#and the whole time watching it i was like.... does he still have an estate. did they pay these people to make this story

[mashmouths]

they were so caught up in having a woman wear pants in elizabethan england that they forgot they didn't have to involve antisemitism for historical accuracy's sake. in the witch and vampire show.

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[endless-ineffabilities]

be young, be dope, be proud

dynasty heir Aemond x heiress reader

a/n: randomly and carelessly drafted after a night out, so don't even ask me what this is. title obvi from Lana. also, I feel like the setting here is an acquired taste. so, enjoy? 💁🏼‍♀️🤍

themes/warnings: spoiled rich assholes, New York/modern references, language, clichés galore, Targs are like the Kennedys if that whole family was pure evil and Rep, SMUT, angst between brats who clearly want each other, also—you're kind of a hypocrite

main masterlist

The estate reeks with old money: marble columns, ancestral portraits, and a long dining table loaded with crystal and silver. Chandeliers try to warm the place, but it's all cold opulence. Outside, the gardens are cut and tamed to show that even nature has a price.

Your father always brings the family along to stately dinners up there in Westchester, with the usual crowd in attendance—the Targaryens, the Velaryons, the Lannisters—the whole lot.

Between them, they could probably purchase every building in Manhattan without creating a single dent in the bank.

Hell, maybe they already have. Generational wealth truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

You've tried to distance yourself from it. From people whose words drip poisoned honey and condescension. Being waited on like new order royalty.

But who are you to talk, when your father's lineage traces back to the fucking Mayflower? You and them are one and the same—filthy rich and borderline insane.

It is nearly impossible to maintain a steady sense of self, to have ample room for personal growth, when everything, every single thing, is handed to you on a silver platter. There is no tension there, no struggle, no need to exert any effort.

Failed your courses? Your father donates a building to the university. Aemond gets several DUIs? His great-uncle is a Supreme Court Justice. Aegon nearly burns his friend's house down while throwing a bacchanal-themed party? Let's just say that friend is grounded. For a week. Oh, the horror. Their family had many other estates, in many other places anyway.

When there are no real repercussions to your actions, you will feel like you can do just about whatever you want.

Burn the world down, for all you care. You can just buy a new, better one.

Granted, not everyone in your circle is an entitled egotist. There's Helaena, who strangely enough, does not possess a single self-important bone in her body, unlike her aforementioned brothers. Jace, who spends most of his time getting involved in political activism, for the side that his magnate grandfather Viserys steadfastly opposes.

You'd always sit beside either of them in these dinners, for the sake of your sanity. Unfortunately, Aemond and Aegon are never far. Especially Aemond—who occassionally stares you down as he sits across the table. Aegon, seated to his left, whistles at you. "Hey. Hey so... are you still slumming it with the art crowd?"

"I'm sorry?" You narrow your eyes at him. He didn't even say hello or mind if I cut in? as Jace was telling you about attending the DNC rally.

Aemond watches you again, so closely it raises goosebumps along your arms. He's been stealing glances at you ever since you arrived with your family. And you've been openly shooting glares at him when you sense it. Him and that steely one-eyed gaze of his always gets under your skin.

Aegon sneers, and you think how it's so in character of him. "You still live in Brooklyn? Cosplaying as a normie?"

"Fuck off, Aegon."

You've been living in Brooklyn for the past year, trying to finish up your Masters from Barnard. You would never hear the end of how this is the most redundant and useless thing, especially from people like Aegon. It does seem contrived, daddy's little heiress playing at being a scholar at Columbia, but at least you are doing something.

Besides, you have no desire to take over your family's empire. If anything, you want to branch out, maybe take on Jace's proposal on starting a charity foundation together.

"Aegon! Do you know how messed up that sounds?" Jace comes to your rescue, but you know it'll be for nought. Aegon's brain is too warped, too silver-spoonfed, to recognise his folly. You used to feel sympathy for the guy—this life is all he's ever known, and it isn't as if the adults around him ever set a good example, so can you blame him?

Used to. Now, he just annoys you. You grew up the same, but you are not like him, aren't you? So did Hel and Jace. So did Aemond. And Aemond, while still an asshole, is at least someone you can tolerate. He's vicious when it comes to his ambition, but he's genuinely smart.

He's cold and aloof, but he is also capable of tenderness.

You would never readily admit to anyone how you know this about him.

And he's staring you down, once again. You immediately know it's him when you feel someone nudge your shin under the table.

You eye him warily. What do you want?

He raises his eyebrows. Nothing. Just missed you.

At least that's what you're picking up from him. Why wouldn't he miss you? You're probably the best thing in his life right now. He should be so grateful you're still giving him the time of day, especially after everything he's done.

Aemond nods ever so subtly, the gesture meant for only you. You already know what he's getting at, but you don't feel like caving just yet.

It's another long moment of tuning in and out of your conversation with Jace, but Aemond's unspoken question lingers. When you deign to look at him again, he tilts his head to the side. Let's go.

He knows to leave first, and he stands and excuses himself from the table. Barely anyone gives him any mind, the adults debating passionately at the farther end.

You wait one whole minute, your heels tapping impatiently under the table. Then you follow suit.

"I need some air. Might have a smoke or something," you mumble to Jace. He wouldn't want to tag along, the scrunch of his face revealing how much he loathes the habit.

"Just the one," he tuts, raising a finger.

You roll your eyes fondly. "Okay, dad."

Aemond has just lit a cigarette when he hears you come in. The door to the private library lets out a tiny creak then shuts without a sound. He faces the window, his back to you. But he knows it's you. He can almost hear the derision in your exhale. A hint of your unmistakeable Guerlain scent is present in the room.

When you draw closer, he sees the ghost of your reflection on the glass, a mirage perched atop his shoulder. He thinks of the age-old visual of having an angel and a devil on either side. You would be the angel, and the devil... would probably be his own self.

The side he fights to keep buried. He knows you see it, and hate it, but you want him anyway. You let him have you anyway. And these stolen moments with you are the only times when he is truly free.

Without a word, he offers a cigarette to you, his hand moving with a smooth, practiced form that makes it feel like he's not just offering you a smoke but issuing a silent challenge. He lifts his lighter, an intricate, expensive thing engraved with his family crest, flicking it open with a soft metallic click, then holding the flame steady as you lean in.

He can't help but admire how beautiful you are as the glow illuminates your face.

"Do you ever get bored?" you sneer, folding your arms as you lean against a shelf. "Sitting there all night with that smug, 'yes, I agree with all of this' look while your family drones on about the 'sanctity of tradition.' Like a good little heir."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his cigarette as he takes a drag. You sure have a habit of getting right down to business. "Funny," he replies smoothly. "For someone who 'hates' tradition, you play the part of Daddy's obedient little princess pretty well. I saw you batting your eyes at every gray-haired councilman at that table."

"Oh, please." You roll your eyes, heat flaring in your cheeks, though whether from anger or the way his gaze always seems to pin you in place, despite your best efforts, you can't say. "I'm not doing it because I like it. I don't sit there pretending I'm better than the rest of the world."

"You don't?" He cocks his head, his lips quirking into a wry, infuriating smirk. "Could've fooled me, princess. All I ever hear from you in these dinners are 'Oh, absolutely' and 'Oh, that's so interesting'—like you'd just die if they didn't think you cared."

"Wow, okay, says the guy who spent twenty minutes nodding along while they debated the tax breaks for HNWIs. Planning to cut yourself some more slack there, hotshot?" You take a quick, sharp puff, the smoke billowing out of your lips as you continue your tirade. "You're a damn statue, Aemond. Most of the time, you don't even say a word, and yet somehow you sit there looking like everyone should be grateful you graced them with your presence."

He takes a step closer, and his voice drops. This is something only you can do—you get to him, you hit him where it matters. Or, you're the only one he allows the privilege of doing so. "And you hate it, don't you? You hate that I don't care what they think. That I'm not actually here to impress anyone."

Your laugh comes out bitter. "Please. You don't care because you're so convinced they already think you're perfect. You don't have to impress anyone because you're Aemond Targaryen, right? The perfect heir to a glowing legacy."

"Better that than playing the poor, tortured rebel." He's so close you can count the facets of the sapphire in his socket, a dangerous gleam flashing behind them—another outlandish, excessive thing only a billionaire's son would think to do. "At least I'm not pretending I want to burn it all down while running around in the same circles as everyone else. Tell me, do you actually care about the policies Jacaerys painstakingly explains to you? Or is it all just for show?"

"You don't know me, Aemond."

"Oh, but I do. In fact, I think I'm the only one who knows the real you."

You clench your jaw, craning your neck up to look at him. How ironic that he literally has to look down on you too. "Unlike you, I actually feel something about all this. You sit there like you're above it all, and it's pathetic."

"Pathetic?" He lets out a low, humorless laugh. "You want to talk about pathetic? The only thing pathetic is you standing there acting like a revolutionary when you're just like the rest of us."

"At least I want to get out. At least I want to make a goddamn difference and—"

"Then do it," he says, his tone mocking, as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your face. "Get out. Run off, make your big escape. Show everyone how different and special you are, princess."

"Oh, right," you shoot back, trying to regain some of your moxie after his unexpected retort. "And leave you to taint my image after then?"

He scoffs, the gesture dismissive, almost cruel. "You wouldn't be here if you actually had the guts to go through with it."

Aemond may be a pretentious asshole, but he's right, and you know it. "You know what, Aemond? What if... I tell you that I like it. The power, the status, all of it. Is that what you want to hear?"

He smirks. "You'd be adrift without it. You'd be lost without all this to complain about." His gaze drops to your mouth, as if he could already guess exactly how a rendezvous like this is going to end.

How it always ends.

You feel your breath hitch, your pulse racing even as you grit your teeth against the draw of him.

"Don't look at me like that," you snap, trying to keep the upper hand. You should leave. You know this, know you should storm out and leave him here with that damn arrogant smirk on his face.

Call it a truce, and do it all over again next time.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll do something you'll regret?"

The challenge in his tone has you seething, heat blazing up your neck. "You're insufferable, you know that?” You try to sound as furious as you feel, but your voice wavers, and the corner of his mouth tilts in a dark, smug smile.

"Then leave, princess." His eyes flash, daring you, mocking you, yet he doesn't move back. "Go on. Show me that strength you keep talking about."

The words are meant to push you away, to test how much you can take, but they do something else instead. They push you over the edge, sending you surging forward before you even know what you're doing, fisting the front of his pristine shirt and yanking him down to you.

Your mouth meets his, all anger and fire, biting at his lips as he smirks against you, welcoming the aggression. His hands find your waist, pawing at your gown, pushing you back until you stumble against the bookshelf.

You try to hold onto the anger, to use it to keep yourself in control, but the way he kisses you—rough, possessive, familiar, with a hunger that seems to match yours—makes it impossible. His hands slip to your hips, fingers digging into you with a desire that you both pretend doesn't exist anywhere but here, in the dark corners of your little meeting places.

"Stop," you gasp for breath, pulling away for just a second, trying to steady yourself, but he follows, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck, biting down just enough to make you groan.

His fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, finding bare skin. "Then tell me you don't want this."

Your head tilts back involuntarily, the blissed hitches in your breath becoming frequent. You should tell him to stop, but the words never come, not with his fingers tracing up your thigh, the pressure of his lean body against yours, the electric shiver that races through you as his mouth tongue dances with your own.

You give in, letting your anger melt into something messier, something that's been building between you both for so long you don't know how to unravel it. Your hands move to his white-blonde hair, pulling him closer. His hand slips higher, while the other is braced against the bookshelf behind you.

There's nothing careful about it—gone are the dynasty heirs who are unfailingly curated and perfect and genteel in the public eye. It's all frantic, hands grabbing, mouths clashing, neither of you willing to let the other take control but both of you giving in to the heat. He yanks your dress up, lifting you and positioning himself between your legs, his breathing rough as he makes quick work of his belt. Then he lets his trousers and underwear drop halfway down his thighs, and his cock springs free, pressing on the draped material of your gown, which you hurriedly bunch to the side.

It's like a sick power play when he takes two fingers and plunges them past your soaked entrance, right to his knuckles. All without breaking eye contact.

But neither has the upper hand. You and Aemond are one and the same.

"Seems like you're ready for me, princess."

"Mhmm, aghh—" He hooks his fingers inside you, hitting that damned spot. "Just fuck me already."

And when he does, his cock practically propping you up against the bookshelf, it's fast, chaotic, your movements nothing short of needy and desperate, as if you're both trying to prove something to the other. You don't care about the priceless first-edition books that rattle precariously behind you, nor about the way his fingers dig into your flesh that guarantee bruises that will show tomorrow. Right now, you're past caring, past pretending that you actually ever cared about anyone but yourself.

And maybe... Aemond.

His groans come out unrestrained against your neck, his tongue flicking over the droplets of sweat, as if he can't bear you being any less than perfect.

Only he can taint you, only he can see you broken in and fucked out like this, your lipstick smeared to the side of your mouth. That same shade of rouge littering his cheek, his jaw, the collar of his shirt.

No words are exchanged, as if they've been used up in your twisted version of foreplay from earlier.

All he offers is, "Fuck, baby, I'm close," as his hips continue in its assault, his hands buried in the softness of your arse, keeping you in place.

"So am I," you counter.

He falls apart inside you, his cock sputtering while lodged deep in your clenched walls. The near-animalistic growl he lets out brings you to your climax, your forehead falling against his as your entire body is rendered limp in his arms.

When you finally pull away, flushed, your heart still racing, he looks at you with that same arrogant smirk, and you can't help but feel the distaste rising back up.

"Still think I don't know you?" he murmurs, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

You glare at him, pulling your dress back down, refusing to let him have the last word even as his expression uncharacteristically softens as he gazes at you, making you want to pull him close and kiss him again. Gentler, this time.

"This can't happen again," you force out your usual lie.

"That's what you said last time, princess."

Vhagar taglist: @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @mrsmunson-harrington @romyfe06

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Bang!

pairing: virgin!felix x experienced!afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 3.8k

warnings: nipple play, oral (m receiving), fingering, protected sex (a first in my fics haha), second hand embarassment

a/n: inspired by felix banging his head on every table he comes close to😂

idk how many times i will write virgin felix let me live okay (i wrote this on a whim)

~check out: Masterlist

Deep breath in. Long breath out. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Deep breath- oh fuck this.

Felix can't breathe. Not when he's standing in front of your door, ready to knock as his hand pauses mid-air.

How will he look you in the eyes when you appear in front of him? He couldn't even sleep last night.

There was no scenario he didn't run in his head over and over again. Like what if he does something wrong and it turns you off? What if he accidentally hurts you? He would never forgive himself. What if he's not good at all, too awkward and inexperienced for you? What if you don't like his stuff? What if he can't please you at all and you're disappointed and you leave him?

His mind went to some really dark places as he kept overthinking about everything and comparing himself to your exes while he secretly stalked their social media in bed.

Despite feeling discouraged, he manages to finally knock on the door and he stands still, listening to his rapid heartbeat and your footsteps nearing the door.

You're so estatic to see your boyfriend that you yank the door open a little too enthusiastically, making Felix jolt before he chuckles nervously at your smiling face.

"Hey."- your expression softens when you see him looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey. Um, I made these for you."- Felix lifts his hand up, holding a cute bag with little hearts on it and you peer inside, already knowing that in the tuperware lay his famous brownies.

"Aw, Lixie thank you! You're too sweet!"- you chuckle, leaning closer to him to peck his lips.

You notice he's stiff, he must be nervous because of the talk you had last night where he told you he was ready to take the next step in your budding relationship.

You were more than ready to take things to the next physical level, especially since you've had relationships before and even though Felix dated, he said he wanted to wait for the right person.

Him calling you the right person for him and trusting you with something so delicate like his first time, made you love him even more and you felt honored he chose you.

You were determined to make everything as relaxing and pleasurable as it can possibly be, you even made his favorite dinner and picked out a fun movie to relax beforehand.

Felix was relieved to find out you'd eat dinner first because that gave him some time to calm down (freak out even more) and he was trying to hype himself up the whole time as you talked about your day.

The food you cooked for him was delicious but he didn't want to eat too much in case he throws up because his stomach was swirling with butterflies, making him feel nauseous.

You could see that he was still so nervous, his leg was shaking under the table during dinner and he was mostly avoiding to look into your eyes.

He helped you clean up before the two of you moved to the couch to watch the movie.

You sat close to him, wanting to cuddle like you always do when you watch tv together but Felix jumped a little before settling next to you.

"You okay?"- you ask cautiously, your hand on the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and he shivers.

"Fine. Completely fine."- he says but you shake your head and pause the movie.

"Love, we don't have to do it tonight if you're not ready. I don't want you to feel any kind of pressure because I really don't mind waiting."- you tell him truthfully as you gently hold his hand and Felix's eyes fill with love as he looks at you.

"No, I'm ready, I am! I'm just a little nervous."

"That's understandable."- you say before you give him a small smirk, your hand on his cheek.

His eyes flutter as he leans into your touch instantly and stares at you like a lovesick puppy.

"Let me help you relax, hm?"- you whisper as you lean in closer, pressing your lips into his.

Felix kisses back, and the kiss is sweet and gentle, just like him. Your hands hold his precious face as he hesitantly places his on your waist.

You kneel on the couch, hovering over him as he runs his hands gently up and down on your sides. You swipe your tongue across his bottom lip and Felix parts his lips, letting you in.

You play with his tongue, circling around it with yours, licking at his mouth and gently sucking on his tongue. You can tell he's getting worked up as you play with his hair and he squeezes your waist a little, fingertips digging into your back.

You decide to throw your leg over him and sit in his lap, pressing your core against him and Felix jolts, whimpering into your mouth as you stimulate his growing erection.

And here he was, worrying about his thing having performance anxiety. That was one worry he could check off in his head, because there was no way he wouldn't get aroused with you on top of him like that.

You could feel him through layers of clothing, and it made your arousal drip on your panties.

You couldn't wait to see him, touch him, taste him, feel him. You roll your hips experimentally against his, dragging your clothed pussy against him and Felix grunts, his head falling back as his hands grip at your hips.

His eyes are closed, his eyebrows furrowed and his face is flushed. You can tell he's holding back as you slowly grind against him.

"Lix, look at me."- you say, gently touching his cheek and he opens his eyes, embarassment and arousal painted inside them.

"Does it feel good?"- you ask, pressing harder into him and feeling him grow more with your movement.

"S-so good."- he's quiet and stares at your breasts as he answers.

You grab his face to make him look at you and the sweet innocent bambi eyes he gives you make you want to devour him whole.

You lean his head back a little and bring your lips to his hot skin, leaving kisses on the column of his neck.

Felix starts breathing harder as he holds in his moans, afraid that he might let out embarassing sounds. His fingers are digging into your hips and as you bite down on his sensitive skin, he accidentally grinds up into you, bringing more friction to the both of you.

You moan and his cock twitches in his pants at the sound, his eyes falling to your breasts again. You can see he's entranced by them so you decide to indulge his silent wish as you reach down to the hem of your shirt.

His lips part as you pull it over your head, and Felix sees the lacy blue bra you're wearing. It's almost like you have nothing on because he can see your nipples through the lace and his mouth waters at the sight, his cock leaking in his boxers.

"Oh wow."- he says then chuckles.

"You like? I wore it for you."- you say, your hands sliding down to rest on top of his.

"I'm really lucky."- he says, his face completely red as he looks at you sweetly.

"Me too."- you smile as you grip his hands and slide them up to your breasts.

"Can I?"- he licks his lips and you giggle at his sweetness.

"Ofcourse. They're yours."- you say and Felix leaks in his boxers again as he squeezes your breasts gently.

"Mine..."- he says, his face mesmerized as he massages them. You moan, arching into his touch, his hands feel perfect on you like he was made just for you and you were made just for him.

He swipes his thumbs against your nipples and you whimper, making him flick his eyes up at your face. When he sees the look of arousal on your face, he feels a bit more confident as he starts playing with your nipples, lightly pinching them and rolling them between his fingers.

"Ahh, Lixie!"- you whine, your hips moving against him again and he thinks he just might cum in his pants before you even get to take them off and that would be freaking embarassing so he tries to forget about himself and focus on giving you pleasure.

He moves the lace to the side, revealing your nipple before he leans in closer, his hot breath hitting your skin.

"Okay?"- he asks and you nod as he presses his lips on your nipple. His tongue darts out to play with the aroused bud and you whine, your hand gripping at his hair.

Felix's eyes glaze over as he grunts lowly, enveloping his lips around your nipple and gently sucking on it.

Pleasure courses through your body, down to your core that's clenching around nothing, your juices seeping onto your panties.

Felix closes his eyes and sucks harder, you keep gripping and releasing his hair as he moans around you. His hips start grinding up into you as he gives your other nipple the same treatment.

You think he's completely forgotten about what you two planned to do because he keeps sucking on your nipples, entranced with them and you gently caress his back and whisper his name.

He leans back to look at you, and he looks fucked out already.

"I- um, I'm sorry, they're so pretty. I could suck on them forever."- he confesses with a shy smile and you chuckle, grabbing his face.

"You can do that later. Right now, I'd like for us to go to my room and continue there. What do you say?"- you ask and he nods quickly.

"I'd love that."- he says and you giggle, feeling giddy as you stand up and hold his hand, dragging him to your room.

You gently push him to sit on your bed before adjusting your bra.

"I want to show you something first."- you say as you start unbuttoning your pants and Felix gulps.

You slide them down slowly and his mind is dizzy when he sees the matching panties and your cunt wrapped with the lace like a little present just for him.

He groans at the sight, his cock is painfully hard as you make your way to him.

"Take your shirt off, baby."- you say and Felix obliges immediately.

"These too, you don't need them."- you pull at his jeans with a smirk and he swallows as he slowly unbuttons them and slides them down.

Arousal gushes on your panties when you see his hard cock straining in his boxers, a patch of wetness where the head is.

"Lixie."- you bite on your lip, hands on his thighs and he lets you part them as he looks up at you through his long eyelashes.

"Y/n..."- he whimpers quietly as you massage his thighs.

You slide your hand towards his erection, and look at him, seeing panic appear in his eyes.

"Is it okay if I touch you, baby?"- you ask gently, your hand stopping on his inner thigh.

"Yes, yes please."- he says, nodding quickly.

You cup his cock with your hand and Felix moans, leaning into your touch immediately, his legs opening up more.

"Mm..."- he presses his lips together as you start palming him, you pussy throbbing to feel him inside you.

"Relax, baby."- you coo at him, squeezing his cock and caressing his face. "Let me hear your pretty moans, Lixie."

His lips part as he looks at you sweetly, moaning quietly as you work his length.

"Let's get rid of these."- you hook your fingers in his boxers and he nods.

You slowly slide them down, his hard cock slapping against his abs, the tip glistening with pre cum and Felix turns away from you, his eyes squeezed shut.

"So pretty."- you mutter and get down on your knees between his legs, your hand wrapping around him.

Felix looks at you and gasps when he sees your lips close to his tip.

"Y-you don't have to do that."- he says and you bite on your lip.

"I want to Lixie. I wanna make you feel good."- you say.

"B-but I feel good already."- he gulps and you chuckle. He's too sweet that it makes you wanna please him even more.

"I know baby but I can make you feel even better. Do you trust me?"- you ask, slowly jerking his twitching cock.

"Ah- yes, yes I trust you!"- he whimpers, hips lifting up into your hand.

You lean in and lick at the pre cum oozing out of his tip, making Felix shiver. You play with his tip as he observes you with lustful eyes, before you wrap your lips around him, taking him in your mouth. He can't even look at you anymore, thinking that he'll bust as soon as he sees your face and your lips wrapped around his cock so sinfully as you bob your head and take more and more of him in.

You moan around his length, stimulating him as your other hand cups his balls to get his attention, you want him to look at you and Felix jolts, legs shaking a little as he grips the blanket under him and finally looks at you.

"Oh-" -he whimpers, seeing you drooling all over his cock, almost all of it disappearing inside your hot mouth, and when you look up at him with a dark look in your eyes, Felix crosses off you not liking his stuff, because you're obviously enjoying yourself.

"B-baby... I'm gonna cum if you continue."- he whimpers.

You pop off of him and smirk.

"You taste so good, Lixie."- you say as you bite on your lip with a sly smile.

"Oh yeah?"- he asks, his face red.

"Mhm."- you lift up and grab his face, crashing your lips on his and kissing him fervently.

He kisses you back desperately, and you can't wait anymore so you push him down and lean back.

Without words, you unhook your bra and toss it somewhere aside and Felix gulps as he looks at your breasts.

His hands are on your hips as he sits up and hooks his fingers in your panties.

"Let me."- he says and you nod as he slowly slides them off, your slick dripping down your inner thigh and Felix can smell your sweet juice.

He licks his lips, feeling hungry for you even more.

You smirk at his face and manouver over to lay down on the bed as he follows your movements.

"Come get a better look at what belongs to you, Lixie."- you smirk and Felix groans, his cock twitching hard and leaking again as you spread your legs.

Your glistening cunt is on display and he looks mesmerized again as his hand moves on it's own, fingertips on your wet folds.

"You're so wet."- he whispers.

"You did that."- you whisper back.

"I did?"- he asks.

"Yeah, you did baby. It's all for you."- you moan when he experimentally presses his thumb into your clit.

"Here?"- he asks, and you nod, your eyes falling to his cock and you can see that he's so hard, so ready to be inside you.

He circles his thumb on your sensitive nub, picking up on your reactions and making mental notes of what you like the most.

Your cunt keeps gushing with arousal and Felix feels pride swell in his chest as he runs his middle finger on your dripping folds.

"Can I?"- he asks for permission like the sweet boy he is and you nod.

"Please."- you whine and Felix slowly pushes his finger inside your wetness.

"Ah Lixie!"- you moan as he starts slowly pumping his finger, his thumb still on your clit.

"You sure you've never done this?"- you pant as he speeds up a little.

"Yeah."- he chuckles.

"So good! I need more Lixie, please."- you whimper, hips lifting up into him.

"Your wish is my command, baby."- he says, slowly pushing another finger inside you, your cunt stretching around him as you moan his name.

Felix checks off not being able to please you because he's obviously doing something right.

"Lix- Lixie, I need your cock!"- you become desperate and Felix's face flushes with warmness, traveling down his neck, to his heart, then to his navel right to his hard cock.

"O-okay."- he slowly pulls his fingers out and without thinking he wraps his lips around them to taste you.

You moan at the sight and Felix feels a little embarassed but you look so ready for him that he throws the embarassment in the back of his mind.

"There's a condom on the night stand."- you turn your head towards it and he nods grabbing it, before kneeling between your legs and pausing.

"What is it?"- you lean on your elbows as Felix looks unsure again.

"Can you- can you help me put it on?"- he asks timidly and you nod with a reassuring smile.

"Ofcourse, baby."- you say, grabbing the condom from his hands and opening up the wrapper with your teeth.

Felix smiles excitedly and nervously as you smirk up at him, the fact that he'll be inside you in mere seconds making his brain explode.

You slowly roll the condom on and he whimpers, biting on his lip as his eyes flutter shut.

"Come here."- you beckon him, your legs wrapping around his hips, bringing him closer and making his tip rub against your wet pussy.

There's just a moment of silent exchanges of looks full of love before he sinks his cock into your heat, stretching you perfectly, filling you up.

Both of you moan as he slowly opens you up and bottoms out.

"Oh my god. You're so warm and tight."- he whimpers into your ear and you let out a small chuckle, your pussy clenching around him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to say that out loud."- he grunts.

"It's okay Lixie. I wanna hear how good I feel to you."- you run your hands through his hair as he admires you.

He leans in for a kiss, something familiar in this new moment before he slowly starts moving his hips.

Your lover is all around you and inside you and both of you get lost in the moment, moving together into each other's bodies.

Your cunt wraps perfectly around him and you keep getting more wet making him slide more easily inside you, and Felix speeds up as he looks at your face contorted in pleasure, pretty moans spilling out of your lips.

He feels so prideful and happy that he's making you feel so good that more blood rushes to his cock, making him throb inside you.

Your moans get louder and more high pitched, he must be hitting the spot and bringing you to your high.

He gets so excited seeing you like that, that he fucks into you faster making you keen as you dig your nails into his back.

Bang!

Felix hits his head on the godforsaken shelf you installed randomly one day just so you can put some books and trinkets on it. He halts his movements groaning and cursing under his breath, and for good measure a book falls right on his head because of the force of his head colliding with the shelf.

The speed with which he pulls out of you and rolls over to face the wall, grabbing at his head, groaning loudly in pain and embarassment as he pulls his legs up in a fetal position, leave you stunned and you wonder for a moment what just happened.

A laugh bubbles in your throat and you stiffle it, cursing yourself in your head before you cautiously roll over to your side and hover above Felix.

"Lix?"- you say.

"Lix is not here."- his voice is muffled as he buries his face in your blankets.

"Baby. Are you okay?"- you ask, your hand on his head, gently caressing him and he hisses.

"No, not really. That was the most embarassing thing that ever happened to me."- he whimpers, his eyes teary from the pain and embarassment he feels. "I just lost the last ounce of confidence I had. Probably also gave myself a concussion."

"It's okay, things like this happen in the bedroom all the time. This isn't a porn movie or something."- you try to comfort him.

"Y/n, just laugh at me. I can hear it in your voice."- he sniffles and you sigh.

"I won't laugh at you, I promise, I'm sorry, okay? It's my fault for putting the stupid shelf there."- you wrap your arms around him and Felix wants the earth to open up and make him disappear right this instant.

"No, it's my fault for being clumsy and embarassing."- he whimpers. "And my head really hurts now."- he adds, thinking that this wasn't one of the scenarios he prepared for.

"We can put some ice on it. I'll give you some painkillers. Just look at me first."- you say, caressing him.

"Nuh-uh."- he refuses to budge as you try to turn him around.

"Come on Lixie, it's not that serious. We can continue later."- you lean in and kiss his shoulder.

"You still wanna continue?"- he finally turns to look at you and your heart hurts at his teary eyes.

"Ofcourse I do."- you coo at him as you pull him into your arms and he buries his face in your chest.

"Me too but I need to gather all my brain cells back first."- he mumbles into your skin and you chuckle as you hold him, gently caressing his head.

"They're around somewhere."- you joke, trying to relax him. "We'll find them. We have all night."

"We do, yeah?"- he looks up at you with his big bambi eyes, making your heart swell as you lean in and kiss him lovingly.

You're sitting in the kitchen, him in his boxers and you in one of his shirts you borrowed as you hold the bag of frozen peas on his head.

He drinks the painkillers you gave him with water and looks at you, his face red and eyes full of regret and embarassment.

"I knew it couldn't be perfect. I'm sorry y/n, I really wanted to make you feel good and-"

"Lix, nothing is perfect. Stuff like this happens a lot, trust me. At least we have a funny memory we can always remember."- he sighs and nods.

"And you did make me feel good. So don't worry. This is just like... intermission."- you say and he chuckles. "There's still a whole other part of entertainment we will get to."- you add, smirking as you lean closer to his face.

"I feel like that's gonna be my favorite part."- he says and you agree, chuckling with him.

"Let's just not entertain ourselves under the shelf anymore because I don't think my head and my pride can take any more blows."- Felix says and you laugh as you lean in to kiss him.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny

Hope you like this lovey💕🤭 @lixies-favorite-cookie

[satowooo]

ii. down bad

Satoru was so sure that he finally got over you, but why does he feel his heart beating again whenever he sees you walking down the room as if you own the place, the way you own his heart? Reminiscing the past feels like voluntarily falling down the edge of a high mountain, except Gojo Satoru was more than willing to welcome the pain that he thought was long gone and buried in the depths of the sea.

contents. angst, fluff, maid!reader x gojo satoru, difference in social class, past events, flashbacks, modern au, not proofread.

‘Cause fuck it I was in love, so fuck you if I can't have us.

previous chapter → next chapter

JANUARY 2009

It was probably love at first sight for Gojo Satoru. Or maybe just a small interest. Maybe he just wanted to be friends with you. Or maybe you really just caught his attention.

It was probably because it's the first time for Satoru to see a maid the same age as him, which makes it more intriguing because he usually has old ones who are at least 10 years older, most of them who raised him since he was just a child. And then there's you walking in with your chin up, eyes set in front, your moves calculated, and you're not sparing him a glance every time he walks by, your head always lowered in a polite bow.

It felt like you were a robot. A cold demeanour of a woman who seems to be dolled up and built to be a servant who will obediently obey any orders from its master. To Gojo Satoru, you were an emotionless, uninteresting, boring woman.

So why is he so drawn to you?

There's something about you that makes you feel different. Sure, he has met other girls too. They were all lively and admired him like he's the prettiest person in the whole world. Quirky and cheerful girls unlike you who were… nothing.

He wants to know what's this force pulling him to come to you. And he needs to be at a near distance, he needs to get to know you, to talk to you, just so he could answer these questions in his head.

It's been exactly two weeks since the first time he saw you back in the garden, and he still hasn't talked to you even once. He's been watching from afar, call him a stalker or a creep, but those are none of his intentions. You caught his eye, that's for sure.

It was one of those leisurely days wherein Satoru was just taking a walk around the estate, breathing in the fresh air of his palace-like home. Everyone who walked by bowed down to greet their master, whispering amongst themselves and putting up their best behaviours.

“The tea is ready, Young Master.” A maid approached him, eyes down on the floor. “Do you want us to set it up on the tables at the pavilion?”

Satoru raised his hand as if to wave them off, motioning the maid to raise her head. “No need for that. Take it to my chambers. I'll follow shortly.”

The maid nodded before she took her leave, until Satoru was left alone in the gardens once again. His eyes roamed around for a presence, hoping to see the familiar silhouette of a lady that he longed to see. Days of observing you, he had noticed well enough that you spent a lot of your time here, where all the flowers bloomed in the softest colours that pleased the eyes. And he wanted to see you here, perhaps make a small talk if he was lucky enough for you to grace him with your presence.

But to no avail. Satoru let out a sigh after a few minutes of waiting around, his head darting from left to right one last time to see if you're coming or not, and you still didn't. His chest heaves as he tucks his hands in his pockets, walking back to his chambers to have his tea.

The silence around the estate had always been deafening, hearing only footsteps from the servants or the clinks of cups. Every step he took made quite a sound that reached the walls, his aura alone could startle even the small ants that roamed around the corner of his house as he dragged the door open, revealing his neatly cleaned bedroom.

He sat cross legged on the soft mattress on the floor before his tea table, grabbing a book as he waited for the maids to bring his afternoon snacks.

And oh is it his lucky day?

“Young Master…”

A voice so soft and unfamiliar came by the door, knocking three times. Despite how Satoru didn't know the owner of the voice behind his door, his heartbeat suddenly started to rise from his chest.

He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Come in.”

He felt like he caught his breath when the doors opened, revealing the woman he had been looking for quite some time now. Your hair up in a ponytail, your kimono hanging on your body as your small hands carry the tray of tea cups and a kettle. Right before him stands the most beautiful woman he had seen his whole life.

He gulped, sweat forming in his forehead. For a second, he didn't know what to do or say.

Satoru felt stupid. Crazy. Bewildered. And astonished. And enthralled. By you. For you.

He didn't realise his mouth was gape open for a few seconds, a faint shade of pink flushed on his cheek. He gulped once more before he finally had the courage to talk.

“Come in. Place them on the table” He patted the empty table, waiting for you to take the tea to him. You kept your head lowered, not looking him in the eye again.

You swiftly placed the tray on his table, kneeling down on the opposite side in front of him. You took the kettle, pouring down the tea skillfully on his cup. You almost felt yourself spill the tea when you heard his voice that seemed to echo around the room.

“I heard, you're new here?”

Obviously, you are. He knew it for quite some time now. But what else does he have to say? He wants a conversation and that's what he's doing to get your attention. Even though it made him sound like he's stupid.

“Yes, Young Master.” Your answer was short and precise, leaving no room to keep the conversation afloat. But it's Gojo Satoru talking, you can't expect him to shut up with just one question.

“As from what I know, you're here to take your mother's place while she's receiving medical treatments as of the moment. How is she?” He takes a sip from his cup, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches your every movement.

“She's recovering well.”

He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head. Your short answers made him dumbfounded for quite a reason, unable to think of another question that might keep you talking.

He clenched his jaw, tilting his head to the side as he said, “Lift your head.”

You gulped, hands falling down on your thighs as you slowly looked up. Oceanic blue eyes beneath his snowy lashes met with yours as if a light was shining directly at your face for how blinding his gaze felt like. Your breath hitched for a moment. His beauty was nothing like a normal man you see on televisions. Neither artists nor models.

He was breathtaking. Gojo Satoru was the epitome of beauty. A piece of art that never fades even as centuries pass.

“What's your name, Miss?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “As your master, I should know at least the names of who I associate myself with inside our home, no?”

You blinked a few times before you uttered your name out of your mouth, feeling out of breath all of a sudden. Despite how calm his gaze looked into you, you felt like he was trying to freeze you with his eyes alone. “Y/N…”

His lips curled into a delightful smile. There was a satisfaction laced in his eyes as he nodded his head, his fingers circling on the edge of his teacup. “A beautiful name, Miss Y/N. You probably know me already, but I'm Satoru Gojo. Pleasure to meet you.”

You smiled politely, your eyes looking anywhere but his. While Satoru Gojo basked himself in your beauty, looking directly into your appearance as if you'd be gone any moment now if he tears his eyes away from you. It took Satoru quite awhile before he finally came back to his senses to finally let you take your leave.

“Now, I'm sure you have other things to do. You may go now.” Satoru raised his cup like he was doing a toast before he took another sip. “I'll let you know if I need anything.”

He somehow made a good first impression, he thought. You didn't talk much yet your presence alone filled the silence as he stared at you for quite some time and Satoru is just glad he didn't embarrass himself.

It was more than enough. At least for now. He'll make sure to take all the chances he gets to talk to you and climb the walls you've built around yourself. He doesn't mind.

FEBRUARY 2009

“It's nice to see you again.”

You jolted in shock when a presence suddenly came beside you while you were picking some flowers. A low manly voice of a man that you're now familiar with ever since you worked here.

You stayed calm, facing him so you could properly greet him as you bowed your head. “Young Master, is there anything you need?”

“Your presence, if I may.”

Now, Satoru Gojo was definitely playing with fire. His words shooting out of his mouth before he could think about how it could affect this so-called relationship you two had that hasn't even started yet. But then, he still felt cool about it. Biting his lip as he shrugs smugly as you look at him confused.

“My presence?”

“Indeed. I hope you don't mind if I… stay around with you while you do your tasks.” He looks down at the basket you're holding filled with different types of flowers, smiling to himself at the thought of you might make a bouquet of it. “But of course, if you don't want me to, I will leave.”

“No, Sir. How can I refuse?” You laughed nervously, waving your hands to say no. “Stay if you must. I don't mind at all.”

Satoru chuckled and nodded his head. “Well then…”

He looked down the basket, his gaze locked on the extra scissors. Without further ado, he took them by his hands, proceeding to help you pick the same flowers that you were collecting.

“Do you have any flowers that you like here?” He asks, his eyes focused on the plant that he was cutting.

Your eyes quickly caught what he was trying to do, your mouth flying open as he cut the stem of a flower. “Young Master, please let me do the work. You're not supposed to–”

“Relax, Miss.” He turned to you with a chuckle, pushing his hand in the air in front of you where he was holding the flower that he picked. “I want to help. And don't worry, you won't get into trouble for this.”

You hesitated at first, but seeing him pushing his hands forward where he offered you the flower made you relent. You sigh in defeat, nodding your head as you take the flower from him, putting it down the basket. “Then I shall oblige.”

“So are you going to answer my question?” He asked as he continued his work.

“Question?”

“Flowers. Any flowers in here that you had taken a liking to?”

You purse your lips together, looking over at the other side of the garden, where different colours of tulips are starting to bloom. “That one.”

“The tulips?”

“Mhmm…”

Satoru smiled to himself, taking a mental note to give you one some of these days. “Nice choice. They're beautiful, aren't they?”

“They are. My brother loves them.” You blurted, starting to open up into the conversation with him.

“You have a brother?” Satoru asked in curiosity as he plucked another flower, then tossed it down the basket. “How old is he?”

“Yes, I have an eight-year-old brother.” Your heart warms at the thought of your sibling, a person who's probably waiting for you to come home during the weekend.

He glances at you, noticing the warm smile that crossed your lips, feeling something tugging at his chest at this sight of you. Relaxed and comfortable in his presence, it made him confident that you were somehow warming up a bit with him.

“You should take him here some time.”

Your eyes widened at his invitation, quickly looking over at him only to find that he was already staring at you, his eyes showing that he was serious. You take a sharp breath, feeling his gaze burning into you as he waits for your answer.

“I cannot… I'm here to work–”

“I insist.” Satoru cutted her off, before he went back to plucking some more flowers. “I enjoy company once in a while. He can have as many tulips as he wants. I promise you won't get into trouble for it, I'm the master in here after all, aren't I?”

Did he easily sway you like that? You hoped he didn't.

“Right…” You looked down, your fingers fidgeting. “I'll let him know.”

There was a moment of silence. Only the sounds of the scissors trimming and leaves falling down the ground could be heard. You focused on your work as Satoru helps you, and minutes passed until the basket was already overflowing because your mind was too preoccupied with your conversation with him.

You sighed, bidding him farewell as the work was done. You left as soon as he dismissed you, your heart racing the same way as your steps quickly travelled back to your room.

Your chest was heaving, and you don't know if you're breathing this heavy because of the way you hurriedly ran to your abode or was it because of the way he made you feel. Nonetheless, you don't want to know the answer just yet.

MARCH 2009

That wasn't the last time that you saw Gojo Satoru. After that interaction, you seem to cross paths with him more frequently than before. And everytime it happens, he always engages in conversations with you. His advances didn't bother you so much, in fact, it made you comfortable enough ever since you started working as a maid and he made you feel less lonely. Gradually, you became casual with him, yet still remaining professional.

Satoru liked it. The company. Your presence. The casualty. And the friendship that's starting to bloom between the two of you. It wasn't easy at first, but he got the hang of your personality.

He notices how you seem to not be close with anyone among the maids, since they're either older than you by a few years or… simply old enough to be your mother. He watched you talk to them at some point, asking about things that you're not yet familiar with in the estate, and following their orders if you're needed. You were perfect and obedient and he never saw you complaining about any task laid in front of you.

As a sound came from the front door, Satoru jerked his head up from where he sat on the grass. He saw you walking out in more casual clothes, piquing his interest immediately as he stood to go to you.

“Are you going somewhere?” Satoru curiously asked as soon as he got to your side. He noticed the way you jumped back a bit, clearly not expecting his sudden appearance.

“Uh, yeah… I'm going out a bit.” You answered shortly.

“Where?” Satoru glanced in front of the two of you where a familiar face was waiting at the car, their family driver, waiting for you.

“The grocery store.”

“Right. I'll take you.”

“What?”

You both stopped on your tracks as you looked at him confused. You tried to read his expression, but Satoru only offered you a cheeky smile. He walked ahead so he could talk to the driver before taking the keys from him. He strode to the passenger seat and opened the door for you without a word.

“Aren't you coming?”

And that's simply how you found yourself at the grocery store, with a tall man tailing behind you.

From the way he talks, and the way he carries himself into the room, every other woman that you two would walk past will sneak a glance at him. You'd hear teenage girls shrieking, even mothers with their child seated in a cart will look over at him. Satoru Gojo was just so majestic that everyone couldn't take their eyes away from him.

You felt awkward from the attention, even though you know that it's not for you, but they were still glancing over at your direction. You don't even know how you handled his little conversations all throughout the ride and even now at the store.

“Y/N! You should get some of this for yourself!” Satoru held up a bar of chocolate, practically shaking it in front of your face. “You know, so you can have some sweetness in your body. You always looked salty in the face.”

“Is that a joke?” You watched as he snickered at himself. You took the chocolate and put it back on the shelf. “Young Master, I strictly have to follow what's on the list that they gave me, so I'm sorry but I can't just rashly take something for myself.”

Satoru’s lips formed into a pout, crossing his arms at you like a child. “You're no fun.”

He follows you as you start to push the cart again, walking over another aisle. “And why the sudden formality? We're in public, Y/N.”

“That does not change the dynamics.” You replied shortly, not even entertaining the thought of informally calling him by his name.

“Why? We can't act like normal people outside?” He argues, taking the cart from you as he nudges you to the side. He pushed the cart instead, having you walk next to him instead.

His eyes narrowed intently while his eyes were looking over ahead. An unsettling feeling was tugging on his chest, his hands gripping on the cart while he pushed it forward. He let out an exasperated sigh.

“We are acting like normal people.”

“No. You're acting like we're not even friends. Like I'm just a business partner to you.” He scoffs, stopping to look at you. “Like you're a lowly servant and I'm the bad boss. I don't like it.”

You gazed back at his eyes and you don't understand why he looked so upset. You were just acting normal, like how you usually do when you're working around the estate, so what's got him so worked up?

But anyhow, you didn't want him to feel this way. So the best thing you could do was to talk calmly, trying to make him explain more.

“Why? I mean, am I not the servant and you the boss? Except the bad part.”

“We're not just that.”

Satoru gritted his teeth, and you noticed the way his jaw clenched which took you aback. You blinked a few times at him as you tried to read his expression, but all you could just see was him struggling to even find the right words to say.

You sighed, looking away from his face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel–”

“We're friends, aren't we?” Satoru cuts you off, his neck flushing red in embarrassment over the emotions stirring in his mind. His heart thumped off his chest and he hoped you couldn't hear it. “I mean… to me, we're friends. We've been talking for quite awhile now. So maybe… I thought you might feel the same… Don't you?”

You looked stunned by his words as he left you with a question that you were also asking yourself for quite some time now. He's right. You did feel the same. But worry gnaws on your skin that maybe you might've been just assuming his kindness for friendship, because you know all too well that a friendship between a low class woman like you and someone high standard like him would be impossible.

He's out of your league. Way too out of your league. And you always thought of him. Always hoped for him. Because you can't grasp him with your hands. The way he was always so close yet still so far.

But here he is. The beautiful man pouting his lips at you as he anticipates your answer. Because all Satoru wants is just for you to feel the same way as him.

You nodded reluctantly, turning your body away from him so you could continue your stroll in the store. “Okay… Sure…”

A smile finally etched on his lips. There was a small glint of happiness tainted on his blue eyes, shining brightly while he followed you from behind, pushing the cart with him. “Sure, what? I want to hear it!”

And there he was, back again to his usual personality. He nudges and bothers you like a child the whole time, trying to pull tricks on how he'll get you to say the words he wants to hear.

In the end, he simply just gave up when you showed no signs of relenting over to him. He knew you wouldn't, but the moment made him smile. He was satisfied and happy enough that at least you admitted it, even not directly. But to Gojo Satoru, small things still mattered and he wouldn't ask for anything more as long as it's you.

PRESENT

Satoru Gojo still remembers how vulnerable he had been. Well, can he blame himself? He was young, and naive.

He doesn't understand why he wanted you so much to notice him. He didn't understand how you made him feel that way… and he didn't want to feel the same anymore.

Satoru looks at you from afar painfully. His eyes shutting tightly at all the memories that still haunted his already tired heart, haunting the heart that still threatens to beat for you.

He was so mad. Still mad at you for leaving. Mad at you for making him feel so hopeless and weak. Mad at you for leaving him alone to deal with the consequences of falling in love.

But he's so… desperately… utterly… helplessly in love. His heart always ached and longed for you. The woman who swept him off his feet, the woman with gentle smiles and soft hands that touched his heart, the woman who used to utter her words of affection right before his ears. Why? Why did you even leave?

He's so, so mad at you. Because even until now, he still longs for the day that you might have looked at him the same way that you used to before.

He watched as you slowly poured him his tea, your hands still graciously performing the move.

But your hands were shaking, your eyes trembling as you tried to get a hold of yourself. Pouring tea for him like you used to do seemed to be the hardest task now that everything has changed between you. You gulped, focusing on the cup that was about to be full.

You didn't expect your hands to fail you just then. Your hand suddenly moves in nervousness causing you to nudge the cup and spill the tea right over the table. You jolted in shock as you shakily put the kettle down and quickly muttered apologies.

Satoru stared you down. And for a moment he wanted to pity the woman before him who seemed to have lost herself. But no, he can't just be weak for you again after all these years.

“How bothersome.” He scoffs at you, making you stop. The air was thick with tension and Satoru’s irritation was evident in his expression while you gulped in nervousness. It was the first time that you ever felt so defenceless before him.

“I'm… so sorry…” You muttered slowly, your gaze locked on the mess that you've made.

“I don't need your sorry, Y/N.” The words rolled off his tongue bitterly, and he didn't even think about the way he sounded so harsh. “Clean the mess, and get your face out of my sight.”

he's down bad crying at the gym lol let me know if you want to be added on the taglist !!

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[satellite-evans]

Little Miracle

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Y/N and Benedict face unexpected challenges during a family gathering.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: tiny angst, fluff, reader falls down the stairs.

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The ballroom at Aubrey Hall was alive with the sounds of laughter and music as the Bridgerton family hosted yet another grand gathering. Guests twirled around the dance floor, the atmosphere vibrant with joy. Y/N Bridgerton, glowing with the radiance of pregnancy, stood near the grand staircase, her hand resting protectively on her slightly rounded belly. She was engaged in a lighthearted conversation with Penelope and Eloise, who were both delightedly fussing over her.

“You look positively radiant,” Penelope said, her eyes sparkling. “Marriage and being with child certainly agrees with you.”

Eloise grinned. “Not to mention, you have an excuse to sit and rest while the rest of us run around.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I do enjoy the attention, I must admit. But tell me, Penelope, how have you been?”

Penelope smiled warmly. “Life has been wonderful. Colin is as adventurous as ever, always whisking me away to some new place. But seeing you like this makes me wonder about the future.”

Y/N placed her hand over her belly, feeling a flutter of excitement. “I can’t wait for our child to arrive. Benedict and I are so excited.”

Eloise rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, I’m just glad you’re happy. Although I’m still not sure about this whole marriage and babies thing. My books are just far more interesting than every encounter I had with a man.”

“You’ll find your own path, Eloise,” Y/N said with a smile. “And when you do, it will be perfect for you.”

Benedict Bridgerton was mingling with guests across the room, keeping a watchful eye on his wife. His heart swelled with love every time he saw her smile. Benedict planned to whisk her away to a quiet corner of the garden for a few moments of peace amidst the festivities. He could hardly wait to tell her about the little swing he had built for their future child, nestled under the old oak tree. He turned to Anthony and Colin, who were discussing estate matters near the punch table. As soon as he saw Benedict's expression, Anthony excused himself and joined his brother, with Colin following closely.

“You look like a man on top of the world,” Anthony remarked with a knowing grin.

“I am,” Benedict admitted, his eyes bright. “I can’t stop thinking about what it will be like to hold our baby, to see Y/N as a mother. It feels like a dream.”

Colin chuckled. “Our brother, a father. Who would have thought?”

“I always knew he had it in him,” Anthony teased. “Even if he does look like he’s about to faint every time he thinks about his wife giving birth.”

Benedict laughed. “I’ll manage, somehow. Though I’m sure you’ll both have plenty of teasing to do.”

Anthony grinned. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Speaking of which,” Colin added, “do you have any names in mind yet?”

“We’ve been thinking,” Benedict said, his face lighting up. “But we haven’t settled on anything yet. We want it to be perfect.”

Anthony patted his brother on the back. “Whatever name you choose, it will be perfect because it will be yours.”

Benedict’s smile widened. “Thank you, both of you. I’m just so excited.”

Back at the staircase, Y/N continued chatting with Penelope and Eloise.

"Have you thought of any names yet?" Eloise asked, echoing Colin's question.

“We’ve been thinking about a few,” Y/N replied, her eyes sparkling. “If it’s a boy, maybe Charles, after my father. And if it’s a girl��”

Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the entrance. A servant, rushing to fetch more refreshments, tripped on the hem of a guest’s dress and stumbled forward, knocking into Y/N.

Time seemed to slow as Y/N lost her balance, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt to steady herself. Penelope and Eloise reached out to catch her.

“Y/N!” Penelope screamed, her voice filled with panic.

“Someone help!” Eloise shouted, her eyes wide with terror.

But it was too late. Y/N tumbled down several steps before coming to a painful stop at the bottom. Gasps filled the room, and the music halted abruptly. Y/N felt a sharp pain shoot through her abdomen and a wave of fear washed over her. She tried to move, but the pain was too intense.

Benedict’s heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he sprinted toward his wife. The guests parted, creating a clear path for him as he fell to his knees beside her.

“Y/N!” Benedict’s voice was raw with panic. “Please, someone get a doctor!”

Penelope and Eloise knelt beside her, their faces pale with worry. “Y/N, are you alright?” Eloise asked, her voice trembling.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her face contorted in pain. “Benedict...” she whispered, her voice weak. “The baby...”

“Shh, don’t speak,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “Help is coming.”

Lady Danbury, always composed even in the face of crisis, took charge. “Everyone, give them space! Anthony, fetch the doctor immediately!”

Anthony snapped into action, his usual commanding presence even more pronounced. “Colin, stay with them. I’ll be back with the doctor as quickly as possible.”

Colin nodded, his face pale but determined. He knelt beside Benedict, placing a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s strong, Benedict. She’ll pull through this.”

Benedict barely registered his words, his focus entirely on Y/N. “Just stay with me, love. Help is on the way.”

Anthony pushed through the crowd, his voice cutting through the murmurs of concern. “Make way, please! It’s urgent!”

Within moments, Anthony returned with the doctor, a sense of urgency in his movements. Violet Bridgerton appeared soon after, her face etched with worry but her demeanor composed.

“Y/N, darling, you’re going to be alright,” Violet said softly, her voice soothing. She took Y/N’s hand, offering her strength and comfort.

The doctor’s examination was thorough but gentle. Benedict watched, his heart pounding, as the physician examined Y/N with care.

“She needs to be moved to a bed immediately,” the doctor instructed. “We must be cautious.”

Anthony and Colin helped carry Y/N to the nearest bedroom, Benedict never leaving her side. His mind raced with a thousand fears, each one more terrifying than the last. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose their child.

As they laid her gently on the bed, Violet stayed close, her presence a source of strength for both Y/N and Benedict.

“Benedict...” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so scared.”

“I know, my love,” Benedict said, his voice choked with emotion. “But you’re strong, and our baby is strong. We’ll get through this together.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. “What if something happens to the baby?”

“Don’t think like that,” Violet interjected gently. “Focus on staying calm and resting. The doctor is here, and we’ll do everything we can to keep you both safe.”

The doctor’s examination was thorough but gentle. After what felt like an eternity, he looked up, his expression grave but hopeful. “She’s had a nasty fall, but there’s no immediate danger to her or the baby. However, she must rest completely to ensure a full recovery.”

Benedict released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief mingled with lingering fear as he took Y/N’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, doctor. We will do everything you say.”

Y/N managed a faint smile, her eyes meeting Benedict’s. “I’m sorry...”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Benedict said, his voice choked with emotion. “Just rest, my love. I’m here with you.”

As the doctor and the rest of the family ensured Y/N was comfortable, Colin and Anthony took turns comforting their brother.

“She’s in good hands,” Colin assured Benedict. “And you’re doing everything right.”

Anthony nodded. “Just stay by her side, brother. She needs you now more than ever.”

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s recovery was slow but steady. Benedict remained by her side, his love and dedication unwavering. The Bridgerton family rallied around them, their support a constant source of strength. One afternoon, as Y/N rested in bed, Benedict sat beside her, holding her hand.

“How are you feeling today?” Benedict asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Tired,” Y/N admitted. “And scared. I can’t help but worry about the baby.”

Benedict’s expression softened. “I know. I feel the same way. Every time I think about what could have happened...” His voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath. “But we have to stay positive. The doctor said you’re both doing well.”

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “I just want our baby to be safe. I’m trying to stay strong, but it’s hard.”

“I understand,” Benedict said, his voice gentle. “But you are the strongest person I know. And our baby is lucky to have you as a mother.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his words. “And lucky to have you as a father. I couldn’t do this without you, Benedict.”

“We’re in this together,” he assured her. “Every step of the way.”

As they spoke, Violet entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits. “How are my two favorite people?” she asked, her smile warm and comforting.

“We’re managing,” Y/N replied, grateful for her mother-in-law’s presence.

Violet sat down beside them, her eyes filled with maternal concern. “You’re both doing wonderfully. It’s been a difficult time, but you’ve handled it with such grace and strength.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions. “I just want everything to be alright.”

“And it will be,” Violet said firmly. “You have a loving husband, a supportive family, and a strong spirit. You’re not alone in this.”

Benedict nodded, his eyes meeting his mother’s. “Thank you, Mother. Your support means everything to us.”

Violet reached out, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re a part of this family, Y/N. We’re here for you, always.”

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling a sense of belonging and love. “Thank you, Violet. That means so much.”

As the days passed, Y/N’s strength slowly returned. She spent her time resting and taking short walks in the garden, always accompanied by Benedict. The fear of losing their baby still lingered, but with each passing day, their hope grew stronger.

One evening, as they sat in the garden watching the sunset, Y/N felt a gentle flutter in her belly. She reached for Benedict’s hand, placing it over the spot.

“Did you feel that?” she asked, her eyes shining with wonder.

Benedict’s face lit up with joy. “Our baby,” he whispered, awe evident in his voice. “Our little miracle.”

Y/N smiled, tears of happiness spilling down her cheeks. “Yes, our little miracle.”

Benedict’s eyes were filled with emotion as he gently pulled her into his arms. They held each other tightly, their hearts beating as one. The overwhelming sense of relief and joy was almost too much to bear.

“I love you so much,” Benedict whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, her voice trembling.

They kissed tenderly, their lips conveying all the words their hearts couldn’t express. As they pulled back, Benedict pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he took in the moment.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

Y/N laughed softly through her tears, her hand resting on her belly. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Benedict’s eyes sparkled with joy as he knelt down, placing a gentle kiss on Y/N’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he whispered, his voice filled with love. “You gave us quite a scare, but we’re so happy you’re okay. We can’t wait to meet you.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with love as she watched him. “Benedict, thank you for being so wonderful. Our child is going to be so lucky to have you as a father.”

He looked up at her, his eyes shining with tears. “And lucky to have you as a mother. We’re going to be the best parents we can be.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a deep sense of peace. “Yes, we are.”

Benedict stood, taking her hand in his. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said, his smile widening.

Curious, Y/N allowed him to lead her through the garden. They walked slowly, savoring the warm evening air and the sense of calm that had settled over them. As they approached the old oak tree, Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise.

Beneath the tree, Benedict had crafted a beautiful swing, its wooden seat polished to perfection and adorned with soft cushions. The swing hung from sturdy ropes, gently swaying in the breeze.

“Benedict, did you make this?” Y/N asked, her voice filled with awe.

He nodded, his smile proud. “I did. I wanted to create something special for our child. A place where they can play and dream, just like we did when we were children.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time, they were tears of pure joy. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you.”

Benedict wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “We’re going to make so many wonderful memories here,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. “I can’t wait to see our child swinging and laughing under this tree.”

Y/N leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his love envelop her. “Me too,” she said softly. “Thank you for everything, Benedict. For your love, your strength, and for always being here with me.”

He kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers. “I will always be here for you, Y/N. Always.”

As they stood together under the old oak tree, their hearts intertwined, they felt a profound sense of hope and happiness. The future was bright, filled with the promise of new beginnings and the enduring love of adding a member to their growing family, their little miracle.

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

PART I: ANNOUNCEMENT

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | series masterlist | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

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@ppascalrain @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @milla-frenchy @schnarfer

[darlingchronicles]

JJ AND THE GOLDEN GIRL HEADCANONS III

pairing: jj x fem!goodgirl!reader

word count: 2.4k

based on these concepts and season 4, ep 1. spoilers enjoy!

Poguelandia: how do they start their simple life with the gang?

ఌ so golden girl does join the crew with all the treasure hunting starting season two i believe, (i have a whole universe so there will be more on their adventures and even fics so stay tuned) but let's fast forward to the beginning of season four (no major or relevant spoilers). she is on board with starting a business and was the one to suggest they sell food on top of providing for the fishing folks. she is not happy when jj decides to go on a limb and buy the property for wayyyy too much, but it is what it is. She doesn't help much with the building since she doesn't really like it and she almost hit her finger with a hammer one time, but she is big with decorating. she found the huge shark and helped haul it towards the business. she helped paint and make the entire thing a home. she's never had a true home so when they finish she straight up cries from how happy she is there. she works the counter and restocks the entire store and has her own little side business. again, like said before, she's very crafty so she makes a bunch of bracelets and sells them at poguelandia. they're a huge hit (especially with teen girls and children) so you can often find her at the counter helping customers and making bracelets at the same time. she does take custom orders. she also has a sandwich named. it's called "flounder's revenge" (as in the previous headcanons, she's afraid of sharks) and it's a bacon, avocado sourdough melt with chipotle sauce with a little shark hook toothpick on top. needless to say, she very happy there.

✔︎ jj never had a home to rely on or even call home. of course he had his friends as his home, but actually call something a home is beautiful. when they complete poguelandia, he is estatic. he jumps for golden girl and hug like there was no tomorrow. when they start to get busy, jj always makes time for golden girl when he can. he'll help her with bracelets by grabbing whatever material he sees and he was elated when she gave him the first one she made for the business. if he's in the shop, he'll help her customers and with restocking the higher shelves. he always requests a 'founder's revenge' and chuckles every time she narrows her eyes (he's the one who gave her the nickname). jj and golden girl end their nights on the dock, watching the ocean and sky after their busy day before retiring to the room them both moved into. sarah and john b have theirs. pope and cleo have theirs. and now jj and golden girl are officially moved in together. jj is on cloud nine.

how has their relationship progressed?

ఌ golden girl is more trusting of jj. since starting the business, she learned to trust him even more. she's watched jj grow into a more responsible person, of course he has his moments where shes reminded that he's still a boy at heart, but he's growing and it makes her happy. with more trust, she opens up to him more about her feeling. previously, golden girl was always so reluctant to tell jj her feelings because she was scared he would run or start an argument, but jj doesn't. he listens. maybe he won't always agree or see the "big deal" but he takes into account her feelings and notices her telling him more.

✔︎ jj has become much more softer with his girl after they start up the business. they're family now. they all know it. she's best friends with his best friends and they're totally in love with each other. not only that, but he says "i love you" more often now. previously, it was only for special occasions and the odd moment and whenever golden girl said it outside of those moment, he would only just kiss her in order to convey his feelings. he was never good with words, but now, he wants to say it all the time. there is so much more security since they're not running anymore. so "i love you" is a staple now. it was such a dramatic shift that john b did a double take when jj said it before he left to go get more bait for a second and came back a minute later.

how much do they argue?

ఌ here's the thing with golden girl. she hates arguments. not for the same reason as jj, but because she hates when there's no peace. she despises it. she tends to cry whenever she's frustrated and can't sleep if it's a prolonged one. she has a deep sense of guilt as if everything is her fault. which it isn't but she has that. previously, jj and her got into disagreements and arguments due to their lack of communication. she has a lot of words she afraid to say and jj isn't good with words and tends to keep them to himself. if they do argue, it's because golden girl doesn't want to say what's on her mind and jj's just trying to help. they never go to bed angry though. they never sleep in separate rooms either. neither of them can bare it. sometimes she'd cop up and just let it go but then jj can't let it go and vice versa.

✔︎ jj hates arguments because before, arguments meant violence. it meant breaking things and tear up a storm to be heard. as said, jj isn't good with words and if he can't say them, it becomes an issue. jj hates it when golden girl doesn't say anything when something is clearly bothering her. he hates that he wants to force it out of her. so previously, they did have a lot of icing out periods due to the lack of communication. now, they're more open to each other. jj once said he doesn't call them fights, but instead, disagreements. they disagree. they don't fight. he'd never be able to fight her. sometimes he'll try and let it go, but when he can't, he'll tell her. and she won't be mad. she won't yell. she won't hit. she listens. it's more than enough for him.

how have they had progressed physically? (slightly NSFW)

ఌ it is a fun one. golden girl hadn't let them cross that line for the longest time. the only thing they've really done is make out and dry hump each other. nothing more. it isn't until they have poguelandia and have more stability that she allow them to take it further. she was surprised that jj didn't mind it (we'll get to that in a bit) and that was what made her take that step. it was kind of nerve racking for her because it would be her first time and she knew jj had experience and so did all their friends (john and sarah, specifically) so she was sneaky with her little innuendos because she didn't want to say it out loud. she'd let him put his hand in her back pocket and whenever they hugged, she'd place a kiss on his neck. whenever they laid down, she lay her hand on his lower stomach and trail her finger up and down. she got kind of careless and would even stare at him with her little doe eyes and have that little shimmer in them. she had fuck-me eyes for days. eventually, he got the hint.

✔︎ so jj didn't know for a while. he had been patient with her because he knew he couldn't fuck their relationship up. he understood she had no experience whatsoever with sex or anything of the sorts. he didn't mind because he knew that forcing sex or sex in general ruined a lot of relationships. also at the beginning of their relationship, jj was really uncertain about her really liking him and thought she'd walk away eventually. to ensure the blow was less of an impact if it happened (it didn't, of course) he kept himself from suggesting they sleep together. of course, he did like making out with her and dry humping was really getting to him, but he respected her wishes. honestly, they went so long with doing anything, he was prepared to wait for marriage if she wanted to (marriage was addressed in the previous headcanons). but when golden girl was much more touchy and carefree with her kisses, he got suspicious. the first time she kissed his neck unwarranted during a hug, he froze. he coughed and pressed one to her head before walking away before a boner began to form. there was so other signs, but it was her eyes that gave him the hint. the way she'd look at him with her mouth slightly parted was when he finally gor the hint.

☆ extra! they finally did "it" one night when they we alone at the house. Everyone but them had gone and crashed as Heywards for the night (JJ had to catch bait and Golden Girl was busy making bracelets and doing school work that day). So the house was empty. They didn't expect it at all, but it was when they started kissing in their shared bed when a little spark was lit and the two of them were undressing before they knew it. jj had stopped to ask if everything was okay and she nodded, giving him approval. a very slow and beautiful night for the both of them. it was raining softly outside, the lights were off and only the light was the sparks of lightning outside and the covers were soft and warm from the wash. she definitely had to wash them afterwards though. he was so gentle and caring, truly understanding that this was a passage that she was taking for the first time, and listened and watched her to ensure everything was pleasurable for her. definitely made sure she came multiple times as well. (i could go more into detail ;) but thats for another post) the next morning the glances and wandering hands gave the gang a heads up and they had shit eating smiles and poked fun at them the entire morning.

what are date nights like now?

ఌ it is much more detailed. golden girl decides on the places they go to eat and has jj try new foods he hasn't tried before. they can spurge a little more, but it's not anything huge. they just like trying new things. clearly. and she still likes the simple things. they'll go out on the new boat and swim for an afternoon before retiring to the house and playing a game of cards with their cans of coke next to them. the tradition continues.

✔︎ jj tries to make things slightly more fancy. he'll buy roses for her almost every date night. one time, he bought her a dress to wear for one of their dates because he over heard her saying to the girls that she wanted to buy new clothes with her next month's share of the profit. she was getting tired of wearing the same clothes, especially on her dates with jj. he decided to surprise her and the look on her face made it all the more worth it. he knew she didn't like tight clothes because of the kildare heat and saw it in a shop on the mainland and knew she'd like it. he definitely gets her more gifts now. he always mades "mini" dates where they'd go on break from the shop and lay in the hammock with some music playing. the simple life.

are they open to a future family together?

ఌ golden girl is one hundred percent open to starting a family together. she wants that. not now, obviously. they're too young. he just turned 20 and she was still 19 for a bit. but she knew she wanted it with him. sometimes, she'd imagine him with a baby in his hands - a girl and she'd look just like him. she'd have that little mischievous twinkle in her eyes that said she was gonna cause trouble. just like him. and gosh she wanted it. but until then, she knew she'd just grow more in love with him. and yes, she is open to marrying him. she knew she'd have to wait a bit more until then as they were not together for as long as sarah and john b, but whenever he popped the question, she'd say yes.

✔︎ jj knows he's gonna propose to her. he started saving up for a real ring. he knew sarah and john b had done their own thing, but he was gonna do her right and get a real ring and a real wedding band. he doesn't know when, but he knows that when the time is right, they'll get married. he knows the time is soon. he is kind of anxious to see what she says, but he's hopeful she'll say yes. and kids? oh yeah, he's thought about it. he's seen her with children around the island and he knows she'll be an amazing mom. he's just more anxious about turning out like his dad. he doesn't want that, but he knows he can do better. he has to be better. but sometimes he'll imagine her in a dress with a little baby bump or her carrying a little girl (he wants girls) and showing her how to fish or throw a punch and it makes him hopeful for the future. he has hope for one of the first times of his life.

☆ extra! baby names are definitely in their heads. golden girl likes the princess names or something about light or hopefulness. elena, estelle, aurora, eve, juliette, valentine or persephone. she leaned more towards persephone or juliette cause then they call her percy or jules. those are just some of them. she has a lot more and is open to suggestions. she thought a j name would be nice since she'd match with her father. jj has also thought about it in great detail. he likes lorelai, eloise, victoria, ariel, marlee, or artemis. he wants her to have a nickname like him. he is more leaning towards ariel because of the whole joke about flounder. but if they have a boy, definitely something like rex, james, apollo or atlas. in the future, they have two girls.

thedarlinglore: after the shitshow of the last ep of season 4, i needed some reminder of love and hope from these two. love them dearly. i do want to go more into dept about them so a few more headcanons, blurbs and fics are coming up along with another beautiful new reader! i have mentioned before. stay tuned and rewatch ep. 6 of season 4 because wooo that man is fine as hell. love you, darlings.

➣ my last "jj" work | "oh schroeder" ➣ more concepts | jj maybank

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 1 - "It's not too late, let's go."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

Danny frowned, his head resting on his arms as he sat in a café, staring at nothing in particular. Tucker was sitting next to him, typing away on his PDA and Sam was across from him glaring at his current state of dramatic pouting, frowning and sulking while ignoring his favorite coffee order she had especially ordered for him somehow even though the store did not even have it on their menu.

"Danny, how much longer are you going to sulk?"

"I don't know. How much longer until my next chance of ever meeting someone from outer space?"

"Danny."

"We missed the Hero Gala, Sam! That was our one and only chance!"

He looked away from her like a stubborn toddler. He knew he was being especially dramatic but his friends and him had planned this whole trip solely for meeting members of the Justice League in person. For one, to maybe meet the people that have been ignoring their cities' call for help for years now and request it personally if per call won't work and two, fulfill some of their own personal selfish desires to meet the hero's each one of them admired.

Though their trip clearly had been eventful considering how a lot of his ghost rogues tried to stop him from even leaving Amity Park, they also learned about the whole media black out surrounding Amity. Turns out, the reason the Justice League was ignoring them was entirely because they didn't even know they existed in the first place. It was a miracle that they even learned about a Hero Gala in Metropolis if it weren't for an invitation somehow making it to the Mansons Estate.

Fun fact. Even if the invitation made it to them. Once they did make it to the Gala location they learned that it had happened years ago. Well wasn't that just great, and here Danny had hoped to get some help and maybe meet Superman or better Martian Manhunter.

Slamming his head onto the table and gaining the attention of some other cafe visitors briefly. Danny only turned ever so slightly so that his cheek was squished against the cold table surface. Still refusing to look at Sam but instead watched Tucker who was by now frowning at his PDA.

"Guys, I think there is more to it than us being simple late a couple of years to a Gala." Blinking made a noise to ask him to elaborate while Sam verbally asked why.

"Things didn't add up when we first left Amity, aside from all your ghost rouges were even trying to make us stop leaving until the very last second. Look at this, this is a photocopy of our last news paper from home and this-" Tucker slit a paper across the table and pointed at a specific spot at the top of the paper so both Danny and Sam could see it clearly. "-is a news paper printed today from Metropolis."

"I don't get it." Danny honestly stated staring at the spot Tucker had pointed it. Sam proceeded to hit the back of his head lightly, apparently having seen what Tucker was pointing out to them.

"The dates are way too far apart." She stated and Danny blinked, looking back at the printed date and the date displayed in the image of Tuckers PDA. "Are you sure you didn't save up an older newspaper?"

Tucker gave him an unimpressed stare. "Look at the headline. That's the incident that happened right before we went on this trip."

"Okay but what does that mean?"

"From what it looks like. Amity Park lives in a time bubble. Our technology as well as date seems far behind from everything we saw ever since we left. Even my beloved PDA appears to be old technology here."

The tree sat in silence for a moment, mulling over what they had found out so far after leaving Amity for the first time. But now that they thought about that, Amity was a closed community. There were hardly any people coming in and out of their town. In addition the only one who had ever entered their city from the outside was Vlad and even he didn't talk much about any other cities or people he could possibly know outside of Amity.

"That's a pretty interesting topic you guys are talking about."

Startled, the three looked up to see a new face that had appeared out of nowhere and was spitting next to Sam. The boy with auburn hair and yellow eyes who looked only a bit older than them and was smiling brightly at them with a back of chips in his hands.

"So you guys lived in a time bubble? That sounds interesting, can you tell me more?"

A second later two black haired teens appeared next to the boy, one sheepish and in a punk style and the other frustrated and appearing to wear more formal clothing. The frustrated one eyed them for a moment and Danny caught his eyes, noticing the calculating look and couldn't help narrowing his own eyes on him.

"Sorry about my friend, he sometimes acts before he thinks."

"I have a friend like that too, don't worry." Tucker answered and Danny shot him a quick glare before turning his attention back to the three newcomers.

"We couldn't help but overhear what you guys were talking about. You missed your chance to go to a hero gala right?" The sheepish one said after exchanging a look with the other black haired teen and Danny couldn't help but feel like there was some silent communication going on. The same he had at times with Tucker.

"So what?" Sam huffed, not willing to talk about their woes and sharing information with strangers.

"We happened to be on our way to one that's not open to the public but we could help you get in. Granted, I would like to hear a little more about your situation and how you missed the one you originally wanted to go to." In other words, give us information and we will get you to somewhere where you can meet hero's. Danny narrowed his eyes further, there had to be more to this catch.

His distrust must have been visible as the formal clothing black haired teen let out a sigh. "Look we have experience with time shenanigans, so we might be able to get you into contact with people that can help, from Young Justice or maybe even the Justice League."

"No one just offers help like that, without getting something out of it." Sam huffed arms crossed and glaring at them. Tucker also eyed them with suspicion and Danny had yet to let up on his distrustful glare.

"Well we do. So common, the private gala is still going. We only escaped from it for a little bit to get this guy some coffee. It's not too late, let's go! We can figure out the whole time bubble thing on the way there!" The brightly smiling auburn haired answered instead bouncing in his seat next to Sam. Eager to have Danny and his friends come along.

Only way later did Danny learn that the three teens that snuck them into a privat Hero Gala were actual members of Young Justice but that was only after they figured out the whole Amity lives in a Time Bubble situation.

[wisteriaw0rld]

hello! May I request a gn!reader with kamaboko squad + Muichirou with reader wearing a mask which covers their whole face and when they did a face reveal they had no glint of life or soul in their eyes, even when their expression seemed to be happy, I'd like to see their reacting first seeing their eyes :)

Feel free to ignore!

-ˋˏ ༻soulless༺ ˎˊ- kny x reader

||synopsis: even if you have a carefree attitude and an enthusiastic expression to accompany your sweet personality, it doesn’t always mean you’re really happy. With a mask you’re able to hide yourself from exposing you’re true feelings.♡

||additional tags: fluff, headcanon + short oneshot, gn! reader

||character order: kamado tanjiro, agatsuma zenitsu, hashibira inosuke, shinazugawa genya, tokito muichiro

“it all comes down to the sound of our love song.” -Lana Del Rey✰

˚ʚkamado tanjiroɞ˚

♡Tanjiro was always curious as to why you never took off your mask. He simply assumed it was important to you and left it that.

♡he never wanted to pester you into taking your mask off. So being the kind person he is, he didn’t.

♡in fact, he often defended you when others asked you to take off your mask, or tried to take it off themselves.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

Tanjiro sat next to you on the wooden engawa of the butterfly mansion. Since the two of you had gotten injured on a mission together, you were once again forced to undergo shinobu’s painful training.

The garden of the butterfly mansion was nice and peaceful. It was quiet for once considering 

Zenitsu and Inosuke had been inside the estate. The only thing being heard was Tanjiro’s soft and continuous chattering.

You listened intently to him until your eyes and mind drifted off to the plate holding onigiri. 

You were starving, since you had skipped breakfast. And you had been with Tanjiro long enough to be comfortable with taking your mask off. Your hands reached up to your face, carefully taking your mask off and setting it to the side.

Tanjiro moved his head in your direction, only taking the smallest glimpse of you before turning pink and looking away, thinking you didn’t want him looking at you.

It didn’t take long until you noticed Tanjiro awkwardly looking the other way, as if waiting for you to put your mask back on.

“Tanjiro, you could look, it’s okay.” You laughed gently, grabbing the boys attention. The boy, without a second thought, looked over at you. 

His heart fluttered the moment you looked at you. The small pieces of rice around your mouth and your wide smile made his cheeks turn pink. He watched as your eyes opened from the closed eyes smile. 

He immediately noticed your soulless eyes. Despite the happy expression you gave mere seconds ago, your eyes held no happiness.

Tanjiro stayed quiet, making you tilt your head in confusion. “Y/n? Are you … okay?” He ask worriedly while reaching a hand out and cupping your cheek gently.

˚ʚagatsuma zenitsuɞ˚

♡he’s always so tempted to take off your mask. But he knows to respect your boundaries. Even if he’s always clingy.

♡the moment you take off your mask, it takes him a moment or two to realize your empty eyes. But when he does, he unintentionally thinks it’s scary.

♡zenitsu does everything he can do to restore life back into your eyes. He compliments you, gives you gifts, gives you words of affirmation, anything that comes to his mind.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

Zenitsu always brought things back for you when he went on missions. You were used to it but nonetheless you still got flustered every time he did so. 

This time, he managed to come back from the mission with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. A wide smile was on the boys face along with a pink blush. “They smell really nice and I know you love them!” Zenitsu cheered before handing you the flowers. 

Subconsciously, your hands moved to your mask, lifting it off your face. Zenitsu’s eyes widened as he examined your face. He took note of your flushed face and the smile on your plump lips. 

You brought the flowers given to you close to your nose as you sniffed the sweet aroma. Your smile widened slightly as your eyes drifted to Zenitsu, who was completely mesmerized by your looks.

“Y/N, YOU’RE SO CUTE!” Zenitsu ran up to you, pulling you into a hug while non-stop complimenting you. His hands then moved to your shoulders as he pulled away from the hug, now inspecting your features once again.

Only about a minute later he realized your empty eyes. A small but sweet smile on your lips yet your eyes held no emotion. Zenitsu stared at you longer, eyes widened slightly as he stared into your own. 

Suddenly tears began brimming his eyes before he began crying loudly, clinging onto your arm. He didn’t want to alarm you by saying anything that may come off as rude.

“Y/N I’LL MAKE YOU SO SO HAPPY!” He sobbed, making you confused. You gave a sad smile before hugging him gently as he sobbed, repeatedly exclaiming that he loves you.

˚ʚhashibira inosukeɞ˚

♡Inosuke most definitely doesn’t know how to react. And when he does, I can’t guarantee he’s going to be polite or gentleman like about it.

♡unlike the others who don’t mind your mask, Inosuke is beyond curious to see your actual face.

♡but more than anything he wants to snatch your mask and tell you he’s the inventor of wearing masks. The ‘king’ of wearing masks. But hey, what did you except? This is Inosuke we’re talking about.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

You sat peacefully by the river while Inosuke was playing in it, splashing around while you simply watched him with a smile on your face.

Today had been uneventful and you and inosuke still hadn’t received a mission from your kasugai crows. Hell, inosukes crow won’t even approach him.

Inosuke yelled out your name, gaining your attention. The moment you looked over at him you saw a wide smirk on his face and something in his hands. He raised his hand, revealing a ball of mud mixed with small pieces of sticks.

Your eyes widened as the mud ball went flying towards your face. You yelled as the mud ball hit your mask with an aggressive thud. You groaned, knowing you’d have to clean your mask now. The river was right there anyways. 

You stood up, walking to the river. You reluctantly took your mask off, soon after putting it in the river water to wash it off.

Inosuke’s eyes were wide as a finger was pointed at you. He was frozen in place. You looked amazing, although he would never actually say that out loud.

“Good thing you kept your face hidden.”

“HEY!”

The two of you continued on with your bickering for a while. He doesn’t really notice your eyes. When he does, he’s definitely loud about it.

“HEY! WHATS WRONG WITH YOUR EYES!?” He yelled out of blue, inching closer to your face to inspect your eyes. A small blush covered your cheeks at the close proximity between you two.

“Nothings wrong with my eyes..!” You defended yourself although you knew that statement was a lie. Your arms made your way to his chest as you gently pushed him away from you.

“YEAH! SOMETHINGS WRONG WITH YOUR EYES!”

After he learns what it is from asking Tanjiro, he begins thinking any small gesture will make your eyes look less empty. And he definitely gets frustrated when his gifts for you don’t work. Give him time and he’ll soon understand. Hopefully.

˚ʚshinazugawa genyaɞ˚

♡genya, sadly, makes it unintentionally obvious he wants you to take off your mask and show your face.

♡he doesn’t at all make you want to make you feel pressured to take it off.

♡he simply gets really curious. He won’t judge you. He’s too nice for that. Whenever he finds himself getting too curious in taking off your mask, he always stops himself.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

Genya had been staring at you all day. You were used to him glancing at you every once in a while. Although today he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you. Multiple times you assumed there must’ve been something on your face. But there was always nothing.

You questioned the boy multiple times although each time he’d dismiss his behavior and apologize with a bright red face. 

It confused you as you knew he must want something from you. Soon enough, you put two and two together, realizing what he wanted.

While sitting with him outside on a wooden bench, you caught him staring at the straps of your mask. You then caught him looking at your mask intently. 

Throughout the entire day you thought he had been glaring at you. In reality he was only looking at your mask, begging for it to come off.

It made sense. You had known Genya for a long time already. And in all your time of knowing him, you had never once taken off your mask in front of him.

“Genya?” You called out the boys name, breaking his trance.

“Yeah?”

“Do you … want me to take off my mask?” You questioned, already knowing the answer. The boys eyes widened as his cheeks turned a light shade of red. At first he nodded quickly without a second thought. Before pausing.

“O-only if you’re fine with it!” He replied with a more shy nod following his words. You smiled gently before grabbing your mask and pulling it off your face. 

Genya stared shock, the small light red turning into a bright red. Why were you even hiding your face? He couldn’t begin to explain how you looked. Amazing.

You heard Genya mumble a small ‘wow’ which made you laugh softly. Genya’s eyes traveled around your face, studying every aspect. He then looked at your eyes. For a split second he saw nothing wrong with them. Only pure beauty. Until he noticed how there seemed to be a small void there.

He didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth but shut it and quickly stopped himself. He felt a sense of guilt wash over him upon seeing your emotionless eyes. Ever since that day, hugs and hand kisses were all you received from him. Unconditional love. But the guilt he felt never left.

˚ʚtokito muichiroɞ˚

♡muichiro fails to understand why you where a mask. If you tell him the reason or make an excuse, he’ll forget it in five minutes and question once more why you where it.

♡even though he pesters you about it on multiple occasions, he respects your boundaries. That being said he’s never laid a finger on your mask.

♡when you finally take off your mask, Muichiro doesn’t at all take notice of the void in your eyes. After all, he is the same. But him after the Swordsmith village arc? That’s a different story…

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

Muichiro had finally returned after his visit to the Swordsmith village. It only took a second for you to realize the happiness in his eyes. The bright spark that you had been missing from your own.

Even his attitude had changed. Once having such an attitude towards you and sometimes making snarky remarks. Now he was clingy. Clingy and loving, not willing to let you go anywhere on your own. It was different to see the once stoic Muichiro have such a carefree attitude now.

Despite regaining memories from his past, Muichiro’s memory problems slightly remained. But he did remember one thing. He had seen you without your mask once. It was on accident as he walked in on you eating. And of course being respectful, he looked away, not knowing if you were ready to show your face.

But he remembered sneaking a glance at you. It was a short-lived one. And he didn’t remember much about your facial features. However be remembered your eyes. Muichiro noticed everyone else had a certain light in there eyes. Something he didn’t have. Then he saw you and realized that your eyes had been the same. He didn’t think much of it. 

He didn’t think much of it until now. He had a better understanding. 

“Y/n. Can you take off your mask?” Muichiro muttered while laying his head on your shoulder as the two of you watched the clouds together. “Only if you want to, of course.” 

You didn’t mind it. You replied with a simple nod before reaching for your mask and pulling it off of you. Muichiro brought his head up, wasting no time to look into your eyes. 

You had a happy expression but your eyes were clearly saying otherwise.

“I’ll make you happy.” You heard him mumble before going back to looking at the clouds, a sad smile on his face. You only tilted your head, having no clue what he was talking about.

But his voice was sweet when he spoke. And that warmed your heart in a nice way.

Taisho Rumor with Tanjiro: you became prone to the Tanjiro affect. After your face reveal, your empty eyes only lasted for a day before becoming bright and loving. That’s Tanjiro working his magic!

Taisho Rumor with Zenitsu: Even though Zenitsu only wants whats best for you and is only trying to make you feel true happiness, he accidentally begins to overwhelm you instead…

Taisho Rumor with Inosuke: He gets really frustrated whenever he see’s your eyes. He doesn’t hate them. He loves them. But he’ll love them even more when “they’ll just cooperate and be happy.”

Taisho Rumor with Genya: Genya has a bad habit of being overly sensitive. And he’s even worse when it comes to you. He worries about your well being too much. So when he saw your eyes, he felt like crying. He was able to hold himself back!

Taisho Rumor with Muichiro: Muichiro most definitely made it his goal to make you happy like how tanjiro made him happy. He won’t give up. So when it comes to making you happy, he’s the fastest to restore you light. Second to Tanjiro, of course.

A/n: you really thought i’d forget my Taisho Rumors🤨 they’re too fun to write. I mentally cant forget abt them…even if no one prob reads them

[brittscafe]

Pairing: Byakuya, Shunsui, Jushiro, and Gin x m! reader (separately)

Summary: Byakuya, Sunsui, Jushiro, and Gin all comfort their m! reader partner after they sprained their ankle.

Request: Can I please request some comfort for a m! Reader who just sprained their ankle with Byakuya, Shunsui, Jushiro or Gin :)

A/n: Hiii! Of course!! I loveeee writing comfort pieces <3

Content: Sprained ankles, injuries, fluffffff, fluffly comfort, so so much comfort.

Byakuya:

Rushes back to his estate as he soon as he hears word that you got injured.

Once he finds out that you are injured, he demands to his staff that they get you extra pillows, blankets, food, and medicine.

He stays with you the whole time, hand feeding you food even tho you protest that you can feed yourself (he does not believe that one bit)

Usually Byakuya isn't at the estate, but now he's there every second of the day.

He leaves everything on Renji, so that he can care for you.

Soft touches, a hand on your cheek and his hand hovering above your injured ankle, examining it.

Usually he comes home late and you're asleep by then, so it's nice that the two of you can fall asleep together.

Has his servants get you whatever you want and has them check in on you every 30 minutes.

Has the best doctors check on your ankle like it's a life or death injury.

Def scolds you for getting injured and makes you promise him that it won't happen again.

His words make seem firm or harsh, but you can tell that he really loves you.

Kisses your sprained ankle very gently and lightly.

Gives you lots of tiny little kisses on your face and hands.

Shunsui:

The first thing he does it make fun of you and tease you for spraining your ankle. I mean, come onnn, it's Shunsui, of course he's going to make fun of you.

Does not really express his concern through his words and more through his actions.

Shunsui is a soft, sweetheart, so there's lots of cuddles and times where you fall asleep on his chest.

Watches over you and will watch you sleep as he leans against the wall, a smug smirk on his face.

Big beefy man will def carry you anywhere and everywhere.

Makes sure you get the best treatment so your ankle can heal as fast as possible.

Is still naughty and inappropriate with you to get your mind off of your ankle.

Shunsui loves to tease you so that you never have time to really think about your ankle.

When you're sleeping, he'll caress your face and just admire you.

He makes sure nobody disturbs you in your sleep, he'll literally stand guard at the door or have someone else.

Lots of fun teasing, but gentle touches and soft words <3

Jushiro:

Makes you tea or any food that you want. Def gets you a whole bag of sweets.

Keeps worrying and asks if you are comfortable at least every 5 seconds.

Honestly, probably worries too much to the point where's being a little overbearing, but you know he means well.

LOTS OF TEAAA, sooo muchhhh and so many sweets. (I just had to mention that again.)

He lays on the bed beside you, rubbing your back and giving you gentle massages.

You'll be the little spoon with his arms wrapped around you and his nose pressed up against your back.

Babies you sooo much, it's like actually insane.

You are not allowed to do anything on your own. Jushiro will feed you himself and not even let you get out of bed.

It's hard to feel down because Jushiro is always encouraging and praising you.

He'll say he's proud of how hard you've been working and just praise you the whole time.

Jushiro doesn't want you to feel bad bc you sprained your ankle or anything, so he makes sure to shower you in love.

Gin:

Is concerned for you, but doesn't really show it.

Makes fun of you for spraining your ankle and laughs at you.

You can see the sly grin across his face disppear tho if you grunt or scrunch your face up in pain.

His concern and worry for you is something he doesn't show often.

You'll notice that he'll stay around you more often or that his eyes linger on you.

Doesn't usually engage in the activities you like to do, but will do them with you without you having to ask.

Will bring you your favorite food and spend time with you, watching your fav show or movie.

Is more affectionate when you're asleep, his knuckles run over your cheek, or he'll wrap you up in his arms.

His words are more soft and lovey.

Nobody in the soul society hasn't seen Gin around lately bc he's been inside with you.

He's very sly about the way he shows off his love for you.

Gin loves to stay inside with you watching a movie and snacking with his arm wrapped around you as you recover from your sprained ankle.

You can def tell that Gin loves you.

[illubean]

Hi, I'm kind of sending this to all the people I saw who write for demon slayer...so could you do a "What would it be like to be Obanai's adopted daughter and his apprentice"?

Obanai W/ a Tsuguko!Reader

Characters: Iguro Obanai Type: Platonic, Headcanons, Fem!reader implied?, Found Family

didn't explicitly make Obanai Reader's dad just because when you do the math he would've been 16 at the time of finding them but the relationship is still there

Warnings: none? spoilers maybe? tad bit angsty at the end...

even though this guy is mean and merciless he's not EVIL

bro is still human with human emotions, so when he finds a small helpless child (9-10) while out on a mission he's not just gonna leave them there

you kind of reminded him of himself

which is how he ended up taking you in

originally he was just going to bring you back to the city and let you go off wherever but you continued following him and he just couldn't get rid of you

and now he's stuck

your young impressionable mind soaked up his mannerisms like a sponge

without even being taught directly, you managed to make your way around swiftly and unnoticed, often times scaring the man who took you in

he acts annoyed by this but you're kind of growing on him and he's lwky impressed

any time he goes out he demands you stay in the estate, and not wanting to disappoint him you listen (Obanai is very much a hater of rule breakers)

you never actually got to see him in action, but once you were a tad bit older you found out his occupation (upon asking about the sword he carries) and decided you wanted to be just like him

so when he became a hashira and the test thingy came up you literally BEGGED him to let you take them

he would refuse without giving you any reason besides "because I said no" at first (because he has a soft spot for you and rather not put you in danger ever though he won't admit it)

butttttt after seeing your determination and catching you watching him train to practice later he finally decides to train you

he has this whole elaborate, harsh training regimen and he says if you can't pass it you won't be able to become a demon slayer

he's so mean throughout the whole thing...(its tough love)

despite his seemingly impossible to reach standards you end up succeeding yayyyy and you take the test thingy and don't die yayyyyyyy yayyyyyyyyyyyyyy

#very proud Obanai moment (he won't say that though)

he continues training you and now you're officially his tsuguko cus yk...you're part of the corps now

he kind of distances himself from you in public, keeping an eye on you from afar

people don't even think you're his tsukugo and when you tell them that they're like WHAT (esp zenitsu...)

whenever you guys go on missions together he lets you hold your own but is quick to step in if anything goes wrong

the first time you accidentally call him dad (or any other familiar honorific of some sort) he literally stops in his tracks like "what did you just call me"

and you're like oops my bad..heh...

if you ever say it again he won't stop you (it actually means a lot to him)

originally he tried keeping you away from Mitsuri but she thinks your guys' dynamic is the cutest which made him stop actively trying to keep you away

will smack you upside the head or chase you around if you tease him for it later

that look he gave Tanjiro after he found out he got to spend time with Mitsuri during hashira training? yeah, he does that to every other slayer (especially male) who has ever interacted with you (but in a platonic, protective sense)

he watches as you climb the ranks and hopes for you to replace him as a hashira once he dies

he thinks you're a much better person than he is and much more deserving of the life you have, and he hopes that even once he's gone you'll continue to thrive

[haravath0t]

❀˖° 𝕤𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 ❀˖° hatori sohma x sohma!reader

₊ ⊹❀ 𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: when the curse breaks, his first course of action is to look for you.

₊ ⊹❀ 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚕, 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤: angst, fluff, pining, topic of grief, awkward!hatori and awkward dialogue, hatori getting that ending he deserves

Hatori was taken aback, all his thoughts were put on hold as his focus was redirected to the sudden hole he felt in his heart. 

He hadn’t felt such intense emotions in such a long time, it even took him a few seconds to label what they were. 

Regret, anger, remorse, attachment, loneliness. 

Tears rolled down the doctor’s face, his jaw clenched as the thread between God and Dragon severed. Hatori could only accept the repeating conclusion in mind in this spiral of emotion. Goodbye.

Yet, as Hatori blinked, his gaze back towards the sky, the emptiness seemed to wash away, making way for something else. Hatori felt the warmth of the sun shining on his face, like frozen snow melting due to the first breath of spring. “What comes of snow when it melts?” 

Hatori’s eyes widened, his gaze blurry as his heart tightened in his chest. He couldn’t even breathe. What was a few moments in time felt like an eternity. Hatori felt like his spirit left and came back with a hard-hitting force. It was like a second awakening. When was the last time he felt this warm? When was the last time he felt like this once eternal blizzard would come to an end. The usually collected doctor everyone knew Hatori to be now is akin to a lost boy trying to find something familiar in an unknown world.

Hatori had to make peace with the way things must be after suppressing your memories, telling himself endlessly that those memories of you will remain intact on that snowy day. This was to protect you, your happiness, your future, your freedom. Thus, Hatori was more than willing to support you from afar, to watch you smile rather than spend your days in tears, crying for him. He was okay with the routine he had persisted to abide by, till Tohru came along. He couldn't help but see you in her panic when he transformed in front of her. “Water! Wait, hold on, which kind of water does he need? Freshwater or saltwater?” He could only hear you, see you, remembering the sight of you panicking as you held a flailing seahorse in your arms amongst a pile of clothes. Now that the curse broke, Hatori realizes he is entering a new life entirely, one with a cage, a leash, without snow.

Hatori couldn’t help but let his mind wander along the numerous possibilities that have opened up. He’s certain everyone was with the ones they cherished. He stared back at the picture of you on his desk, tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of liberation. “Could I…” He whispers, almost afraid that someone may reprimand him for such questions. Could I see you again? Can I see you smile once more?

Hatori’s body, as if on impulse, sprints out of his office, swiftly putting on his shoes. It only registers in his mind as soon as the sun greets his face that he is heading towards a destination he’s been aching to go to for so long. He takes familiar turns within the outside of the Sohma estate, his feet being worked in ways Hatori hadn’t had done so in a while. His heart beats wildly in his chest, the very thought of being near you makes him feel nauseous. However, the sound of a squeak stops Hatori in his tracks, his feet halting as his head snaps towards its direction. He almost wishes he hadn’t. 

“Ah, damn,” You mutter, almost wanting to cry out of frustration. You were quite the pathetic sight, at least that’s what some of the clan would say. To Hatori, this was almost on brand for you: standing still in shock as cans and boxes have fallen out of the now torn plastic bag, a whole clutter of items spilling onto the path. Hatori knew the reason too well. She overpacked.

His brow furrows, his bottom lip almost quivering as his once determined steps now creep with trepidation. Should he approach you? Will you welcome his presence, or will you press some distance? Will he be able to speak? Will he be okay with the possibility of this interaction being a one off?  Hatori finds his mind remembering the day he had suppressed your memories, the day the cold snow felt nothing compared to his hand resting on your head. He can’t shake off the sight of you crying, not out of anger towards him, but out of frustration towards yourself. Even till that moment, you were thinking of nothing but him. 

“I’m sorry,” You weeped, your eyes unable to meet his own in utter shame, “It’s my fault for not protecting you.” Hatori remembered how your shaky fingers tried to find his bandaged eye, resting on it, your touch trying to commit it to memory. How it was your fault. It was all your fault. 

Hatori knew you had that narrative sealed in your conscience, and he only kneeled with teary eyes. None of his words could soothe you, relieve you, protect you. Yet, a selfish part of him spared a few more seconds, knowing that this could be the last time he’d be able to touch you, feel you under his fingertips, even if it were to erase the memories of the most beautiful mind he’s ever seen. 

“H-Hatori,” You cried. Whether it was your plea for him to stay longer, to soothe you once more, or to curse him, Hatori didn’t know. All he knew was that he could not bear to associate his Spring with sadness and tears much longer. So, he did it, erasing the memories of those blissful two months. 

The memory alone was enough for Hatori to turn his back to you, feeling as though he was foolish for even attempting to get close to you once again. Yet, the quiet mutterings that are heard from you make his eyes close, making him remember how your voice alone was once proof of the domesticity he had achieved in being with you. How it brought the warmth of Spring to the otherwise barren and unfeeling winter of his life. “Here, allow me,” Hatori blurts out, turning back around to be by your side. He kneels beside you, picking up the rest of your groceries that have fallen out of your bag. 

Your breath couldn’t help but halt, your eyes blinking in disbelief at the sight of the man beside you. “Hatori?” You ask, almost as though you were accidentally conjuring up his visage instead. Yet the sight of his focused gaze on your groceries told you otherwise. Little did you know how the mere utterance of his name was enough to make the family doctor’s heart wrench. 

“You overpacked again,” Hatori grunts, carefully taking the rest of your grocery items in his arms. The sight of his lips curled up at the corners was enough for you to smile. Whether it is out of embarrassment or giddiness, you aren’t too sure yourself. You only knew it was a delight seeing him. 

“Ah, I guess,” You say with a lighthearted laugh, cradling the other half of spilled groceries in your arms. Neither of you were able to get a word out of your mouths, the tension in the air palpable. You knew better than to stay in this awkwardness for a moment longer, so you motion with a tilt of your head towards your arms. “Here, you can place those groceries here, my house is not that far away. I’m sure you’re busy, I think,” You ramble, unsure of how to at least make this conversation flow without it being so awkward. In your point of view, you had confessed to Hatori of your love in the past, and Hatori had gently let you down, saying he was not looking at such commitments at the time. It was not long till you stopped being his assistant, too embarrassed to even be in the same room as him after your strong confession. 

“I’m not busy today,” Hatori reassures you, that smile of his face small yet genuine. It only makes you swoon, just as it had when you were his assistant. “Besides, I believe you won’t be able to carry all of this with a torn bag, let alone in your arms.” It was a sound argument, and it was safe to say it was in alignment of your current interest in mind. 

Hatori now found himself walking side by side with you on the way to your house. He merely asked you what you have been up to, and you’re back to the way you were. Your eyes seemed to be a window to your soul, your emotions on full display as you talk about your recent endeavors. You were always quite the chatterbox, and the mere reminder being right in front of him rather than a memory was more than enough for Hatori. Here you are, running back and forth in the kitchen, Hatori having to watch you as he leaned against the wall. The amount of times where Hatori wanted to cry at the sight of you was enough to make Hatori lose count. You weren’t even noticing how attentive Hatori was being, the way that small smile remained on his face as you rambled. It almost feels like it was one of those days, those days where you beckoned him after work to do domestic things. Be it grocery shopping, making lunch, or taking a walk around the estate, you have always enjoyed living life alongside Hatori. 

How he aches to live like this once more.

“Monstrous, Loathsome, Cursed.” These were the only words Hatori had ever been able to describe himself and the Sohma family. They were untouchable, isolated, and their reliance had been only towards one another within the Zodiac. It was greatly underestimated how often you make Hatori feel so human, how often you remind him of the possibilities he has always had access to. Even with suppressed memories, your infectious glee and your genuine kindness has that same effect. 

“You’re quiet,” You note quietly to Hatori, your gaze one of concern as you put away the last of groceries in your kitchen space. The attention drawn to him makes him snap out of his reverie, the doctor blinking as he processes your words a second longer than needed. “I’m fine,” Hatori grunted, a small nod to you as an attempt to get you off his tail. 

“Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “No, Hatori, I mean it. We both know that I chat a lot and-” “Y/N.” “And listen! It’s such a valid complaint! I’ve done a bit of growing up you know and-”

“I just missed you!” Hatori groans, the words charged with frustration at face value, yet to him, it meant more. So much more. Seeing that it stuns you to silence, Hatori couldn’t help but realize he may have been too harsh in his delivery of words. However, the mere fact that he no longer was staring at a picture frame, no longer relying on his mind to conjure your visage, no longer wondering if his memories of you remain outdated…

Hatori Sohma has never felt so alive. 

And so, he takes a quiet inhale and exhale, knowing a chance like this is rare. 

“I just miss you,” Hatori admits, his voice quieter now, one that uncovered his vulnerability, his longing. You were only looking at Hatori in surprise, your lips parted as you remained stuck in place. You have never heard Hatori speak with such conviction, always associating Hatori with logic, reason, level-headedness. Yet here he stands, as if it hurts to breathe, as if the room shrunk ten times smaller. “I know that given what has transpired between us it sounds unlikely, but I quite enjoyed your stories. Forgive me for sounding harsh-” 

“Then have lunch with me,” You blurt out, saying it as though it is the easiest problem to solve. 

It throws Hatori off, leaning forward against the counter to make sure he was hearing you correctly. “What?” “You miss me. I missed you. We catch up over lunch.” 

“You’re being hasty over this. It is not that simple.” “Oh, but it is!” You argue back, the sliver of hope giving you that same courage to push for this, the apparent need of time with one another. Your hopeful smile falters, your jittery behavior returning in the form of twiddling fingers. 

Hatori’s gaze softens seeing it, knowing very well that this was indicative of the possibility of you backing away from the offer. The idea of you doing so shatters Hatori’s heart, reminding him of the times before, where especially with Akito’s harmful words and actions, you did nothing but blame yourself. Hatori never wanted you blaming yourself for something that you wholeheartedly ached for. “I’m sorry,” You say, your tone more distant.

“No, um, I’m sorry,” Hatori grunts out, looking down at his hands. He almost wants to yell at himself for being like a naive teenager who knew nothing of the world. It feels like his years worth of bargaining, denial, and self-reflection were seemingly being thrown away by his own hand. He has to do this, either commit now, or be left wondering for the rest of his life. Hatori has spent too much time wondering and thinking of ‘what if’s. Hatori wants to commit to the former. “It’s just been so long,” Hatori confesses, his shoulders starting to slump in resignation. It felt good as it was terrifying, resigning to the truth. It felt better knowing he was showing this side of him in front of you once more. “It’s been a while since we saw each other. I’ve been wondering how you were, if I am being honest.” Hatori saw the way your eyes seem to light up at his admission, the way you smile in embarrassment. It was infectious, enough to make you smile. He almost melts on the spot seeing how it lights up the world around you both. 

“Then, do you have the time to stay for lunch? Maybe to catch up?” You ask quietly, the smile never leaving your face. Hatori watches you tilt your head to the side in curiosity and hope, your brows raising in anticipation for his answer. Hatori could only let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. Persuasive as always.

“Of course,” Hatori breathes, a relieved smile on his face that mirrors yours upon hearing his words. Hatori sighs, pushing himself off of the wall and heading for the door. You look over at him in confusion, already trailing after him. If there was any force that he’d willingly surrender to, it’s you. The way you allow him room to respond, to choose, to decide. You remind Hatori of his freedom of choice, of his right to choose, his right to see Spring again. Only then does he regain his footing, his confidence, himself.

“Hey! Where are you going? I was going to-” 

“You aren’t making anything,” Hatori replies flatly, slipping on his shoes before opening the door for you. “Let’s go. Lunch is on me.”

[wttcsms]

"i (Nanami Kento) bet on losing dogs" x the losing dog (reader)

no other sadness in the world would do, kento nanami ;

pairing kento nanami x f!reader word count 1.5k synopsis a quiet and intimate examination of modern day suffering content contains implied abusive spouse (for reader), implied unrequited love (nanami has feelings for reader)

There is nothing in this world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty. 

What a pathetic trait, he would think to himself. How could someone just blindly follow someone, constantly chasing after their shadow, only to be mistreated time and time again? It’s disgusting. Shameless. Weak.

He feels disgusting, shameless, weak. 

Powerless, too. That’s a new one. That’s how things usually go when it’s just the two of you; you start evoking all sorts of new emotions, like he’s a video game character and you’re helping him unlock upgrades to his character. It’s a bit disarming, really. Kento much prefers to remain as impassive as possible while in the office because unnecessarily giving up any pieces of himself to this skyscraper shithole feels like he’s letting his stupidly rich clients win. 

Kento likes routine, which is why he settles into one quickly and refuses to make adjustments unless absolutely necessary.

Login, watch the markets, log off. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And then you became his new desk partner, and his perfect, meticulous cycle is thrown off course.

Being observant does more harm than good. He notices the shiny ring on your finger and draws an invisible, never-to-be-passed boundary. He already has made up his mind on not engaging with any of his coworkers, female or male, married or otherwise, but with you, he makes the mental effort to visualize the line, the flashing red warning signs, the whole nine-yards. This is the first sign that you are going to fuck up his life. Already, you’re embedded in his insides, owning real estate in his subconscious long before he can even realize it.

At first, you don’t talk to him much; you don’t talk to most of the men working here, and Kento can’t fault you for that. Most of them are assholes, and all of them don’t have any morals. If this wasn’t the case, they wouldn’t be working here, after all.

Eventually, you start to withdraw, and Kento becomes the person you’re most comfortable with talking to. What you see is what you get with him. Kento refuses to be one of those people who are a waste of perfectly good oxygen, and he doesn’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re in an industry where men purposely like to talk over women, just because they can get away with it. With Kento, you are given free rein of the conversation. It’s kismet, you and him.

He gets used to your constant conversation, never seeming to be put off by the fact that he doesn’t offer up his opinion unless explicitly asked. Kento normally doesn’t like it when people talk to him when he’s trying to get work done, but your voice is pleasant, your topics always interesting (“do you think there are different levels in Hell, or is a one-victim murderer being prodded by pitchforks right next to Hitler?”), and he finds that listening to you speak relaxes him somewhat. He doesn’t go home with a tightness in his shoulders and a persistent, throbbing ache in his head that aspirin can’t seem to fix. 

The first time Kento initiates conversation is when he sees you wearing a blazer during the sweltering heat of one of Japan’s most unforgiving summers. 

“A bit warm for all that,” he says, trying to adjust his tone and make it sound like a joke. Even if it did sound like a joke, he knows that your reaction would remain the same.

“Oh,” you give a nervous, insincere laugh, reflexively tugging on the sleeves even though your arms are still very much covered. “I get cold easily.”

That’s a lie. Kento knows because he knows you well enough to tell that you are the most genuine person he has ever interacted with. He doesn’t know how you ended up with this job when you’re much better suited for a career that actually helps people. He thinks back to when the office’s air conditioning went haywire and blasted the office with near-freezing temperatures. You had remained in your short-sleeved blouse, saying that you love the cold.

He doesn’t call you out on it, though. He just makes a noise from the back of his throat and turns back to his monitor. 

He can only pretend to ignore your erratic behavior for so long. You keep yourself covered to the point where you make a nun seem indecent. You withdraw from him, not initiating conversation unless Kento brings something up (he’s never been good at making small talk, and so more often than not, the conversation fizzles out quickly and awkwardly). And then you come to work with a black eye, and Kento refuses to let you suffer in silence any longer.

You break down and cry, feeling pathetic, feeling lost. You beg him not to say anything to anybody, that this is just a rough patch, that this’ll pass, and everything will be okay. Amidst your sobs, Kento finds himself wondering who you’re trying to convince right now. 

He holds you on the comedown. 

Now, there’s a new cycle. Things don’t get better for you; it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that one out. If a man lays his hands on you once, he’ll do it again. And again. And again. 

To take a life is a serious thing, but sometimes, there are worse ways to kill someone without ever murdering them. Your husband is killing you right now, a slow, soul-sucking type of death, and Kento would like to kill him. Some people are more curse than human. 

What did your husband do, Kento wonders, to make you fall in love with him? What can your husband do to make you finally wake up and realize that he is entirely undeserving of your love? 

Kento Nanami does not belong to any religion, does not attend church, does not even bother questioning the possibilities of a potential afterlife because his current life is already a bust as is. But after every late night he spends comforting and consoling you, holding you while you wet his button-down with your tears, he goes home and prays that you get the strength to fucking leave him. Pack your bags and get the hell out of Tokyo. Even if it means he’ll never see you again, the only person who makes this insufferable existence somewhat bearable. 

But the cycle doesn’t seem to ever break. He’s watching you fade away, and he decides that all the faith systems are fucked up for ignoring his pleas. 

“You should leave him.” He tells you, handing you a tissue. It’s technically a waste of breath; he tells you this shit all the time, and you never take his advice, but he says it anyway. Foolishly hoping that this time will be the time where you decide to listen to him. 

(And besides, he finds that anything he says to you could never be a waste.)

“But I love him.” You give him that same sad, watery smile, and Kento wants to pity you, but you wouldn’t accept it. Outwardly, he treats you the same as he used to, before he knew all that stuff that happens to you behind closed doors, because he knows what it’s like to be treated like you’re incapable of processing anything but kindness. The sweet, sugary kind of kindness, too — none of that blunt, pragmatic stuff. Kismet, he snorts. How fortunate that the kindness you need — re: blunt, pragmatic — is the only type he’s capable of giving to you.

Being treated like you’re surrounded by broken glass and everyone around you is trying desperately to avoid it makes people feel even worse. When Yu died, everyone acted like not being overly nice to Kento would somehow make him snap and go off the deep-end. The fact of the matter is, none of these people have ever been so overly cautious around him, and it actually made the pain of losing Yu somehow more unbearable. 

There are lots of replies that rest on the tip of his tongue. 

But does he love you? 

Why? 

Have some self respect, holy shit.

Your love is killing you from the inside out.

I could love you.

He tosses away your snotty tissues into the trash can, somehow not disgusted by you even though you think he should be. His grocery list now includes painkillers, band-aids, and bruise ointment. He thinks prayers are a waste of time, and before bed, he takes a shot in the dark and hopes some benevolent god is rooting for you like he is. There is nothing in the world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

“I know.” And he leaves it at that.

[sequinsmile-x]

Where You Go - Chapter 2

She isn’t sure what does it, whether it’s the condescending tone in her mother’s voice, or how she can hear her aunt laughing in the background, but she’s lying before she can stop herself.

“Actually, I am seeing someone."

AKA - the one where Emily asks Aaron, her best friend (who she happens to be hopelessly in love with) to pose as her boyfriend at her cousin's wedding, and things change between them forever.

-x-

Hi friends,

Thank you so SO much for the reaction to chapter 1 - genuinely a little blown away.

They are going to get much, *much* stupider before they figure it out, and I hope you enjoy the journey <3

As always, please let me know what you think - it means the world!

-x-

Warnings: full list of tags can be found on the Master List

Words: 5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He’d always known she came from money, but he’s still surprised when they pull into the driveway of the estate where they were staying for the weekend. 

“They’ve booked this entire place?”

She chuckles at the disbelief in his voice and pops another piece of candy in her mouth as she sits up straight, no longer slouching in the passenger seat. 

“Oh yeah,” she says, blowing out a slow breath as she rolls her neck, her body stiff from the 6-hour drive, “Aunt Charlotte and Uncle David always want the best for Tiffany.” 

He hums as he continues to drive towards the mansion where the wedding is being hosted. Emily had explained that the entire place had been rented out - every room booked and being used for Tiffany and her soon-to-be husband’s guests. 

“Haley and I got married in church and then had the reception at a rec centre,” he says and she turns to look at him, unable to stop herself from smiling, the happy wistful look on his face when he thought of Haley one she thought he’d never get back, “We were fresh out of college, it was all we could afford.” 

“It still looked beautiful,” she says, thinking of the photo album she’d seen one night as Aaron showed it to Jack, the large book open on the little boy's lap as he ran his tiny fingers over pictures of his mother, “And it wasn’t all for show like this weekend will be.” 

He hadn’t missed the tension in her that had only increased the closer they got to their destination, a tightness in her shoulders that only her mother could bring out of her. Before he picked her up this morning, the passenger door stuffed full of packets of candy he’d gone to the store to buy for her, he’d wondered if he was doing the right thing, if he could cope with being so close to her for two days before they went back to their normal distance. The moment he saw her, all uncharacteristic nervousness and rambling appreciation for what he was doing, he knew he didn’t care about himself - only her - and he didn’t want her to face this alone. 

“Thank you for driving the whole way,” she says, smiling softly as they park up. He chuckles, winking at her in an attempt to soothe her.

“I don’t seem to remember you offering to switch at any stage,” he teases, his smile only getting wider when she scoffs at him, “Plus, what is it Garcia called you that one time - a passenger princess?” 

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop the laugh that escapes as she unclips her seatbelt, “This is all very rich coming from the man who wouldn’t have handed over the keys even if I asked.” 

He watches as she looks back at the estate they are staying in, and her smile fades, slipping off her face as they watch other guests mingle. 

“We could turn around,” he says and she looks at him so quickly he thinks it must hurt, “Say we had a case we couldn’t get out of.” 

She doesn’t think she’s ever been more in love with him and it takes her a moment to get over it, to swallow everything she can’t let herself feel back down, the lump of it painful in her chest, “That’s sweet but, at this point it’s going to be easier to stay,” she replies, her hands tight in a ball on her lap so she doesn’t reach out for him, “Thank you for doing this.” 

He shakes his head, “You can stop thanking me. This is what we do for each other. We…” he trails off, unsure how to put it into words, and he clears his throat, “Show up.” 

It didn’t feel like enough to explain what they’d become for each other, a back-and-forth that they’d unknowingly started when he showed up at her door and asked her to stay after she’d quit to protect him.

“Yeah. We do,” she says, her tongue sticking out to wet her lip, “We should get going.” 

They get out of the car, but he moves quickly, at the trunk and hooking both of their bags over his shoulder before she’s even got her door closed. She raises her eyebrow at him when he shakes his head as she tries to take her bag from him

“You wouldn’t want them to think you’re with someone you isn’t a gentleman, right?” He asks, a smirk on his face she finds as irritating as she does attractive, and he nods towards the small group of people nearby, including her mother and Aunt Charlotte, out of earshot but close enough it’s clear they are watching them. 

She huffs, “I suppose not,” she says, her hand dropping to her side, “Last chance to back out.” 

He steps towards her, missing how her breath catches in her chest as he looks over at Elizabeth, and he places his arm around her, his hand landing in the curve of her waist. He tugs her closer, desperately trying to pretend his palm didn’t fit perfectly in that space, his thumb catching under her ribs and his little finger against her hip.

“Never.” 

___

She can barely concentrate at the rehearsal dinner. 

All she can think about is Aaron’s arm slung across the back of her chair, how his fingers would occasionally graze her bare shoulder when he moves. If she didn’t know she was as excellent as she was at hiding her feelings, if she hadn’t literally been trained how to, she’d be worried that she’d immediately give everything away. 

Her mind keeps flicking between the gentle way he’d been touching her all day and the queen bed in their room. She hadn’t thought about it until they arrived, something she chastised herself for, but she knows she can’t say anything about it without raising suspicion. She’d seen the look on Aaron’s face too, his eyes ever so slightly wide as he dropped both of their bags down onto the bed, a comment about how they’d figure it out later hanging in the air between them. 

He makes her jump, his hand on her knee under the table when she’s too distracted by him to hear the waiter ask her if she wants more wine. He immediately withdraws his hand, an apology in his eyes as if he didn’t even realise he’d done it. She reaches out for his hand on the table and squeezes it, linking their fingers together as she tells him it’s fine, that he hadn’t overstepped, with nothing more than a soft smile and her warm skin against his. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone,” Elizabeth says from across the table, making Emily curse, not for the first time that evening, whoever put the seating plan together. 

“Well,” Emily replies, reaching for her wine, feeling emboldened by the slight buzz from the alcohol and the fizz in her skin wherever Aaron touches her. “We don’t talk all that often, Mom. Should I have sent an email?” 

Aaron coughs to cover a laugh, and he runs his thumb back and forth over the pulse in her wrist, and she only realises right then that she’d never let go of his hand. 

“It’s funny,” Elizabeth says, a look on her face that lets Emily know whatever she was about to say was the complete opposite of funny, all of her focus on Aaron, “I saw you at Del Mar a few weeks ago,” her smile turns wry, “I was going to say hello but I saw you were with someone. I only saw your date from behind,” she flicks her eyes to Emily, “If I’d known it was you I would have come over.” 

Emily feels Aaron get tenser, the heat radiating off the arm he has slung over the back of her chair getting closer as he shifts a little in his seat, at the mention of what must have been one of his last dates with Beth before they broke up. She knew this was a test, an attempt from her mother to poke holes in the story she didn’t entirely believe, and it was one Emily was more than willing to take. 

She leans closer to Aaron, flashing him a reassuring smile as she makes a point to reach for his hand behind her, linking their fingers together as she tugs his hand over her shoulder so she’s now holding both of them. She desperately tries to ignore how right it feels to be boxed in by him this way, how his fingers seemed to slot perfectly between hers. She tries to memorise it, wants to remember how it felt to do something as simple as hold his hand for the rest of her life, doesn’t want this taste of what could have been to fade. 

“We love Del Mar,” she says, squeezing his hand, “Don’t we honey.” 

He snaps out of whatever trance he’d been in and he nods, squeezing her hand back, an apology he doesn’t need to give her shining in his eyes. 

He smiles as he looks at Elizabeth, making a point of saying something he knew was true even if the context was a lie, Emily’s sweet tooth the only reason he kept peanut butter cups in his office, half a pack of them still wedged in his car door. He wonders how well Elizabeth knows her. If she knows Emily had a love of chocolate that rivalled that of his young son, if she knew she hated pens with blue ink to the point she once told him off for signing off paperwork with one. He wanted nothing more than for it to be his place to make sure Elizabeth knew that he knew who Emily was, that he loved her for who she was, not who he wanted her to be. 

“You can’t keep Em away from the dessert menu. No matter how much Tapas we order.” 

Elizabeth lets the point go after that, which Emily is grateful for, and the rest of dinner goes by without incident. As soon as the drink reception starts, Aaron goes to the bar. Emily loves that he knows her well enough that he doesn’t even ask, a soft smile on his face as he steps past her, his hand skimming over her lower back as he goes. 

She barely has a moment alone when Tiffany walks over, throwing her arms around her like it had been weeks since they’d last spoken, not years, “Emily, it’s so good to see you. I meant to call after…well everything,” she says, coming the closest anyone had so far to mentioning her return from the dead, “But you know what life is like.” 

Emily hums, not sure that your cousin faking their death was normal in most people’s books, but she lets it slide, “Of course, It’s good to see you too, Tiff,” she says, hugging her for a moment before stepping back, “Thank you for inviting me, this is already a beautiful weekend.” 

She waves her off, “Oh of course. We have got to talk about that boyfriend of yours,” she says, casting a glance over her shoulder, “Aunt Lizzie said he’s your boss?”

Emily clenches her teeth and suppresses a sigh, unable to help but wonder how many conversations there had been about her and Aaron that she hadn’t been privy to since she told her mother he was coming.

“Yes, we met at work,” she says diplomatically, unable to stop herself from smiling when she looks over and he’s looking at her already, “He’s amazing,” she says easily, because it was true, “Anyway, you should tell me about Andrew.” 

Tiffany immediately beams at the change in subject, “Oh, well he works for Daddy…” 

She forces a smile and makes eyes at Aaron across the room, silently asking him to get back here and he nods, turning back to the bartender in an attempt to hurry him along. Emily huffs out a breath, barely paying any attention to Tiffany’s self-involved rambling, and she crosses her arms over her chest as she looks back and forth between her cousin and the back of Aaron’s head. 

“Oh my god, what’s that?” 

It takes a moment for Tiffany’s words to register, and when Emily looks at her she realises she’s staring at her chest. She looks down and she feels the life drain out of her, the brand mark Ian had left behind peeking out from the top of her dress, pushed up by her crossed arms. She barely thought about it these days through sheer force of will. She didn’t want to give it the power it had over her in the beginning, didn’t want it to symbolise what Ian had intended it to. She hadn’t thought about it when she’d packed the dress to wear this evening, and all of a sudden all she could think about was if the dress she’d brought for the actual wedding would show it too. 

She clears her throat, hoping her voice doesn’t shake as she pulls the dress up just enough to cover it, “Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, smiling at Tiffany, hating the intrigue she sees in her eyes, a reflection of when they were girls together, when they would get up to mischief in hallways that were used to serious people in pressed suits.

Tiffany leans in, her voice low as if she’s conspiring, not picking up on Emily’s resistance to talk about it, “Did he do that?” 

Emily knows that Ian had taken some kind of mythical place in her family’s lore, the man so bad she’d had to fake her death after he’d come damn close to actually killing her, and she hates it. It makes him bigger than she wants him to be, large and somehow more ghoulish than he’d been when he was alive. 

She clenches her teeth, her lungs burning as she struggles to breathe, “Yes. He did,” she says simply, looking over at Aaron again, her eyes meeting his as he turns away from the bar, a drink in each hand, and she smiles tightly at Tiffany, already walking away as she carries on, “Excuse me.” 

She needed air, she needed to get out of here. She needed to remind herself that she’d somehow survived. As she steps outside the cold air is briefly overwhelming, forcing more air from her lungs as she stumbles ever so slightly, catching herself on the wall for a moment before she walks forward - putting enough space between her and the ballroom until she can deal with it again. 

She’s barely alone for a second when she hears his voice, a blessing and a curse all wrapped up into one because of course he’d check she was okay.

“Emily?” 

She turns to face him, the smile she’d been using on her family all day painted across her face, “I’m okay, I just needed some air.” 

He briefly considers leaving her to it. Considers handing her the champagne he’d got her and heading back indoors even though he can see through the lie, can see the fake smile and the shining eyes that she is so desperately trying to hide. He can’t bring himself to leave, something about the nervous energy flowing off of her like a fine perfume enough to keep him rooted to the spot just a few feet away from her. 

“I saw you talking to Tiffany,” he says, stepping closer only to put the glasses of champagne down on the table between them, cigarette butts he’d assume were hers if she’d been out here any longer strewn across it, “Did she say something?” 

She sighs, and whilst her instinct is to lie, to brush it off, she doesn’t. She fights against it because she can see that he cares, that he’s trying to be the friend she finds herself needing more and more these days. 

“She…” she clears her throat, looking down at the ground to break eye contact, “She saw the scar on my chest. She asked about it and in a very roundabout way she asked about Ian,” she laughs humourlessly, “And I know it’s something people will ask about, but for the first time in a long time I chose outfits for this weekend without thinking about it…and now it’s all I can think about.” 

He knew about the clover, she knew that, so she didn’t have to explain any further. He’s silent and when she looks back up she half expects him to be staring at her chest, his gaze fixed on the dress that she was holding in place, her hand unable to move, but he’s looking at her face, his lips pressed together as he decides how to reply. 

“Do you want to go back to the room?” He asks, the randomness of it slightly disarming at first, but she finds herself nodding, wanting nothing more than to just hide for the rest of the evening, but she hesitates, her hand pressing further into her chest. He takes off his suit jacket and offers it out to her, “Here you go,” he says, his lips turning up into a soft smile when she looks at him like he’s crazy, “It will cover it until it’s not the only thing you’re thinking about anymore.” 

She huffs out a breath and she shakes her head, “Aaron…” 

“Come on,” he’s still holding the jacket, a hand on each of the lapels as he encourages her to turn around, “Plus, it’s cold out here. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t offer you my jacket?” 

She knows what he’s trying to do and it warms her from the inside out. If it was anyone else she thinks she’d refuse, even if it was an actual partner, but there’s something about him offering to help in this way, when she knows he understands how it feels to grapple with a body changed by something he had no say over, that she can’t turn down. 

“Well,” she says, nodding as she turns around, “We can’t have people thinking you’re a bad boyfriend.” 

She closes her eyes as he slips the jacket onto her arms, the mix of the smell of him wafting from the material and the way his fingers graze over her shoulders as he settles it onto her briefly overwhelming. A flash of the affection she wanted from him all the time. 

“Exactly,” he says, grateful she’s got her back to him, that he has a moment to gather himself, the feel of her bare skin against his as electrifying and tortuous as it had been all night. “You ready?” 

She turns and he tries to ignore how good she looks wearing his jacket, the sleeves of it going past her hands and the hem almost mid-thigh. When he blinks he can picture her in nothing but one of his shirts and it’s too much, forcing a shiver out of him as he looks at her again. She frowns. 

“If you’re cold-”

“I’ve got it under good authority that I’m a walking furnace,” he says, cutting off any attempt to give the jacket back as he stands next to her, linking his arm through one of hers, “I’ll make it to our room.” 

She nods and lets herself be led back into the ballroom, taking the opportunity to slip back into their roles as she wraps her other hand around his tricep, all but hugging his arm to her side. They let her mother know they are going to bed, and Emily takes a moment to assure Tiffany she’s fine when she attempts a clumsy apology, saying that she was tired from the journey that morning, the lie easy and sweet as it sits on her tongue. 

It’s only when they make it back to the room that Emily considers that they’ll now have to deal with the one bed issue. When the door is locked behind them, their linked arms uncurling the moment they are behind it, she huffs out a breath as she looks at the bed. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Aaron offers, his expression kind as she’d ever seen it, “If that makes you more comfortable.” 

She shakes her head, “No,” she says, the gentle weight of his jacket still pressing on his shoulders, the lines already so blurred from the half a day they’d been here that she can’t bring herself to care that she’d inevitably be hurting her own feelings by having a taste of what it would be like to sleep next to him, “We’re both grown-ups. And I don’t want you to hurt your back,” she winks at him, “As long as you promise - no wondering hands.” 

His eyes go wide and he splutters, a sound she’s not sure she’s ever heard from him before, “Emily, I’d never-”

“Aaron,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm and squeezing, the shift of his muscles under his skin making her stomach flip, “I’m kidding. You’re probably the only actual gentleman I know,” she assures him and he nods, laughing weakly at his own blustering, “I’m getting the bathroom first though.” 

He nods, oddly grateful for a moment to himself, to recalibrate after the strangely domestic feeling that had settled over them, “Of course.” 

He sits on the bed as he waits, the sound of her getting ready for bed floating in from the bathroom, muffled slightly by the door. He smiles as he hears her humming to herself, something he’d found out she did whenever she did almost anything outside of work. He feels familiar love for her blooming in his chest as he allows himself to imagine a life for a moment where this was his soundtrack every evening as they wound down the day together. 

When the door opens and she steps out he’s taken aback by her natural beauty, the softness that came with just being Emily and not Prentiss or whatever her family expected of her. He’s grateful that he’s seen her like this before, that countless evenings in his apartment with Jack where she’d worn sweats and baggy t-shirts, with no make-up and her hair piled on her head like it was now. It means he’s prepared, that he doesn’t stare at her for too long or make her self-conscious on an evening when she already felt on edge thanks to a thoughtless comment from her cousin.

“Do you feel better?” He asks as he stands up, grateful taking his jacket back from her, folded over her arm - a far cry from her own clothes balled up in the crook of it.

She nods, “Yes, thank you,” she stands there for a moment, not able to read the look in his eyes and hating that she can't, “Your turn.” 

He smiles and steps past her into the bathroom and she blows out a slow breath. She climbs into bed and waits for him, only realising she hadn’t checked what side he preferred when he steps out a few minutes later in his pjyamas, a wry smile on his face.

“That answers that question,” he says, but before she can offer to swap he’s climbing into the other side of the bed, “I prefer this side anyway.” 

She presses her lips together to stop herself from smiling, furious at herself for the girlish reaction that made her stomach flip at that admission, “Lights off?” 

He nods as he settles into bed next to her, both of them careful to stick to their sides as the room falls into darkness and silence

“You’re not like any of them,” he says after a few seconds, clarifying when he realises he’d verbalised half a thought, “Your family. You’re not like them.” 

She hums, her smile sad in the darkness of the room. There’s something safe about it, about laying next to him, both of them achingly aware of the other just a few inches away, their bodies stiff and tight as they desperately try not to touch each other, even though all it would is one of them reaching out their hand.  She isn’t sure if it’s the comfort of him being so close, or that she can pretend for a moment that she’s alone, but she finds herself saying something she’s never told anyone. 

“I used to pretend that I was adopted. I’d lay in bed and wish my real family would come get me, and that I’d have maybe a brother and a sister and parents with normal jobs,” she smiles wryly as she tilts her head towards him, searching for his face in the dark, “But I undeniably look like my mother,” she laughs humourlessly, “And I have my dad’s nose.” 

He smiles, swallowing back the desire to tell her she’s beautiful, the words stuck against his ribs as he forces them down, knowing it’s not his place to tell her that no matter how much he wants it to be. 

“Do you miss him?” 

She presses her lips together as she turns to face him again, his face clearer now her eyes had adjusted to the dark, “My dad?” She asks, and he nods, “I do. Or I miss what we could have had,” she smiles sadly and shrugs, “I was in college when he died and…we were never that close. I hoped one day we could be but we never got the chance.” 

He can tell by the way she drifts off, how her voice catches in her throat a little, that she feels exposed. He hates that she feels that way. After everything they’d been through he wanted her to know she could trust him with anything, that he would never judge her. They knew the worst parts of each other and were still here, still clamouring to learn more and he doesn’t think he’s ever had that with anyone - even Haley. 

He clears his throat, determined to make her more comfortable, “I can understand that,” he says, turning to look at her, lost in her eyes that somehow seemed deeper right now, as if the darkness of the room was bleeding into them, “My dad he…” he clears his throat again, his jaw briefly tight, “He wasn’t a good man. At all. And it almost made it worse when he had good days - because it meant he was capable of being the father I wanted him to be,” he smiles wryly, shaking his head at himself as he rests his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling as he says the last part, something he’d never dared to utter out loud, “The father I want to be to Jack.” 

Emily didn’t have to be good at her job to know that Aaron had grown up around violence. It was written across his skin, in the fine print of how he acted, how he would switch from being careful to risking his safety in a heartbeat. It was in how gentle he was with Jack, how he’d press Batman bandaids against grazed knees with care so tender it made her ache. Skin that had once broken open over his knuckles, torn apart by bone and tooth as he beat a man to death in front of her, stretched white as he put his hands over his son’s on the handlebars of his bike, words of encouragement flowing out of him so easily he didn’t resemble the man who’d once barely spoken to her when they first met. 

She can’t help but reach over, her hand wrapping around his over the covers as she pulls it from his chest. She links their fingers together and squeezes, her expression serious when their eyes meet. 

“You’re an excellent father, Aaron,” she says, running her thumb back and forth over the heel of his hand. He smiles tightly, and it’s enough to tell her that he doesn’t entirely believe her, “I’ll tell you that every day until you believe me,” she smiles wryly, “Or at least until you tell me you believe me to get me to stop.” They both laugh and it eases something in her chest. She feels drawn to him, shifting her upper body just enough to press her cheek against his shoulder, hungry for more physical contact after being pressed up against him most of the day, storing as much of it away as she can before the weekend is over, as if she’s saving acorns for winter. “Jack is so lucky to have you.” 

He hums and breathes her in, hesitating for a moment before he rests his cheek on the top of her head, letting himself pretend for a moment that this was his life. That he fell asleep like this with her every night. He hears her suppress a yawn, but he doesn’t move, content to lay in this awkward half-embrace as long as she is happy to. 

“We should get some sleep,” he says, and she nods, yawning again.

“Tomorrow is going to be a long day,” she grumbles, making no move to shift away from him, the comfort of being this close drawing her in, an addiction she isn’t entirely sure she’ll be able to give up in approximately 36 hours. 

“Night, Em.”

She’s already sleepy, pulled into it by the comfort she thinks follows him everywhere and the fantasy that she could have this forever, “Night.” 

She falls asleep first, her hand loosening its grip on his as she drifts off but not slipping free, her fingers still linked through his. He dares to turn his head just a little, not wanting to risk waking her, and he kisses her forehead, his nose briefly buried in her hair before he rests his cheek there again, a soft smile on his face as he closes his eyes.

When he falls asleep he dreams of a life where he could have this for more than a weekend. 

-x-

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[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep6 Musings - Loumand's Power Imbalance: RANT (Spoilers)

I'm seeing so many trash takes in the tags and it's driving me nuts.

Armand 👏 Made 👏 His 👏 CHOICE! 👏

The show said it TWICE, and yet I still see a plethora of braindead takes about Armand/Arun being "forced" by "Maitre/pimp!Louis" to do things. 🤦

Like, ISTG we're clearly not watching the same show, y'all.

Since when did Louis being a pimp or asserting "dominance" or other delusions of grandeur get him anywhere or give him anything that wasn't immediately taken away again by people with ACTUAL power? Louis NEVER had any real power to begin with!

Lou couldn't even convince some schmuck art dealer to buy his effing photos! He couldn't even convince his own boyfriend/companion to make a dang baby with him! Come on, y'all--what POWER (control, influence, effectiveness, coercion, sway) has Louis ever actually had!?!?

Sure, Lou owned all those businesses--and every single one got shut down by the government's Ordinances (via the city council the Alderman & Tom Anderson were board members on). Sure, Lou had money & paid all the bills at DPDL Estate, but his mother had the power to badmouth him so bad that his own nieces never wanted to be around him, and Levi took his place as Florence's son--"you're not welcome in this home!" Sure, Lou's a big bad vamp w/ super strength "remember what I did to that door, Grace?," but Grace was the one who told him to "get out!;" "mah sistah buried me aliiiiive~!" Sure, he was "Daddy" Lou, but when Claudia ran away he couldn't do eff all to stop her or make her come back till SHE decided to come back. Sure, Lou said he was "equals in the quiet dark," but Lestat always had the final say--he's even testifying to an entire judge & jury in the court case that's gonna get Claudia killed & Louis LITERALLY buried alive--cuz ARMAND MADE A DEAL WITH SANTIAGO & THE COVEN & LESTAT! Everyone's making moves w/out Lou having a EFFING clue.

Y'all really think Armand just stood there & let Santiago kidnap Lou's family cuz LOUIS turned Armand into his slave!; or cuz LOUIS had some unfair advantage over Armand?!

Episode 7 was given its title for a frikkin REASON, y'all.

Armand claimed he "couldn't prevent it." Armand. The 500 year old vampire so powerful that HE was the only one in the coven who could set vampires on frikkin fire, and was the ONLY one who could freeze entire rooms full of people AND VAMPIRES.

Somehow, Armand's suddenly SO powerless, SO helpless, SO DOMINATED, that couldn't stop those SAME vampires from abducting his beloved companion ("I want you more than anything in the world") and his daughters? PLEASE.

Coven Master Armand CHOPPED OFF NICKI'S HANDS when he got TIRED of dealing with a mentally ill guy whom LESTAT left him with! Sound familiar!? Only this time it's not Louis' HANDS--it's his DAUGHTERS!

ARMAND WANTS THOSE TWO WENCHES GONE GIRL! He sold them down the frikkin river; and in return was able to guarantee that Louis wouldn't be killed right alongside them, merely buried alive so Armand could dig him up later; "eternity in a box."

Armand passively shut the door and stood by as the coven burned Claudia (after Armand had chopped her HEAD off & sewed it on an adult's body)--and only made his move once all the sentences had been meted out; cuz in classic Armand fashion: HE LET IT HAPPEN.

ARMAND WANTED THAT WHOLE COVEN GONE, GIRL! He's done this crap before! WITH LESTAT!

And Armand was busy wheeling & dealing with Lestat, too!

Lest only complied--COMPLICIT--cuz he'd been starved, delirious & hurt; and Armand tricked him into thinking he could/would help. Les threw Claudia under the bus to protect Lou, but was still horrified that she'd been killed, cuz ARMAND could've prevented it--his fledglings shouldn't've been held to the Great Laws in the first place!

This is a MASSIVE game Armand's playing--the whole point of his gaslighting's that he throws the same thing he does back in ppl's faces to throw them off his scent, "to protect me, from YOU, Mr. Molloy...from my shame...my cowardice." He hides behind illusions--not just with the Mind/Spell Gift, but also through the veneer of innocence: a black-winged devil with the innocent face of a cherub.

People are SO blinded by the mean Black man (whom they don't even like ANYWAY) Dom'ing Armand (FOR SHOW, btw!); and equally distracted by their failure to even parse Armand's birthname Arun (I don't see any of y'all saying Amadeo was book!Armand's "slave name," and I DEFINITELY don't see any of y'all saying ANDREI was his slave name, either!); that they've totally missed how Loumand plotted TOGETHER to concede power to Santiago and "give" him the Theatre--thoroughly ignorant of the fact that Santiago was already being called Maitre by the whole effing coven--he'd already won his coup!

You can't give someone something you never had, Louis!

And their plot was for ARMAND'S BENEFIT; so they could get rid of Santiago, destabilize/dismantle the coven so they'd scatter (just like Lestat caused them to do); and so Armand could decide if he wanted to stay Maitre or not--LETTING ARMAND CHOOSE what HE wanted to do with HIS coven and THEIR lives. Lest we forget: vamps don't just LEAVE covens--in the books, after Les ruined the Paris coven, Armand didn't just LET them leave--he set them on FIRE and KILLED THEM; just like Louis would do--as Armand sat back and LET IT HAPPEN.

He knew Lou'd go ballistic; AMC!Armand even TAUGHT Louis the Fire Gift; literally handing Louis the tools with which to destroy his coven for good!

This show constantly emphasizes the POWER Armand held over Louis & Claudia (& Madeleine)'s lives; and his autonomy, agency & authority over them; despite the roleplay Loumand was up to as they SWITCHED positions; cuz Armand FAILED at running the coven.

All Armand wanted was to be with Louis, but Lou kept dragging Claudia (& Lestat) with him. So Armand was tryna get rid of them--he's Sleeping in Claudia's coffin, cuz he wants to take HER spot; "it's BLISS!"--and he overplayed his hand.

Louis couldn't even kill himself in peace without Armand interfering--cuz at the end of the day, it's not up to Louis what he wants or does. Armand PRETENDS to be Louis servant, "Rashid," his subby bottom boy, cuz Armand WANTS to go along with it all--too shameful for his COMPLICIT culpability; and too scared to live alone.

I saw people saying "the victim became the victimizer; cycles of abuse; etc etc," like omfg--how is THIS man Louis' victim!?

I've said it before though: Armand genuinely loves Louis, and has good intentions. But let's not pretend Armand's some innocent bystander to Louis' schemes, ffs!

[princessamahle]

a tour of the hashira's estates part 7

Gyomei: So like tengen's this one is super short due to the fact we never actually seen gyomei's estate. But lets stick what we do know

with information about the one winged butterfly novel it is safe to say he does have a home. Maybe not a big one, but he has one according to kanae and shinobu when they were children and they wanted to visit him and thanked him for saving their lives. Hoping to also train as slayers themselves, they cooked for him, did laundry and all through all had the house cleaned hoping to convince the young man at the time.

During hashira training, he did not allow the slayers to stay there but he did have a small shack for them to use in order to use for cooking sleeping etc.

I'm guessing the whole idea was to help them to engage the environment and its resources more in order to gain strength and a clear mind.

However despite not showing his estate we do see a beautiful waterfall and stream where you can fish.

It is a nice place to camp, and I think the other reason for his training was to make sure they knew how to survive if hunting for a demon in the woods for days. It seemed he never actually engaged with cooking for them. Now this could be due to the fact how he doesn't trust children in general due to his past experiences, I'm sure deep down he would love to eat and talk with them, but the pain in his heart is still strong.

He has however, been watching tanjiro and how he genuinely connects with all the other young boys in the group. He couldn't help but adore his kindness.

So them cooking on their own was probably a personal issue for him. Even though tanjiro cooked for them majority of the time.

other than that they're not much to say about gyomei other than the fact he lives a very humble life. He doesn't care for riches let alone where he lives as long as he has his necessities.

I give him a 2 out of 5 as we didn't see the estate at all but will give him a plus for the open environment for campers. Also he loves animals specifically kittens so maybe you'll see a cat there lol namu amida butsu.....