoying watching netflix, jupiter in the 4h could indicate being too lazy to leave the house and just being a huge homebody, etc

༊࿐ your 4th house ruler can tell the type of things that you inherit from your family members. this doesn’t just include hereditary things, but also things we have in common with our family that we’ve learnt as children and taken into adulthood. for example, often those with their 4th house ruler in the 7th house act a lot like their parents do in their own relationships once they start dating or genetically it could mean having similar beauty to one of your parents (usually the mother)

༊࿐ your 8th house profection year is at 19 years old which is why we hear most people say that 19 is a really hard age. it’s a very transformational time in your life for multiple reasons. 19 is also the number of negative karma in numerology, so it will especially be a struggle if you’ve got a lot of unresolved karma that you’re carrying with you. it can be even worse if you’re a gemini or cancer ascendant because it will also be a saturn year for you on top of it being an 8h year. for profection charts everyone will have the same house years, but not planets in each year

༊࿐ the part of fortune can show what type of luck we attract at our worst moments (when we need it most). this is different than jupiter representing ways in our life we get lucky in general. for example, an aries part of fortune can indicate getting what you want by being direct/assertive with people or getting really lucky during super dangerous moments when you’ve could’ve literally died. i know someone with their part of fortune in the 10th house who didn’t go to college and basically lounged around at 18-19 doing nothing with their life, but then at 20 created an online business and got really lucky because it happened to blow up on tiktok. they were at the worst point in their life before their company blew up though, so as you can see part of fortune is more about major lucky events that happen right after you’re at a low point in life

— © novy2sirius don’t copy my work !

#astrology #astrology blog #astrology chart #birth chart #astrology community #astro community #astrology notes #numerology #numerology blog #astrology observations

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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[3.5k] married life has perks that you hadn't ever imagined. and it came with duties you never considered to exist in a totally fake, accidental marriage with a three time world champion who was not what he seemed.

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As stupid as it sounded considering he had messaged his confirmation, you hadn’t actually expected Max to show up. At most, you expected the question for your address was just going to be him sending the McDonald’s to you with a note saying ‘just this once’.

So when someone knocked on the door a little past ten o’clock, you really weren’t expecting to find Max standing on the other side with a bright smile on his face and two bags full of groceries in his hands.

You stood there, dumbfounded and blinking at the world champion in front of you. “You were serious.”

His brows furrowed together slightly like you were the one being out of character. “Yeah, I was,” he said, waiting a few moments before he continued. “So, are you going to let me in or—”

“Oh, yeah!” You flashed him a shy smile as you stepped to the side, pulling the door open a little wider as he stepped into your apartment. You made a brief, noncommittal noise and muttered something about a kitchen in the direction you waved your hand, but Max walked in the right direction almost like he owned the place.

Like he knew his way around your apartment with ease.

The thought shouldn’t have pleased you as much as it did.

You glanced down at your attire with a frown, your cheeks burning at your chosen outfit but, in your defence, you really hadn’t expected Max—or anyone—to come over tonight. The shirt was an old one of your father’s you had stolen from his closet many years ago, the pyjama bottoms were from a Christmas set your family had got a couple of years ago and your hair was pushed back from your face in some messy hair-do that probably wasn’t the most flattering.

And definitely not the outfit you would have chosen if you knew Max was coming over.

But you pushed down the urge to grab a hoodie or a blanket or anything else to cover yourself up, and instead made your way towards the kitchen.

There was something oddly domestic about the sight: Max standing by the counters, emptying the contents of the bags as he murmured away to himself like he was accounting for what he actually bought. He was dressed in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie (a Red Bull one, unsurprisingly). His hair was messy, dishevelled even, like he hadn’t bothered to put any product in it today.

You decided you preferred it much better like that.

“Are you okay with quesadillas?”

You blinked, looking at Max with raised brows. “You can make quesadillas?”

Max glanced at you over his shoulder, something quite like amusement shining in his eyes. “You say that like it’s a hard dish to make.”

“I still burn toast,” you admitted with a shrug. “So anything that isn’t charred is impressive to me.”

Max snorted, almost like he thought you were joking. It was embarrassing that you weren’t, and almost impressive itself that you had managed to stay alive this long by yourself after you moved out of your mother’s house.

“Yes, I can make quesadillas,” he said, finally answering your question as he began to move through the kitchen like he belonged. “It won’t take long, maybe thirty minutes at most.”

“I may starve to death by then,” you whined, a playful tint to your words as you pulled yourself to sit up on the empty counter space on the opposite side of the kitchen from him. “McDonald’s would have been faster. And I would have eaten by now.”

Max turned to glare at you, his eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t eaten all day. I wasn’t going to let your first proper meal be McDonald’s.”

“And you said you wanted to be husband of the year,” you murmured, returning the glare and you could see his lips twitching upwards. “Plus, I was too busy to even attempt to cook for myself!”

“Too busy to eat?” He questioned, not quite convinced.

“I got wrapped up in my work,” you admitted, feeling your face burn as he watched you closely. You waited for him to get the same look on his face—the one your brothers’ or your mother always gave you—that screamed ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’. But it never came.

Much to your surprise—something Max had been doing consistently over the last few weeks—he looked intrigued, interested, fascinated.

“What work was it?”

You told yourself it was a throwaway comment. That he was just being polite.

“Are you trying to stall the fact you don’t actually know how to make quesadillas?” You teased, head tilted slightly to the side as Max smirked in response.

“I can multitask,” he assured you. “I can listen and cook.”

“Max Verstappen? Being the listener instead of having people listen to him?” You let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Now, that is just unheard of.”

Max rolled his eyes, though you didn’t see the fond action.

“Maybe everyone else just isn’t interesting enough to listen to,” he stated simply as he began to work, collecting the vegetables he had chosen and taking them to sink to wash.

You watched him closely. “And I am?”

“Always,” he said, flashing you a smile over his shoulder before his focus returned to the food.

Despite his offer, you changed the conversation to something that was…well, more of a two way conversation rather than you talking about yourself and your work uninterrupted. Though, you pushed down that kernel of something warm and fuzzy and kept it hidden safe, even if his words were just a polite offer covered in sweet words.

Around forty minutes later, you sat beside the boy on the counter as you both happily ate your quesadillas, a bright smile on your face as he began to retell some old story about him and Charles back in the karting days. Once you had both finished, you took his empty plate and waved away his offer to wash the dishes as you assured him you had a dishwasher that did the job just fine.

Your back was turned to him as you loaded all the dishes into the dishwasher, not seeing the way his eyes drifted to some papers hidden under a pile of magazines.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“These drawings.”

You froze for a moment before you turned around, finding Max spreading a few sheets across the counter. Your body burned in realisation when you noted they were some of your more recent designs, the ones that didn’t fit the pretty box your professors and teachers wanted, the ones that you liked to just draw for yourself in between projects.

“Those are nothing,” you waved him off, resisting the urge to rush over and snatch them from his hands like a mad woman. “Just silly, little—”

“They are amazing,” Max interrupted, the sincerity in his voice knocking the rest of the words from your throat. “Like, insanely good.”

You put your focus back on cleaning up, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted—almost pleasantly—at his words. You felt like you were moving in a trance as you cleaned down the counters and turned the dishwasher on before you made your way towards Max.

His focus was still on the sketches, his eyes scanning every little detail like it was important for him to memorise it all. You don’t think anyone outside of your teachers had ever looked at your work with such…focus.

“They really are nothing,” you said to Max as you stood beside him, fingers tracing over the drawings like they were gentle strokes of a pencil. “Just some fun on the side.”

“Charles mentioned you went to school for this. Fashion, no?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together like he tried to remember the sliver of information he learnt about you years ago.

“Fashion designing and business management,” you said, letting out a sigh. “I love it, I do. It’s just…”

His attention focused fully on you. “Just what?”

“Constricting, I guess,” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. You turned to look at him, expecting judgement but there was nothing but understanding in his eyes. “I know in the long run these classes will help be but sometimes I just…”

“Want to do what you want?” Max finished, a small smile gracing his lips and it looked so pretty with his flushed cheeks. “I get the feeling.”

“One too many team orders ignored?” You questioned, your voice light and teasing and you were glad when he laughed in response.

“Something like that.”

A few moments passed with neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t silent, it never was in Monaco. There was still plenty of noise outside: cars revving, people laughing and cheering, the distant sound of music playing from some party who knows how many streets away. It was never quiet in Monaco, but there was something comforting about the blanket of outside noise when you were in your apartment with Max.

“Come with me.”

He had blurted the words out so suddenly that it took you a few seconds to realise what he said, what he was asking. You blinked once, then twice and still your brain was confused.

“Come with you where?”

He paused before his cheeks burned a light pink colour, like he realised he hadn’t given much explanation or context before he blurted the words out. He cleared his throat, his shoulders looking a little tense as he tried again.

“Come with me to the FIA ceremony,” he said and, if you didn’t know better, you would have sworn he was nervous. Max Verstappen—three time world champion—looked nervous. “I mean, you’re my wife and…stuff.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “And I want you there.”

Your lips parted in surprise, taking a few moments before the shock washed away and the questions started. “I—don’t you already have someone as your plus one?”

He looked a little embarrassed when he shook his head. “I honestly planned to go alone.”

Your heart lurched a little at the idea. “Don’t you have to tell them in advance?”

“I’d say a few days is enough,” he replied, a small smirk on his lips once again as realisation dawned on you.

“Oh my god.”

Max frowned a little. “What—”

“I only have a few days to find something to wear!” You hissed, your eyes widening as Max let out a loud, boisterous laugh. You slapped his arm, a wave of panic washing over you. “Max, this is serious! I have nothing!”

Max tried to fight his laughter. “It’s not that big of a deal, you don’t have to wear—”

“Yes, it is a big deal! It’s the official ceremony! I am the world champion’s date!” You said, looking at him like he had grown another head. “Oh my god, I am going to have to go shopping tomorrow.”

Max’s nose wrinkled. “Please tell me husband duties end at quesadillas and don’t extend to shopping trips.”

...

“When you said to come visit you in Monaco before heading home for the holidays, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

The curtain pulled back enough for you to poke your head out and glare at the blond sitting on the purple velvet futon. However, Logan just stared back at you with an absolutely bored expression on his face.

“You said you didn’t mind what we did,” you argued back.

“That was before we knew we would be sucked into dress shopping,” Oscar muttered under his breath, his focus on his phone screen. However, Logan quickly nudged his ribs with the point of his elbow and the Aussie let out a hiss as he snapped his head up. “What? We are, like, the two worst people you could have brought with you.”

“And it’s not fair Arthur got out of it,” Logan added with a pout.

“Who else could I have asked?” You retorted, looking between both boys with an expectant look. “Plus, I want to spend some time with my best friends before Christmas.”

“I know you are only saying best friends to butter us up but I have to say it’s working for me,” Logan admitted with a sigh, ignoring the way Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Charles likes his fashion,” Oscar supplied lamely before frowning. “But not…good fashion.”

“Understatement of the century,” you snorted before pulling the curtain shut again and surveying the pile of dresses you had dragged into the dressing room less than an hour ago. This had been your fourth shop of the day and you still hadn’t found anything to wear for the FIA ceremony. “I don’t think he would have taken so kindly to me asking him which dress he thinks Max would think I look the hottest in.”

“And we would?” Oscar grumbled.

“Is he still pissed?” Logan asked, ignoring the Aussie before you poked your head out and took even longer to get through the dresses. “I thought he was playing nice at the dinner with Pascale.”

“He did,” you confirmed with a nod, even though they couldn’t see you as you frowned at the orange dress you had just slipped on. Definitely not the right shade. “But he has also been forwarding me divorce lawyers and articles on American Marriage Laws.”

“Yikes,” the blond muttered. “He really hates the idea of you being married to Max.”

“He is an overprotective brother, he always has been.” You sighed as you glanced at yourself before shaking your head, moving onto the next dress which was an odd shade of moss green. “I think a part of him just blames himself for not stopping everything back in Vegas, so he feels the need to fix the mess now.”

“Do you wish someone had stopped you?” Oscar asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

You paused, unsure how to answer.

“It’s not like you could have stopped her, grandpa, you were in bed before the sun had even set,” Logan snorted, breaking the few seconds of silence as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

“And where were you?” Oscar retorted. “If you were up, why did you not stop her?”

“I was busy myself.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business, Piastri.”

“Out making your own mistakes?”

“Excuse you—”

“God, maybe it was a mistake to bring the two of you,” you commented as the curtain was pulled open again, and you stood in the entryway of the dressing room. You looked at them, your hands on your hips and a grin on your face. “If I had to guess, I would have said the two of you got married in Vegas with the way you bicker.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “As if I would marry him.”

“Uh, people would love to marry me,” Logan frowned before his attention shifted to your dress, his nose scrunching up in disgust. “Yeah no, puke green looks good on no one. Next!”

...

“Holy shit.”

With the FIA Ceremony being held in Baku, it meant that you and Max had to fly his jet out to Azerbaijan the day before. You hadn’t even thought about the logistics of the trip until after you had bought the dress and Max had sent you confirmation that Christian had managed to book an extra room at the hotel so you didn’t have to share with him.

It was incredibly stupid for you to be so nervous about the whole event when it wasn’t even about you. Yet, Max looked the splitting image of calmness as he sat across from you in the plane, tapping away on his phone as he played some stupid game Lando had got him addicted to.

His nerves remained calm once you landed, his hand on the small of your back as he led you towards the car that was designated with taking you to the hotel. He was a gentleman all throughout dinner as he kept one arm around the back of your chair as he indulged in small talk with Christian and Checo. He even walked you to your hotel room door—though it was next door to his—and pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek and walked towards his room before you could even say anything.

Max Verstappen, three-time world champion, was completely unfazed by the fact he was about to step in front of hundreds of cameras with his new wife.

You, however, were two steps away from shitting yourself.

You had practically clung onto Oscar the next day, needing a sense of normalcy before you had to start getting ready. Though, in an annoyingly predictable turn of events, even Oscar wasn’t fazed by the upcoming ceremony and the award he was about to collect himself. If anything, he found your freakout to be highly entertaining before the boring trophy ceremony began.

You had paced up and down the hotel room more times than you could count as you rushed around, desperately trying to look as put together and elegant as a last minute invite could. Your heart had been in your throat in the minutes leading up to Max knocking on the door.

And for the first time, he didn’t look so sure of himself.

Max stood on the other side of the door—a sight that made your heartbeat pathetically fast as the memory of him showing up the other night at your apartment came to mind—with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands. He was dressed in a suit, his hair styled to perfection, and yet there was a flush on his cheeks as he took in your appearance.

“Good ‘holy shit’ or bad ‘holy shit’?” You teased, though you tried to cover up your own doubt as you glanced down at the floor-length red dress you had finally picked after dragging Oscar and Logan to seven different stores around Monaco.

“Good,” he breathed out, his eyes glazed over like he was in a trance as he took you in. “Definitely good.”

You didn’t even try to hide your grin. “You aren’t mad that it’s Ferrari red?”

“You could have chosen any colour and I’d still consider myself lucky that you’re standing next to me,” Max admitted, something sounding in his voice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Before you could ponder for too long, the boy cleared his throat and quickly offered the bouquet to you. “I know a boring awards ceremony isn’t exactly an ideal first date but….here.”

You took the bouquet with a wide smile, leaning down to smell the flowers appreciatively before stepping back into the room to place them on your bedside table. “Thank you, Max, they are beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said it so quietly that you almost swore you made it up.

You turned back to him, mouth open and ready to say something before you paused as you took him in, blinking in surprise.

Max frowned. “What?”

“Is that the same suit you wore last year?”

Max glanced down at himself before shrugging. “Yeah, and the year before that. And the year before that. And—”

You blanched. “You wear the same suit every year?”

“I don’t see why I need to get a new one every year,” Max argued back, clearing his throat a little.

“Max, you’re a three-time world champion. You are going to collect your third world championship,” you continued as you walked back towards where he was standing. “You should be wearing something special to commemorate the day.”

“I won the championship weeks ago though,” he said, his brows furrowed together like he didn’t understand your point. “What’s the big deal about collecting a trophy?”

“You made history this season,” you said to him, tilting your head slightly as though you were trying to size him up, trying to understand him. “You should be wearing something more special than a suit you’ve worn years in a row.”

Max nodded like he understood what you meant but his lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Next championship, you can design my suit then.”

You blinked once. And then again.

“You would wear something I designed?” You asked, almost wincing at how soft your voice sounded when you spoke.

“Of course I would,” he said before he offered his arm for you to take. “You have a year, so you’ll have plenty of time to work on a good suit. One appropriate for a four-time world champion.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “And you’re so sure you’ll win next season?”

“Oh, I know it, baby,” Max grinned back at you, and something about the way he smiled made him look so young and mischievous. “Maybe you can make one of your own designs for yourself as well. We could be matching.”

“Maybe,” you said with a smile, letting the hotel door close behind you as you tried to pretend like your heart wasn’t thundering in your chest at his implication of doing this again.

...

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 372,947 others

yourusername 3x world champion and great personal carrier. would 10/10 recommend this verstappen guy

view all 21,930 comments

maxverstappen1 the stairs were steep, you would have decked it

oscarpiastri you would have

yourusername i take my thank you back

user SHE WAS HIS DATE KWEBFKBEFJWEF

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landonorris you are so-

yourusername what did i do now?

landonorris you told me you picked the papaya dress

yourusername i said that so you would shut up

landonorris your wife is bullying me maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 good

user i can't believe this is real

user THE FACT SHE POSTED HIM WITH THE TROPHY TOO

user has anyone checked on charles?

arthur_leclerc he is currently breathing into a paper bag

user ARTHUR-

charles_leclerc i'm glad your loyalties still remain with ferrari

yourusername well it is RED bull so...

charles_leclerc i am blocking you

redbullracing our favourite wag!

charles_leclerc i am blocking you too

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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reiding-writing · 11 months ago

Note

Cold!reader accidentally letting a laugh slip after someone tells a joke (preferably Spencer) and the team is just a little shocked

CHECKMATE [ONESHOT]

/ˈtʃɛkˌmeɪt/

morgan and spencer just cannot agree on whether or not chess is actually a fun game to play, dragging you and emily into their debate in hopes of gaining a majority vote.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, playful arguing, chess slander

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 1.1k || series masterlist!!

a/n: do people actually like chess? personally i think it’s really fun but my brother seems to disagree

main masterlist!!

“You play chess in your spare time Reid, at least my hobbies are interesting,” Morgan rolls his eyes with a laugh, leaning against the back of his chair with a confident smirk on his face.

“Chess is interesting,” Spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly at Morgan’s comment, frowning like it was a direct insult to him and not just the game.

It was nine o’clock in the morning, and Spencer and Morgan were having a debate about goddamn chess. What did you do to deserve such torture first thing on a Monday?

Letting Spencer sit opposite you probably, but sometimes he’d basically do your work for you so you suppose it still had its benefits sometimes.

Sometimes being the key word.

Today was not one of those times.

“Interesting to eighty-year-old scholars maybe,” Morgan scoffs at the mere idea that chess could be a fun and intellectual game at the same time.

You didn’t mind chess per se, you wouldn’t choose it as a way to satiate your boredom, but if someone - that someone being Spencer Reid because he was the only one in the office who actually played chess regularly - asked to play a match with you, you wouldn’t turn it down.

“Actually, the average age for competitive chess players is thirty one in the United States,”

Morgan presses his middle finger against his nose bridge like he’s pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses, pointing the index finger of his other hand upwards. “Actually-”

Spencer serves him with a hard push against his shoulder. “Shut up-”

The movement causes Emily to give a little snicker from her own desk, and Morgan takes it as a sign of his victory, clasping his hands together and bringing them to rest behind his head as he crosses his left ankle over his right knee.

“Alright, chess consensus, ‘fun’ or boring?” Morgan throws his arm out to you and Emily as a gesture for your responses.

“Not for me,” Emily’s answer, whilst definitely leaning in Morgan’s favour, is objective enough so that it doesn’t unintentionally insult Spencer’s entire lineage by suggesting that chess can’t be fun.

“Alright, Ice Queen, final vote’s up to you, you can make or break the final verdict here,” Morgan tilts his head dramatically in your direction with his hands outstretched.

You look up from your desk with an exasperated sigh, looking at him through your eyebrows in a clear indication that you don’t want to be involved in the conversation.

“Awe come on don’t look like that, this is very important stuff here,” Its like every word that leaves Morgan’s mouth is just to poke fun at Spencer’s love for playing chess, and as you glance in his direction you can see his eyes on you.

He wanted the answer too. Great.

With an exaggerated groan you lean back in your chair and shrug your shoulders. “It’s fun depending on who you play it with,”

“Oh come on, what kind of half-assed answer is that?” Morgan shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You gotta pick a side here,”

“I’m entirely right,” You mirror Morgan as you cross your arms over your chest. “If you have a shit opponent then obviously it’s going to be boring,” You enunciate your answer as if it applies directly to Morgan himself.

“I am not a ‘shit opponent’,” Morgan rolls his eyes in feigned indignation. “I just get bored half-way through,”

“Because you’re shit and don’t actually know how to play,”

“Not true-”

Spencer’s nodding calls Morgan’s defences insignificant.

“Hey-” Morgan pushes his hand against Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t agree with her, I’m not bad at chess I just don’t like chess,”

“People who aren’t good at certain activities have a three times higher chance of disliking said activity,” Spencer doesn’t back down from his stance, shrugging lightly with a nonchalant expression.

“Okay, you’re teaming up on me now I’m calling favouritism,” Morgan waves his hands with a shake of his head. “Prentiss back me up here, she is so only siding with Reid because they’re secretly in love with each other,”

“Oh 100%,”

You scoff at Emily’s answer, rolling your eyes. “You’re just defensive because we’re right,”

“Chess is a very intellectual game, maybe you’re just not smart enough to understand it,” Spencer shrugs again as he shoots Morgan down, and a small snicker leaves your mouth at the combination of Spencer’s burn and the look on Morgan’s face as he computes it.

You cover up the tail end of it with a cough, hiding your mouth behind your hand, but it’s not enough to actually cover it up, and Morgan’s face moves from shock to horror as he blinks in your direction. “Am I tripping balls right now or did I just hear a laugh from the robot herself?”

“What? Am I not allowed to laugh now?” You scoff at Morgan’s apparent shock of you being able to experience positive emotions, immediately falling back into your naturally icy demeanour.

“There you are, you got possessed by a spirit of joy there for a second,”

“Shut your mouth,” You throw a crumpled up piece of paper across the desks to hit him square between his eyes and your three coworkers all burst out into laughing fits of their own.

Spencer’s laughter was much quieter than Morgan and Emily’s but it seemed to dominate your ear canals nonetheless, quashing your frustration for Morgan’s attitude under the waves of his voice and again leaving you, as Morgan had so nicely put it, ‘possessed by a spirit of joy’.

He was in a similar state, a small sense of pride flowing through his veins not only because you’d taken his side in his little debate, but also at the fact that he’d managed to make you laugh.

Him. Spencer Reid had actually managed to make the most emotionally guarded person in the whole office actually laugh.

Score one for Spencer.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #mgg #asks 🫶

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beautysamour · 2 years ago

Text

ok, confession time.

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

summary: confession time ٩( ᐛ )و

warnings: none.

a/n: I caved…

“Alright, hear me out.” “No.”

Miguel interrupts without missing a beat. You scoff as you watch him turn his back to you as he refocuses on the many projectors in front of him. “All that technology is going to rot your brain,” you mumble out under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyways,” you curl your two middle fingers inward towards your palm as you direct a web to the floating island Miguel was on. “As I was saying, hear me out.” You hear a distressed sigh coming from the man in front of you but decided to brush it off. He was going to hear you out.

He remained silent, an indirect indication for you to continue your thoughts.

“Being stressed all the time is going to do no good for the spiderverse.”

“Arachnoid humanoid poly multiverse.”

“Yeah, that, so as I was saying… having one dinner wouldn’t doom the multiverse.”

Another sigh was let out this time, but this time it was out of exhaustion. He calls out your name causing your back to straighten as he finally turns to face you.

“The fate of the multiverse,” he begins before getting cut off by a web, coming from you, connecting with his torso and jerking him towards your direction.

He tilted his head at you once you stopped pulling him closer, leaving probably three centimeters of space between you two.

He wasn’t surprised by this action, no, you’ve done this multiple times. Pulled him too close for comfort, causing all logical thoughts in his brain to short circuit as it filled with thoughts of you.

You could hear his heartbeat. It’s one of the pros that come with being a spider person, your heightened senses. In moments like these where your own heartbeat was far too hard for you control you’d rely on his to calm you down, however it seemed to have done the opposite.

Why was it so fast?

Hearing your name managed to take you out of your momentarily dazed self.

“Is everything alright?” Miguel, whose body was practically leaning on yours, lightly shook you for he was disturbed by your suddenly quiet self.

“Yeah,” you replied far too quickly as you forced yourself to take a few steps back to create some distance between you two.

“Anyways,” you stuttered out, “I was just going to say how you always loose me whenever you start talking about the multiverse. Yeah, always manages to make my brain shut off.”

Miguel stared at you confused as you start to awkwardly ramble on about how the very premise of the multiverse is strange.

“And it’s so weird how technically-“

“Stop talking.”

You immediately close your mouth.

For the third time tonight, Miguel lets out a sigh as he closes the distance between the two of you. One second your mouth is opening to question why he’s taking more steps than necessary, and the next it’s occupied by the mouth of his.

When you don’t push him away and instead lean into his body, his hand travels up to your neck and his thumb presses against the area where your adams apple would’ve been to tilt your head up slightly more.

The one to end the kiss first is you, Miguel attempts to follow and close that distance once again but gets interrupted by the hand you put on his chest to stop him.

For a second Miguel starts to think he read the entire situation wrong. But you leaned into him so what does that mean-

“Miguel,” you begin saying softly and you looked up at him, “how did you know,” when he gives you a blank expression you let out a small snicker before continuing, “that I liked you.”

He tilts his head again as he looked down at you, “You thought I wasn’t able to sense your heartbeat? Cariño, even though I don’t have the spider sense that you have, my senses are still heightened.”

“Oh,” you say dumbfounded. Right.

“Yeah,” he says quietly as he tries to kiss you again.

“Wait,” you interrupt. “So, do you…like me too?”

“…We just kissed.”

“Yeah but, friends with benefits exist-“

Miguel groaned as you began to ramble on about how kissing doesn’t mean requited feelings, and while he understood what you were saying he’d much rather feel your lips on his than watch them speak about a scenario that wasn’t the case with this situation.

“Ok, then how about we get dinner.”

You widened your eyes at his words, a smile threatens to show on your face but you try to keep your composure, “…Ok. So…is this a date?”

“Yes,” he exhales, “Yes, it will be a date.”

“Ok.” You say excitedly before connecting a web with the ground beneath you two and jumping down, “See you in…?”

“Does thirty minutes sound good?”

“Yeah,” you start to smile, “yeah, thirty minutes sounds good.” You give him an actual smile before turning around getting ready to run through the halls of hq to tell Peter and Mayday all about this interaction.

“Ok,” Miguel says under his breath as he watches you leave.

“Why are you so awkward?”

“Lyla shut up.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara atsv #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 x reader

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vivwritesfics · 1 year ago

Text

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Eight - Wine drunk

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.5K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Warnings: Daniels terrible ex, alcohol consumption, drunkenness

Series Masterlist

"Danny, we can't," Y/N said as she passed the wine bottle back to him. "I have work tomorrow and I have to get Milo to daycare," she said and leaned against the counter.

Daniel gave her another look. "You don't let loose enough, do you?" He asked as he put the wine down on the counter top. Y/N shook her head and Daniel grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer. "Well, for once, take the night off. Milo and Olivia can have a sleepover and I can drop you off at work tomorrow," he offered.

Y/N thought about it. She seriously thought about it. She and Milo had no clothes for the next day. "I have a condition," she said as she tapped her nails against the counter top. Daniel looked at her to continue. "We wake up early and go and get clothes for Milo and I."

"Deal," Daniel said and held out his hand.

As soon as Y/N shook it he pulled out his phone and set an alarm. He then handed her the wine and the opener, and went to grab two deep wine glasses.

Y/N worked on opening the wine as Daniel placed the glasses down in front of her. She filled them only half way, and handed one to Daniel. "Cheers," she said and tapped her glass against his.

They took one sip before Y/N put her glass down. "We should probably let the kids know that they're having a sleepover," she said, watching as Danny placed his own glass down.

He grinned at her and led her out of the kitchen. He took her through the halls, leading her to the living room. Milo and Olivia were still watching Cars, only at the part where Lightning was paving the road.

Their popcorn had been finished and Olivia looked half asleep. She had been so excited for this that she spent the first half of the movie explaining the entire plot to Milo. Milo was still awake, but only slightly. He looked towards the door as Daniel and his mother walked in.

She crept in front of the television and crouched in front of her son. "Hi, Munchkin," she whispered, sending a little glance in Olivia's direction. Her eyes were now fully closed as she laid against the one of the many fluffy cushions.

"Hi, momma," Milo responded, his voice tired.

"How would you like to sleep here tonight?"

Milo's face suddenly paled. "Please don't leave me here, momma," he squeaked, hugging Y/N's hand.

She let out a small, kind laugh and ruffled Milo's hair. "I'll be here too, Munchkin," she whispered and kissed the top of his head. "Are you okay if we stay here?"

Milo let out a relief breath. He pressed his finger against his chin as he thought about it. "Yeah, momma," he answered after a moment.

Kissing the top of his head, Y/N crept back out of the room. She met Daniel at the door to the living room and held up her thumbs, unable to hide her smile.

While the kids fell asleep as they watched the television, the adults walked back to the kitchen. They clinked their glasses together once and again and drank.

It wasn't clear when they ended up on the floor. But their first bottle of wine was almost finished and music played softly in the background. The kids had already been put to bed, Olivia carried to her four poster bed and Milo put to sleep in the spare room. Olivia had given up her frog teddy for Milo to cuddle while he slept. Y/N leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen and Daniel was against the cupboards opposite her.

"Who... who the fuck has their own brand of wine?" Y/N slurred as she looked at him. They both had their legs stretched out, side by side. At some point Daniel placed his warm hand onto her leg, but she wasn't complaining. Either she didn't mind or she hadn't noticed. "A-and why is the wine so good?"

Daniel squeezed her leg and finished his glass. "This was my last bottle," he answered, his voice just a little clearer than her own. "I was saving it for a special occasion."

"Sorry Danny."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because we drank all of your special wine for your special occasion."

Daniel laughed, but he didn't bother to explain it, didn't bother to explain that this was the special occasion and he was happy to share it with her.

"Can I say something?" Y/N said suddenly and Daniel nodded his head. She sucked in a breath and stared into his eyes brown eyes. "Your ex is the biggest asshole I've ever met." She said and Daniel let out a laugh, one that overtook his entire body. "Seriously!" Y/N continued. "What did you ever see in her?"

It was the wine talking, but Daniel explained it to her. He sat there and explained his romantic history with Olivia's mother. "We met when I was still in Red Bull," he answered. He didn't notice Y/N's confusion (since, you know, she doesn't know anything about Formula One) and continued. "It was actually her that convinced me to go to Renault. It was early on in our relationship and I didn't see the red flags. By the time I did, she had fallen pregnant and she didn't want to get rid of it.

"We stayed together, tried to make it work for our child. She was manipulative and, when I was away racing and she was looking after Olivia, I saw it. Still, though, I wanted to make things work. But I realised it wasn't worth it. If Olivia's mother and I couldn't make things work, I didn't want to make things miserable for Olivia.

"When we split up, it became clear she was only with me for my pay check. She might have loved me at first, but things definitely changed."

Y/N leaned forward, slipping her wine slightly on the wooden floor, and tapped Daniel on the nose. "You've done a good job with Livvy," she said, crawling across the floor and tucking her body against his side. "She's so amazing."

"So is Milo," Daniel reassured her, letting his arm rest on her shoulder.

Y/N let out a scoff. "I know Milos a good kids," she whispered. "He's the best kid. I got so freaking lucky. He's my entire world. But..." She paused, sucked in a deep breath and sipped her wine. "I wish I could give him a father figure."

Just like she had, Daniel tapped her on the nose. "Come to a Grand Prix with me," he said, somewhat suddenly.

"What? Danny I can't just drop everything to come to a grand prix with you," she said, her head against his shoulder.

"Come on, Y/N. It would be amazing. And I know Milo would love it. Olivia would love having him there. Plus, I'd love it if you could watch me race."

Finishing off her wine, Y/N huffed. "Fine," she said and put the glass on the floor beside her. "But only because Milo would have a good time, Olivia would have a good time, and I really want to watch you race."

Her eyes were drooping, her words becoming quieter. "You can be my lucky charm," he whispered.

When Daniel looked over, her eyes were shut. He made light work of putting the wine and the glasses away before scooping Y/N into her arms and carrying her out of the kitchen.

"Danny," she mumbled against his chest, his eyes still closed. "Can I sleep in your nice big bed?" She never would have asked it sober, but he was too drunk to notice that.

"Sure," Daniel muttered and carried her up to his room. He sat her down onto his bed and pulled out an old pair of pyjamas that was definitely going to be way to big for her. He turned around and let her get changed.

Daniel was turned around for a long while, waiting for her to tell him when she was done. But she never did. After he felt like enough time had passed, Daniel turned around.

There she was, wearing his clothes. She was laid back on the bed, her arm over her stomach, her eyes shut, and her chest steadily rising and falling.

Daniel smiled softly. He gently moved her, getting under beneath the blankets. When Daniel went to leave, something grabbed his arm. "Wait," she said, her voice sleepy. "Stay, please. This bed is too big for me."

For someone so tired, her grip on him was like a vice. Plus, they'd both be fully clothed, Daniel said to himself, trying to justify it. "Okay," he said, prying her hands away from his wrist.

He made quick work of getting changed into something more comfortable and slipped into the bed.

When things started, they were far away from each other, on opposite sides of the bed. But she must have scooted herself back. Daniel didn't mind. He simply wrapped his arms around her and continued to sleep.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @stay1strongbeautiful @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

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writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

Text

KNOW YOU LIKE I DO | tom riddle

summary; love letters are tom's way of communicating. unfortunately, he's not as good with his actions.

word count; 7036

notes; another one that I said was gonna be short and it wasn’t. I think I’m physically incapable of writing short fics, actually.

Dear Tom,

Tommy.

My Tom.

Do you still have that first letter I wrote to you, back in summer? No, I suppose you don’t, that’s not very like you.

I’m drunk. Just a little bit (a lot), and I can’t take it anymore. Mattheo told me to tell you how I feel, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. He’s asleep on my bed right now, drooling into my favourite pillow waiting for me to write this.

So here it is.

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m in love. And it’s all your fault.

Staring across the crowded room, your eyes fixed back onto that of Tom Riddle. It wasn’t hard to spot him, not as he was the only man who came to a Christmas party dressed in all black and sat alone, brooding. His lips were pressed into a line, the lights bouncing off of those shiny curls, green and red splashed across his pale skin as he sipped at his drink, listening to the conversation Draco and Blaise were having, but never participating.

Your heart lurched a little in your chest, just the mere sight of him had a thousand different feelings rearing their heads, and you sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, your attention was redirected to the drinks table, pouring yourself an extra strong helping of Giggle Gin and topping it off. The urge to look back over was strong, and you steadfastly ignored it, suppressing the urge and instead, turning your back to his direction, walking towards the group of girls giggling in the opposite corner.

Taking your seat back in the comfy corner of the sofa, Pansy offered you a smile, her arm looped over Luna’s shoulders as the blonde cuddled into her side. Astoria was currently recounting the intimate details of her latest night with Draco, and you hid a smile in your cup as you tuned back into the conversation.

You lost the battle with your will, however, gaze moving directly back across the room to Tom. He had a slight smirk on his face now as he watched Draco speak, and you did not doubt that he was receiving a tale of the exact same encounter Astoria was currently telling, only from a different point of view.

Blonde cut across your vision, the perfect smile of Daphne blocking your view as she sat in front of you, severing any sights of Tom you might have had. “You know,” She started, grinning as she took a sip of your drink cheekily, before handing it back. “If you stare at him any harder, you’re gonna’ drill holes in the side of his head.”

You could only scoff, but no argument formed. Lately, all you’d been able to do was stare longingly at him across any room. You weren’t subtle, and you’d never been much good at hiding your feelings. Which seemed fitting, since you’d fallen for someone who was like a blank slate, permanently.

Tom Riddle was a harder book to read than a tablet written in a never-before-discovered language.

“He looks so… miserable, Daph.”

She glances over her shoulder at him, snorting a laugh, and turning her attention back to you. “Because Tom Riddle doesn’t go to parties, and he’s probably counting the minutes until he can leave.” She smirked a little, shuffling closer, perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned in, “At least, he didn’t go to parties. Until you, that is.”

Your cheeks flushed, a subtle hint at the running joke your friendship group had taken on. They’d all become convinced that Tom attended parties for you, ever since he’d been a willing guest for the first time at Draco’s end-of-summer bonfire bash, and spent the majority of the night talking with you. They refused to let it go.

“You should go over there and cheer him up. I bet he’d be smiling in no time if you gave him a little attention.”

That was exactly the problem. You’d been giving him a little too much attention, and now, everyone was painfully aware of your feelings for him. Except for him, maybe. Either that, or he was just very good at pretending he didn’t notice, in a chance to let you down gently. You didn’t know which option was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daph.”

“No, you don’t be ridiculous! You and him are… something else.” She took your free hand in hers, squeezing tightly. All amusement melted from her face, and she gave you a serious look. The expression she wore when advising her sister on Draco, or comforting Pansy after a panic attack. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened over the summer, or are you just going to keep acting like it wasn’t some cataclysmic shift?”

“So dramatic.” You hummed to your roommate.

“Still pretending, I see.” She teases lightly, but her brows are still furrowed. She waited a few more seconds, to see if you’ll crack. All you do is hold her steady gaze, and take a sip of your drink. With a sigh, she released your hand, and leans back in her chair. “Well, whatever. We can all see it, see how you two pine for one another, and how perfect you’d be together. Just go and talk to him! He’s probably sat over there waiting for you anyway. He had that exact same kicked-puppy expression on at the summer party, until you walked in.”

“He did not…” You murmur, the very thought making you blush.

“I think that’s the first time I ever saw Tom Riddle smile. A real smile, not the smile he gets when threatening someone, or when Mattheo falls over. A good smile.”

“Now you’re just making him out like some kind of sulky villain.” You retort, and she only raises a brow at you.

“Here, take him this box, and go talk to him. The poor boy looks lost over there without you.” Reaching under her chair, Daphne produces a familiar box, wrapped neatly in black paper with dark green ribbon, and your jaw drops.

“Daphne!—” Reaching out to snatch it from her, your brows furrow. “Did you go through my things?”

“I didn’t exactly go through your things,” She grins, watching you turn over the label with his name written on neatly. “I just watched you hide it under your bed and got curious… it smells good. Is it cookies? Can I have one?”

When she reaches for the box, you slap the back of her hand, and she sticks her tongue out at you in return. “No! You cannot, you little snoop!”

“Fine! If you won’t let me have a cookie, then you have to go over there. You either give me a cookie, or you give me the satisfaction of seeing you and him smile.” Her arms crossed, her tone annoyed but her words caring, and love shone in her gaze as she stared at you. “Go on. Go over to him. Please.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t already want to, and with her encouragement, you were a weak woman to say no. Downing the rest of your drink for a little liquid courage, you hop to your feet, present clutched in your hands.

Weaving through the room, the bass notes of Mattheo’s custom-made playlist pumped through the room from the speakers, a playlist you might have slightly altered a few days ago to add a couple of songs, just to mix up his usual tastes. Your stomach was twisting nervously, but the alcohol in your veins made for a pleasant buzz as the distance between you both closed.

After almost taking a ping-pong ball to the eye, courtesy of Theo on the beer-pong table, you cleared the games and settled into the pleasant atmosphere surrounding where the boys had set themselves up for the evening by the fire. When you approached, Tom looked up, frown melting away as the crease between his brows disappeared, and he sat up a little straighter as you approached.

“Hi, doll,” He murmured, shifting his arm from the armrest of the chair, so that you could take a seat on it instead. That same arm soon wrapped around your waist, his head falling to rest on your shoulder, and your heart skipped a beat within your chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Over there, with Daph and the girls.” You whisper in reply, balancing the box on your thighs, and pointing through the crowds to the barely visible patch of chairs and sofas you’d all been occupying. He only hummed, squeezing you a little closer.

“Stay here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Your voice hardly worked as you spoke, emotions clogging up, and you reached for the gift in your lap. “I have this for you, anyway. I made you those cookies you like so much.”

“You did?” His head lifted, and one of those pretty smiles that made your heart stop clean in your chest was adorning his lips. “The ones with the orange peel and the dark chocolate?”

“Those very ones.” You handed it to him, and he tugged at the ribbon covering the box, fingers flipping under the seals of the paper until it fell openly neatly. Flicking open the catch on the cardboard box, the smell of freshly baked treats filled the air, and he made a rumbling noise of happiness as he plucked on up, and took a bite. As you laughed at him, he took another, pushing it between your lips with a smirk while he chewed.

He resealed the box, savouring them, as he did all things, and putting them on the table in front of himself. You held the cookie now, eating it slowly, as Draco and Blaise finally seemed to become aware of your presence.

“I have a question.” Draco started, and your gaze moved to him, brow raising as you took the final bite. “Is Astoria over there talking about me?”

The blond smirked, and you twisted, lifting your legs to sit over Tom, ankles crossing on the opposite arm. “No, no. She’s been recounting a scene from a book.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You know, the fun books. It was really, really hot.” You teased, fanning yourself, and Tom chuckled, reaching over you for his drink, and taking a sip. Instead of putting it back down, he rested the cool glass on your thigh, his free hand coming to sit on your calf, rubbing lightly as you shivered at the touch. “Why? You think you’re better than a good spicy romance?”

“I know I am!” Draco huffed, and Blaise rolled his eyes, watching you wind his best friend up with barely a few words at all. “What book is this?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…”

“I do want to know! Tell me!” His cheeks were turning pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. In the spirit of Christmas, you took pity on him, rolling your eyes.

“I think it was called… Astoria’s Diary.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Draco’s mind, and the furious pink turned to an embarrassed red, and he shook his head, eyes narrowed at you. “I despise you.”

“You love me.” You fired back, and he scoffed, but the edges of his lips pulled at a smile, and he looked away to cover it. Settling back a little more, you leaned into the cushion, feeling Tom roll his head across the cushion to lean in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.” He says, voice low for only you to hear, and your head twists towards him You were close, close enough to pick out the different coloured flecks of colour in his eyes as he looked at you, and the hardly visible steaks of lighter brown that trailed naturally through his dark curls.

“Well, I’ve had detention all week, thanks to a certain someone.” You poked his chest, and he only smirked a little bit, shuffling his head a fraction closer.

“I needed you, what can I say?”

“You needed someone to keep a lookout while you snuck into the restricted section again. Why did it have to be me?” You scoffed, working to keep the smile on your face as the answer to your own question flickered through your mind. He chose you because he knew you’d drop everything and come, the voice taunted; you buried it under the song playing and the laughter in the room so you didn’t have to think about it...

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun when we ran.” He chuckled, hand sliding up your leg again, fingers lacing with your own. The same way they had when you’d been caught, and he’d grabbed your hand, the two of you ducking and weaving between stacks, fleeing through the corridors. Laughing and out of breath, he’d clutched your hand, thumb rubbing over your knuckles just like he was doing now, staring at you with those pretty eyes.

You hadn't been caught, but you had gotten detention for skipping class to go with him, and so you’d spent all five nights of your final week in detention, writing lines. You lifted your free hand, sighing with a nod, and running it through his curls. His eyes fluttered, head tipping back to follow your hand, and a content smile took over his lips.

You loved to see him like this, to see him so carefree and happy, to see him relax at just your touch. You’d never seen him like this before. The thought that only you could do it to him sent a thrill down your spine, made your thoughts feel hazy and slow, like treacle in your mind, and your nerves tingled. So, why had he never made a move to make it anything more? You’d given him a dozen chances, a dozen more opportunities…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this holiday.” He broke your train of thought, eyes opening again to peer up at you, and his lips became a frown as he thought about it. “My father is going to pile on the pressure not that I’m in my graduating year. I can already feel the headache forming right between my eyes.”

“Oh..” You coo, hand slipping down from his hair to rub your thumb over his forehead, the space you know him to get stress headaches the worst, when he works too hard or gets wound up. He just chuckled, eyes sliding shut once again.

The song changed, and his body tensed underneath you for just a second, before his eyes snapped open, gaze locked on you. “This is my favourite song.”

“Is it?” You mumble, finger still tracing lightly over his skin, and he nods.

“I didn’t think Mattheo put it on the playlist. I asked him, and he very emphatically said no.”

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Your shrug doesn’t convince him, not as you both hear Mattheo question the song with a stream of curses somewhere in the distance. His lips twitched at the edges, a small smile, but he said nothing else. Instead, he leaned in, your arm going around his shoulders, rubbing softly as his head nestled onto your shoulder, a sigh on his lips.

It was perfect, just like this. If he could just open his eyes and see, he’d know how wonderful it could be. Nobody knew him like you did, he’d made sure to keep his secrets locked up tight. But over the months of exchanging letters, and candle-lit nights in the library, he’d bore so much of his soul to you.

Deep, wounded parts, that you’d tried to put back together.

Soft, tender parts that he protected so valiantly, but trusted you with.

Sweet, loving parts, that never saw the light of day, unless you were together.

It was impossible, surely, that he didn’t know. He might keep his feelings locked up tight, but you didn’t hide yours very well at all. As you sat here now, fingers weaving through his hair, lips tracing his temple as you whispered nonsense to him about your day, his head on your shoulder, that he didn’t know. Even a man like Tom Riddle couldn't miss it, right?

You just wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t feel the same.

With a heart-aching sigh, you ran your fingers through his curls one more time. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your night. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your Christmas. You would not be one of those girls who gave in to their feelings, and crumbled at the feet of a man who didn’t return her affections.

Sitting up some more, he grumbled at the disruption, blinking his eyes back open as he lifted his head again. “I’m… I’m going to go dance, and play some games, okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled, patting your thigh and lifting his drink away. “Have fun. I’ll probably leave soon. If I don’t see you again, just know I’ll be thinking of you over these holidays. We’ll write again.”

His words send a rush of heat to your cheeks, a tumble of nerves through your stomach, and you could only nod. One more chance, one more chance to make a move…

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. A kiss that was purposefully close to the edge of his mouth, a kiss that purposefully lingered just a second too long as you pulled away slowly, giving him a chance to turn his head, to close the gap, to kiss you—

But he didn’t, he only smiled. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

So, you stand. You brush it off. You brush off the moment, and the feelings, and all the disappointment and heartbreak that came with it.

But I can’t do it anymore.

We’ve been housemates for seven years, we’ve been friends for half of those, and I’ve been in love with you for months.

But you don’t love me. Mattheo says you do, says you’re just stupid when it comes to feelings. But, even you couldn't miss how I feel about you.

So, I’m letting you go.

New Year, New Me, New Heart.

“No, your dorm is that way.” You giggle, Mattheo’s arm over your shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the boy’s dorms and pointing. “My dorm is this way!”

“No, you’re wrong!” He mutters, shaking his head dramatically. “Boys to the left,” He says, pointing right, “Girls to the right, because girls are always right!”

“Well, I won’t argue with you there.” You grin, spinning him around. “Wait, now I’m confused. Who’s dorm were we going to again?”

A few too many shots, a few more drinks than your limit at the beer-pong table, and as the last of the party was dying down, you and Mattheo were attempting to stumble back to your dorms. “Theo’s.”

“Right. But why are we going to Theo’s dorm?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Mattheo said. “And also, his bed is next to mine.” Another fit of laughter, drunken giggles melting away, and the two of you collapsed down against the wall, heads tipped back to the stone as amusement took over. When you finally caught your breaths once again, he was smiling, eyes sparkling in that unique Matty-way. Kicking his legs out before himself, he sighed. “Maybe I will just sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?” He pouted, and you searched through your foggy mind for a reason.

“Because you have to sleep in a bed.” Is what you settled on, shrugging your shoulders, even if you were getting a little bit too comfy against the stone too.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He wiggled his brows, smirking, before burping, and you giggled again.

“No, you may not.”

“Why?” He whined, kicking one leg like a toddler in a tantrum. “You have fluffy pillows.”

“And you have sheets that haven’t been washed in months.” Your nose screwed up, and he let out a dramatic, wounded sound, like a soldier who had just been shot in a war movie.

“That was cold.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Not as cold as the frozen Earth Tom would bury my wee little body in if I spent the night at your dorm.”

You didn’t respond, the mention of his name was like a bucket of ice over your head. Not exactly sobering, but shocking.

“I’m saying he would murder me.”

“Yes, I understood.”

“You didn’t laugh.” He pouted, and you chuckled for his benefit. “No, it’s not real. Now I feel like I begged for it.”

“You did.”

“You suck.”

“You swallow.” You sighed, and he groaned once again, another argument lost. His head rolled to your shoulder, his body slumping into relaxation.

“So… what is the deal with you and my brother?” His lips twisted as he thought about it, but he looked up at you curiously, frown only deepening at the sad look on your face.

“There is no deal.” You shrug, “He doesn’t want me like that. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” He snorts, “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“I’m serious, Matty. I’ve given him a hundred chances. He could’ve made a move anytime. I haven’t exactly kept my feelings to myself, all you fools can see my heart dripping and bleeding on my sleeve. He knows, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Your lungs burned for air at the end of your speech, and you took a deep breath, staring ahead at the chipping bricks in an attempt to avoid tears. “Why doesn’t he want me, Matty?”

“He does,” Mattheo mumbled, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “He’s just a fucking moron. But, he’s also scared. You know, you’re pretty much all he talks about? And, I never saw him smile so much as he did during the summer, when he’d receive your letters. He’d get all anxious and fidgety every day, waiting for the mail owl to arrive. He’s never going to make the first move. He’d rather suffer for all his life but have you like this, than risk losing you entirely.”

The words felt like a warming blanket and an ice-cold lake. Comforting and terrifying, sweet and burning, all at the same time.

Mattheo huffed a laugh, “Maybe you should write him a love letter.”

“Maybe I should…” You whisper, drunken thoughts taking over, and his head snapped up.

“I was joking.”

“I’m not. That’s a good idea. I should write him a letter, and tell him that I’m moving on.” You brushed your legs off as you stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, determined.

“Okay, that’s not what a love letter is. That’s so far from what I said—”

“Let’s go!” You grabbed his wrist, tugging him along behind you as you made your way through the halls.

“Now? Why are we doing it now? We should be sleeping now!” His protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along. Throwing open the door to your room, Daphne was already asleep, still in her party dress, face down on her pillow, out cold from the night’s festivities and snoring.

Mattheo collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a fluffy cushion to his chest as he curled into a ball.

“I’ll just wait here, then.” He yawned through his words, but you were too busy to care, scrambling for a pot of ink and some new parchment. Taking a seat at your desk, you stared at the paper, quill hovering, ready to write.

So, I will spend the end of this year away from you. You say we’ll write, but I don’t want to.

Only write to me, Tom, if you feel the same. If not, don’t. Let me heal, and when we come back in the New Year, I promise, nothing will change except for my heart.

We will still be friends, best friends, and we’ll never talk about it again.

I will wait for you.

Finishing the letter, you sighed at it, the ink drying and immortalising your words onto the page. Sitting before you was the sum total of what sat in your heart, and your mind. Laid out and ready to go, your hands trembled a little as you read it over, and over, to be sure.

But you had to do this, you had to give this letter to him, to alleviate the strain on your heart, to finally have some closure. Whether he felt the same or not, you’d have relief. Folding it carefully, you searched a strip of wax seal lighting the end and waiting for it to get hot, drips of Slytherin green filling into a pool that overlapped the edge of your paper. When there was enough, you stamped it carefully, sealing it shut as the wax cooled.

Taking a look behind you, you caught sight of a sleeping Mattheo, his jaw hanging open, drooling onto your favourite throw pillow, half tucked under your blankets from where he’s only bothered to cover his legs. Peeling away the wax seal, you walked over to him, shaking his shoulder, until he awoke with a huff and a groan, whining as he sat up.

“I was dreaming.”

“I wrote the letter.” You show him the proof, and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, glancing from it, to you, and back. “You have to give it to him.”

“Now?”

“No! Not now. Tomorrow. After we get off the train.” He blinked a little more, waking up from his power nap and taking the paper from you. Flipping it over in his hands, he inspected Tom’s name across the front, no address, and raised his brows.

“Why don’t you mail it?”

“That’ll take days, and I don’t want to leave it up to chance. I need you to give it to him, tomorrow. I know you’ll be swamped with everything your father expects of you both this time of year, events and frivolities and all, but you have to. I don’t want it getting lost amongst other letters and Christmas cards, and such.” Your hands clasped together before you, blinking at him pleadingly, and hoping your puppy-dog eyes were half as good as his.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself as he stood.

“Please, Matty.”

“Fine. I’ll give it to him.” He caved, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Tomorrow? After you get off the train?”

“Yes. I will give Tom the letter… tomorrow.”

Yours,

If you want me,

(y/n) x

Tom double-checked his bags, sighing as he zipped up the piece of luggage he’d actually have access to on the train, everything he needed to survive a six-hour train journey. A knock sounded from the door, a signature one that only Mattheo ever used, excessively long and irritating, and the door swung open a second later to reveal his brother.

Placing his carry-on down on the bed beside his own, Mattheo slumped out on his freshly-stripped bed. “You took your bags to the carriage already?”

“I got up early.”

“Surprising, I thought I’d have to drag you out of your bed this morning considering how much you drank last night.” He gave his brother a look, a single brow raised, and Mattheo just huffed.

“It’s called having fun, you should try it sometime.”

Tom only rolled his eyes, gaze scanning across the bag Mattheo had abandoned, snagging on the letter sticking out of one pocket. T— was all that was visible. It might have been a card, that someone had addressed it to ‘Theo’ instead of Mattheo, but everyone called him ‘Matt’ if they wanted a nickname, to avoid confusion with Nott.

Curiosity ate at him, and nudging the bag subtly revealed just enough more to show an ‘O’.

Definitely Tom, then. Mattheo was carrying a letter for him, and had not delivered it. Before he could pluck it from the pocket, his brother was sitting up, reaching for his bag and getting to his feet, swinging the letter out of his reach inadvertently.

“Ready to go?”

“Is that letter for me?” Tom burst instead, making another move for the bag. His suspicions were only confirmed when Mattheo shifted his body, pulling the arm carrying the bag away from him, behind his body and out of Tom’s reach. “Why do you have it? When did it arrive?”

Mattheo turned casually, looking down at it, patting it and pushing it back into the bag, deeper. Tom recognised that handwriting now, though, and the urgency swelled. “Uh… last night, I think. But I was a little drunk, so…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Tom pressed, biting his tongue from yelling at his brother, and Mattheo just shrugged.

“Figured I’d give it to you on the train, or something. Or when we got home. It’s just a letter.”

“Yeah…” Tom could only hum in response, his mind spinning a little. Everyone had exchanged gifts and goodbyes last night, before the party. For exactly this reason, to avoid the morning rush to the train, to avoid the hassle in the morning. “But— I saw her last night. Why wouldn't she just give it to me then? Or mail it to me?”

The questions were ceaseless, almost making Tom dizzy as he tried to think them through, and Mattheo could only shrug, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself.

“I don’t know, Tom. She just came to me, and asked me to give you that letter because she didn’t want it to get lost amongst other letters, or take too long, or something like that.” It was a small lie, really, fabricated from aspects of the truth.

“So, it’s important, then! It’s obviously important if she couldn't risk it getting lost, if it had to be hand-delivered! I should read it.” Just like that, Tom stepped right into Mattheo’s trap. Now all he had to do was pull the pin, and let the steel jaws snap shut. Yes, it could potentially backfire hugely, but Mattheo was looking on the positive side for this.

“We have to go, Tom. Everyone else has probably already left for the train.” Mattheo swung his bag again, making his point, and kicked Tom’s suitcase from where it sat beside the door towards him to pick up. “Let’s go.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his bags and taking a few steps after him, and didn’t even make it over the threshold of the door before he gave in. His bags dropped from his hands, and planted on his hips instead. “I’m going to read it.”

“Tom—”

“Give me the letter.” He held out his pal, and Mattheo tipped his head to the side, but pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I’ll catch up, you go. I’ll read it and I’ll catch up, it’s only a letter, can’t take that long.”

He lunged for Mattheo's bag, snatching the crisply pressed paper from the pocket before his brother could stop him. As he turned away, he missed Mattheo’s victorious smile. “Alright, I’ll take your trunk down. Don’t be long, or you’ll miss the train.” And you’ll miss her, were Mattheo’s unspoken words, as he grabbed Tom’s suitcase and disappeared, leaving him alone.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tom’s hand shook a little. The paper felt like it weighed a thousand tons. There was so much unspoken mystery behind it that Tom was sure whatever this letter said, it was not their usual correspondence. Not the chatty, friendly, borderline flirty letters they’d send each other when apart, this was more.

Sliding his thumb neatly under the wax seal he was so familiar with, Tom popped open the letter, unfolding it carefully and flipping it around to read.

His gaze scanned over the paper, lips flicking up at the use of the nickname he only allowed you to use, the swirl of your handwriting that he loved so much. The smile didn’t last long, however, and neither did the breath in his lungs as his chest seized. He read it.

Over and over again, he read the letter.

The minutes melted past as he absorbed what it said, until he could read the letter word for word without looking at it, tattooed into his mind now like a brand. With trembling fingers, he folded the letter back up carefully, lifting the paper to his lips as his eyes slid shut.

His heart was pounding, more so than he’d ever felt. Tom was not one for rash decisions and sudden jumps, everything was calculated and thought through and planned. But this, this was you. This is just what you did, forced him to let go of routine and be spontaneous, forced him to be carefree, to loosen the grip he had on the reigns, to show him he wouldn't fall apart at the slightest breeze.

He smiled against the letter, thoughts of you flicking through his mind.

And then a clock chimed, and he jumped violently within as he was rushed back to reality in a split second. The clock in the common room chimed loudly, echoing through the empty dorms and halls.

Rushing to his feet, Tom opened his bag, tucking the letter safely inside one of his books to preserve it, to tuck it inside the box of letters from you that was tucked under his bed at home. You doubted him, his feelings, unsure he’d kept that first letter, when in reality, he’d kept every single one.

Every letter, every note, even the silly little joke you scribbled on torn-off pieces of paper and threw at him in class, he kept them all.

Zipping his bag back up and grabbing it, he had no time to spare, racing to the chimes of the clock through the castle, to the front gates where the final carriage was leaving.

It felt too long. Too long as the horses plodded through the snow, too long as the wheel scrolled slowly, and his foot tapped agitatedly on the floor in a way he never allowed himself to do. His thumbnail was between his teeth, flicking between the frost-covered ground and his bag, wondering if it would actually be faster to run there himself.

Ahead, the train sounded its horn. The final warning for all students to begin boarding and settling in, because they’d be departing soon.

You watched as the trunks were beginning loaded onto the train, all to be collected when you arrived in London, only letting out a breath of relief as Mattheo rounded the corner, finally joining your group.

“Matty! About time, we were worried you’d miss the train.” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sighed, a little out of breath, and hugged you back once he dropped the two bags in his hands. Nobody followed him, and your brows furrowed, pulling back, “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s probably already on the train, sulking somewhere. He’s never late.” Theo snickered, and you rolled your eyes, smacking him across the shoulder for his joke.

“Blaise is inside holding a cabin for us, is Tom not sitting with us?” Enzo questioned, and you turned to Mattheo, waiting for answers.

“He’ll be here, trust me.”

“He’s late?” Draco asked, quickly followed by Enzo and Theo, all discussing it. Regulus stayed quiet, smoking and trying to hide it from being seen, but his expression was just as concerned as everyone else’s.

The chatter continued on, by your worry didn’t cease, checking up and down the platform as people bustled and crowded it. Saying their final goodbyes and giving out hugs, climbing on and off the train as they all wished one another Merry Christmas, and being unable to see either end was causing your anxiety to rocket higher.

The train horn blared again, and students began to board. “Mattheo, seriously, where is he—” Just like that, you saw him, the busy platform parting to let him through, the look on his face as terrifying as ever, and people moved out of his way as he made his way towards your group.

“Told you he’d be here,” Mattheo smirked, and you raised a brow.

“The hell did you say to him this morning, Matt?” Regulus questions.

“He looks mad,” Draco murmured.

“He looks like he’s plotting.” Enzo corrected.

Every step closer rose the tension as Tom finally looked up, his sights setting on you, and his jaw clenched. Brows drawn in, he did look like he was plotting, like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind that he couldn't sort through.

“Hey, man. We thought you were gonna’ miss the—” Draco’s words cut off at your squeak, as Tom stepped closer, never stopping the movements of his body until he was cupping your cheeks, his mouth descending upon your own.

You were almost knocked backwards from the force of it, your hands gripping at his shoulders as he bent you over backwards, a kiss so intense your knees almost went weak.

It was desperate, you could barely keep up, kissing back as best you could through your shock, until it wore off enough to reciprocate. Wrapping one arm around his neck, your other slipped to his face, his own hands making their way down, to band around your waist and pull you in closer, until your bodies were flush.

His tongue licked into your mouth, a sigh escaping you as he did, and your heart pounded against your heart, the same way he was doing, felt through his jumper and layers. The boys were whistling, cheering and hooting, and if you weren’t so happy you’d have been embarrassed by the show they were making, and the attention they were no doubt drawing.

When he finally pulled back, you panted softly, his forehead resting on your own, blinking his eyes open to meet your gaze.

“Can I write to you regardless?” He mumbled, voice rough and tense with emotion, and your brows furrowed.

“Wh— What?”

He leaned in, not helping you clear your dazed mind at all as he kissed you again, and again, until you were smiling, fingers clenched so tight in his coat that your knuckles were white, just to stay upright.

You pecked his lips once more, chasing him as he pulled back, and the train horn sounded, a final warning, but you didn’t care. “You know how I feel now. You don’t have to wait for my reply. You can be assured that I will miss you dearly over these two weeks, and I am already counting the minutes until I see you again. But can I write to you, still?”

As the realisation set in, your face flamed, jaw dropping a little bit, and he wasted no opportunity, kissing you softly. “You read my letter.”

He only nodded, a gentle chuckle onto your mouth as your lips brushed. “You’d leave it to Mattheo to deliver? He’d probably lose it at a McDonalds, trying to get a Big Mac before my father saw him, on the way home.

Your laughter was sweet, a puffed-out sound as his hands smoothed up and down your back. “I’d love to get more letters from you, Tommy. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in person, but I was scared. I thought I’d made my feelings for you obvious, and you didn’t reciprocate, so I had to write that letter. To get it out, to finalise it all.”

“I like to consider myself a smart man, you know. When it comes to you, clearly, I’m a fool. You leave me speechless, and without proper thoughts, every time. All I can think about is how pretty you are, and how much I like you, despite my best efforts not to.”

The declaration was so utterly Tom, to hate being in love even if he loved it.

“For Salazar’s sake, what have you done, Matt?” Theo cussed, and you twisted your head to look at him. “Shakespeare over here is going to be writing sonnets for the rest of the year. None of us will stand a chance with any other girls when he’s showing us up, standing under windows, yelling his love to the moon.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring their nonsense. Tom did the same, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and leaving a kiss there.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, just as I did in the summer.” You whisper, pulling away from him as the platform clears, most students already aboard now.

“And after?” Tom questions, “May I still write you letters if I, too, find myself struggling to confess my feelings in person?”

“Oh, God,” Enzo muttered. “He’s going to be writing love letters all year. He’s making the rest of us sound like cavemen. Me, you, bed, now.” He grunted, smacking a fist in his chest. You giggled as Tom rolled his eyes.

“We should get on the train.” You whisper, taking pity on the others and untangling yourself from his arms.

Tom took his bag again, and your own. With a final kiss on your cheek, he walked away to the door of the carriage, letting the rest of you follow behind. Mattheo fell into step beside you, smirking as he bumped your hips with his own.

“So, should I tell my mother and father that they have a new daughter-in-law this holiday, or wait ‘til the next.”

His teasing made you blush again, cheeks already red in the cold, warming you under all those layers. “You’re a filthy traitor. You gave him my letter early.”

“I said I’d give it to him ‘tomorrow’. Never agreed to the after the train part.” He tutted, proud of himself. “Always pay attention to the words of a contract. My dear brother taught me that. You never have to break a promise, if you’re smart with your words.”

That sounded exactly like something your man would say, your eyes rolling to the Heavens.

Mattheo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as the pair of you climbed the steps. “You never have to break your heart either, if you’re smart about who you give it to.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle/you #tom riddle x you #hp #christian coulson #slytherin boys

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nhaomhi · 26 days ago

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˙✧˖° Trouble Meets Perfection 𝄞 ⋆｡˚

pairing: troublemaker!riki x classprez!yn

synopsis: at decelis academy, Nishimura Riki is the name every single teacher sighs at—a relentless troublemaker with a smirk always plastered on his face. Y/N, the no-nonsense class president, is the complete opposite: disciplined, sharp-tongued, and utterly intolerant of Riki’s constant chaos. The two share one thing—an undeniable hatred for each other that electrifies every classroom they’re in together.

genre: enemies-to-lovers, angst if you squint hard, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff

warnings: mild language, mentions of stress/pressure, mentions of insecurity, use of petnames

word count: 2.7k

naomi’s note: kind of inspired by that song “not another song about love” by hollywood ending 😭 I DONT KNOW IF ANYONE ELSE IS FAMILAR W THAT SONG BUT it was pretty popular as a gacha song in like 2020 SHSKDH it gives off enemies to lovers and i feel that riki is perfect for that trope soo 😚😚 this is my first “long” fic so if it gets boring whoops

.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The first bell rang with the usual obnoxious clang that echoed through the halls, signalling the start of another miserable day. You yawned tiredly, you had just stayed up quite late because you had a lot to do. You adjusted the sleeves of your blazer and for the millionth time, reminded yourself that today would be no different. Another day of leading your class, dealing with ridiculous drama, and most importantly, the chaos led by Nishimura Riki.

The thought alone was enough to make your head throb. It was always like you had to babysit him, that damn headache. You had enough on your plate—endless student council meetings, keeping your grades at the top of the class, making sure every single corner of Decelis was running smoothly, and you were currently planning for the end of the year gala. But Riki was a force that you simply couldn’t ignore.

A sigh escaped your lips as you entered your first class of the day. And there he was.

Nishimura Riki, lounging in the back of the classroom, feet resting on the table in front of him as if he owned the place. His messy hair fell over his eyes, but his smirk was clear as ever, and it was aimed right at you.

“Morning, Prez,” he called, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Good morning, Nishimura.” you replied, your tone stiff. You ignored the thing your stomach did at the sound of his voice (probably organ failure) You were not going to let him under your skin, not today. You were too tired.

You made your way to the front of the room and soon started taking attendance. When you called Riki’s name, he stood up and bowed sarcastically. You heard snickers across the room before you rolled your eyes faintly “Sit down, Riki.” you said firmly. He sighed in an exasperated manner before obeying and sitting down, putting his head down.

The teacher arrived soon after and class began, but it wasn’t long before his attention shifted back to you. He scribbled something in his notebook, ripped the page out, and, without warning, threw it at her desk toward her. It landed softly on your desk, a direct hit.

You didn’t flinch, already used to his antics. You picked the note up, unbothered, unfolded it, and read it out loud. “Nice hair. Hope it doesn’t get caught in your books”? A laugh spread across the room, though your expression remained the same. “Very funny, Riki. You’ve seriously outdone yourself this time.” you said unamused in a flat tone.

His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly pleased by your reaction. “Maybe next time I’ll write you a poem. What do you think, Prez?”

“Maybe you should focus on your own grades before trying to write poetry for me.” You shot back, your voice sharp.

The class erupted into small giggles and chuckles. Riki’s smirked faltered just slightly, but only for a second before he responded. “Touché.”

You turned back to the front of the class, satisfied with even just that small falter. You ignored him the rest of the period, but as always, he wasn’t one to let things slide easily. Throughout the lesson, you could feel his eyes on you, glaring at you. The almost palpable tension between you buzzed in the air, thick and suffocating, like static before the storm.

Lunchtime soon came with its usual bustle of students flooding the cafeteria. You were in the lunch line, waiting to get your tray of food, but the chatter around you did nothing to calm your nerves.

And then, of course, he walked in.

Riki strode past you, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his friends trailing behind him like little puppies. He leaned casually on the railing next to you, leaning closer, close enough for you to feel his breath faintly on your neck.

“You know, Prez,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for you to hear, “you need to loosen up a bit. Did you know that stress is bad for you?”

You refused to turn to look at him. “And you should spend less time bothering me and more time actually trying to pass your classes.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, clearly amused. “I pass enough.”

That tension was there again, that impossible-to-ignore electricity. You clenched your jaw slightly, muttering quietly under your breath “How are you even still in this school?”

He let out a low chuckle. “Guess I have my charm.” His fingers brushed against the edge of your shoulder, and for a split second, you didn’t know why, but your breath hitched. But you composed yourself and refused to let him get the satisfaction of seeing how much that affected you.

But Riki wasn’t done, of course.

“By the way,” he continued, his voice suddenly softer, more casual. “You’ve been looking exhausted and stressed lately. Maybe you need a break.” He leaned in even closer, his face hovering right next to yours, and whispered, “Let me know if you need a real distraction. A stress reliever, if you may call it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his implication. You fought the urge to turn around and ki—no, slap the smirk right off of his face. Instead, you step away from him, glaring at him. “Do yourself a favor, Riki, and stay away from me. I have enough to deal with.” With that, you walked out the line, deciding to skip lunch and go straight to your next class.

He just watched you walk away, his smirk never fading. “Sure thing, Prez. But you’ll come around eventually!” he calls out.

The days that followed were filled with the same old back-and-forth insults, teasing, and that ever present tension. You stopped trying to understand why he kept pushing your buttons long ago. He wasn’t just a troublemaker, he was a literal maniac—and the fact that he seemed to enjoy the conflict between you only made it worse.

But, somewhere in the middle of all of the arguments, something started to shift. You couldn’t quite place your finger on it, but you began to notice the small things. How he would defend you when someone made a rude comment about you. How he would show up to general meetings on time if it actually mattered, even if it was just to prove he could. You found yourself thinking, just for a second—that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

After a particularly stressful day when you had decided to stay back late to finish up some work, you were walking to the classroom when you heard noises from around the corner.

Riki was there, leaning against the wall, his face shadowed by the dim lights of the hallway.

“Hey, Prez,” he said quietly, his usual bravado gone. “You look like you need a break. You’ve been working your ass off, huh?”

You blinked, confused by the tone in his voice. “Huh? What’s your deal?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I know you hate my guts, but I also know you’re under a lot of pressure. The expectations, everything. It sucks.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. It was hard enough to wrap your mind around the fact he was actually being serious. He was talking about pressure? The same boy who always acted like he didn’t have a care in the world?

But there it was—an honest, real moment. No games. No snark.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, your voice softer than intended. “but I don’t need your need your sympathy, okay?” it sounded a bit harsh, but you pushed that thought back.

Riki’s lips curled into a small, faint smile. Though a genuine one. “Not sympathy, just a reminder. You aren’t alone. If you want to talk.. I’m here. I may not be the best at comforting, but I can listen. For you.”

Your demeanor softened slightly at his words, your guard lowering just a teensy bit. “You mean that?” you respond quietly. “Promise.” he replied.

From that day forward, things between you shifted, not completely, but they did. The teasing never stopped, but there was something different now. A level of understanding beneath your bickering, a softness buried in the snide remarks. Your dynamic wasn’t about fighting anymore—it was more about finding comfort in eachothers company.

As second semester slowlyyy drew to a close, you realized you no longer hated the sight of him. In fact, it was quite hard to imagine a day without his infuriating presence. Though, you still despise when he touches you. You like it so much, that you hate it. You would never outright admit that to him.

Every student at Decelis was running on empty, cramming for exams and surviving on a diet of caffeine and stress. You, however, had one extra responsibility that was both a blessing and a curse: the school’s end-of-the-year gala. The gala we’d been fundraising for since freshman year, and now we’re seniors.

As class president, you were in charge of organizing almost everything. From the venue, to the decorations, to making sure everyone was on their best behavior. It was a huge task, and you made it your personal mission to make this the most flawless gala yet. But as always, that meant hours upon hours of work.

You spent this entire afternoon in the student council room, trying to confirm with the venue, decorations, and all of that. It was getting pretty late, the clock hit 6pm, school had ended 4 hours ago.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You looked up, expecting your advisor, but instead, Riki was there, leaning on the doorframe with a smirk.

“Well, well, Prez,” his tone light but teasing. “You’re still here? Thought you’d have passed out from all that work by now.”

You barely suppressed a sigh. “I know, I know. But I can’t just let this go, the gala’s coming up already next month and there’s still so much I’ve got to do.”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked towards the desk you were at with his usual confident demeanor. “You’re stressing out again. You know, for someone who’s supposed to be in charge, you sure let the little things bother you.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” You shot back, only half-joking. “Why are you even here anyway?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged casually. “I don’t know, I thought you could use some help.”

You blinked, a mix of surprise anf suspicion crossing your face. “You? Help?” Are you sure you know how to do anything other than causing chaos?”

His grin widened. “Well, I may not be the most.. academically inclined student, but I’ve got my strengths. Besides, you could use a little chaos in your life, Y/N. You’re always so uptight.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did a small flutter when he said your name. He always called you “Prez” so him saying your name was new. You couldn’t help the small smile that spread on your lips. “Fine,” you mutter, shoving a stack of papers in his hands. “You can help by making sure the decorations for the gala are on schedule.”

He grinned, snatching the papers and flipping through them. “Decorations, huh? Easy peasy.”

For a moment, it was quiet—just the two of them in the room, working side by side. He wasn’t the best at following instructions, but he had a way of making things more bearable. His constant teasing wasn’t as annoying as usual, and you actually found yourself laughing and giggling slightly at his antics, even when they made no sense at all.

For the next few weeks, he helped you.

One day, you guys were in the library together, and, you don’t know how, but you’re having a “heart-to-heart” right now.

“I’m not as bad as everyone thinks.” he mutters defensively. “You’re not dumb, Riki. You just.. don’t try.” He stared at you for a moment before letting out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels pointless to try. Doesn’t matter how hard I work, teachers still see me the same.”

You felt a small pang in your chest. “You know,” you began softly, “it’s not just about the grades. You just.. have to show people you’re much than that.”

He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked back to the front while walking. “I guess you’re right. But that’s easy for you to say.” you raise a brow slightly “What do you mean?” you ask.

“What I mean is, teachers already love you. You’re class president, no? Everyone loves you.” your expression hardens just slightly, he seemed to notice and quickly spat out “Not in that way, but—“ you cut him off. “Not everyone loves me. There’s still people who talk behind my back, and I know it.” he sighs and mutters quietly “I didn’t mean it like that, I mean— I don’t know why I said that.”

he gently takes your hand, your heart skipping a beat. “I’m sorry. For.. assuming that.” you gulp slightly at his words. “H-Huh? What are you-“ he doesn’t know what came over him, but his lips somehow end up on yours. Your eyes widen, but you find yourself kissing him back. After a while, he pulls away.

You step back, unsure of what to do. “I- I need to go.” his heart drops, just a bit, was it a mistake to you? You quickly walk off. He mutters a curse under his breath. “..Fuck.”

For the next few days, you’d been avoiding him completely. You changed the classroom that you studied in, barely sparing him glances in classes you had together. It’s not like you hated the kiss. It’s the fact you enjoyed it so much, and you wanted more, that’s what you hated. You were scared, scared that you’d fall in too deep. That was a bad thing to you. Growing up, you watched people fall out of love. You were terrified of that happening to you.

The day of the gala came, the venue absolutely packed with people. Everything went accordingly.

That was until you saw him. You tried to avoid him, going opposite to where he was headed. But he eventually saw you and began to walk up to you. Just as you were going to walk away, he gently grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N, please. Let’s talk.” he says, his expression unreadable. You sigh softly and nod reluctantly. He then dragged you to a private corner, maintaining his distance. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what came over—“ he was soon interrupted.

“Riki, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have avoided you like that, I should have talked to you about how I felt. The truth is, I like you. I really, really like you. Too much, even. I was just scared. I loved your touch so much, and I hated that. But I’ve thought it over and.. I think I want to be with you. I want us to be together.” you sputtered out quickly, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes widened momentarily once you said that, but it was soon replaced with a softer look. “You like me? You mean that?” you nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as you play with your dress slightly out of nervousness.

He noticed your nervousness, inwardly chuckling. He grasped your chin slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Can you repeat that? Say you like me.” you gulped slightly, your eyes looking up into his. You got distracted for a second before you responded. “I-I like you.”

He smiled and began to lean in, not too fast but not to slow, he gave you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in as well, kissing him. He quickly encircled your waist with his arms, pulling you closer than you already were. Your hands wrapped around his neck.

After a while, he pulled away, smiling. “Does this make us official?” he asks. “Yes, Riki. I’m yours, you’re mine.” he grins at your response, bringing you into another kiss as he whispers against your lips, “I’m so glad I can call you mine now, baby.”

It was then that you realized, maybe love wasn’t so bad when it was with the right person.

#enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #nishimura riki #nishimura riki fic #enhypen ni ki #ni ki x you #ni ki x reader #kpop x reader #kpop x you #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enha x reader #enhypen scenarios #enemies to lovers #troublemaker

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toxicanonymity · 11 months ago

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The Wall (stepdad drabble)

1.5k | stepdad!Joel x f!reader | stepdad au SUMMARY: This ask about being at the pool. WARNINGS: I8+ drugs, possessive!joel, sexual tension, baiting, shotgunning, dirty talk, very risky touching in public, blue balls, hair pulling, mild manhandling & degradation, use of "daddy" x2 A/N: Title is an album by Pink Floyd. Loose fit flashback before the holidays (old school SD). The latest present day is ✨It's Hard.

Joel hasn’t given in yet. So far, he’s fingered you in his office, but nothing more than that. Now both of you are going with your Mom on a work trip. The trip is in driving distance, and Joel doesn’t realize you’re going until you show up at their house packed and ready to go that morning. He’s flustered, and overall none too pleased. You’re wearing him down. You can tell.

You’re wearing a hoodie and short shorts. When you stop at a rest stop, your Mom goes to the bathroom and you and Joel get out of the car to stretch. You take your hoodie off, revealing a thin, low-cut tank top and no bra, then stretch with your hands behind your back. Joel tilts his head, watching you, eyes glued to your chest.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t even bother looking up at your face as he complains, “Havin’ fun with all this?”

“What are you talking about?” you smile.

He scoffs. “You’re gonna be a pain in my ass all week, aren’t ya?”

You cross your arms under your boobs, pushing them together.

He adjusts himself and shakes his head.

—

During your Mom’s first work event, Joel disappears. He walks off somewhere to get away from you and remove temptation. Meanwhile, there’s a group of skater guys at the hotel. Probably college students, a little younger than you. You find them in the lobby and they smell like weed. They offer you some and you tell them maybe later, but out of boredom you stick around with them and go to the hotel bar. While you’re there, they flirt with you and give you a joint.

Joel gets back to the hotel and finds you in the bar with these guys all hitting on you. He can’t stand it. When he walks up, the scowl on his face delights you and offsets his festive Hawaiian shirt.

“Let’s go,” he commands, nodding toward the exit.

“Daddy,” you complain. His jaw clenches and his face blotches pink. Something comes over his eyes, and you can’t tell if the word has turned him on or just pissed him off. He steps forward and pushes through two of the guys. He grabs your arm, physically pulling you toward the exit. It makes you flutter between the legs. His grip doesn't loosen until you cross the lobby.

“What was that about?” he asks as he walks you down the hall, “Hmm?”

“What was what about?”

“You tryin’ to get gang banged, or what?” he grumbles.

“You trying to turn me on?” you ask. “It’s working.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

When you’re close to the hotel room, your mom rounds the corner and you look at him to watch his face fall.

“I’m going to the pool,” you announce, turning around to head the other direction.

—---

It’s just after dusk and you’re in a pool chair scrolling your phone when Joel comes out. You’re wearing a bikini top and daisy dukes. You put your phone down and check him out. He’s in red swim trunks that are a little shorter than standard, and a gray shirt with a black line drawing on it. He takes off the shirt.

“Okay, Hasselhoff,” you tease, checking out how his meaty thighs stretch the bright red shorts. “His suit was longer though.”

You pull out the joint and a lighter.

“Hey,” he cautions nervously, looking around. “That better not be what it looks like.”

You light it and he huffs.

“I know you do it too,” you tell him.

“You’re full of it,” he says.

“Am I? You keep your stash in the drawer with my panties you stole.”

That shuts him up. Wow, lucky guess. He’s silently flustered, and it turns you on. You take the joint with you and slip into the pool, feeling his eyes on you even as you’re turned the opposite direction.

“Gettin’ in, Daddy?” you ask as you put your arms on the ledge and rest your chin on your hand.

He warns, “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” You laugh and he doubles down. “Don’t.” Sounds like you actually pissed him off. He takes his glasses off, then adjusts himself before he stands up, and it makes you tingle. You look around the deck as he gets into the pool. It’s just a few couples, and they’re wrapped up in each other.

You’re both facing the wall of the pool with your arms on the ledge, faces turned toward each other. He’s to your left. You try to hand him the joint and he shakes his head no.

“Worried we’ll get grounded?” you ask and he just barely smirks. “That’d be fun,” you add saucily.

“You are real fuckin’ trouble,” he murmurs, slow and loaded. It almost sounds like he’s daring you. You reach your foot over to brush the inside of his ankle, and he doesn’t scold you or pull away.

He looks at the joint in your hand. You take a chance and bring it to his mouth. He briefly meets your eyes as he takes a puff and you can’t suppress your smile. Your eyes must have gone wide with joy. As he holds the smoke in his mouth, he looks like he's trying not to laugh, then it fades. His eyes fall to your mouth, then your bodies turn toward each other and he gets a little closer. His hand grazes your waist. You lean in, a few inches from his face. He leans ever so slightly toward you as he releases the smoke. Your mouths come closer and closer as you suck the smoke from his mouth. Your lips almost brush, and he abruptly pulls away as he finishes exhaling. “Fuck,” he mutters, then clears his throat.

You close your eyes as you finish inhaling, and when you open them, he’s watching you, brow furrowed. It's silent for a few seconds and you hear the tiki bar closing up.

You bring the arch of your foot back to his ankle and he lets you rub it. You're still facing each other. You come a little higher on his calf. “If I didn’t know any better I'd think you almost kissed me,” you say.

“No,” he chuckles. “You know better.”

“You wanted to,” you note.

“‘Course I–” he stops himself and swallows. He lowers his voice. “--that’s not what I wanna do to ya.”

“Yeah?” Your foot works up to his knee.

He shakes his head. “I wanna stuff your mouth full’a cock like it should be.”

“Mm,” you encourage.

“Shut you up for a few minutes while I fuck your face.”

Your eyes drift to his pecs.

“That’s not what ya want though, is it?” he asks.

“It’s a good start,” you whisper, sliding your foot up to mid thigh.

“You’re dyin’ to have your cunt stuffed.”

You bite your lip and play coy. You take another drag of the joint but he declines. He palms himself under the water and your chest flutters. Your nipples get hard, and you feel yourself gushing.

“I know how wet you are right now,” he says.

“Feel for yourself,” you whisper.

He reaches for your crotch but you pull back at the last second, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. He shakes his head, plucks the joint out of your fingers and takes a short drag. He puts it down, and as he inhales the smoke in his mouth, he gets so close you can reach down and feel the thick silhouette in his shorts. When you squeeze his cock, it makes you twitch. You need him so bad. He pulls your hair, tilting your head so you’re looking up. His face hovers over yours for a moment with smoke slowly billowing out of his mouth. Then he blows it away to the side and lets go of your hair.

“Oughta bend you over and fuck the brat outta you.”

“Yeah,” you whisper and give his cock another squeeze against his thigh. “Maybe later?” You take your hand away and say, “I’m gonna order something to eat.”

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he mutters.

“I have an extra room key,” you offer as you push yourself out of the pool. It’s an empty offer, mostly. The rooms connect. Too risky.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He’s slowly palming himself under the water, and you’re glad you brought a vibrator, because as soon as you get back to your room, you have some things to think about. Like the exact size and shape of his cock under your palm.

“s’just talk, sweetheart.” He looks at your tits as you adjust your suit. “You know I’m not really gonna fuck you, right?” he asks, still slowly rubbing himself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you smile, hoping it’s not true.

-----

Thank you so much for reading and engaging 🖤 Love you guys. I still have another stepdad one shot planned back in present day, too.

These are normally night walks moves, so maybe check out the original night walks if you like this. In my header.

#joel miller x reader #stepdad!joel #stepdad!joel miller #female reader #tw stepcest #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#tw degradation if you squint

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